Smith - Death Turns A Trick

Praise for Julie Smith and DEATH TURNS A TRICK

Funny and witty, with a clever, outspoken heroine. Library Journal

A lively romp of a novel which heralds an interesting new detective personality Smith shows an Agatha Christie-like capacity for making much ado about clues, concocting straw hypotheses, and surprising us, in the end Smiths crisp storytelling, her easy knowledge of local practices, and her likable, unpredictable heroine will make readers look forward to more of sleuth Schwartzs adventures. San Francisco Chronicle

The book gives readers an unusual look at San Francisco and introduces them to a delightfully modern sleuth. Minneapolis Tribune

Rebeccas lively first-person narration brands her a new detective to watch. Wilson Library Bulletin

DEATH TURNS A TRICK

THE SOURDOUGH WARS

TOURIST TRAP

DEAD IN THE WATER

OTHER PEOPLES SKELETONS

The Skip Langdon Series

NEW ORLEANS MOURNING

THE AXEMANS JAZZ

JAZZ FUNERAL

DEATH BEFORE FACEBOOK
(formerly NEW ORLEANS BEAT)

HOUSE OF BLUES

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

CRESCENT CITY CONNECTION
(formerly CRESCENT CITY KILL)

82 DESIRE

MEAN WOMAN BLUES

The Paul Macdonald Series

TRUE-LIFE ADVENTURE

HUCKLEBERRY FIEND

The Talba Wallis Series

LOUISIANA HOTSHOT

LOUISIANA BIGSHOT

LOUISIANA LAMENT

P.I. ON A HOT TIN ROOF

As Well As

WRITING YOUR WAY: THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL TRACK

NEW ORLEANS NOIR (ed.)

A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery

BY

JULIE SMITH

booksBnimble Publishing
New Orleans, La.

Death Turns A Trick

Copyright 1982 by Julie Smith

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 9781617507915

Originally published by Walker & Co., a division of Walker Publishing Co

First booksBnimble Publishing electronic publication: 2012

www.booksbnimble.com

Cover by Nevada Barr

eBook editions by eBooks by Barb for booknook.biz

All the characters and events portrayed in this story are fictitious.

THIS BOOK IS FOR MY PARENTS, with gratitude for invaluable assistance with motivation and character development; also for many clues, a few red herrings, and the occasional solution.

Special thanks to five people whose good advice helped shape this book: Inspector Dave Toschi, Betsy Petersen, Jon Carroll, Mary Jean Haley, and Mickey Friedman.

The argument was getting loud, so I played loud to drown it out. I was looking at the keyboard, I guess, or maybe staring into space, I dont know which. Anyway, I didnt see two uniformed cops come in the door with guns drawn. I just heard a hush and then some screams. That made me look up. I saw them and stopped playing. People in the foyer were crowding back toward the stairs. Elena Mooney was backing toward the fireplace.

Awright, everybody quiet, said one of the cops. This is a raid. Those very words.

Its funny how you react in a situation like that. I should have been terrified. I should have had visions of lurid headlines: Lawyer Caught in Bordello Raid. I should have despaired of my Martindale-Hubbell rating and started planning how I was going to explain to my mother. But I didnt. I was looking down the barrel of a gun and hearing someone say This is a raida thing Id done a million times in movie theaters. I gripped the piano so I wouldnt holler, Cheezit, the cops!

Then the lights went out. I dont mean I fainted; I mean it got dark. A hand closed over my forearm, jerked me to my feet and started pulling. People started screaming again, and one of the cops fired. I didnt know if anybody was hit or not, but the reality of the situation dawned on me and I offered whoever was pulling me no resistance. We bumped into a lot of people getting through the saloon room, but it took about two seconds, I guess. I vaguely heard things like Dont panic and Be quiet, which I suppose came from the cops, and I heard two more shots and a lot more screaming.

My rescuer pulled the kitchen door open and me through it. The kitchen window had cafe curtains, and there was a little light from outside, enough to see that I was with Elena. She dropped my arm, grabbed a flashlight from the top of the refrigerator, and opened a door that I imagined led to a pantry. But I was wrong. Elena shone the light on steps descending to a basement.

She gestured for me to go first, then followed, locking the door behind us. There was a tiny landing at the bottom of the stairway and, on the right, a doorway to the basement itself. You couldnt see into it from the stairs.

When I got to the landing, I waited for Elena to join me with the light, but she turned it off as soon as she got there. I noticed a faint glow coming from the doorway to the basement. Elena put a finger to her lips and squeezed past me into the room. I followed.

The room was unfinished, but the plasterboard was painted. The light came from a silver candelabrum on the floor, with all its black candles lighted. Attached to two beams on the far wall were manacles at ankle and shoulder level. Some scary-looking hoists and pulleys hung from ceiling beams, but I cant say I was in a mood to examine them too closely. In fact, its a miracle I noticed them at all, considering what else was in the rooma brass bed with a naked man lying face up, spread-eagled on it.

His wrists were tied to the headboard and his ankles to the footboards. Even without his customary conservative suit, I recognized him. He was State Senator Calvin Handley. That same week Id seen him on TV holding a press conference about the bill hed just introduced to legalize prostitution. At least he wasnt a hypocrite.

Elena still had her finger to her lips for his benefit. She removed it and started untying his wrists. Rebecca, get his ankles.

She spoke to the client, without addressing him as Senatoron the off chance, I suppose, that I wouldnt recognize him. Theres been some trouble. The cops are here, but the doors locked and well have time to get you out of here. Where are your clothes?

I think Kandi forgot to bring them down. We came down the usual way.

Damn her! Elena finished freeing the senators hands, and he sat up and rubbed them. She looked in an armoire at the front of the room. She forgot, all right. Youll have to wear this.

She picked up something black from a low chair. In the chair underneath the black garment were a pair of handcuffs and a square of black fabric fashioned into a blindfold. I figured it must be quite a trick to negotiate those stairs coming down the usual way, but chacun a son gout. Consenting adults and all that.

I finished with the senatorial ankle bonds, and the lawmaker slipped the black garment on. It was a floor-length robe with full sleeves and a hood, perfectly decent but damn-all odd.

Shoes? asked Elena. The senator shook his head. Okay, come on. You too, Rebecca.

She pushed aside the armoire, revealing a crude passagewaya tunnel, really. She gave me the flashlight and fished a key from her bodice. As she handed it over, I could see that her hand was shaking. Listen, both of you, she whispered. Shots were fired up there. For all I know, someone may be dead or hurt. This is my house and I cant leave. Rebecca, this is Joe. Im depending on you to get him to his car. Then go home, change into street clothes, and get back here. Well be needing you. The door at the end of the tunnel is padlocked, and this is the key. My car is parked almost dead against the door. Its unlocked and the keys are in it. Take the padlock with you; we may need to use the tunnel again tonight. Just get the senget Joe out of here. Ill wait five minutes after I hear the car drive off before I go back up. Good luck. She squeezed my hand.