Mistletoe Over Manhattan

'No, she doesn't,' Phoebe answered for Tammy.

'Yes,' Carter persisted, 'she does. Are you a nurse, Tammy Sue? A personal trainer? A housekeeper? A manicurist?'

'I object to the question,' Phoebe said.

'Carter,' Mallory said quietly, 'perhaps we could refer to Tammy Sue as being in 'escort services' when we're speaking to the jury.'

Duh. How slow could he be? 'Fine,' Carter said. He cleared his throat. 'Place of residence? Or shall we slide past that one, too?'

'I live at 455 West Eighteenth Street.' Tammy Sue answered this one proudly, but her chin began to tremble. 'I hope I can go on living there. I used up most of my savings back in March and April when I couldn't work because of my hair.'

If he had wondered why Phoebe Angell had chosen a prostitute as one of her prime witnesses, it was very clear now. He was no longer in the mood to laugh two hours later. He'd run through his list of neutral questions. Had she followed the directions? Yes she had. To the letter. Had she worn latex gloves? The dye ran down into the gloves. Had she tested the dye on one strand of hair first? No, because she'd been using that Sensuous shade since she decided to go from blond to red and it had always worked before.

Now it was time for the big question. 'So you weren't able to-solicit-any clients for what period of time? And what do you charge per-uh, service? And how many, um, services of this sort do you average per day?'

He hoped he looked cooler than he felt. 'I object strenuously to that question,' Phoebe said. 'Ms. Angell, you know as well as I do that damages can't be assessed unless we know the income lost.'

Phoebe looked at her client, then back at Carter. 'We'll get back to you on that one.'

'Okay. I reserve the right to re-depose this witness after you provide the information. Tammy Sue,' he said at last, 'I think that will do for now. Thank you for your cooperation. The rest of us-' and he included the court reporter and cameraman in his circling gaze '-should break for lunch.'

When he and Mallory were alone, he said, 'Don't you think more highly of me for not recognizing a prostitute when there's one right in front of me?'

To his surprise, she giggled. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.

6

Mallory and Carter lunched on the sandwiches Phoebe had provided, because at one o'clock sharp they would depose Kevin Knightson, Phoebe Angell's original client.

The young man who entered the room was handsome and muscular. His flowing blond hair turned the lush green of spring leaves halfway down its length. He stepped through the door wearing a camera-ready smile, met Mallory's eyes, did a double take, slid his gaze toward Carter, opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, looking like an actor in need of a prompt.

Phoebe, who'd ushered him in, gave him a sharp look and provided it. 'Sit here,' she said, pulling out the chair at the head of the table, and he did. Mallory noticed his mouth was twitching a little at the corners. Poor guy had stage fright.

'Is anything wrong?' Carter said.

'Oh, no,' he said. 'I just wasn't expecting such a, um, a big room. Or a cameraman. Or-' his gaze dropped to the table '-cookies.' His voice was deep and sonorous, but it had a soft edge to it as well, and his statement ended on something very much like a giggle.

Yep, Mallory thought, he's nervous.

'Have one,' Carter said, thrusting the plate toward him. 'Just relax,' he went on, starting the spiel he'd given Tammy Sue and would probably give every witness-that we were all friends here and just trying to get at the truth. Then he said, 'Coffee?'

'Please. Thank you. Much better than milk,' their witness said incomprehensibly, then grabbed a napkin from the table, clamped it over his mouth and snorted into it. Recovered, he poured a large quantity of zero-calorie sweetener into the coffee Phoebe had put in front of him, added a larger quantity of heavy cream and stirred vigorously. Chewing a dainty bite of an oatmeal cookie, he glanced at Phoebe's puzzled face, arched his eyebrows at the cameraman, skimmed over Mallory and, at last, settled an appreciative gaze on Carter.

Carter broke the silence. 'Can we begin now? Will you state your name for the court reporter, please.'

'Kevin Knightson.' Kevin smiled.

'Address?'

'Two-twenty-five East Sixty-seventh.'

Mallory froze. The address had meant nothing to her when she studied the interrogatories, but it did now. It was Maybelle's address. Kevin Knightson couldn't be, could not possibly be, Richard's significant other of the green 'tallywhacker.'

What have I done to deserve this? Mallory began to draft a note in her head that she might pass to Carter. But what could she say without revealing that she had consulted an imagemaker? He'd think it was silly. Worse, he'd want to know why. Kevin didn't know her, so he couldn't give her away. Still, she wished she'd told Maybelle why she was in New York, and she'd do it this very evening.

Tread carefully, she might say in her note to Carter. I have prior knowledge of this man. Yes, that's what she would say. She picked up her pen. 'Occupation?'

Kevin hesitated. 'I'm an actor by profession.' He smiled again and added, 'You're supposed to say, 'Which restaurant?''

Carter smiled back. 'I know it's a tough business,' he said, and Mallory heard real sympathy in his voice. 'I wish you all the luck in the world. So-which restaurant?'

Everyone laughed except Mallory. She was busy writing her note.

'In March I was working for Blue Hill in Greenwich Village,' Kevin said. 'That ended when I showed up with green hair and eyebrows and fingernails. I put a temporary black dye on my hair and eyebrows,' he said earnestly, 'but it just turned them greenish black, and I couldn't do anything about my fingernails.'

'Yes,' Carter said thoughtfully. 'And since that time, have you been employed?'

'Now and then,' Kevin said, 'doing this and that. Odd jobs for my landlady, behind-the-scenes work for an interior decorator and, um, seasonal work.'

'Where are you employed now?'

'I object to that line of questioning,' Phoebe said.

'About his job?' Carter couldn't hide his surprise.

'I can assure you he's engaged in nothing illegal or immoral,' Phoebe said stubbornly.

'The defendants have a right to know his employment history in order to assess damages.' Carter sounded just as stubborn.

Phoebe assumed a self-righteous air. 'It's simply a job that requires a certain amount of anonymity. I'd appreciate it if you'd respect his privacy.'

Carter sighed. 'I guess I can do that, for the moment. However, I reserve the right to bring this witness to trial and cross-examine him in court.'

'Anytime,' Kevin purred.

Mallory took this opportunity to slip her note to Carter. He read it, and his eyebrows drew together in a frown. He began to write rapidly, then nudged Mallory's legal pad back to her.

Mallory read what he'd written and gasped aloud. You mean you've slept with him? Observing that Phoebe, Kevin and the cameraman were all three staring at her, she said, 'Sorry. My, it is a bit warm in here, isn't it?' She fanned herself with the legal pad.

No one answered. Apparently they didn't think so. While Carter went on to his next question, she wrote, Of course I haven't slept with him! She hit Carter sharply in the elbow with the corner of the pad, but he was busy interrogating.

'What was your income from acting prior to your decision to dye your hair red for the audition in question? Let me put it this way. What was your income last year?'