Bonefire of the Vanities Read Free

Littlefield on the lookout for another husband or trying to communicate with someone from her past?”
    “I can’t discuss my clients, and you know it, Sarah Booth.”
    “Then why are you here? So I can pry into her private mail?”
    “I told her I would show this letter to you and Tinkie. I’ve tried to talk her out of getting involved in this mess, but she won’t listen to me. She’s agreed to hire you to investigate this organization she’s involved in. Sarah Booth, you have to check into these people and prove they’re frauds.”
    “What people?”
    “Read the letter. Now.”
    Tammy was never bossy, unless she was really upset. I opened the envelope and drew out the heavy stationery. The letter was typed.
    “Dear Marjorie,” it began. I scanned through the paragraphs, growing more horrified by each sentence. When I got to the end, I noted the signature. “Sherry.” Just the one name and nothing more.
    “What is this Heart’s Desire secret society?” I asked Tammy.
    “It’s a scam,” she said. “Look at what they promise—that she’s included in a global group of the ultra-wealthy. She’s been chosen because of her ‘unique abilities.’ Hell, Sarah Booth, Marjorie’s talent is marrying well, but that’s about it. She’s a likable woman, but she’s not a rocket scientist or a healer.”
    I considered for a moment. “So why do you care if she joins this group and they bilk her out of ten or twenty grand? She has money to burn.”
    Tammy stood up and mimicked the pose Jitty had struck earlier. She put her hands on her hips in a no-nonsense gesture. “Because they are liars. The things they’re promising—it’s just a play on an older woman’s vanity. Even worse, this Sherry woman is claiming to have medium abilities.”
    “And you don’t believe in such things?” I wasn’t clear what Tammy was objecting to. She knew people had special gifts. She was one of those people.
    “This is obviously a play on Marjorie’s self-image. Look at the letter. They claim she’s ‘one of a special, select group’ chosen to be part of a ‘secret society that will shape the policies and practices of the world through investment opportunities.’ Come on, Sarah Booth. This is aimed directly at the recipient’s conceit, and they could take her for a lot more than twenty grand.”
    “If pandering to the ego of a wealthy person were illegal, thousands of young women would be in jail.”
    “You are missing the point, Sarah Booth.”
    Obviously I was. “I’m sorry, Tammy. I don’t feel the need to intervene. Mrs. Littlefield is rich, ego-driven, and ripe for the plucking. Why should I interfere?”
    “She was told she’d be able to communicate with her daughter.” Tammy paced the length of the steps.
    “I wasn’t aware she has a daughter.”
    “She had two children by her first husband, Paul la Kink, the rock star.”
    “The guy the religious right went after because he claimed he deflowered a virgin in every city he played?”
    Tammy gave a rueful smile. “Bingo. He was hot. I had a huge crush on him. God! He wore those tight pants and moved across the stage like a panther. He dated a black girl before he married Marjorie. He broke down some barriers.”
    No wonder he’d figured so prominently into Tammy’s fantasy life. He’d taken a stand that most folks, at the time, were afraid to take.
    She laughed. “Oh, he had that bad-boy appeal down to an art.”
    “What happened to him?” The musician inhabited only the fringes of my childhood world.
    “La Kink died very young in a wreck. His car didn’t make a curve on Highway 1 in California. Went straight over a cliff into the Pacific. It made news for days.” She frowned as if I were deficient because I’d forgotten the death of a rock singer known more for his sexual prowess than for his music.
    “Marjorie Littlefield was married to him?”
    “She was. A stunning widow with her two kids. Tragedy stalked Marjorie. The daughter,