Pausing, she shifted, cocked her other hip.
“Look, they’re especially tight with Bobby. Like next thing to family. No way they’d do a thing to hurt him.”
“Maybe they saw him leave with whoever did. Thanks.”
When Eve turned her back, Roarke slipped the LC another fifty. “The streets can be hard.”
She slid it with the first into a slit pocket. “Like I said, you got class, Mr. Gorgeous.”
“I know you gave her more,” Eve said.
“But you didn’t see it, so no paperwork necessary.”
Eve questioned a couple more, got nothing new. Then spotted Luce.
She did look like a fairy in a short dress that looked to be made out of flower petals. With it she wore heeled booties in powder pink.
Eve cut her off, and palmed her badge.
“I’m twenty-one and ten months. I got my license.”
“This is about Bobby Ren.”
Instantly, baby-blue eyes flooded with tears.
“Here now.” Roarke spoke gently, put a hand on her arm. “Why don’t we move a bit out of the crowd?”
“Somebody killed him. They just killed him. He didn’t hurt anyone. Not never, not ever. He’s my friend, and they just killed him.”
“I want to find out who killed him. Did you see him last night?”
“Sure I did. Sure. He had his spot. I do the roam, so I saw him a few times. We were going to have breakfast after work, but he didn’t show. And I thought…”
The sobs came next, and so did a smooth-looking Black man in a gold vest and skin pants, with his dark twists tipped in gold.
“You better move along.”
Eve held up her badge. He gave it one snarly look.
“She’s not breaking any laws, so leave her alone.”
“It’s about Bobby.” On a fresh sob, Luce threw herself into Ansel’s arms.
“I’m primary on his murder investigation. You were friends.”
“Best friends,” Luce wailed into Ansel’s bare chest.
“Here now,” Roarke said again, and handed Luce a handkerchief. “There’s a café just up there. Why don’t we go in, talk a bit?”
“Bar right here,” Ansel said, and jerked his head toward it.
“Fine.” Eve decided it had to be better than the noise and the bodies on the street.
It wasn’t.
Music banged out of the speakers. Asses filled the stools at a bar that looked like it hadn’t been properly wiped down since Christmas.
But Roarke nudged them all to a booth. And as if hosting guests, asked politely, “What would you like?”
