at the foot of her bed. But not tonight. Once she rolled over abruptly and sent him spinning off the bed. Then she dropped into a twitchy sleep and kicked the poor cat. He nipped her heel.
At six A.M., she gave up, got up, made coffee and bought a newspaper. She was glad it was Sunday, her day off. She took the paper back to bed. Thumbs burrowed playfully under the pages and tore into the funnies. He was enjoying the paper.
Helen could not read or fall back asleep. She tried to clean house, but she couldn’t keep her mind on it. At nine A.M., she could put it off no longer: She found a pay phone and called Savannah Power.
As the phone rang, Helen prayed she wouldn’t be home.
But Savannah picked up on the third ring. Helen told her about last night, leaving out only the old man in the shamrock shorts. It was a smart move. Savannah didn’t make the connection that Laredo might have been passing around more than the canapes.
“Your Saturday night was more interesting than mine, Savannah said. “My boyfriend came over and we watched TV until we fell asleep. Must be getting old. Ten years ago, we would have torn each other’s clothes off.”
Helen didn’t want to go there. She felt distinctly nun-like after stumbling into that orgy last night.
“You know what gets me?” Helen said. “Debbie made a special trip over to my bar to warn me off. She sounded angry. But I think she was also afraid. That woman knows something. We’d better have a talk with her, and not at Gator Bill’s, either.”
“No place like home,” Savannah said.
“Do you know where she lives?” Helen said.
“No, but the Gator Bill’s servers get off at eleven on Sunday nights. That’s when I used to pick up Laredo. Most of them are too tired to party on Sunday. We can probably follow Debbie straight to her home. I’ll pick you up about ten forty-five tonight.”
Savannah’s old brown beater showed up at the Coronado right on time, its engine knocking loud enough to wake everyone in the complex. No wonder Hank Asporth had spotted Savannah tailing him, Helen thought. She wondered why it took him four hours.
The car lurched out of the parking lot. “The Tank has a little cold-start problem,” Savannah said, “but it’s a great car.”
Helen was afraid they wouldn’t let the noisy, battered Tank near the Gator Bill’s lot, but the attendant knew Savannah and waved her in.
“How’s that cute little sister of yours?” he said. “I haven’t seen her around. Latched onto something better?”
“She’s in a much better place,” Savannah said, and for a minute Helen thought she was going to cry. But Savannah set her lean, freckled jaw and drove to the back of the lot.
Debbie was one of the last servers to come out the kitchen door. She was wearing her cheerleader’s uniform and talking to a Hispanic chef. The young man was so dazzled he could hardly get out a tongue-tied “Goodnight.”
“That’s her,” Helen said.
“Practicing her womanly wiles on that poor young man, Savannah said. “Look what she’s doing to him. You can tell she hasn’t the slightest interest in him. Woman’s got a definite mean streak.”
Debbie walked across the parking lot, round bottom twitching, long hair switching. She unlocked a purple Neon that looked like a rolling jelly bean, and pulled out onto Las Olas. They tailed her in the shaking, lurching Tank. Helen wondered why Debbie didn’t notice them.
About five miles later, the purple Neon abruptly swung into an apartment complex. It was a square white shoebox set in an asphalt parking lot. They saw Debbie pull into a spot marked “203.” When the lights came on in a second-floor apartment, Helen and Savannah got out of the car and tiptoed up the stairs.
“Let me get us inside,” Savannah whispered. “That little witch is going to talk or else.”
She sounded so menacing, Helen was afraid. “You aren’t going to do anything foolish, are you? You don’t have a gun?”
“I hate guns. I promise you, no guns.” Savannah patted her big black leather purse. Then she knocked on the door and said loudly, “Landlord! Open up! We’re having problems with electrical fires in the ceiling. We need to check your kitchen.”
Helen stepped back out of sight. She could hear someone unlocking the door. Debbie opened it slightly and said, “I’m OK. My smoke alarm hasn’t gone off.”
Savannah pushed her way inside the beige apartment.
Helen followed. When Debbie saw her, she said, “You! What are you doing here? I’m calling the cops.” She picked up a cell phone from the hall table.
“Go ahead,” Savannah said. “Then you can tell them where my sister is.”
“I don’t know your sister,” Debbie said, but her voice wavered. Her long hair hung limp. She knew no amount of flirtatious flipping would beguile these two women. Debbie put down the cell phone and backed into the dining room.
Savannah followed with long, lean strides.
“My name is Savannah Power. Laredo is my sister. She’s missing and you’re going to tell me where she is.” Savannah took a bright yellow can from her purse.
“Is that pepper spray?” Debbie’s voice was a squeak. She held a dining-room chair in front of her.
“No,” Savannah said. “When I use this on you, you’ll wish it was. It’s oven cleaner. You wanna lie? I’ll give you lye. Start talking.”
“But that could blind me!” Debbie backed up and hit the wall. Savannah grabbed the chair and threw it aside with one hand.
“I think it will help you see more clearly.” Savannah shook the can. Helen thought she’d never heard such a threatening sound.
“I... Um...” Debbie tried to slide sideways along the wall. Savannah blocked her move and put her finger on the spray nozzle. Debbie let out a frightened yip, then the words tumbled out. “They paid me to say she left town. They said they’d hurt me if I didn’t lie. I don’t know where she is.”
“Who paid you?” Savannah demanded.
“I can’t tell you. I’m afraid of them.”
“Better be more afraid of me, missy.”
“They’ll hurt me. They’ll hurt me bad.”
“So will I,” Savannah’s voice was so low, Helen could hardly hear her. Her finger twitched on the spray nozzle. Debbie tried to move, but she was trapped in a corner. Savannah shook the can again and held it in front of Debbie’s eyes.
“Please,” Debbie begged. “Please, don’t shoot. It was some friend of Steve’s. A guy who goes to some of the special charity parties. Name’s Hank.”
“Hank who?” Helen said.
“I don’t know his last name.”
“How much did he pay you?”
“A thousand dollars,” Debbie said, her voice rising in panic. “But I didn’t do anything.”
“You lied to the police,” Savannah said. “Because you lied, they won’t investigate why Laredo is missing. I’m waiting for my sister to come back, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. You don’t either, do you, Debbie?”
“No! Yes! I don’t know.”
“What happened to my sister?”
“I don’t know. She worked the back room at the Mow brys’ parties. I didn’t. I wouldn’t even go back there, I was so afraid. There was some kinky stuff going on. I stayed away from it, even though they paid extra.”
“What kind of kinky stuff?”
Debbie didn’t answer. Helen wondered what was kinky in South Florida: Small pets? Large lizards? Little children?
“Tell me,” Savannah said. Helen had never heard such menace in two words.
Debbie tried to break out of the corner, but Savannah pinned Debbie’s face between her elbows and held the spray nozzle an inch from her right eye. Debbie clamped her eyelid shut. Helen could see the eyeball moving
