“Ms. Gaither.”
She jumped and spun around, dropping her hand guiltily. The bearded giant was looming over her, but his soft, pink lips were twitching with amusement.
“This way,” the mammoth said. He led her behind the stairwell and stopped in front of a closed door. After giving it three sharp raps, he pushed it open and stepped aside for Alex to enter. He closed the door behind her.
Alex had expected the madam to be reclining on satin sheets. Instead, she was seated behind a large, functional desk banked by metal file cabinets. From the number of ledgers and folders and stacks of correspondence scattered across the desk, it looked as though she conducted as much business here as in the boudoir.
Nor was her clothing what Alex would have expected. Instead of a scanty article of lingerie, she was wearing a tailored wool business suit. She was, however, elaborately jeweled, and all the pieces were genuine and exquisite.
Her hair had been bleached snow-white and looked like a sculpted mound of cotton candy. Somehow, though, the outdated style suited her. Like her sister Wanda, her figure gravitated toward plump, but she carried that well, too. Her complexion was her best feature. It was flawless, smooth, and milky white. Alex doubted it had ever been exposed to the damaging West Texas sun.
The blue eyes with which she assessed Alex were as calculating as those of the cat that was occupying the corner of the desk nearest her right hand.
“You have better taste than your mother,” she said without preamble, giving Alex a slow once-over. “Celina had pretty features, but no sense of style. You do. Sit down, Miss Gaither.”
“Thank you.” Alex sat down in the chair across the desk. After a moment, she laughed and shook her head with chagrin. “Forgive me for staring.”
“I don’t mind. No doubt I’m your first madam.”
“Actually, no. I prosecuted a woman in Austin whose modeling agency proved to be a prostitution ring.”
“She was careless.”
“I did my homework. We had an airtight case against her.”
“Should I take that as a warning?”
“Your operation doesn’t fall into my jurisdiction.”
“Neither does your mother’s murder case.” She lit a slender black cigarette as a man would, with an economy of motion, and offered one to Alex, who declined. “A drink? Forgive me for saying that you look like you could use one.” She gestured toward a lacquered liquor cabinet that was inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
“No, thank you. Nothing.”
“Peter said you declined to fill out an application, so I guess you’re not here looking for a job.”
“No.”
“Pity. You’d do very well. Nice body, good legs, unusual hair. Is that its natural color?”
“Yes.”
The madam grinned wickedly. “I know several regulars who would enjoy you a lot.”
“Thank you,” Alex said stiffly, the compliment making her feel like she needed a bath.
“I guess you’re here on business. Yours,” she said with a lazy smile, “not mine.”
“I’d like to ask you some questions.”
“First, I’d like to ask one of my own.”
“All right.”
“Did Reede send you here?”
“No.”
“Good. That would have disappointed me.”