Playmates Read online

  COAST-TO-COAST RAVES FOR

  ROBERT B. PARKER’S

  PLAYMATES

  “EXTREMELY FUNNY … The sheltered college campus provides a hilarious, confrontational backdrop for Spenser and company.”

  —Kinky Friedman, Chicago Tribune

  “FAST, BREEZY … SMART ONE-LINERS!”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “PARKER AND SPENSER … THEY’RE BOTH LOOKING DAMN GOOD! … Parker has tackled some burning issues head-on.”

  —Rave Reviews

  “WITTY REPARTEE!”

  —Associated Press

  “WHAT MAKES THE BOOKS SO FUN IS SPENSER HIMSELF … extremely unique … unconventional wisdom.”

  —Grand Rapids Press

  “SPORTS, SEX, AND FOOD—three subjects Parker writes about with particular gusto!”

  —Booklist

  “HANDSOMELY PLOTTED … WHOLLY SATISFYING!”

  —New York Times

  “CONNOISSEURS OF PARKER’S WORK WILL ENJOY the return to academic satire that was a pleasure of his early work.”

  —Boston Globe

  INCLUDES A SPECIAL PREVIEW

  OF ROBERT B. PARKER’S SPENSER THRILLER

  PAPER DOLL

  THE SPENSER NOVELS…

  “ONE OF THE GREAT SERIES IN THE HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN DETECTIVE STORY.”—The New York Times

  Hundred-Dollar Baby

  Deadly complications arise when Spenser crosses paths with a runaway girl he helped years ago.

  “Parker in top-notch form.” —The Seattle Times

  School Days

  When a young boy is accused of a mass murder, only his grandmother is convinced of his innocence.

  “Crackling prose and juicy repartee.” —Entertainment Weekly

  Cold Service

  When his closest ally is attacked, Spenser redefines friendship in the name of vengeance.

  “One hot mystery.” —The Washington Post

  Bad Business

  A suspicious wife and a cheating husband pose a few dangerous surprises for Spenser.

  “A kinky whodunit…snappy…sexy.” —Entertainment Weekly

  Back Story

  Spenser teams with Jesse Stone to solve a murder three decades old—and still cold as death.

  “Good and scary. This [is] superior Parker.” —The Boston Globe

  “DETECTIVEDOM’S MOST CHARMINGLY LITERATE LOUT.” —People

  “Everyone interested in mystery and contemporary writing in general should read at least one of the Spenser novels.”—Library Journal

  Widow’s Walk

  Spenser must defend an accused murderess who’s so young, cold, rich, and beautiful, she has to be guilty.

  “Delicious fun. Bottom line: A merry Widow.” —People

  Potshot

  Spenser is enlisted to clean up a small Arizona town.

  “Outrageously entertaining…a hero who can still stand up for himself—and us.” —The New York Times Book Review

  Hugger Mugger

  Spenser hoofs it down south when someone makes death threats against a Thoroughbred racehorse.

  “Brisk…crackling…finishes strong, just like a Thoroughbred.”—Entertainment Weekly

  Hush Money

  Spenser helps a stalking victim—only to find himself the one being stalked…

  “Spenser can still punch, sleuth, and wisecrack with the best of them.” —Publishers Weekly

  Sudden Mischief

  A charity fund-raiser, accused of sexual harassment by four women, is wanted for a bigger offense: murder…

  “Smooth as silk.” —Orlando Sentinel

  Small Vices

  Spenser must solve the murder of a wealthy college student—before the wrong man pays the price…

  “His finest in years…one can’t-put-it-down story.” —San Francisco Chronicle

  Chance

  Spenser heads to Vegas to find the missing husband of a mob princess—but he’s not the only one looking…

  “As brisk and clever as always.” —Los Angeles Times Book Review

  Thin Air

  Spenser thought he could help a friend find his missing wife. Until he learned the nasty truth about Lisa St. Claire…

  “Full of action, suspense, and thrills.” —Playboy

  THE SPENSER NOVELS

  Sixkill

  Painted Ladies

  The Professional

  Rough Weather

  Now & Then

  Hundred-Dollar Baby

  School Days

  Cold Service

  Bad Business

  Back Story

  Widow’s Walk

  Potshot

  Hugger Mugger

  Hush Money

  Sudden Mischief

  Small Vices

  Chance

  Thin Air

  Walking Shadow

  Paper Doll

  Double Deuce

  Pastime

  Stardust

  Playmates

  Crimson Joy

  Pale Kings and Princes

  Taming a Sea-Horse

  A Catskill Eagle

  Valediction

  The Widening Gyre

  Ceremony

  A Savage Place

  Early Autumn

  Looking for Rachel Wallace

  The Judas Goat

  Promised Land

  Mortal Stakes

  God Save the Child

  The Godwulf Manuscript

  THE JESSE STONE NOVELS

  Split Image

  Night and Day

  Stranger in Paradise

  High Profile

  Sea Change

  Stone Cold

  Death in Paradise

  Trouble in Paradise

  Night Passage

  THE SUNNY RANDALL NOVELS

  Spare Change

  Blue Screen

  Melancholy Baby

  Shrink Rap

  Perish Twice

  Family Honor

  ALSO BY ROBERT B. PARKER

  Blue-Eyed Devil

  Brimstone

  Resolution

  Appaloosa

  A Triple Shot of Spenser

  Double Play

  Gunman’s Rhapsody

  All Our Yesterdays

  A Year at the Races (with Joan H. Parker)

  Perchance to Dream

  Poodle Springs (with Raymond Chandler)

  Love and Glory

  Wilderness

  Three Weeks in Spring (with Joan H. Parker)

  Training with Weights (with John R. Marsh)

  PLAYMATES

  ROBERT B.

  PARKER

  BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PLAYMATES

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  G. P. Putnam’s Son’s hardcover edition / May 1989

  Berkley mass-market edition / March 1990

  Copyright © 1989 by Robert B. Parker.

  Excerpt from Paper Doll by Robert B. Parker copyright © 1993 by Robert B. Parker.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-54653-6

  BERKLEY®

  Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  40 39 38 37 36 35 34 33 32 31

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  For Joan

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  1

  VINCE Haller invited me to lunch at the Clarendon Club on Commonwealth Avenue with the Chairman of the Board of Trustees of Taft University, Haller’s alma mater.

  “No sneakers,” Haller told me. “No jeans, no open shirts with that idiotic gold chain you wear that’s at least six years out of fashion.”

  “Susan gave it to me,” I said.

  “Sure,” Haller said and gave me a look I’d seen him give witnesses during cross examination. It was a look that said you are a bigger simp than Michael Jackson.

  Which is why, on the last day of February, I was strolling up Commonwealth in my gray suit wearing a blue oxford shirt with a traditional roll in the collar, and a yellow silk tie that whispered power. My cordovan loafers gleamed with polish, and I had a brand new Browning 9mm on my belt just back of my right hip. The Browning was flat and the holster canted forward so that the gun snuggled into the hollow over my right kidney and didn’t disturb the rakish drape of my suit. I was dressed to the nines, armed to the teeth, ready to lunch with the WASPs. If I hadn’t been me, I’d have wished I were.

  Haller was waiting for me in the entry hall. He was wearing a double breasted camel hair coat, and a winter vacation tan that seemed even darker around his gray hair and mustache. Haller said, “Spenser,” in his big courtroom voice, and put out his hand. I took it. A retainer in a black suit took Haller’s coat and hung it for him, and Haller and I went up the stairs toward the main dining room.

  The Clarendon Club looked as it should. Twenty foot ceilings, curving marble staircase, dark oak paneling. It had been once the enclave of Bostonians of English descent, a redoubt outside of which the masses had huddled in appropriate exclusion. Now it was an ecumenical enclave, accepting anyone with money and pretending they were WASPs.

  Baron Morton was waiting for us at a table. He stood when we approached. Haller introduced us and we shook hands and sat down.

  “Drink to start, Mr. Spenser?” Morton said.

  “Sure,” I said.

  A white-coated waiter was instantly there. I ordered beer, Morton had Chivas-and-soda-tall-with-a-twist, Haller had a martini. The waiter scuttled off to get the drinks and I sat back to wait. I knew how this would go. Morton would fiddle around for a while, Haller would prompt him, and after a bit he’d tell me why we were having lunch.

  “So you’re a detective,” Morton said. Haller’s eyes were sweeping the room, picking out former clients and prospective clients; much of his work was criminal, but Vince was always alert.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “How does one get into that line?”

  “I was a cop and after a while I decided to go on my own,” I said.

  “Spenser had a little trouble conforming,” Haller said. “He’s, as I told you, Baron, a bit of a free spirit.”

  “Like a stormy kestrel,” I said.

  The waiter brought the drinks.

  Morton took a dip into his and said, “Stormy kestrel, by God!” He laughed and shook his head. “What kind of living can someone make doing this, if I’m not being too nosy.”

  “Varies,” I said. “Averages out to sufficient.”

  “Is there much danger?”

  “Just enough,” I said.

  Morton smiled. The waiter handed out menus.

  We ordered lunch.

  “So what do you need from Spenser?” Haller said.

  Morton looked apologetic. “I should be getting to the point, shouldn’t I?”

  I smiled politely.

  “Just that I was so interested. I mean, you know, a private eye and all that.”

  I flattened my upper lip over my front teeth and said, “You ever stood out in the rain with your guts beat out?”

  It sounded exactly like Humphrey Bogart. Morton looked at me blankly.

  Haller said, “Spenser thinks he does impressions.”

  “Oh,” Morton said. “Well, ah, I need some help on a fairly delicate matter.”

  The waiter brought our lunch. Chicken pot pie for Morton. Scrod for Haller. Red flannel hash for me. I drank some Sam Adams.

  “You’re familiar with Taft University?” Morton said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m the Chairman of the Board of Trustees, at Taft.”

  I put some ketchup on my hash.

  “Do you follow college basketball, Mr. Spenser?”

  “Some. I like the pros better.”

  “Well, Taft, as perhaps you know, is a major basketball power. Not only in the east, but nationally.”

  “Made the final four, couple years ago,” I said.

  “Yes, and we’re ranked in the top twenty again this year,” Morton said.

  “Kid, Dwayne Woodcock, is a piece of work,” Haller said.

  “Yes,” Morton said. “Best power forward in the country.”

  “So what can I do for you,” I said. “You looking for a point guard?”

  Morton took in some air, slowly, and let it out slowly, through his nose.

  “I guess I’ll have to finally say it,” he said.

  I drank some Sam Adams and ate some hash.

  “There’s rumors of point shaving,” Morton said.

>   “Ah,” I said.

  “The student newspaper first reported it, and a couple of sportswriters have said something about it to Brad Walker.”

  “Who’s Walker?” I said.

  “The A.D.”

  “How about the coach?”

  “People don’t like to give Dixie bad news. He reacts, ah, poorly to bad news,” Morton said.

  “Tends to kill the messenger,” Haller said. He’d finished his scrod and was nearly through his second martini. It always puzzled me he could have that kind of lunch and then go into court and win cases.

  “So no one’s asked the coach,” I said.

  “No,” Morton said.

  “Anyone ask the players?”

  “No. Dixie doesn’t like people upsetting the players,” Morton said.

  “Does the college paper say where it got its rumor?”

  Morton shook his head. “Kids say they’re protecting their sources.”

  “How about the sportswriters?”

  “Well, we haven’t actually pressed this very far, Mr. Spenser. We didn’t want to lend credence to the rumor, and we didn’t want to encourage the rumors to circulate, if you see what I mean.”

  “So what is it you want me to do?”

  “We want you to track the allegations down, establish their truth or falsity, put the matter to rest.”

  “What if they’re true?” I said.

  “If they are true we will turn the matter over to the district attorney. The university is not prepared to cover up illegal things,” Morton said. “We care about our student athletes, and we care about a winning program at Taft. But we also care about rule of law.”

  “I may have to annoy your coach,” I said.

  “I understand. He’s a difficult, proud, volatile personality; but don’t misjudge him. Dixie Dunham is a good man.”

  “We’ll get along fine,” I said.

  Haller made a noise in his throat and then coughed into his clenched fist. Morton glanced at him and said nothing.

  “If we can agree on the costs, are you willing to sign on for this?” Morton said.

  “Sure,” I said. “My fee increases twenty percent, though, if your coach is mean to me.”

  “Mr. Spenser,” Morton said, “I can’t promise …”

  “He’s kidding,” Haller said. “He does that a lot.”

  “Oh, of course. Well, let’s talk money.”