Her living room was boxy, pale blue, set up with black velvet seating, white rugs, baroque gold-mirrored tables. Paris street scenes featuring too much pigment and not enough proportion hung on the walls. A black japanned console bore a collection of free-form ceramic mounds.

She perched on the edge of a love seat, pointed me to a chair that placed our knees inches apart. Undraped windows looked out to the East River and the night-glow of Queens.

“Thanks for seeing me.”

Silk rustled as she crossed her legs. A gold-link necklace circled a soft white neck. Additional glint was provided by oversized hoop earrings, a cocktail ring set with a massive amethyst, a gold-and-diamond Lady Rolex.

“Ah-lex,” she said. “That’s a popular Russian nyame. You have Russian blood?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Please.” She pointed to a coffee table set with crackers, tooth-picked cheese chunks, an open bottle of Riesling, two cut-glass goblets. Low lighting accentuated the river view and was kind to her complexion.

I poured wine for both of us. Her first sip didn’t alter the fluid level. I drank less.

Both of us smiling and pretending to enjoy each other’s company. Like a bad blind date.

She’d used the fifteen minutes it had taken me to walk from Korvutz’s place on Park to put on her face and toss together a little spread.

I said, “Did Mr. Korvutz fill you in?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Tinkly voice, Slavic overtones. Show of small, white teeth as a crooked smile suggested a mischievous girlhood. “Roland said you were very nyosy. He didn’t say very handsome.”

She placed cheese on the cracker, nibbled. Played with the toothpick.

“You think maybe Dyale killed someone?”

“It’s possible.”

“Okay.”

“That doesn’t shock you?”

“Of course it shocks me. Cheese? It’s good.”

I’d paid for my forty-dollar salad at La Bella but had left before it arrived. Still, I had no appetite for anything but information.

I reached for a cracker. “Please tell me about Dale.”

“What’s to say?”

“What was he like?”

Sonia Glusevitch said, “Nice. Helpful. He liked to help people.”

“He helped you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“With what?”

“My lines, how I talked, doing the eyes. It’s different.”

“What is?”

“The myakeup for the theater. You must make a styatement.”

“Dale told you that.”

Nod.

I said, “Dale had experience with theatrical makeup.”

“Experience, I don’t knyow. He was very, very good. Artistic.”

“Did the two of you meet doing Dark Nose Holiday?”

“Oh, yes. I was Neurona — a traveler in the brain — and Dyale was Sir Axon. He showed me how to use the light and the dyark.” Touching an eyelid. “To look mystyerious on styage. To make the face dramatic.”

Roland Korvutz had described actors completely shrouded by dark robes.

I said, “So the two of you became friends.”

Sonia Glusevitch drank wine. “Dyale was a real friendly guy.”