“So, when do you start?” I asked, only half kidding.

“Tonight,” Abby said, not kidding at all.

Chapter 25

“OKAY, WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON, AB?” I SAT rigidly in my chair, struggling to keep my voice down and my emotions under control. “You’re just playing games with me, right? You haven’t actually signed on with Sabrina, have you?”

“Not yet,” Abby admitted. “She insisted that I think things over before making my final decision. I’m supposed to call her tonight and tell her if I’m ready to take the plunge.”

“And what, may I ask, do you plan to say to her?” My voice was low, but my tone was scathing.

“Nothing,” Abby said, smiling.

“Huh?”

“Nothing at all,” she repeated, eyes gleaming.

“What do you mean?” I pleaded, wondering if I’d live long enough to hear the whole story. “C’mon, Abby! Come clean! Are you going to call Sabrina or not?”

“Nope,” she said, still smiling. “I’m not going to call her, you are.”

If there had been any bedcovers nearby, I’d have pulled them over my head and nailed them in place. “I can’t take this anymore,” I said, too tired to shriek or screech. “Stop winding me up. I’m not a toy. Just tell me what’s going on in your twisted and perverted little mind.”

“Oh, all right!” Abby scowled and smashed her cigarette in the ashtray. “You’re no fun anymore, you know that? I was just fooling around a little-trying to lighten things up and have a few laughs. And where’s the harm in that? A little silliness never hurt anybody, you dig? It might even help us put things in perspective! But noooo, that’s totally impossible now, thanks to you, because you’re so sensitive and serious and impatient and boring, a girl can’t even-”

“Abby!”

“All right, already!” she snapped, raising her hands in surrender. Then she took a sip of her drink, twirled a lock of ink-black hair around her index finger, and said, “Okay, here’s the skinny, Minnie. There’s a reason you need to call Sabrina, and it’s a good one. Remember I said I would get Jimmy to take us to the Copa tonight? Well, he can’t go. He’s got a poetry gig at the Vanguard. I called around for a substitute, but all my backup boyfriends are busy, so now we’re up the creek without a male escort.

“And that’s not all,” she continued. “I also called a girlfriend of mine-a model who works the coat check at the Copa-and she told me the club is booked so tight tonight not even an ant could sneak inside. She said Corona has so many bodyguards standing around backstage his own mother couldn’t get anywhere near him.”

Kerplunk. Our scheme to ambush Tony Corona in his dressing room hit the water and sank like a stone.

“Well, that’s that,” I said, shoulders slumping in defeat. “It was a foolish idea to begin with, I guess. I should have known it wouldn’t work out.” My head was hanging so low it almost touched the table. “Now I’ll have to revert to my original plan and try to corner Corona at his hotel. It’ll be tough to crash his suite at the Plaza, and a heck of a lot more dangerous, but what other choice do I-”

“Hold the phone, Joan!” Abby broke in. “Did you lose your faith along with your sense of humor? I told you I’d dream up a scheme to get us into the Copa, didn’t I? Where’s your confidence, babe?” She arched one eyebrow to the hilt, stuck her chin out, and said, “What would you say if I told you I know a way we can catch Corona’s show tonight, be treated to a free dinner and a slew of champagne cocktails, and then be invited-that’s right, invited-backstage to his dressing room?”

“I’d say you’re playing poker with half a deck.”

Abby stretched her scarlet lips from one earlobe to the other.

“Then you’d lose the game, Mame. Because all you have to do to make this happen is call Sabrina.”

IT TOOK A WHILE FOR ABBY TO EXPLAIN HER crazy plan to me, and even longer for me to accept it. After I thought it over, however, and realized how snugly the pieces of the puzzle fit into place, I came to the conclusion that Abby’s scheme was not only feasible-it was perfect. So, without further delay, I picked up the phone and dialed Sabrina.

First I told her the truth about Abby: that the bold and beautiful brunette who had suddenly appeared at her apartment earlier today was my best friend and next-door neighbor-not a potential prostitute-and that she was helping me search for Virginia’s killer. Then, seeing that my broken secrecy pledge didn’t upset Sabrina nearly as much as I thought it would (it seemed we’d both become more trusting and forgiving since our chummy morning chat), I went on to outline the way that she could help us get in to see Corona at the Copa.

At first she flatly refused. It was too dangerous, she said, and she’d never forgive herself if something awful happened to me or Abby as a result of her actions. But after I spoke to Sabrina awhile-pointing out that trying to hunt down a murderer was always dangerous, regardless of the methods used, and that the crowded Copacabana was probably the safest possible setting for such a venture-she agreed to set our scheme in motion.

She said that as soon as she hung up with me, she’d call Tony (he’d been a client for so long she always used his first name). And once she got him on the line (she knew he’d take her call-he always did), she would tell him about the two gorgeous, shapely, incredibly sexy young women who had just that day joined her escort service. Then she’d offer him first dibs, saying she would send the two young ladies to the Copa this evening and-if he’d arrange for them to be admitted at the door and seated at a good table for dinner and the eight o’clock show-they’d be pleased to meet him in his dressing room afterward, where he could look them over and choose the one he wants for the night.

(I would have been happy to forgo the dinner and the show, but Abby wouldn’t hear of it. “All work and no play makes Paige a dull detective,” she insisted.)

I gave Sabrina Abby’s number and told her to call us back when she got off the phone with Corona. Then, while we waited to learn whether or not Corona would take the bait, I guzzled the rest of my Bloody Mary, lit up a cigarette, and filled Abby in on the earlier details of my day-my heart-to-heart talks with Charlotte and Sabrina and my explosive confrontation with Oliver Rice Harrington.

“I told you not to bother with him,” Abby snorted. “Harrington’s not the murderer. You just got yourself fired-really fired-for nothing.”

“I’m sure you’re right about my job,” I said, “but you could be dead wrong about Harrington. He’s a very brutal man, Ab. He’s a cold-hearted cutthroat, a ruthless tycoon, a merciless bastard who probably commits some form of murder every day. Look at how easily-not to mention guiltlessly-he killed my career!”

“That’s not the same as killing a person.”

“Oh, no? Well, you should have seen the way he reacted when I mentioned Virginia Pratt! He went insane, Jane. He was breathing fire! I swear, if he had gotten his hands on me, he would have killed me, too. He would have hauled me up under his arm, lugged me across the room, plowed my head through the glass of the penthouse window, and then chucked me- screaming and flailing-over the ledge.” (Okay, that was a pretty rash and gruesome conclusion, but what can I say? I was in a rash and gruesome mood.)

The phone rang, and we both shot to attention. I sucked in a lungful of smoke, snatched up the receiver, and croaked, “Yes?”

“It’s a go,” Sabrina said. “Tony wants to meet you and Abby tonight after the eight o’clock show, just as we discussed.”

“Good,” I said, giving Abby the thumbs-up.

“You should arrive at the Copa at seven sharp,” Sabrina continued. “Tell the man at the door your names are Gina and Cherry-those are the names I gave Tony. You can decide for yourselves who’s who, but make sure you remember the names and use them whenever you introduce yourselves to someone or speak to each other. Gina and Cherry. The doorman will be expecting you and the maître d’ will show you to your table.