Wait!” Gray caught up with her when she reached the curb in front of the Hotel Camille. “Marley—” “I can’t talk to you anymore.” “Never again?” he asked. She glanced at him, but didn’t crack a smile. “Most likely.” Gray prepared for battle. “Sidney won’t call you,” he told her. “Do you really think she’ll call you?” she asked tightly, scanning the street in both directions. “Yeah, I do. She’s still ambitious enough to want publicity. You saw that. Amber was the talent. Hey, you don’t live so far from here. We can walk.” Marley stepped off the sidewalk. “I’ll get a cab,” she said, searching up and down the street again then back at the hotel entrance. The Camille wasn’t the kind of place that kept twenty-four-hour doormen around. No help would come from there. The street was silent and empty. To the west, even the neon flare from Harrah’s Casino looked subdued against the hazy sky. The first chill of early morning slithered off the Mississippi, barely shifting the odors of old buildings, old beer, or the scent of flowers in hanging baskets.
