Dial Me for Murder by Amanda Matetsky Read Free Book Online Page B

mum?” she asked, voice soft as a spring shower.
    “Yes, of course,” Sabrina snapped, so distraught she forgot to say please.
    When Charlotte disappeared into the kitchen, I turned to Sabrina and said, “What’s your problem? Why are you so upset? I thought you’d be glad to hear I’ll be working on this case at no cost to you. What difference does it make who pays me? All that matters is finding the monster who killed Virginia.”
    Sabrina gave me the kind of look that said, You are, without a doubt, the stupidest woman I ever met in my life . Then she composed herself and vocalized a more civil version of that thought:
    “Are you out of your mind?” she cried. “I told you about my business—and Virginia’s leading role in my business—in the strictest confidence! If I had thought for one moment that you would expose us both in a national magazine, I never would have breathed a word about our profession. Prostitution is illegal, in case you haven’t heard.” She shot me another ferocious glance. “If news about my private enterprise gets out, I’ll lose my entire livelihood. And I’ll probably be sent to jail! And what about Virginia’s grieving family? If it’s revealed that she was a call girl, they will suffer even more grief, plus an intolerable amount of public shame.”
    Oh, I muttered to myself, embarrassed by my unthinking reaction. Is being a dope the same as being stupid?
    “And that’s not all,” Sabrina went on. “If the police find out that Virginia was a call girl, they will feel little or no sympathy for her. And they won’t work very hard to catch her killer. And then the psychotic beast who tied her up and stuffed turpentine-soaked cotton into her poor nose and mouth may get away with murder! Such things happen more often than you can imagine, Paige. When a prostitute is killed, the police like to think she asked for it—that she got what she deserved for being a whore—and they simply don’t bother to carry out a thorough investigation.”
    “But that’s not true!” I objected. “My boyfriend is a NYPD homicide detective, and he’s the most honorable, most compassionate, most determined seeker of justice you could ever hope to—”
    I stifled myself when Charlotte returned to the dining room and glided over to the table, wheeling a small chrome and glass serving cart in front of her. She put a platter of poached salmon, a bowl of mayonnaise-caper dressing, and a dish of asparagus vinaigrette on the table, then placed two silver-rimmed china plates in front of Sabrina and me. After refilling our water glasses and checking to see that we had enough bread, Charlotte asked Sabrina, “Will there be anything else, mum? Tea? Coffee?”
    “No, thank you, Charlotte. We’ll have coffee with dessert. I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”
    The minute Charlotte left the dining room, Sabrina resumed her rant against the police. “I hate to burst your bubble, Paige, but if your detective boyfriend is as noble as you say he is, he’s an out-and-out oddity.” She sat up straight as a stick and poked her chin out in defiance. “Every officer of the law I’ve ever known has been arrogant, dogmatic, misogynistic, and unbearably cocky— including those who are my clients. They are, after all—in spite of their big, shiny badges and guns—merely men. And like most men, they think a woman who sells her body is more of a criminal than the man who buys her body— and if bad things happen to her body in the bargain, she has only herself to blame. Believe me, I follow these kinds of cases carefully, and I know what I’m talking about.”
    Okay, she had a point. I’d run across enough sexist, racist, and otherwise prejudiced police in my line of work to know that Sabrina’s words carried some weight. The last story I’d worked on, in fact, involved a hateful, hotheaded detective who wanted to convict an innocent man of murder just because he was homosexual. But that was an