Death Turns A Trick (Rebecca Schwartz #1) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

provided for every fantasy, from Kandi the prom queen to Renée the storybook whore. Even an exotic woman of mystery. Me.
    My musical plan for the evening was to intersperse Scott Joplin with old-timey whorehouse blues and, since the guests would have dates and so would I, a few romantic favorites: “These Foolish Things,” “As Time Goes By,” that sort of thing. But Scott Joplin first, to set a rollicking mood.
    Every light in the place was controlled by a dimmer, and Elena had set them low to produce a rosy glow. As I sat down at the piano stool, Renee walked by and made me think of the Place Pigalle, so I played “Milord” instead of “Maple Leaf Rag.” It upset my plan, but it was perfect guest-welcoming music.
    The FDOs and their dates arrived in breathless groups of twos and fours, practically shaking themselves like wet birds. They lost no time in handing their raingear to the genial hostesses and getting into the party spirit. I tried to give each new group what I believe is called a broad wink.
    They were dressed for a party, those people, the men in coats and ties and the women in silk dresses, showing lots of skin.
    For a while, Elena was kept busy answering the door, while the other four served champagne, which is the only appropriate drink for a bordello. Every time Kandi swept by, she left a little cloud of tiny feathers in her wake, causing me to sneeze and miss an occasional note. But that, and the fact that working the pedals made it nearly impossible to preserve any semblance of decency—with that slit in my skirt—were my only hardships. Every now and then, someone brought me a glass of champagne, so I was in a wonderful mood by the time Parker arrived.
    It was time for a break, so I took one. “Irma La Douce, I presume,” he said by way of greeting.
    I got up and showed off. “Like my outfit?”
    “What there is of it.”
    “Am I fascinating?”
    “Scintillating,” he said. “You look like a mill—I mean, at least three or four hundred.”
    I put a hand on my hip and thrust my chest out. “I could give you a deal.”
    “Rebecca!” said a female voice. It was Stacy, holding a silver tray loaded with full champagne glasses. “What is this—amateur hour?”
    “Stacy,” I said, “this is Parker. My date.”
    She gave us champagne and floated away. “One of your clients?” asked Parker.
    “Uh huh. You can tell the whores by the length of their skirts.”
    Parker looked horrified. “What’s the big deal?” I asked. “We were all wearing miniskirts a few—” I stopped because he was no longer listening. Apparently, the big deal wasn’t anything I said. It was something his eyes were following, something on the other side of the room. I looked, but all I saw was a knot of people taking drinks from a tray Kandi was holding.

Chapter Six
     
    The cops offered Elena a terrific deal: they said they'd be convinced I wasn't a car thief if she'd come down to the Hall and pay her two hundred dollars worth of traffic warrants.
    She told me to sit tight while she took a taxi to HYENA headquarters and borrowed money from the bail fund. I asked her if she'd look around for my purse and bring it along.
    “I found it awhile ago,” she said, “and I realized you'd be locked out. So I sent Kandi to take it to you.”
    “Did she phone when I didn't turn up?”
    “Come to think of it, no. I guess she’s still waiting for you.”
    * * *
     
    “Rebecca, my dear, Elena said, “you looked stunning, but my God!” Jeannette von Phister, the founder of HYENA, pecked my cheek, and I turned to introduce Parker, but he wasn’t there. I figured he’d wandered off.
    “Twenty-five dollars at Magnarama,” I said. “The whole outfit.”
    Jeannette herself, in a decorous brown wool dress, looked, as always, like a well-groomed publicist. Though she called herself a “retired call girl,” there was a malicious rumor that she’d never turned a trick in her life.
    “I just got here,” she said. “Elena asked me because I set it up—I wouldn’t say that’s procuring, under the circumstances, would you? Isn’t it a kick?”
    “Especially for the likes of me,” I said.
    Jeannette raised an eyebrow. “Come, now. You make a great-looking little hooker. Are we still having dinner tomorrow night?”
    “Of course.”
    “Seven-thirty,” she said, “at the Washington Square Bar and Grill. I’ve got a proposition for you.”
    And she was off before I could make any witless jokes