Murder in the Dressing Room (Misty Divine Mystery, 1, Band 1) - Softcover

Buch 1 von 2: A Misty Divine Mystery

Stars, Holly

 
9780593816714: Murder in the Dressing Room (Misty Divine Mystery, 1, Band 1)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593816714 ISBN 13: 9780593816714
Verlag: Berkley Books, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

A poisoned chocolate. A stolen dress. An elusive catburglar. Drag’s not just dramatic, it’s deadly.

By day, Joe is a hotel accountant, invisibly sitting behind their desk and playing by the rules. By night, donned in sequins, they take to the stage as Misty Divine, a star of the London drag scene.

But when Misty’s drag mother, Lady Lady, is found dead in her dressing room beside a poisoned box of chocolates, Misty and her fellow performers become the prime suspects.

Heartbroken by the loss, and frustrated by the clear biases of the police, Misty must solve the crime before the culprit strikes again. Among the drop-dead gorgeous lurks a cutthroat killer, and Misty Divine won't rest until she finds out who it is.

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Holly Stars is a drag stand-up comedian and writer. She is the writer of the smash-hit drag murder mystery, Death Drop, a play that has had three runs on the West End and a UK and Ireland tour. Holly has two seasons of her own television series, Holly Stars: Inspirational, produced by Froot TV and Tuckshop. She is also the producer and cohost of murder-mystery book review podcast, Read to Death, and is currently completing an accredited qualification in professional investigation, which will make her the world's first drag queen private detective.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1

WEDNESDAY-TWO HOURS EARLIER

It was a Wednesday night, hence the title of the chapter, and, like every Wednesday night, Misty Divine was working at Lady's Bar, the glittering and opulent cabaret club on Old Compton Street in the heart of Soho. Later, she wouldn't be able to say precisely when she knew something was wrong, but there was something in the air, something Misty could feel in the pit of her stomach.

Misty was one of the bar's regulars, drag daughter and mentee of the owner, Lady Lady, and widely known as one of the best singers on the circuit. She had performed first, opening the show with three exuberant jazz numbers that ended with rapturous applause as she bowed, curtsied, and accepted a red rose from a table of gay men in the front row. She was tall and beautiful, and she knew it-a six-foot-one drag queen with bouffant blond hair, long legs, and exquisite makeup. Tonight, she was all in red: a red off-the-shoulder minidress with a sweeping neckline and hems so high she was more leg than skirt, red crystal jewelry that dripped from each ear and across her chest, and sequined scarlet heels so tall they were known affectionately in the business as "ankle breakers." Thankfully, Misty's ankles were still intact, despite stiletto-related injuries in the drag business seemingly at an all-time high.

After her performance she retreated to the bar at the back of the auditorium, choosing a high stool at the end of the counter from which she could survey the entire room. Lady's Bar was a stunning venue. A vast underground cabaret room decorated with velvet and gold leaf, it was the place to go to see the very best of the London drag scene, and all of it was hosted by Lady Lady herself, the sensation and living legend. There were a hundred cabaret tables, each one polished to perfection and adorned with a flickering candle and a vase of white flowers. Patrons dressed up for the occasion, and from the bar Misty could see customers in fabulous outfits ranging from black tie to rhinestoned tracksuits, served by waiters in bow ties and burgundy aprons as performer after performer took to the stage.

Was something off with one of the customers? Is that what had set her on edge? She looked from table to table as tonight's lip-syncer, Plimberley, brought the house down with a performance of acrobatic genius as she flipped and dipped and flicked her hair. But, no, there didn't seem to be anyone doing anything out of the ordinary in the audience, nobody who particularly stood out as problematic.

Maybe it's just a spot of anxiety, she told herself. I'm imagining things.

But still, she couldn't shake it.

When Lady Lady came back out onstage after Plimberley's lip sync, she looked sublime. She was dressed in a perfectly fitted bronze-and-gold gown, with a heavy crystal-encrusted train that dragged along the floor behind her, and her hair was the lavender purple she had worn for twenty years. Misty knew that up close, her hair smelled of lavender too. Drag should be a delight for all the senses, Lady Lady always said. She'd been known to ban drag queens from performing at the club if they showed up in stinking tights, which frankly, happened more often than Misty liked to admit. Drag could be a down and dirty business, and dirty tights were par for the course when you were gigging six nights a week.

In between each act Lady Lady would do a little stand-up comedy or sing a number or perform a lip sync, whatever she had prepared for the occasion. And every time, every night, she was faultless. Perfection. The finest cabaret host London had seen since Danny La Rue. Lady Lady was a tiny powerhouse. At five feet tall she was shorter than most of the other drag performers, but her stage presence was enormous.

"And let's hear a huge round of applause for . . . er . . . erm . . ."

"Plimberley!" shouted Plimberley from the side of the stage.

"Plimberley! Plimberley, of course!" laughed Lady Lady.

Misty stood up.

In the five years that Misty had worked with Lady Lady she had never, not once, heard Lady Lady "erm" or "aah" into the microphone. She prided herself on being an impeccable public speaker. And the fact that she had forgotten Plimberley's name was, quite simply, shocking.

Misty studied Lady Lady from the back of the room, the way she moved, the way she laughed. She was tense tonight, not as comfortable as she normally looked. Her shoulders were slightly raised, her teeth slightly more bared than usual, like an elderly Yorkshire terrier snarling at an unsatisfactory dog treat. Lady Lady had owned Lady's Bar for twenty years, and she hosted six nights a week. She was never tense. For most people present, it wouldn't have even been something they'd notice. A slip of the mind, a memory blip from a hostess who was otherwise dazzling. But to Misty it was serious. It meant that there was definitely something amiss.

The next act was Moneypenny, a stand-up comedian who told the stupidest jokes.

"Knock knock!"

"Who's there?!" cheered the audience in unison.

"Ivana!"

"Ivana who?!"

"Ivana let you taste my Battenberg, if you know what I mean."

Apparently, the audience did know what Moneypenny meant, because they rolled in the aisles with laughter. Misty didn't think it was very funny, but she smiled along.

Lady Lady stood at the side of the stage and laughed in all the right places, clapped with the audience, and smiled broadly at the crowd. But Misty watched her carefully. The laughs felt forced, like she was laughing slightly too hard, slightly too often. And the smile looked pained; it stretched all the way to her bejeweled earlobes and seemed hard and cold. She hadn't been like this during the first half of the show, had she? Misty tried to think back to before the interval, to whether Lady Lady had seemed off at the start of the night, but she didn't think so. No, this was something new. Misty was worried, concerned for her friend and mentor. This behavior was out of character for Lady Lady, who was usually confident and self-assured, hosting with an ease that was unmatched by other performers. Misty wanted to rush up, hold Lady Lady's hand, ask her what was wrong, and tell her that everything was going to be all right.

Maybe something's happened backstage. That must be it. It was rare, but not unheard of, to hear of a drag performer row in a dressing room. Drag performers were a feisty bunch: Personalities like pythons, that's what Lady Lady used to say. Misty sat back down, keeping her eyes on her drag mother, unable to look away as she crossed her long legs. She knew they looked glossy and elegant like Jessica Rabbit's, but the reality was they were sweaty and hot under three layers of tights and foam padding.

Misty tried to put her thoughts aside and enjoy the remaining performances, gasping along with the audience when drag queen Amour threaded a condom through her nostrils, and throwing her head back laughing at Len and Den, who tonight were playing bearded impersonations of Conservative British Prime Ministers Liz Truss and Theresa May in a hilarious and ridiculous set they had entitled Primed Potatoes. Misty had known Den for a long time, for years, since before she even put on a wig for the first time. It had in fact been Den who had encouraged Misty to get started in drag, during a long and serious conversation about their unfulfilling day jobs. She admired everything about him, especially his performance skills. And tonight, as he skipped across the stage in a blue suit, Misty reveled in his comedy talents.

When Lady Lady called all of the night's performers to the stage, Misty wound her way through the cabaret tables and stepped up, took an elegant bow, and enjoyed the applause. This was always her favorite moment of the night. Adulation. Was there any better feeling than...

„Über diesen Titel“ kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Verlag
Berkley Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2025
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593816714
ISBN 13 
9780593816714
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
336
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar

Weitere beliebte Ausgaben desselben Titels

9780241683729: Murder in the Dressing Room: AGATHA CHRISTIE MEETS RUPAUL IN THIS WITTY MURDER MYSTERY

Vorgestellte Ausgabe

ISBN 10:  0241683726 ISBN 13:  9780241683729
Verlag: Michael Joseph, 2025
Hardcover