Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (4 page)

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.”

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. How 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.”

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.”

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 way. “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?”

“That’s where we surrender the car. We have to go
inside the building to pick up our masks. Then we board a small bus
for the rest of the trip.”

“And whose house is this?”

Cliff lets out an exasperated breath. “For
Chrissake, will you stop with the third degree?”

“But I need to know these things. I’m supposed to
have been here before. What if they find out I’m not really
Angela?”