Aaargh! I groaned to myself as the arrow hit home. Justice was-and always had been-my primary objective, of course, but I couldn’t tell Sabrina that! The knowledge would give her too much power. She’d have me pinned to the wall (and signing on the dotted line) in no time.
“Both,” I said, refusing to fall into her trap.
She shrugged and gave me a crooked grin (or was it a smirk?). “Well, I’ve got news for you, Paige Turner,” she said, sounding far less polite and refined than she had earlier. “You won’t be able to accomplish either of those goals without me.”
And she called the police cocky!
“I don’t need your permission, you know.”
“No, but you do need my cooperation,” she said. “You’ll never get anywhere without it.”
I hated to admit it, but Sabrina was right. I simply had to have the name of that client-the one Virginia was supposed to have been with the night she was murdered. And I needed the names of Virginia ’s other regulars, too-plus those of her closest girlfriends. I might never get to the truth without those specifics, and Sabrina was the only one who could supply them. She had me right where she wanted me-and we both knew it.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You won’t give me any further information unless I swear not to write the story?” I already knew the answer to that question, but I asked it anyway.
“That’s right,” she confirmed, forking another tiny asparagus segment into her mouth and chewing it to a pulp. Then she swallowed and said, “But you mustn’t condemn me for that, Paige. I have to protect myself and my girls and Virginia ’s family. And I’m obligated to protect my clients, too. Some of them hold very important positions in government, business, and society. If their lecherous, philandering, and illegal activities were exposed to the world, it would mean the end of their careers. Perhaps their marriages as well.”
“But one of them could be a cold-blooded murderer!” I screeched. “How do you feel about protecting him?”
“Awful,” she said, with a cunning smile. “That’s why I called you.”
Chapter 5
ABOUT FIVE MINUTES LATER-AFTER I’D CAVED in and vowed that I wouldn’t write the story; after I’d sworn on my great-grandmother’s grave that I’d never breathe a word about my secret investigation to the police (Dan included)- Sabrina rang for dessert and coffee. (That’s right-she rang. She actually picked up the little silver bell next to her plate, gave it a jingle, and-presto!- Charlotte appeared with the goodies. I’d never seen anything like it, except in the movies.)
I remained silent while Charlotte served the chocolate mousse and poured the coffee, but became vocal as soon as she returned to the kitchen. “Tell me about the client who was scheduled to… er, see Virginia the night of the murder,” I said to Sabrina. “He’s one of your rich, important friends from the past, right? What’s his name? What kind of business is he in? Is he married? Does he have any kids? Have you spoken to him since the murder took place?” To say that I was eager for answers would be like calling the Three Stooges just a wee bit wacky.
“Before we get into that,” Sabrina said, stalling, spooning sugar into her cup, “I need to know that you understand the urgency of this operation. You must begin your investigation at once, and you must pursue every clue with the utmost intensity. There can be no delay or letup in your search. It is imperative that the killer be identified and apprehended immediately.” She sounded like Senator Joe McCarthy calling his Commie-hunting cronies to arms.
“Well, I wasn’t planning to go on vacation, you know.” I was getting annoyed with Sabrina’s cautionary, controlling tactics. Besides, she was the one who was dragging her heels, not me. How was I supposed to “pursue every clue with the utmost intensity” when she hadn’t given me any clues to pursue? How could I spring into action and check out the prime suspect if she couldn’t bring herself to tell me who he was? I scooped up a spoonful of mousse, shoveled it into my mouth, and downed the rich creamy goo in one gulp.
“And what’s the big fat hurry, anyway?” I asked, head reeling. “Sometimes it doesn’t pay to move too fast. That’s how mistakes get made and entire inquiries go awry. Haven’t you ever heard that haste makes waste?”
“In this case the opposite is true,” she insisted. “A slow-paced approach could be terminally wasteful.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the longer it takes to find the killer, the more chances he’ll have to kill again.”
Okay, that was a pretty disturbing thought. And I was an idiot for not considering it before. (After my own close calls with homicidal madmen, you’d think it would’ve been the first thing on my mind!) But idiot that I was, I happened to be focused on a different worry at the moment-and it had as much to do with Sabrina as it did with the man who killed Virginia.
“What’s going on here, Sabrina?” I said, a warning signal beeping in the back of my brain. “Have you been keeping something from me? Do you have reason to believe that the killer intends to strike again?”
“Uh, no,” she said, “not really. It’s just a feeling. And I’m so worried about my girls! What if the murderer is on some kind of sick crusade to rid the world of prostitutes? And what if he’s using me to accomplish his hideous goal?” She gave me a desperate, wild-eyed look. “I couldn’t stand it, Paige. I couldn’t live with myself if I sent another one of my girls on a date with death.”
Her words were a bit melodramatic, I thought, but heartfelt. And very effective. “I get the message, Sabrina,” I said, “and I promise you I will work just as hard and fast as I can. I do have a nine-to-five job, though, and I have to get at least four hours of sleep a night, so you can’t expect miracles.”
“Couldn’t you take some time off from work?” she pleaded.
“No way, Doris Day. I have two very demanding bosses. One of them is always looking for an excuse to fire me and the other one will have a stroke if I’m not there to make the coffee. I might be able to grab some extra time on my lunch hours, or call in sick one day or something, but I can’t guarantee anything. I’ll just have to play it by ear.”
“What about this weekend? Can you give the case your undivided attention then?” She looked kind of panicky now.
“All except for Sunday afternoon,” I told her. “I go out to lunch and the movies with my boyfriend and his daughter, Katy, every Sunday. It’s a sacred ritual.”
“Break the date,” she said, giving me orders again. She leaned forward and took a sip of her coffee, glaring at me over the rim of the white china cup.
“I can’t, Sabrina. Dan would get very suspicious. He’d jump to the conclusion that I’m working on a new murder story, and then he’d start investigating me. And, trust me, you don’t want that to happen. Dan Street is the smartest detective alive. He would uncover the truth about you and Virginia in no time. You’re just lucky that Virginia ’s body wasn’t found in his precinct. Otherwise, he’d be in charge of this case and you and your prestigious clients would already be under surveillance- or under lock and key.”
I was laying it on pretty thick, but I believed every word I said.
“Oh, all right!” Sabrina slammed her cup down in its saucer. “Go ahead! Search for the killer in your own sweet time. But if you know what’s good for you, Paige Turner, your own sweet time will be goddamn quick!”
Her threatening tone was offensive, to say the least. And it sent me into a tailspin of anxious misgivings. Who was this woman-this madam!-I was now in cahoots with, and what evil, irresistible force had convinced me to agree to her unorthodox proposal? More to the point, who was I, and how did I ever let myself get mixed up in this murderous mess? Was I a courageous, brave-hearted, truth-seeking heroine, or just a snoopy, bullheaded, trouble-seeking fool? (Don’t answer that!)