by Sasscer Hill
Klaire parked the Jag and left the engine going just as the door to the agency burst open and a bunch of uniformed officers herded and shoved a dozen or so young women toward the white van. It was noisy, the women yelling at the cops, and the cops shouting back and pushing some of the loudest female protestors hard.
“Crap,” she said. “We’re too late.”
One girl fell onto the pavement. A cop leaned over to pull her to her feet, and I could see Carla just behind him.
“That’s Carla!” I tried to find my door handle. But I was unfamiliar with the car, and groped a moment. I found the handle, only to discover I was locked in. “Klaire, open this!”
“No,” she said. “That’s a prostitution bust. You don’t want to go out there.”
“I don’t care,” I shouted. “Let me out.”
A cop shoved the young woman who’d fallen and Carla into the white police van. Quieter and more sullen now, the last few women were quickly herded inside. The cops slammed the double doors shut and three of them jumped into the front of the van. The other four rushed to the cruiser, their polished, heavy boots clapping against the pavement. The whole entourage revved up and screeched out of the parking lot.
“Go after her!” I said.
“Honey, she’s not going anywhere but the police station. The best thing we can do now is get her a lawyer.”
“But she’s not a prostitute!”
Klaire raised one brow. “Doesn’t matter. I told you I took some wrong turns—I used to be in the life. I don’t have to be a psychic to know that gal’s going to be processed.”
“Could you unlock the door? I have to get out of this car!” I was about to go psycho.
Klaire pushed a button, and my door lock clicked.
I climbed out of the car just as the door to the “agency” opened and Detective Rick Harman walked out.
CHAPTER 20
“Detective Harman,” I called, rushing to him. “Why was Carla arrested? You know she’s not a hooker!”
“Hold on a minute,” he said, leveling brown eyes at me. “Your friend was in that gang of hookers they just hauled out?”
“Like you didn’t know!”
“I didn’t.” The lines around his mouth and eyes creased in confusion. “Why are you here?”
“Um…” I didn’t want to admit my appearance was due to visions of a psychic prostitute. I turned and looked at Klaire. “That woman in the car told me—”
I was saved from further stammering when Klaire cut her engine and climbed out of the Jaguar.
A smile played at the corners of Harman’s mouth. “Ms. Voyante. Imagine seeing you here. Thought you were out of the business.”
“You know I am,” she said.
“Hard to believe it when you show up at an escort service.”
Escort service? Damn it. But I didn’t want to stand around while Harman and Klaire caught up on old times.
I glared at Harman. “What about Carla Ruben?”
“Look, if she was up in the front with the officers removing the women, I didn’t see her. I came in the back with a couple of guys to secure the files and computers. Why don’t you tell me why she was here? For that matter,” he said, his gaze flicking from me to Klaire, “why don’t you both explain why you are here,”
The sun was heating up the pavement. Sweat trickled between my breasts and I could see beads forming on Harman’s forehead. I fanned myself, and Harman took the hint.
“Why don’t we step inside where it’s cooler, and you two can tell me all about it.”
* * * *
Inside the chilled reception area, misleading photos of attractive young women in conservative attire lined the walls above swanky furniture upholstered in plush taupe-and-brown fabric. The photos looked more like employee-of-the-month shots than girl-for-a-night rental ads.
I perched on a side chair, Harman sank into a big arm chair, and Klaire chose a love seat. I told him about George, the private eye.
“So,” I said, “when George told Carla about this place, she came to look for Jade. She asked me to go with her, but I couldn’t leave the track that early. Klaire was kind enough to give me a ride over.”
Harman snorted. “That’s Klaire, the milk of human kindness.” Still, the gleam in his eyes was friendly as he glanced at Klaire. “What’s the real story? You have a vision?”
“As a matter of fact, Rick, I did,” she said.
Huh, first name basis. Since Harman was in Vice, they probably had a long history. I stared at her as she lounged on the love seat looking perfectly relaxed. All traces of the breathy, soothsayer voice had vanished. Still, she had the Voodoo priestess beads in her hair and all those strange rings on her fingers.
Harman turned to Klaire, his expression thoughtful. “You know anything about another young woman? One that might have disappeared?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t.”
I leaned forward. “You mean another girl is missing? Like Jade?”
“That’s one of the reasons we’re here,” he said. “A gal who was working out of this place went missing a few days ago.”
“Is it…” I began.
He held up a hand. “It’s not the girl who died on Hallandale. And I only mention this new case to show you how dangerous any involvement is. Understand me, Ms. Latrelle?”
I let out a breath and settled back in my chair. “Sure, okay. But what about Carla? You know she doesn’t belong in jail with those other women. Can you do something to help her?”
“I’ll make a call for you,” he said.
“And I already called Matisse,” Klaire told Harman. Glancing at me, she said, “Before I got out of the car. He’s my lawyer. He’s on his way to the station.”
“Then we’ll get it sorted out,” Harman said. “I’m sorry Ms. Ruben got mixed up in this. But this is what happens when you people try to play detective. Listen up,” he said with a harder edge to his voice. “Stay out of trouble and let us do our job.”
Tough voice, but his concern seemed genuine enough, so I nodded. As I stood, exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I pressed my hand against the chair arm for support.
A uniformed officer appeared in the hallway. If he was surprised to see Klaire and me, he didn’t show it. “Detective Harman, those file drawers you found—and the two computers? We got ’em stowed in the van out back. Is that about it?”
“Yeah, we’re done, and these ladies are leaving.”
As Klaire and I moved to the door, Harman pulled a phone from his suit jacket. He’d better be making that call about Carla.
When I stepped outside, the acrid odor of tar rose from the blacktop. The palm trees shimmered in the heat, and thoughts percolated in my head.
Klaire’s vision had been spot on. No denying it. Harman had even asked her if she knew anything about another missing girl, as if maybe the police consulted her, like I’d heard they sometimes did with psychics. And he apparently had been in the back of the place with the files and computers. Maybe he hadn’t seen Carla.
* * * *
By the time Klaire drove me around the traffic circle in Hollywood, the sun had shifted to the western horizon. Traffic was building and a train just finishing its crawl across Hollywood Boulevard had worsened the congestion even more.
Outside the car, store front windows enticed shoppers with decorative artwork, lingerie, and paintings. The canvasses on display seemed lit from within by vivid blues, greens, and aqua colors. The lingerie favored hot pink, cream, and black satin.
At a stoplight, a woman who had to be at least seventy crossed the street. She wore a scoop-necked top, a snake-print mini-skirt, and fringed, black desert-boots. No one paid her any mind. Hard to tell the housewives from the hookers in South Florida.
Glancing at Klaire’s hands grasping the steering wheel, I studied the carved rings. A scorpion, a fish, a lion, a goat, and other astrological signs. Maybe they helped her read her customers?
“I’d go with you into
the station,” she said, “but I’ve got clients coming. Okay if I just drop you off there?”
“Sure,” I said.
The light changed, and Klaire eased the car forward. “Carla is fine,” she said. “I’d know if she wasn’t.”
My cell went off before I could reply with a smart comment.
Carla’s voice. “Nikki, it’s me.”
“Are you okay? I saw them put you in that police van. I—”
“You were there?”
I explained the whats and whys of my presence at the scene. “I’m on my way to the police station now.”
“Don’t bother,” Carla said. “We’re just leaving. Detective Harman…Rick…made some calls. He got me released. He’s driving me back to the hotel now. Thank your friend Klaire for that lawyer, but I didn’t need him.”
This had moved fast. Harman must have switched on the magic police lights in his car and whisked himself to the station to rescue Carla. Hell, they all fell for her.
“Nikki,” she said, “why don’t you come to the Diplomat and have a drink with me?
Thank God she was okay. But I had to get back to the barn and told her so.
“How about later?” I asked.
We made arrangements and disconnected.
Klaire smiled at me. “Didn’t I tell you? She’s fine, right?”
“For now.”
CHAPTER 21
Looking for Carla and the hotel bar that evening, I moved quietly in my sneakers across the polished-to-a-mirror finish of the Diplomat lobby floor. The rectangular pattern of black-on-white lines resembled a game of tic-tac-toe. With all that was going on, I felt like a mobile X hoping to fill in the questions left by Carla’s missing daughter. I just didn’t know who else played on the board.
Ahead of me, the hotel lobby rose into an atrium, with palm trees growing from unseen planters hidden beneath the patterned floor. The lobby ended in a glass wall. Outside, tiled terraces with tables, white cabanas, and multiple swimming pools descended toward the white sand stretching to the turquoise ocean.
I found the indoor bar. I’d assumed it would be dark, with disreputable politicians and doctors’ wives hidden away in the corners. But it was paneled in pale blond wood with matching chairs upholstered in soft blue. Orange paper lanterns hung over the bar. No booths, no curtains, no place to hide.
I spotted Carla’s luminescent hair and paused. She had her back to me and she wasn’t alone. Harman, his gaze intent on her face sat opposite her, facing in my direction. When he saw me, he nodded, which made Carla turn. She waved.
Harman was a good-looking man. Carla probably liked him.
“Buy you a drink?” he asked. “I think the department owes you one to make up for earlier. I think it owes Carla two.” He grinned and turned to catch the attention of a waitress.
Carla must have found time for a refresher in the ladies room. Her hair lay smooth to her shoulders. Her kohl liner highlighted her big eyes perfectly, but she’d missed a loose blond hair clinging to the fabric of her black top. I sat next to her, leaned forward, and picked it off.
“Glad you’re okay,” I said.
“Remind me not to go for any more rides in a police van.” She shook her head but smiled in Rick’s direction. “This guy was great. He pulled some strings and got me released immediately.”
“I didn’t want you entered into the system,” he said. “It’s hard to remove a name once the computers latch onto it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Just doing my job.”
He did have a nice smile. I watched him turn to the approaching waitress whose uniform was the same hot orange as the paper lanterns hanging over the bar. Since Rick’s department was buying, I ordered a shot of small batch Four Roses and water. He’d probably choke when the waitress presented the bill.
Carla was drinking Grey Goose and ordered another.
Harman looked at his wristwatch. “Ladies, I’m officially off duty.” His smile included the waitress. “Can you bring me a Heineken?”
“Detective Harman, can I call you Rick?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” he said.
“I was wondering about Klaire Voyante. Is she really a psychic? I mean does the department ever use her skills?”
“Vice doesn’t, but I think missing persons may have had occasion to call her.”
“Really?” Carla leaned forward, her expression intense. “Could she help us find Jade?”
“That, I don’t know too much about,” he said. “Don’t know the extent of her abilities. But keep in mind, she was a prostitute for years.”
“Everyone needs a job,” Carla said.
This got another smile from Rick. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask her,” he said. “Just don’t let her take your money.”
* * * *
If the bar bill was astronomically high when the waitress handed it to Rick, his face never gave it away. He barely glanced at the paper before pulling his wallet from inside his navy-blue blazer.
After paying, he said he had to go, but his hand lingered on Carla’s shoulder a moment before he left.
Carla asked the waitress for an appetizer menu, as Rick went through the door leading to the lobby. Three short, thin-faced men walked into the bar. Jockeys.
I stared a moment. Will was one of them. He saw me, said something to the other two guys, then split from the group.
He took the chair Rick had abandoned, and I introduced him to Carla. It was the first time they’d met, and after examining Will’s honed, ascetic face, Carla raised a brow.
“Where have you been hiding him?”
“I haven’t been hiding him,” I said. Maybe too quickly.
“Nikki’s lousy at keeping secrets, anyway,” Will said.
Could everyone read me like an open book? Carla wasn’t interested in Will, was she? I didn’t want her putting her slick moves on him.
Will focused on Carla. “Nikki’s told me about your daughter. I’m very sorry for your trouble.”
The waitress showed up, and Carla and I ordered the “petit” tuna sandwiches. Then I surprised myself.
“Could I have a Wild Turkey 101 and water, please?”
Will set down his menu. “Bring me a shrimp appetizer, lemon, no sauce, and a glass of water.”
As the waitress walked away, Carla stared at Will. “How much do you weigh?”
“The perfect amount,” he said.
“I’ll bet you do.” She glanced at me. “I like this guy. You should have him around more often, Nikki.”
Carla, multitasker—matchmaking and flirting at the same time. I ignored her and watched a group of businessmen sit at the table next to us. Two of them stared at Carla.
When the waitress arrived with our orders, I took a swig of bourbon and watched Will slowly squeeze lemon onto his jumbo shrimp. Jumbo shrimp. One of those oxymorons. I giggled and took another swig of bourbon.
Will grinned at me. “I take it you aren’t riding tomorrow?”
“Nope, don’t have my first ride at Gulfstream until that big allowance race on Sunday afternoon. On Diablo.”
“No wonder you’re drinking,” he said, then used his fork to carefully knock three lemon seeds off his shrimp.
Carla, who’d been watching him, turned to me with a wicked smile.
“I like a man who pays attention to detail.”
I took another sip of bourbon, while the men at the nearby table stole surreptitious glances at Carla and me.
I smiled at Will. “I bet those guys at the table next door wonder why they’re all alone and you’re over here with two good looking women.”
Will’s eyes took on a gleam. “You want me to show them?”
A snort burst from Carla. I hadn’t known she was capable of it. I was usually the one to embarrass myself and if I kept drinking Wild Turkey, I probably would. Will was entirely too cute.
I shook my head. Despite my nap, I was exhausted. I’d been up since four-thirty that morning, watched Carman
os get squashed at the gate, ridden Diablo, and seen a hooker bust. And now I was drinking? Time to go home. I set the bourbon glass down.
CHAPTER 22
A rough night’s sleep, two aspirins, and several cups of coffee later, Jim and I watched Diablo stomp his hoof on the edge of his rubber feed pan until it flipped and spilled his breakfast grain into the straw.
“He’s willful,” Jim said. “Why do you use a pan?”
“We tried hanging a feed bucket on the inside of his gate. But he ripped it off twice. Besides, we can shove the rubber pan in there without getting our heads torn off.”
Jim didn’t respond, but I was used to that.
I looked up and down our row of horses. They all banged and shoved their feed tubs from time to time, but were not in the habit of tearing them off and stomping them to death.
Shaking my head at Diablo, I moved down the shedrow to the two horses Jim had brought in the day before. I’d known them both a couple of years. Imposter and Ambivalent—both geldings, both bays. Older and more seasoned than Diablo, they sensibly licked the last bits of sweet feed from the bottom of their tubs.
Ambivalent had a crooked blaze twisting past his eyes that made his expression appear uncertain. He could also be ambivalent about racing. He could win a stake—if he wanted to.
Imposter was misnamed. The horse was quiet and patient, with an honest personality. He always tried. Jim had stalled these two on either side of Diablo, hoping they might buddy up, and Imposter had immediately befriended Diablo.
Earlier, Orlando had taken Imposter out with me and Diablo—escorted by Beth and Bullwinkle. Diablo got along so well with Imposter, we agreed to shift Bullwinkle to an “as needed” basis. No question we’d still need him to pony Diablo to post for the upcoming race. No way I was going out there without Bullwinkle.
As the morning continued, it grew endless, long and hot. Afilio had to rustle up another groom to help walk two of the hot horses. After my final gallop, we cleaned stalls, washed bandages, and fed horses while Jim did paperwork. By the time I topped off the last water bucket, I could hardly keep my eyes open.
