She debated which way to go on Bourbon, but opted for left, figuring there was more in that direction. The club her mother had danced at no longer went by the same name, but the night she’d died, her mother had been drinking a steady stream of margaritas at dinner with Sara and Rafe and she had suddenly started reminiscing about her days dancing. She had mentioned that the club was in the four hundred block of Bourbon where there were several gentleman’s clubs. Then she had told Rafe it was a shame he hadn’t seen her table dancing, because, to quote her mother, she had been hot shit.

Sara had been appalled, but Rafe just smiled and told her she still was. Then he mildly suggested maybe another margarita wasn’t wise if she wanted to be able to walk to the car. If Sara had said that, her mother would have torn into her, and defiantly kept drinking, but she hadn’t been offended by Rafe’s comment. She just laughed and said maybe he was right, but that it was still a shame that he had been in diapers when she’d been dancing.

And just four hours later, her mother was dead.

Sara was walking right past strip clubs, posters plastered all over their exterior walls, advertising barely legal girls and world famous sex acts. None of the pictures looked very appealing to her, and the one with a woman sitting aggressively on a bike seat looked downright painful. The pictures went on and on—smiling women, naked and airbrushed. Sara had never been inside a strip club, and for some reason, she paused in front of the door of one after spending a few minutes perusing their posters, wondering how the dancers themselves compared to the cheerful images on the wall. Were strippers really that happy and perky? She wanted to see inside, wanted to know, wanted to picture how her mother had been bold and sassy enough at sixteen to lie about her age and dance partly naked in front of men.

“Are you looking for work?”

Glancing over at the doorman, Sara willed herself not to blush. “No.”

“Are you sure?” He smiled at her, a man in his mid-thirties, attractive and wearing a suit. “The money’s good, and we could use a blonde. One of our best customers already saw you and asked about you. You’re guaranteed fifty a night in tips from him alone if he likes you.”

“What do you mean he saw me? I just walked up.” Sara hadn’t seen anyone on the sidewalk but her and the doorman. Though admittedly she had been busy studying the pictures with morbid fascination.

“A minute ago. He saw you when he was going inside.” He tipped his head to the door, giving another charming smile. “Come on in and watch a few of the girls, see what you think.”