Devil Wind (Sammy Greene Mysteries) by Deborah Shlian, Linda Reid

she whispered when she heard Kaye accept the charges.
    “Where the hell are you?” Kaye demanded.
    “I can’t really talk,” Ana said, afraid of who might be listening. “Not on the phone. Can I meet you, uh, at—?”
    Ana didn’t expect Kaye to suggest her place, a well-kept secret. As far as Ana knew, none of Kaye’s girls had a clue where the madam lived. Rumors abounded, of course, and stretched from Brentwood to Beverly Hills, from Santa Barbara to La Jolla. But, as Sylvie had explained, Kaye had to be discreet. For herself as well as for her famous clients, few of whom had ever actually met her in person. Kaye conducted her million-dollar business on the phone or the Internet. The only two times Ana had seen the madam had been at their apartment.
    “I’m booked with meetings until three,” Kaye responded, adding curtly. “I’ll come to you.”
    No surprise. “Then how about Third Street?” Ana improvised. Several blocks of the Santa Monica street close to the ocean had been turned into a pedestrian open-air mall. They could lose themselves among the crowds and talk privately.
    “All right,” Kaye said through a clutter of static. “I can meet you at the pier, by the carousel, at four.”
    The Santa Monica pier with its amusement park, shops, and restaurants was also a popular attraction. Ana agreed, disconnecting. The graffiti-etched pay phone burped, and Ana heard the clanking of a quarter in the return slot. She reached in and picked up the coin, smiling at the small good omen. She briefly considered calling her father in Vermont, but twenty-five cents wouldn’t be enough for long distance. And if the operator did reach her father, would he accept her collect call?
    On impulse, she dropped the quarter into the slot and dialed her cell, the phone Sylvie had accidentally grabbed. It rang repeatedly without an answer, defaulting to voice mail. Ana heard her own voice asking callers to leave a message. She hung up, eyes welling with tears.
     
    “God damn it!” Jeffrey Greene slammed down the receiver. Prescott was hiding in the fucking hospital, hanging him out to dry! What the hell was he going to do? Jeffrey glanced at the speed dial list on his phone. He’d have to ask Trina to work her magic once again.
    Trina picked up after a half dozen rings. Though her greeting was warm, Jeffrey caught the faintest edge in her tone.
    “Es nada,” she said when he called her on it. “Too many headaches here, but for you, carino, always time. What do you need?”
    He filled her in on the news he’d just learned: Prescott had had a heart attack and was in the hospital. “Julia refused to let him take my call,” Jeffrey said. “You think you could sweet-talk Neil out of the CCU and back into our deal? I’d hate to think his bout of indigestion is going to take down our multimillion-dollar arrangement. And us with it.”
    There was a pause on the other end of the line before Trina responded. “None of us would want to see that happen. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
     
    Kaye pressed the button on her cell phone. Did you get it?” she asked in Russian.
    “Nyet.” Yevgeny was clearly anxious as he responded in their language. “I found nothing and now police are all round the building.”
    Kaye sat up in her Porsche Boxter, her expression showing more than a hint of alarm. “Police? Why?”
    “One of the doctors thought the girl was beaten. A cop said the body’s gone to the county morgue.”
    “Govno.” Miller was supposed to handle things so there’d be no investigation. Now she’d need to create some excuse to call her LAPD “friend” and see what was going on. Until she found the client list Sylvie stole, it would be better for people to believe Ana had died in the fire.
    “Get over to the morgue right away. If Sylvie’s “treasure” is there, take it!” Kaye snapped the phone shut.
    If the list wasn’t with Sylvie’s body, Ana would probably have it. Well, that would be