“I hate the name Cherry!” I snapped, face flaming. “It has nothing to do with me or my precious maidenhead. Sabrina just wants me to use it because she thinks it sounds sexy. I wanted to take the name Melody, but Sabrina said it belonged to another girl… a girl who was-”

Before I could say the word murdered, Abby shoved me aside and planted her own cleavage in front of Corona. “What about my name, Tony?” she said to him, pouting and striking a voluptuous pose. “Doesn’t it turn you on? I borrowed it from Gina Lollobrigida. She and I have a lot in common, you see. We’re both busty brunettes, and we both just luuuuuvvv to ride Italian stallions.” Abby was pulling out all the stops, doing her best to distract Corona from my ill-advised (okay, incredibly stupid) outburst.

It worked.

Corona ’s eyes grew wide as quarters, and his lean, hard face (think Frank Sinatra with a touch of Victor Mature) turned a little pink around the edges. He stopped breathing and started panting. “I hear what you’re sayin’, doll,” he snorted, “and I like what I see. But I want to see more. Step out in the middle of the floor and turn around real slow, so I can get a better look.”

“Whatever you say, Tony,” Abby murmured, smiling like the girl in the Colgate toothpaste ads. Then she took a deep breath, puffed up her nearly naked breasts, and-writhing her shoulders and hips like a professional stripper-did as she was told. (Look, I understood what she was doing, okay? She was making a sexual spectacle of herself so Corona would get all hot and bothered, and forget about my uncooperative conduct, and let us both stick around long enough to observe his behavior and fish for clues to the murder. But here’s what I didn’t understand: Did she really have to have so much fun doing it?)

As Abby was making her third or fourth slow, sensual (and annoyingly cheerful) turn around the floor, there was a loud knock on the door. “I got the booze, boss,” Little Pete called out, opening the door about an inch. “You want I should bring it in now?”

“Yeah,” Corona said, motioning for Abby to stop twirling and move out of the way. “Come in and put it on the table. You got the other stuff, too?”

“Sure thing, boss.” Grasping an ice bucket in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other, Little Pete lumbered across the room and set down the items as directed. A waiter carrying a tray topped with three glasses and a pack of Chesterfields followed close behind him. After everything was deposited on the makeup table, they both returned to the door. “That all, boss?” Little Pete asked. “Got what you need?”

“Yeah, scram. Shut the door on your way out.”

The waiter left the room in a hurry, but Little Pete hung back, belly hovering like a blimp in the doorway. “Street just came in, boss,” he said in a lowered voice. “He parked his ass at the bar. Want me to do somethin’ about it?”

“Sure,” Corona snarled. “I want the bastard put down. I want his goddamn head on a platter. But I gotta talk to Frank first. Is he here?”

“Yeah,” Little Pete said. “At his reg’lar table up in the mezz.”

“Okay, I’ll catch him later, after the girls leave.” The anxious look on Corona ’s face suggested our departure would be sooner rather than later-which was just hunky-dory with me.

Little Pete nodded, huffed his way into the hall, and closed the door tightly behind him. Corona sloshed some bourbon in a glass, threw his head back, and slugged it down straight. He didn’t offer Abby and me a drink or a cigarette or a seat on the black leather couch. We stood side by side in silence, not looking at each other, waiting for further instructions.

“So you like to ride Italian stallions,” Corona said to Abby, remembering the ice cubes and plunking a few in his glass. He covered the cubes with bourbon, then poured half the liquid down his throat. “That’s good,” he said between swallows, “because I’m always hot to trot. Come to my hotel later, and we’ll saddle up.”

“I’ll be there, Tony,” Abby said, simpering like a fool. “Which hotel and what time?”

“The Plaza,” he said, absently fingering his large gold St. Christopher medal and the curly chest hairs around it. “ Suite 814. Be there at three thirty.”

“AM or PM?” she chirped.

“If you’re a good little cowgirl, we’ll do both.” His words were teasing, but his tone was deadly. Looking tense and preoccupied, he sat back down in his swivel chair and-slowly twisting from side to side-took another slug of his drink. “Now giddyap and get outta here,” he said, wiping his sweaty forehead on his shirtsleeve. “I’ve got some business to take care of.”

ABBY AND I FLED THE STAR’S DRESSING ROOM and dashed back into the main arena. The band was playing a mambo, and the dance floor was full. Both the main level and the mezzanine were packed to the rafters, and people (mostly men) were standing three-deep at the bar. I madly searched the crowd for Dan, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Quick! Come over here!” I shouted to Abby, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to the shadows behind one of the huge palm tree columns. Only one thought was racing through my mind: I had to warn Dan of the impending peril immediately! But before I could do that, I realized, I had to slow down for a second, talk it over with Abby, and come up with a sensible plan of action.

(Stop snickering! So what if all my previous plans and actions had fallen far short of sensible? I still had to try, didn’t I?)

“Hey, you’re bruising my arm!” Abby squawked, wrenching herself free from my viselike grasp. “What’s your freaking problem?”

I couldn’t believe she asked me that question. “My problem, ” I said, gritting my teeth, “is that Dan’s life is in danger! Weren’t you listening in there? Corona knows he’s a homicide detective, and he told Little Pete to get rid of him-to put him down!”

“Oh, cool it, Paige! Tony didn’t mean it that way. He just meant for Little Pete to kick Dan out of the club.”

“You don’t know that!” I shrieked, ticked off that she was still calling Corona by his first name. Hadn’t she cozied up to him enough? “ Corona got really upset when he heard that Dan was here,” I went on, “and he said he was going to talk to Frank about it!”

“So?”

Aaaargh!

“So he was talking about Frank Costello!” I cried. “The crime lord who owns the Copa. Don’t you get what that means? It means he’s going to talk to Costello about having Dan rubbed out!”

Abby cocked her head and gave some thought to the things I’d said-but she still wasn’t convinced. “Gee, I don’t know, Paige. Sounds like a stretch to me. You could be overreacting, you know.”

“Yes, but what if I’m not?” I paused to let the full weight of my words sink in. “Don’t you see, Ab? I can’t just float around, waiting to find out what’s going to happen. Costello’s here tonight. And he probably has a couple of hit men with him! Dan could be killed at any minute. I’ve got to warn him before it’s too late!”

She propped one hand on her hip and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “And how do you plan to do that, Nat? Make a person-to-person phone call? Dispatch a carrier pigeon? Send him a singing telegram?”

“Stop it! This isn’t a joking matter. I’ve got to find Dan at the bar right now and give him the lowdown.”

“And how are you going to explain the wig, my friend? Or that skimpy dress you’re wearing? If Dan sees you like this, he’s going to kill you.”

“Who cares?” I cried. “Dan’s life is more important to me than my own!” (That sounds really sappy, I know, but what do you want from me? A woman who’s wildly in love is supposed to be sappy.)

Abby shrugged and rolled her eyes again. “Have it your way, Doris Day,” she said. “It’s your funeral.”

I stuck my head out from behind the big white-and-gold palm tree and searched the bar area for Dan. This time I spied him at once. He was sitting at the end of the bar, his back to the counter, smoking a cigarette, and gazing at the crowd. He looked very relaxed and handsome in his dark gray suit and royal blue tie. I ducked back behind the palm tree, pulse racing out of control.