Dial Me for Murder (26 page)

I thanked her profusely and gave her a dollar, an expansive gesture that—since I’d splurged on a pair of shoes that afternoon, and bought a bunch of stuff for lunch, and repaid the eight bucks Abby had loaned me over the last couple of days— left me with three singles, three quarters, one dime, one nickel, and two pennies. Not that I was counting.

As I left the lavatory and entered the plush, gray-carpeted lounge, the door to the room burst open, and a woman in a turquoise taffeta cocktail dress burst in. Her green eyes were flashing with fury, and her light brown pageboy was flying out of control. She rushed straight over to me, grabbed me by the shoulders, and stared intently at my face.

“So it really
is
you!” she spluttered. “I thought it was, but with the blonde wig I wasn’t so sure. What the hell are you doing here? Are you following me or something?”

I almost wet my pants (again). It was Jocelyn Fritz, otherwise known as Candy, and she was
not
happy to see me.

“Following you?” I rasped, keeping my voice down to a near whisper. (I didn’t want to alarm the little woman hiding in the washroom.) “Why on earth would I be following you? I didn’t even know you were here.”

“Does Sabrina know?” Now she looked frightened as well as furious.

“That you’re here?” I said. “I don’t think so. She knew I was coming, so I’m sure she would have mentioned it if she thought you were, too.”

Jocelyn heaved a harsh sigh, released her grip on my shoulders, then spun around and sat down on one of the posh pink-and-gray-striped chairs in front of the glass-topped makeup counter. She propped her elbows on the counter and dropped her head in her hands, covering her face with her fingers.

“Are you okay?” I probed, quickly sitting down next to her. “You seem really upset. What’s the matter?”

She raised her head and gave me a guarded look. “I can’t tell you,” she said. “You’d just make trouble for me, and God knows I’m in enough of that already.”

“Trouble?” I croaked. “What kind of trouble?”

“Forget about it. It’s none of your business.”

“Does it have anything to do with Melody’s murder?”

She didn’t answer.

“Because if it does, then it
is
my business, and I need you to tell me exactly what’s going on.” I peered deep into her anxious eyes and gave her my sternest Susan Hayward scowl.

Jocelyn turned away from me and looked at herself in the mirror. Then she sat up straight, poked her nose in the air, and patted her pageboy back into place. “Nice try, Sherlock,” she said, “but it won’t work. You’d better back off. I’ve told you too much already.”

Backing off was not a specialty of mine. “You must be referring to what you said about Sam Hogarth and Tony Corona,” I pressed on. “You were really serious when you called them ‘devils in disguise.’ I’ve been wondering why you used those particular words, and why you never voiced them to Sabrina.”

She whipped around to face me again. “So, did you tell her what I said?” Her distress was palpable. Likewise, her annoyance.

“Of course I did!” Jocelyn was starting to tick me off. “Your statement was relevant to the murder, you know! And Sabrina and I are desperately trying to identify the monster who killed Melody. Remember her? The poor girl who was stripped naked, tied up, and exterminated last Monday night? She used to be your best friend . . . or so you said. And if that was the case, why would you want to keep your suspicions about her death secret from Sabrina?”

I had hit a nerve. Jocelyn’s shoulders slumped and her chin fell to her chest. She was silent for a few moments, then said, “Melody
was
my best friend. We were as different as night and day, but I loved and respected her more than you can imagine. And I didn’t mean to hamper your investigation in any way. I swear.”

“Then what the hell’s going on? What are you trying to hide?”

Her shoulders slumped even lower. “My own guilt,” she mumbled, suddenly looking very guilty indeed.

“Oh, my god!” I gasped, heart banging against my breastbone. “Are you saying that you had something to do with the murder?”

Jocelyn groaned, threw her hands up, and snapped, “Good lord, no! I’m saying nothing of the kind! I may be a devious, dishonest, money-grubbing whore, but I’m no killer.”

“Then what else
are
you guilty of?” I pressured, praying for a straight answer. Getting information out of Jocelyn was like pulling molars from the mouth of a mastodon.

“If I tell you, do you promise not to tell Sabrina?”

“Yes,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back, “but only if it has nothing to do with the murder, and if it won’t hurt Sabrina’s well-being or livelihood in any way.”

“Take my word for it, Paige, what Sabrina doesn’t know won’t hurt her. The only person who stands to get hurt is me.”

“Okay, then, shoot,” I said, offering her a cigarette and lighting one myself, hoping the nicotine would loosen her tongue and my nerves. “I’m all ears.” (My failure to show Jocelyn any sympathy at this point was a result of severe time restrictions, you should know. No lie! If I didn’t get back to my table before Corona came out on stage, there’d be the devil to pay—whether he was in disguise or not.)

Jocelyn took a deep drag on her cigarette, blew out a great
whoosh
of smoke and said, “Look, I’m not proud to admit it, but here’s the story: I really
am
a devious, dishonest, money-grubbing whore. I’ve been servicing Sam Hogarth and Tony Corona on the sly for almost two years. When Melody joined the agency and took over the wealthiest clients, I lost a few perks and a fair amount of income. To make up for it, I gave Sam and Tony my home phone number and told them they could bypass the agency and dial me direct; that I would charge them a lot less than Sabrina charged for Melody.”

“Oh, so
that’s
it,” I said, not totally surprised. “And I take it they both accepted your offer.”

“In an instant. As filthy rich as they are, they both jumped at the chance to save a few bucks. And they’re still jumping. Sam calls me at least once a week for a lunchtime quickie, and Tony’s so oversexed he hooks up with me every day or so when he’s in town. I’m making a hell of a lot more money than I was before.”

“And you’re sure Sabrina doesn’t know?”

“She doesn’t have a clue. She thinks I haven’t set eyes on either one of them since they started dating Melody. That’s why I couldn’t reveal my true feelings about Sam and Tony to her. I knew she’d wonder how I came to develop such strong suspicions, and then it would be just a matter of time before she figured out what I was up to. And I couldn’t afford to let that happen. If Sabrina ever realizes that I’ve been seeing her top two clients on the sneak and beating her out of her cut, she’ll kick me out of the agency for good.”

I was thoroughly disgusted by Jocelyn’s confession. “Oh, now I get it,” I said, voice dripping with contempt. “You want to keep screwing Sabrina no matter what, right? The almighty dollar is more important to you than helping to solve your best friend’s murder.”

“No, that’s not the way it is!” Jocelyn cried, eyes begging me to understand. “I told
you
my true thoughts, didn’t I? I knew Sabrina had hired you to look for the killer, and I really wanted to help you in your search. And I
did
help! I gave you the dope on Sam and Tony even though I was putting myself at risk. Don’t I at least get a good grade for that?”

D minus,
I said to myself, feeling anything but forgiving. If Jocelyn had told Sabrina how she felt about Hogarth and Corona
before
the murder, Sabrina would have crossed them both off her client list, and Melody might still be alive. I wanted to castigate Jocelyn for her greedy and thoughtless behavior, but I didn’t have the heart—or the time—for such a sad and futile confrontation.

“If you really want to help me,” I hurried on, “you’ll tell me why you called Hogarth and Corona devils in disguise, and how you came to the conclusion that one of them killed Melody.”

She blew another plume of smoke in my direction. “Look, I don’t have any proof of anything, okay? All I have are my opinions. And as far as I’m concerned, both of these creeps are homicidal hypocrites. Tony’s a talented charmer with a vile temper and strong Mafia connections, and Sam’s a heartless pervert posing as a devoted public servant. I believe either one of them is capable of murder.”

“But
why
do you believe that? Are your opinions based on pure conjecture or something real?”

“Hey, you can tell a lot about a man by the way he acts in the sack,” she declared, “and Tony and Sam are both brutal in the bedroom. Neither one has ever really injured me, or anything like that, but they’d like to. I can feel it. Sam enjoys pretending he’s a rapist—ripping my clothes off and taking me against my will—and Tony likes to spank me and tie me up. Sometimes he uses handcuffs.” She grimaced and smashed her cigarette in one of the crystal ashtrays on the makeup counter. “The point is, neither one of them ever wants any tenderness or affection. They just want sex. Hard, rough, unfriendly sex.”

“Did they treat Melody the same way?”

“Who knows? Melody wouldn’t discuss her johns with me or anybody—not even Sabrina. The subject of sex always embarrassed her.”

“Did Hogarth or Corona ever say anything to you about Melody?”

“Tony never did. And neither did Sam . . . until tonight.”

A jolt of electricity shot up my spine. “You spoke to Hogarth tonight?”

“I spoke to him
and
Tony tonight. Tony called earlier to tell me he’d reserved a table for me and my date for the eight o’clock show, as I’d requested, and then I had a little chat with Sam just a few minutes ago at the bar. I spotted him when I was chasing you to the ladies’ room.”

“What?” I screeched. “You mean Hogarth is here at the Copa right now?” Blood was rushing to my head so fast I thought it would explode.

“Yeah, crazy, huh? What are the chances of both suspects being here, under the same roof with you and me, at the same time? Tony is probably onstage already, singing his evil little heart out, and Sam must have left his lawyer cronies at the bar and joined his wife upstairs. Tony reserved a table for them in the mezzanine, with all the other celebrities and criminals. “

A dark memory stirred in the depths of my brain, and then dug its way out to the light. I recalled sitting on the couch in the waiting room of the district attorney’s office, eavesdropping while his blushing receptionist yakked and flirted on the phone. She was saying something about her boss and his wife, and Friday night, and the Copacabana at eight o’clock sharp. She must, I realized with a start, have been talking to Tony Corona.

Aaargh.
The signal had been blinking all along, but I’d been too dim to pay attention.

“Did you know that Hogarth was going to be here tonight?”

“Not on your life,” Jocelyn insisted. “If I had known, I would’ve made my date take me someplace else. I don’t mind watching Tony perform, prancing around like he’s God’s greatest gift to women. After all, he’s a really good singer. But it makes me sick to my stomach to see Sam pulling the wool over everybody’s eyes, strutting around in public like a fine, upstanding law enforcer when he’s a vicious rapist at heart. He’s got the morals of a goat, but everybody treats him like a god.”

I wanted to know more about Jocelyn’s involvement with Hogarth and Corona—and about Hogarth’s and Corona’s involvement with each other—but the clock was ticking too fast. I had to stick to the big questions.

“What did Hogarth say about Melody?” I urged, breathless to get back to my prime concern. “How did her name come up?”

“I brought it up myself, just to get a reaction. I asked him if he missed Melody as much as I did.”

“What a nervy question!” I said. “How did he answer it?”

“He didn’t. Not with words. But if looks could kill, I’d be deader than a goddamn doornail.”

“That’s it? He just gave you a dirty look? That’s all that happened?”

“No. After he knifed me with his steely stare, he winked and smirked and said, ‘Who’s Melody?’ He looked so smug and cocky I wanted to spit in his face.”

“I hope you didn’t.”

“No, I thought better of it.”

“So, what
did
you do?” I implored. “What happened next?” I sucked down one last blast of smoke and stubbed out my cigarette.

“Well, first I answered his arrogant question,” she said, looking pretty arrogant herself. “I said that Melody was Virginia Pratt, and he damn well knew it! Then I leaned real close and whispered in his ear that if he wasn’t careful, a few other people would know it, too.”

“Oh, my God, Jocelyn! You threatened him? Are you completely out of your mind? You shouldn’t have done that!”

“I know, I know!” Her haughty expression warped into a grimace of fear. “Why do you think I’m so upset? I can’t imagine what got into me. I saw red, and completely lost my cool. I wanted to wipe that ugly smirk off Sam’s face and bring him to his knees. I wanted to shock him into thinking I knew something about the murder, then watch to see if he would do or say something incriminating.”

“And did he?” I croaked. (I’m ashamed to say my curiosity outweighed my concern.)

“No, not really, but—”

The door to the ladies’ lounge flew open, and three very silly, very drunk young ladies tottered in. Giggling, weaving, and hanging on to each other like muddle-headed monkeys in a strong wind, they made their way across the room and disappeared in the recesses of the lavatory. Their whoops and shrieks echoed loudly against the white-tiled walls.

Through the still-open lounge door I could hear a man singing. It was Tony Corona, of course, and he was wrapping his killer voice around the lyrics to the popular old standard “Fools Rush In.” Realizing that I’d missed my demanding host’s big entrance and had to get back to the table fast, I gave Jocelyn a hasty excuse, made a mad dash for the door, and— charging through it like a witless fool—rushed in where angels fear to tread.