As dying words went, this didn’t go far – at least in helping our sleuth discover who gave the-belle-of-the-ball a lethal injection.
A jilted lover, perhaps, but was he even on her crowded dance-card?
A pet-name? Hardly endearing but weren’t spirited Spanish senoritas sometimes attracted to creepy types?
A shared dish at some new-fangled insect-restaurant?
He shuddered, appalled at his cluelessness, and phoned the dance-band rehearsal. They’d noticed nothing, said the conductor.
Our sleuth asked him to recite the setlist to trigger recollections but stopped him after ‘La Cucaracha’.
She’d tried to help, translating the moment her killer struck.