I nodded in mournful agreement and took a sip of my coffee. “Do you have any insights or suspicions that could help me identify her killer?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Do you know why Melody became a call girl?”

“No, I don’t. I’m quite friendly with all of the girls, but I don’t pry into their private lives. That’s the way Sabrina wants it. She insists that we keep our personal and family histories secret, locked in the past, where they belong. We don’t even know each other’s real names. Sabrina knows everything about all of us, of course, but she doesn’t share that information with anybody.”

I wasn’t surprised to learn that Charlotte wasn’t her real name (I told you it was an alias, didn’t I?), but I was caught off balance to hear her talking as though she were one of Sabrina’s call girls.

“What are you trying to tell me, Charlotte? Are you a prostitute, too?”

“Not anymore,” she said, looking me straight in the eye.

“But you used to be?”

“Yes.” Her gaze remained steady and intense.

“Did you work for Sabrina?”

“I wasn’t that lucky,” she said. “I worked for the meanest, most brutal pimp in Harlem. It’s a miracle I survived. If Sabrina hadn’t saved me, I’d have been planted in the dirt long before Melody.”

“You were saved by Sabrina?” I blurted, crazy for more information. “What happened? How did you meet her? What did she do?”

Charlotte paused, took another puff on her cigarette, and stared out the window for a few silent seconds. Then she turned and looked me in the eye again. “I shouldn’t be talking about this,” she murmured. “Sabrina says it’s not good for me to brood about the past. I have to focus all my thoughts and energy on the future. And if I reveal any more facts about my former life, I’ll be breaking Sabrina’s rule of secrecy.”

Dear God in heaven, don’t let her clam up on me now!

“But I really need your help, Charlotte,” I pleaded, pulling out all the emotional stops. “I’ve been working on this case nonstop since the day I came here for lunch, and I’m getting nowhere! I’ve interviewed one of the major suspects, and Brigitte and Candy have answered all my questions, and I’m still floundering around in the dark. I can’t see where I’m going, and I don’t know which road to take next.”

“But how can I help you?” she wanted to know. “What does my past, or my relationship with Sabrina, have to do with Melody’s murder?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe those particulars are significant, and maybe they aren’t. The point is, I have to gather all the details I possibly can, to understand the big picture. And the tiniest scrap of information could turn out to be the most important clue.” I took another sip of my coffee, staring intently at her over the rim of my cup.

“Well, okay, then,” Charlotte gave in. “I’ll tell you whatever I can. I liked and respected Melody very much, and I’m praying that you’ll catch her killer, and-in spite of Sabrina’s strict secrecy demands-I believe she’d want me to help you in your investigation.”

“Good!” I exclaimed, jumping to seal the bargain before she could change her mind. “Then let’s start with-”

A loud bzzzzzzz cut the tail off my sentence.

“That’s Sabrina,” Charlotte said, quickly crushing her cigarette in the ashtray and getting up from the table. “She wants me to fix her breakfast now.”

Chapter 20

“WANT SOME EGGS?” CHARLOTTE ASKED, TAKING a carton out of the refrigerator and placing it on the counter near the stove. “Sabrina likes them poached, on toast. How about you?”

“I’d love some!” I croaked, stomach growling. “And poached would be fine. But what about Sabrina? Will she be upset if she finds me in her kitchen?”

“No, she always has breakfast in her room. And after that it takes her at least an hour to bathe and dress. You can stay if you’d like, and have something to eat while we continue our conversation.”

Was this my lucky day, or what?

“I’ll tell Sabrina that you’re here, of course,” Charlotte went on, “and that I’m trying to help you in your investigation. Do you want to talk to her, too? If so, I’ll ask if she can see you after breakfast.

“Thanks, Charlotte!” I said, grinning like Bucky Beaver in the Ipana toothpaste ads. “I do want to talk to Sabrina. And I’m so famished I could eat a horse, though poached eggs would be preferable.”

“Coming right up,” she said, moving around the kitchen, setting a pot of water on the burner to boil, putting two slices of bread in the toaster.

Food questions settled, my hunger for clues returned. “When and where did you and Sabrina meet?” I asked, hoping Charlotte could cook and talk at the same time.

“It was about seven years ago, when we were both in the hospital,” she said, setting a place mat, napkin, and silverware on the serving cart near the kitchen door. “I had been beaten up by my pimp, and she had been beaten up by her husband. We arrived in the emergency room at the same time. I had several broken ribs and a broken arm; she had a dislocated shoulder and a fractured leg. After they patched us up, they put us in the same room for a few days. The ward was full, and Sabrina graciously agreed to share her semiprivate accommodations with a colored woman.”

“Is that how she ‘saved’ you?” I asked.

“That was just one of the ways.” Charlotte cracked four eggs and slipped them gently into the simmering water. “She also took me with her when we left the hospital, saving me from Sonny ‘The Blade’ Marino, the gangster who swore he’d slash my throat if I didn’t obey my pimp and earn my keep.” The toast popped up, and she put each piece on a porcelain plate trimmed with pink and gold roses. “I owe Sabrina my life.”

“Did you become a call girl for her after you left the hospital?”

“No. She wasn’t a madam then. She was just a woman on the run from a husband who liked to beat her up for fun. She has the scars to prove it, not to mention a permanent limp.” Charlotte filled two glasses with fresh-squeezed orange juice, placing one on the serving cart for Sabrina and one on the table for me.

“So where did you go? Where did you live?”

“We hid out at the Gramercy Park Hotel for a few weeks while our broken bones healed and Sabrina got her affairs in order. That’s when I began masquerading as her maid. The hotel wouldn’t admit Negro guests, but they did accept the Negro servants of their white guests. While we were staying at the hotel, Sabrina noticed that an apartment in this building was available for rent. She looked at it, liked it, and signed the lease the same day. We’ve been here ever since.” Scooping the eggs out of the water one by one, Charlotte drained them and placed two on each piece of toast.

“So you’re not really a maid?” I asked. “You’re just masquerading as one?”

“No, I really am one now. By choice. I like cooking and cleaning and making things nice for Sabrina. She takes good care of me, and I take good care of her. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life. Not only has Sabrina given me a beautiful room of my own, three square meals a day, a closet full of nice clothes, and a very good salary, but she has also tutored me in math, reading, manners, grammar, and diction. I’m a brand-new person. I could get a decent job most anywhere now. I won’t have to sell my body to any man ever again.”

Grinning widely, Charlotte put a plate of eggs in front of me, plus a small cup of fresh strawberries and some extra toast, butter, and jam. Thanking her profusely, I watched as she arranged identical dishes on the serving cart, along with a carafe of hot coffee. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, nimbly maneuvering the laden cart through the swinging kitchen door and gliding swanlike down the hall.