“A WOMAN IN a floor-length dress with charcoal-dark hair and smoldering appeal reminiscent of Bettie Page sashayed across the room. She paused at their table.
“You wanted me, Charlie?” Her voice was breathy, but that could’ve been a result of the corset and bustier that cinched and lifted her breasts so they were a gasp away from spilling out of the deep-V cut of her dress.
“Be a good girl, and go sing for us.” Charlie patted her ass absently. “I can’t stand the quiet.”
A single spotlight came on with a sharp click. The curtain over the doorway opened, and three dead musicians came through it to join the singer onstage. One carried a cello, and the other two took their places on the stools in front of the piano and drums.
“Graveminder?” Byron prompted.
Charlie lifted his glass in a toast as the breathy girl started singing. “Ahhh, that’s what we needed.
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