I gave her a grateful nod and snatched a cigarette out of the box, then quickly lit it with the large silver table lighter. After a couple of deep, tranquilizing drags, I found my tongue. “Okay, so I’m a woman,” I said, “but why is that so important? And what are the ‘special problems’ you feel no man could understand?”
“I will explain everything in a moment,” she said, “but it’s a rather delicate situation. May I rely on your discretion?”
“Of course,” I said, without thinking. “Discretion is my middle name. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to keep a-”
I clammed up when Charlotte reentered the library with our drinks. Who knew how much she knew about Virginia Pratt? Or how much Sabrina wanted her to know? I sat in silence as Charlotte set our whiskey sours on the table in front of us and informed Sabrina that lunch was ready to be served.
“Have the asparagus spears been properly chilled?” Sabrina asked her.
“Yes, mum,” she said.
“And the dressing for the salmon has been prepared?”
“Yes, it has.”
“The soup is hot and the bread is quite warm?”
“Oh, yes, mum.”
Sabrina tilted her head back, slowly raised her soft gray eyes, and gave her towering maid an approving smile. “Thank you, Charlotte,” she said. “Mrs. Turner and I have an important matter to discuss. We’ll be in as soon as we’ve finished our cocktails.”
Apparently she hadn’t noticed that I’d finished mine already.
Chapter 4
HAVE YOU EVER HAD THE SENSATION THAT you’ve been plucked off the Earth and plunked down on another planet? That you’re twirling around on a foreign globe in an entirely different galaxy? Then you know how I felt that Wednesday afternoon as I sat on the cream-colored couch in Sabrina Stanhope’s luxurious library, listening to a tale so aberrant and unexpected it was almost beyond my comprehension. My head was swimming and my stomach was churning (and it had nothing to do with the chugalugged cocktail-I swear!).
Sabrina was sitting calmly in her black leather chair, smoking a cigarette, sipping her whiskey sour, and revealing the shocking truth about her private life and her personal affiliation with Virginia Pratt as if there were nothing the least bit unusual about either. She had been talking for just a few minutes, but I’d experienced so many different emotions during her brief monologue, it felt more like a month to me. And in spite of Sabrina’s ordinary tone, and the casual, offhand way she concluded her confession, I still found her disclosure astounding, practically impossible to accept.
“I don’t believe it!” I said to her. “You’re making the whole thing up!”
“I promise you I’m not,” she insisted, thin lips curling in an enigmatic smile. “My situation is exactly as I have described it.”
“But how can that be?” I blustered. “You’re not the type to get involved in anything sordid or disreputable! You’re refined and sophisticated. You live in a posh apartment overlooking Gramercy Park. You have elegant clothes and jewelry, and a devoted maid. Jeez! You even have a library!” I sounded more Bettylike than ever.
Sabrina smiled again. “It’s really very simple, Paige, but since you’re so skeptical and confused, I’ll spell it out for you one more time. Please listen carefully. I don’t want to have to go over this again.” She paused for a moment, cleared her throat, then gave me a curt, matter-of-fact, but nonetheless mind-boggling summation.
“I was born into a wealthy and prestigious family,” she said, “raised by governesses and educated in Switzerland. I used to be a fashionable, celebrated socialite-a true lady of leisure- but my circumstances have changed. Now I have to earn my own living. Now I own and operate my own business-a very professional, very successful escort service. I am, in fact, what you would call a ‘madam,’ and I manage an exclusive salon of the smartest, loveliest, highest-priced call girls in the city. Virginia Pratt was one of my girls-the most desirable and high-priced of them all.”
“But the newspapers said she was a secretary!” I protested. “For a 23rd Street accounting firm!”
“And so she was. But only during the day. At night she was a luminous temptress who was wined, dined, and adored by some of the richest, most powerful men in Manhattan.”
“Men you procured for her, I suppose.” It was a statement, not a question, pronounced with a hint of sarcasm. The truth was finally sinking in.
“Yes, of course,” Sabrina agreed, straightening her shoulders and brushing a wave of ash-blonde hair off her forehead. “My upper-crust background is finally being put to good use. During my debutante days I became friends with many wealthy young men who were on their way to becoming important. Now they are important, and even wealthier than before, and some are clients as well as friends. They’re very eager to enjoy-and more than happy to pay for-the company of the beautiful, exciting, accommodating young women I provide.”
“Do your clients ever give your… er, girls expensive gifts?” I was thinking about the mink jacket, satin dress, diamond jewelry, and lacy lingerie found wrapped in the bedsheet with Virginia ’s body.
“Some do and some don’t. And sometimes it depends on the girl. Virginia, for instance, received many such offerings.”
I gave Sabrina a steady, penetrating look. “Was Virginia on an arranged date with one of your rich, important friends the night she was killed?”
She sighed and nodded sadly. “Yes she was, and I’m anxious to talk to you about that. But let’s go into the dining room now, shall we? We can continue our conversation over lunch.”
MINUTES LATER WE WERE SEATED AT ONE END of the long mahogany table in Sabrina’s formal dining room, savoring our freshly baked bread and French onion soup, and having a genteel dialogue about prostitution and murder.
“ Virginia was a wonderful person,” Sabrina said, dabbing at her mouth with a white linen napkin. “She was as bright and talented and kind as she was beautiful. All the other girls loved her-and so did I.”
The proverbial heart of gold, I thought, wondering if every hooker had one. “You said she was your most desirable and- how shall I say?-expensive girl, so I guess your clients loved her, too.”
“They did indeed. She was the fair-haired favorite. Only my top clients could afford her, though, and I had a hard time arranging her schedule to satisfy their frequent, often overlapping demands.”
I swallowed the last mouthful of my soup, set the spoon on the plate, and politely inquired, “Which one of your clients was having his demands satisfied the night of the murder?” (I wasn’t being sarcastic now; I was just being curious. Insanely, obsessively, about-to-lose-my-cool curious. Could the name of that one client be the only clue needed to crack the case?)
Sabrina returned her napkin to her lap and gave me a penetrating gaze. “Before I answer your questions, Paige, I must ask you to answer mine.”
“Oh?” I said. “What questions are you referring to?” I didn’t recall being asked anything other than what kind of cocktail I wanted.
“There are several things I need to know before we can proceed,” she said. “First on the list is how much you will charge to undertake this private investigation for me. Don’t be shy. I intend to compensate you handsomely for your time, and if you succeed in identifying the murderer, I will give you a generous bonus.”
“You don’t have to pay me one dime, Sabrina. I was determined to investigate this story before I ever talked to you. Virginia died a horrendous death, and I’d like nothing better than to see the creep who killed her behind bars. I’m sure my editor will feel the same way, and I expect he’ll assign this story to me as soon as I get back to the office. So, you see, I’ll be delving into this homicide for Daring Detective magazine, and couldn’t possibly accept any money from you. I will, however, be very grateful for any information you can give me.”