Detective Lib Sena strode across the empty dance floor and stopped behind the vacant bar. The lights had long since been extinguished. So had Mo’s life.

Jillian, the club’s notoriously cheeky owner, spoke.

“Lay off the Jack until you’ve cracked the case, Dic.” Warned Jillian.

Lib opened the ice chest and saw the frozen remains of Mo Zona. Her cropped hair was a crown of crystallized gel.

“No mystery. This was a crime of fashion, not passion.”

“Whaddya mean?” Asked Jillian.

“See them pearls underneath the leather coat? She went too femme, too fast.”

Lib smiled, “Whiskey,please, no ice.”