Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery Read online

  “Is it possible that Cliff murdered Caro?”

  Angela stares away for a few seconds. “There are a lot of things about Cliff that are strange, but I can’t see him killing anybody.”

  “Maybe he really was in love with Caro.”

  Angela shrugs. “All I know is he was desperate for a date last week and called me at the last minute.

  “The evening was totally weird. All the men wore full face masks.”

  “Are you saying no one knew who anyone else was?”

  “Oh, no. Most of the men knew each other. At least Cliff seemed to know quite a few. But no one called anybody by his right name, and they spoke in some kind of code.”

  “What kind of code?”

  “They had different names. Like Cliff is Jay Three. Oh, and they rated the women. One to ten.”

  “Did you see Caro that night?”

  “When Cliff left me in the hallway for a few minutes, I heard my name being called. It was Caro. She was leaning over the upstairs railing. She looked so happy.”

  I move to Angela’s bed and put my arms around her. “I know you feel horrible about what happened to Caro, but it was her life. She made the choices.”

  “Yes. She made the choices, but I don’t think she expected to be murdered. Nobody would.”

  “Okay, so this new guy gets her upstairs. Did she tell you what happened there?”

  “A couple performs while everybody watches.” “Performs?”

  She gives me a “you know” look.

  “You mean they have sex? In front of everybody?”

  “Caro said it was really about the man. That it was a test to prove a man’s ‘savoir faire.’”

  My mouth must drop open because Angela gives me an agreeing smirk. “Worse than that, Caro told me if another member likes the way a woman responds, he can ask to try her out. That’s the rule. No man can refuse. Refusing is considered bad manners.”

  “Hey, wait a minute. Doesn’t the woman have anything to say about it?”

  “Why should the women complain? They get paid—and plenty.”

  “Are you saying Caro wasn’t?”

  Angela shrugs off my question. “Two other men had her that night and there were others standing in line when the bell rang.

  “Caro was devastated. Said this guy promised her the time of her life. Said she didn’t expect to be treated like a common whore. She swore she was never going back.”

  A black hole in my stomach starts to grow. Does Angela know names? If so, she could also be in danger. “Did Caro ever name names?”

  “No. And I never asked.”

  ————

  Detective Greene pulls out the tape, scribbles something on the label and throws it into a large carton on the floor next to his file cabinet. “That’s even wilder than your last tale.”

  Angela sniffs. “And every word is true.” “And guess what? I believe you.”

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding for what seems like an eon. “Then, she isn’t a suspect?”

  “I didn’t exactly say that.” He turns to Angela. “Who’s Cliff?” She shakes her head. “No. I won’t—I can’t involve him.”

  “You may have to.”

  Greene grabs his notebook. “This is what we’ve learned so far. About two years ago a couple of high-profile, well-heeled chums decided to expand their sexual opportunities. Each recruited a friend who introduced a new woman at each party. Sort of like a pyramid scheme.

  “Sounds like Boys’ Night Out, but we know for a fact they’re dealing in prostitution and drugs. The DEA has corroborated this info. There’s an undercover agent planted pretty high up in the ranks.”

  I jump in. “Pardon me, but why are you even involved with this? Seems like that’s a job for the cops in Jersey.”

  He eyes me a few seconds then says. “Under ordinary circumstances we wouldn’t be. Except that the three murdered prostitutes who frequented the parties in Jersey all resided in the nineteenth. And now Miss Montoya makes four.

  “The DA has just authorized me to form a small unit to see if we can establish what the connection might be between the estate out in Jersey, these women and their pimp. That is, if you call a woman a pimp.”

  My sister’s icy hand tugs at my arm. “Is that all? Can we go?” Greene shakes his head. “Not quite yet.”

  “But I’ve cooperated. What more do you want?” “We want you to go to the next party.”

  Angela’s voice hits the top note. “You’ve got to be kidding.” “No way in hell,” I cry. “She’s been through enough.”

  Greene holds up his free hand. “I understand your reluctance to return to The Castle after what happened to your roommate, Miss Armington, but you’re the first real break we’ve gotten in this case. You’ve actually been to the place. And this guy Cliff is a member. How about it?”

  Angela jumps up. “Read my lips. I’m leaving as soon as I can book a flight.”

  “Sit. Please.” Greene waits until she’s down, then leans forward. “At least help us with Danes. We need him to make this work. I can’t arrest him, but he just might come by your hotel room for a drink if you asked him.”

  Chapter 6

  CLIFF MUST HAVE A PORTRAIT HIDDEN in his closet like the one owned by Dorian Gray. There isn’t a line in his face. He’s the image of suave elegance that comes from generations of being to the manor-born.

  He’s dressed in various shades of charcoal from a pale silk long-sleeved shirt, darker gabardine pants, down to shiny black Gucci loafers with matching belt.

  Drink in hand, he lounges with one leg slung over the arm of the only comfortable chair in our tiny hotel room while Angela and I perch on the ends of the twin beds.

  “I’m sorry you have to be involved in this mess, Allie. It’s bad enough that Angela—” he takes a sip of his Scotch. “Of course, I take full responsibility.”

  He raises his eyes toward the ceiling and then looks my way. “Truthfully, I didn’t know what the drill was until we arrived at the party.”

  What a liar. I’m about to say so when Angela’s eyes beseech. “So after each party you’re supposed to leave with a different woman and your date with a different man?”

  Cliff turns to face my sister. His tone is measured but hardly casual. “Yes, but this time there was no trade. Angela returned home with me.”

  He drains his glass. “Well, if that’s all, I guess I’ll be on my way. Thanks for the drink.”

  I stand to block his way. “In case you’re interested, the police know pretty much everything that happens at those parties.”

  He pales and takes a small step backward. “Jesus. If they ever find out I’m involved, I’m dead.”

  I offer a small comfort. “I don’t think the police will nab you personally. They just want—”

  He looks at me as if I’m mindless. “The police are the least of my worries. I’m worried about the men at the top. Those people are très formidable.”

  I ignore his attempt at French. “I’m hoping you’ll help us.” “Help you? With what?”

  “Get back into The Castle.”

  He brushes past me and heads for the door. “No way in hell.” When Cliff opens it, Greene flashes his badge and backs him into the room.

  “You’re not going anywhere, Danes. Not until we have a little off-the-record chat.”

  Cliff puffs. “I am definitely not having any kind of chat. On or off the record.”

  Greene doesn’t miss a beat. “Okay, if you insist. Let’s head down to the precinct and handle business there.”

  Cliff gives an indignant sniff. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Fine. We’ll be happy to Mirandize you. And then you can call your attorney. But if you cooperate, it might go easier for you.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “Ever spent time in prison?”

  Cliff pales, gropes for the chair and slides into it. “For taking a date to a private party?”

  “You crossed state lines. Ho
w do we know you didn’t plan to use Miss Armington as a prostitute?” “Hold on here. My sister—”

  Angela cuts me off. “I can assure you that I was downstairs the whole evening, thank-you-very-much.”

  The detective ignores us. “We could probably nail you for participating in a pandering operation. Or, as an accessory to drug-trafficking.” He pauses to let his words sink in. “I guess a good attorney could get you off, but it’ll be all over the press when it breaks.”

  Cliff buries his face in his hands for a few seconds, then looks up. “And if I cooperate?”

  “I can pretty much promise to make this go away.”

  The color returns to Cliff ’s face and he leans back in his chair. “No harm in asking the details.”

  “We want you to attend the next party and make a trade.” “Tell me why I should.”

  “Miss Armington wasn’t traded. Make a trade this trip and we’re in like Flynn. Each man she meets will be researched and profiled. All we need is a few names to make the subpoenas stick.” Angela breaks in. “Look, Greene, I told you I’m not hanging around here long enough for that.”

  She turns to me and gives an impish grin. “But maybe Allie might.”

  My mouth drops open as my heart begins to race. What is it that attracts me to danger? The adrenalin rush? That perilous but exciting walk on the ragged edge?

  When I was a child my crazy stunts drove my parents nuts. I climbed the highest trees, jumped out of the loft in my grandfather’s barn and did any other stupid daredevil thing I could dream up. And even though I’m an adult and a successful attorney, I still crave that excitement.

  Cliff ’s head swivels my way. “Her? She doesn’t remotely look like—sorry, Allie.”

  His words sting, but he speaks the truth. Angela is the beauty of our family with high cheekbones, a classic nose and some long lost ancestor’s tawny tint to her hair.

  My genes are slightly rearranged. I’m almost as tall, almost as pretty, except my mousy-brown mop frizzes at the slightest provocation.

  I shoot him a baleful look, then turn to Greene. “A trip to The Castle? How intriguing.”

  Cliff studies me a few seconds. “Why on earth would you accept such an offer? I thought you had some high-powered job in Houston.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but things are slow at the law firm right now. Actually, I have no prospective clients at the moment. So, when Angela called, I decided to go ‘of counsel’ and take a short leave of absence.”

  Cliff shakes his head. “I get it that you’re bored and looking for some sort of kick in the pants, but why would you stick your neck out for Carolina Montoya? You hardly know—knew her.”

  “Oh, but I did know Caro—well. I was very fond of her. She did me a big favor that ultimately saved my career. So, to my mind, I owe her one. If I can help the police find out who murdered her, it would mean a lot to me.”

  Greene glances my way, then back at Cliff. “Frankly, Danes, we don’t have time to get one of our own into The Castle. I’m crossing a line by taking a chance using a non-Blue but, damn it, time is running out.

  “Miss Armington may not be a dead ringer for her sister, but with some help from a makeup artist, I think we can make it work. And since you didn’t make a trade the first time, nobody should be the wiser.”

  Cliff ’s face is like putty. “You don’t have a clue who you’re dealing with.”

  “You’re right. We don’t. That’s why we’ve got to get in there.” Cliff waves toward Angela. “So she just disappears?”

  Angela flashes one of her famous klieg-light beams. “There can be only one Angela Armington. One of us has to get out of here.”

  “She’s right,” I say. “As far as we know, Caro’s killer hasn’t met Angela. But on the off chance he might come sniffing around, Angela will be alone.”

  Chapter 7

  THE BIG NIGHT HAS ARRIVED. I pace the living room, glimpsing the new me in the mirror each time I pass. Why didn’t I think of using a henna rinse before? I’ve always envied Angela’s auburn hair. It would have been so simple to add a little spice to my dingy brown.

  I brush one errant strand back in place and inspect my makeup. Too much blush for my taste, but I have to admit it looks good. The lipstick, eye shadow and mascara are brighter than my usual palette, but thanks to a makeup artist, I look a lot more like the fabulous Angela Armington than anyone would believe.

  Greene looks up from the newspaper he’s thumbed through. It’s plain he’s as much on edge as I am. “Nervous?”

  “A little.”

  I smooth the waist of my strapless winter-white velvet sheath, take a deep breath and caress the triple strand pearl choker circling my neck. Greene got it through some fence he knows.

  He folds the paper and tosses it to the floor. “The boys are all set up in the flat downstairs. Be thankful your sister didn’t rent it out. It’s a perfect setup for surveillance.”

  At least Angela didn’t stow me down there. The maid’s room looks like heaven compared to that place.

  When the front bell rings, Greene stands and peers out the window. “It’s Danes. We’re in business.”

  He gathers Angela’s black full-length mink from the couch. “Look, don’t worry. My sources tell me the illegal stuff is all conducted upstairs, so I’m sure you’ll be all right. All you have to do is look and listen.”

  I give into my greatest fear. “What about the trade at the end of the evening? What do I do then?”

  “From what we’ve learned, that part of the action is on the up-and-up. As a rule, a trade is prearranged. Avoids ‘double-booking.’ The main goal is to have you make that trade. Then we’re on our way.

  “If you feel comfortable, ask the new guy in. If not, don’t. It’s entirely up to you.”

  My heart skips a few beats, then begins to race at the thought of the unknown—a little scary, but definitely exciting.

  After Greene helps me into the heavy coat I say, “I know you have the townhouse bugged, but is there any way I can contact you if things get tight?”

  “Not to worry. You’ll be well covered once you get back here.” He points toward the back of the house. “If the evening starts to go south, we’ll give you a call on the extension in the kitchen. I suggest you make up a plausible excuse in advance then go over it in your head a couple of times so you won’t stumble over the facts. Something like a surprise visit from an old boyfriend who needs a place to crash.”

  Chapter 8

  EVEN THOUGH IT’S PAST SEVEN, the Upper Manhattan traffic moves like glue until we finally make it across Central Park and turn south toward the Holland Tunnel.

  We’re through Newark and speeding down the Jersey Turnpike before Cliff says, “I hope to hell this works.”

  He gives me a glance, then concentrates on the road. “I have to admit, you look more like Angela than I thought. Are you anything like her?”

  That’s an interesting question. I study him for a while before answering. He’s wearing a midnight-blue tuxedo with a matching turtleneck. On him it looks good. But then, he was born knowing how to dress.

  “Angela and I are alike in as many ways as we are different.” He scowls. “Oh, God, I forgot you’re a lawyer. By the way, have you talked with Angela lately? Is she okay?”

  Is she? I wonder to myself. It’s tough to admit, but once my sister was out of the picture, I didn’t give her another thought.

  “She’s fine. Happy to be out of this mess.”

  We ride a few more miles before I try a gentle probe. “Angela tells me you and Caro were very close.”

  Cliff keeps his eyes on the road, but I notice his jaw clenches.

  When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but sad. “I really thought she might finally be the one. Unfortunately, she had other ideas.” After we spend the next minutes in silence, I change the subject. “Are there any rules I should know about?”

  He relaxes his grip on the steering wheel and glances my wa
y. “The party begins promptly at nine and ends at eleven sharp.”

  “That’s nice to know, but surely the powers-that-be must have some guidelines.”

  “Only a few. The women must be beautiful, not of the family, so to speak, and personally vetted.”

  I ignore the supercilious bastard’s insinuation. “I understand the beauty part, but what’s ‘not of the family’?”

  “We bring women in from other—venues.” “Oh, I get it. None of your class allowed.”

  He gives me a toothy smile. “That’s right. We protect our own.”

  We get off the Turnpike at the Garden State Parkway at exit 117 and go right. When the road narrows, I strain to catch the name on a signpost, but it’s too dark and Cliff is driving too fast. Even with the speed, it takes us well over an hour to arrive at the imposing stone gates.

  Two men in tuxes come to each side of the car.

  The window on Cliff ’s side hums down. “Jay Three and date.” The man on my side sticks a flashlight in my face while the other turns through several pages and says, “Angela Armington. She was your date last time. You know that’s against the rules.”

  “I got a dispensation from the Cardinal. Better go over that list again.”

  The man looks up. “Sorry, sir. Here it is. Please proceed to Station Two.”

  The gates swing open and Cliff moves the car slowly through them.

  “What was that all about?”

  He shakes his head. “Just a formality. Don’t concern yourself.” “What’s with the Jay Three?”

  “That’s the name they gave me. The ‘three’ means I’m in the third alphabet panel.”

  “So there’s a Jay One and a Jay Two?”

  “Except the first twenty-six members were given names instead of letters. Javelin is the codename of the first Jay. He was my sponsor at my initiation. I’m the sixty-second member to join—still in the cream.”

  The first time Angela introduced me to Cliff he ran through his lineage. There might have been a few names that struck a bell back then, but none I remember, so I continue with the questions. “What’s Station Two?”