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This was a tourist haunt, and other patrons had their camera phones out, so I grabbed mine and shot a few stills followed by a video. Had Kaylin La Rocca been in New York the whole time? Hiding in plain sight? Performing on stage to enthralled audiences?
I couldn’t be certain.
But I believed there was a possibility.
She moved on to “Fever,” her voice strong and throaty with an impressive range. I consulted Google. Daisy de Ville might have been headlining at the Starlight Lounge, but her online presence was limited. Several carefully staged pictures on the club’s website, plus the occasional mention on Trip Advisor. Five stars, fantastic singer, a great end to our vacation. Even Providence didn’t find much from a basic search.
“Enjoying the show, ma’am?” our server asked as she placed a dark chocolate and clementine torte in front of me.
“Oh, I love it!” I slipped into tourist mode. “You don’t get this kind of food on Broadway. Isn’t it great, honey?”
Collier played his part as the long-suffering husband and grunted non-committally.
“How often does Daisy de Ville sing? Maybe we can catch another show before we go home.”
“She performs every Thursday. On Fridays, we have Kiki Luna, and on Saturdays, Honey Sweet headlines, but this weekend’s shows are already sold out.”
My disappointment was real. That meant we wouldn’t be able to come back tomorrow with a better camera.
“Aw, we fly out on Wednesday. I probably shouldn’t ask, but does she sing at any other venues?”
“No, only here. She’s the boss’s wife.”
The server might as well have jabbed me with a cattle prod. A jolt ran through me. Maybe-Kaylin had married into the Mafia? But who to? Vito or Cesare? It had to be Cesare, right? Kaylin was twenty-six, and Vito was forty years older. Cesare would make more sense.
Words deserted me, but Collier covered.
“Lucky man. We’ll catch the show next time we’re in New York, babe.”
“Really?”
“If that’s what you want.” He gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Can I get a whisky on the rocks?”
“Sure, sir. I’ll be right back.”
After her set, Daisy de Ville disappeared backstage with the rest of the Divas, and a few minutes later, Cesare Cavallaro rose from his seat and pushed through the “Staff Only” door that led to the kitchen. Neither of them came back. We stayed until the end of the show, but when Vito left with his henchmen before the after-party started, we made our exit too.
“Gotta say, that wasn’t how I expected tonight to turn out,” Collier said as he stepped to the kerb to wave down a cab. “First time I’ve ever been serenaded by a misper.”
“You truly think it’s her?”
“If I was a betting man, which I am, I’d put ten bucks on it. Better than a fifty percent chance, I’d say, but it’s hard to be sure when we can only see a quarter of her face.”
“I was trying to get a good look at her eyes. I think Kaylin’s were blue rather than brown, but Daisy de Ville could have been wearing lenses.”
“Lenses, a wig, that shit women inject into their lips… Plus Cavallaro Junior would have the cash for hush-hush cosmetic surgery. I’ll work my contacts, see if anyone knows when the wife came onto the scene.”
“Providence didn’t find any evidence of Cesare Cavallaro being married in public records.”
“Maybe she’s a common-law wife? Or they got hitched overseas? My baby sister had one of those destination weddings. We all spent a fucking fortune flying out to Grenada, and she divorced the prick a year later.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“At least I didn’t have to pretend to like him anymore.” A cab pulled up, and Collier opened the door for me. “Let’s get some sleep, and we can regroup in the morning. Start thinking about how we can get a look at Daisy de Ville without her mask on.”
In theory, that sounded like a great idea, but inside, I was buzzing. I wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.
13
