Murder With Reservations (10 page)

“The other girls have been thinking about how to get rid of your ex-husband,” Denise said, pulling Helen out of the past. “Cheryl has this free offer from a new Internet dating service. Your ex-husband has a laptop. She left the card in his room. Maybe he’ll sign up for a free date.”

“Thanks,” Helen said. “But it’s not fair to sic him on another woman.”

“You never know. He could meet his match,” Denise said.

“There you are.” It was Sondra.

Helen jumped at her voice. She wasn’t expecting Sondra in the stairwell. The slender clerk looked like a brown satin angel in a white linen sheath. No wonder Rob hit on her.

“I don’t know if we should be worried about this or not,” Sondra said. “Rhonda’s mama called. Shirley hasn’t heard from her daughter in a couple of days. She went to her apartment and Rhonda’s cat, Snowball, was at the door. The poor animal acted like it hadn’t eaten in days.”

“My cat always acts like that,” Helen said.

“The food dish was completely empty and Snowball didn’t have any water,” Sondra said. “It was drinking out of the toilet.” She screwed up her face in disgust.

“You don’t have cats, do you?” Helen said. “That’s their favorite cocktail.”

“All I know is Rhonda takes good care of that cat,” Sondra said.”Her mama says she always leaves Snowball plenty of food and water. Shirley is worried. She doesn’t think Rhonda’s been home for two or three days, and she doesn’t answer her cell phone.”

If Rhonda found that hundred thousand dollars, would she tell her mother? Helen wondered. Would I tell mine? She knew that answer. Helen didn’t trust her mother. She’d turn in her own daughter so Helen could be “reunited” with Rob. If Helen found a hundred thou, she’d do exactly what Rhonda did—take the money, leave the lid up on the emergency water supply for the cat, and figure her mother would check in a day or two and rescue Snowball.

Denise didn’t seem worried, either. “She’ll turn up,” she said. “I’ll bet she’s shacked up with that biker boyfriend of hers.”

“Rhonda has a biker boyfriend?” Helen said. That was a surprise.

“Sam. Fat guy with a beer gut and a beard braid. Rides a big old Harley. Knocks Rhonda around when he’s had a few. I heard he was selling meth, but he can’t be much of a drug dealer. He’s always borrowing money from Rhonda and he never pays it back. Rhonda likes to sleep with trash.”

“Our Rhonda?” Helen said. “The woman who dresses like a church lady?”

“That’s the one,” Denise said. “She may look sweet but she’s got some bad ways.”

“She told me her boyfriend was rich and handsome,” Helen said. “He gave her fifty dollars. I saw the money.”

“You saw the fifty,” Denise said. “You didn’t see him give it to her. I doubt any man would give her that much, even if she got on her knees for him.”

“Denise!” Helen said. She wished the housekeeper didn’t look so much like Sister Mary Justine.

“Denise is right,” Sondra said. “Rhonda has a low-down streak when it comes to men. She showed up at work once with a black eye. Said she fell.”

“She fell, all right,” Denise said. “She fell into bed with that biker again.”

“Sam sure doesn’t sound like the handsome, generous man she told me about,” Helen said. “Maybe Rhonda’s got two boyfriends.”

“Huh,” Sondra said. “She’s lucky to have Sam.”

“We’ve wasted enough time on that woman,” Denise said. “We have fifty-six rooms to clean. Cheryl is already upstairs on two. I’ll take the first floor. Helen, you need a little eye candy. You work with the new guy, Craig, on three.”

“I like working with Cheryl,” Helen said.

“Don’t get huffy. I’m not fixing you up on a blind date. Craig will cheer you up. Make you quit worrying so much. Your ex won’t get past Sondra or me. Come on upstairs and I’ll introduce you.”

Denise puffed her way up to the third floor, despite Helen’s protests that they could take the elevator if Rob was gone.

“You never know when he’ll pop back.” When De-nise got to the third-floor landing, she stopped and put on light pink lipstick from a little tube with a mirror on the side.

She really likes this Craig, Helen thought. I wonder why she doesn’t work with him. Because she wants to do me a favor. Besides, Denise is too sensible to make a fool of herself over a young man. A little lipstick is as silly as she’ll get.

Craig was stocking the cart in the third-floor housekeeping room. He looked like the lead singer in a boy band. His blond hair was dyed dandelion yellow, but its fake color suited him. His eyes were hazel with a wicked sparkle. His chin was strong. Even the smock couldn’t hide that surfer body. Underneath, he was wearing a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans—the sexiest and simplest of men’s outfits. He was so naturally cute, Helen wanted to pet him.

“Do you want gloves?” Denise asked.

The question startled Helen, till she realized Denise was talking about latex cleaning gloves.

“I do,” Craig said. When he slipped them on, Helen noticed a wide Band-Aid on his wrist.

“What about you?” Denise asked Helen.

“Can’t stand the feel,” she said. “They’re hot and sticky.”

“Amateur,” Denise said. “When you’ve worked here long enough, you won’t want to touch some of that stuff in those rooms. Craig already found that out. He cleaned the honeymoon Jacuzzi yesterday.”

Craig grinned, showing even white teeth. “I don’t think I’ll eat a hot-fudge sundae anytime soon.”

“He really cleaned in the corners,” Denise said.

“The Jacuzzi has a round tub,” Helen said, wondering why she was behaving like such a jerk.

“What I mean,” Denise said, “is this man can clean. He knows his way around a scrub brush.”

“That’s a switch,” Helen said. “You couldn’t tell by the men who stay at this hotel.”

“Hey, give me a break,” Craig said. “I can see why you’re down on guys after some of those rooms. But we can be neat and clean. I’ll prove it.”

“He’s hardworking and shows up on time,” Denise said. “That’s rare in South Florida. Take good care of our new man. I have lots to do today.”

“Do you want to dust and make beds or clean the bathrooms?” Helen said.

“I like to alternate,” Craig said. “I don’t like routines.”

Helen hated to admit it, but Craig lived up to De-nise’s praise. He cleaned with a professional system, starting with the beds, then dusting his way around the room clockwise. He wiped inside the drawers, looked under the furniture, and checked around the beds for left-behind shoes and old condoms. He dusted the pictures bolted to the walls and checked to see if any were loose. He’d mastered the art of cleaning mirrors without smearing the glass. He used what Helen’s grandmother called “elbow grease.”

The day seemed to go better with Craig around. People picked their towels off the floor and left five-dollar tips.

“Hey, look at this,” Craig said. “The stay-over guest in this room didn’t put out the ‘Please Change the Bed Linens’ card. Not only that, she made her own bed.”

“Bless her,” Helen said.

“Does using the linens two days in a row really save our natural resources?” Craig said. “Or is that management bullshit?”

“It saves my natural resources,” Helen said. “Less bending and lifting for me. I thank anyone who saves me a linen change. We’ve got more good news. Room 323 wasn’t rented. We can bypass the hotel’s nastiest room.”

“I’m kind of disappointed,” Craig said. “I’ve heard so much about it.”

“You’ll get your chance soon enough,” Helen said. “We’re making good time. It’s two o’clock and only the honeymoon suite is left.”

She unlocked the suite door. Craig entered first. “Hey, guess what’s all over the floor and the bed?” He blocked her view with his broad shoulders. Helen noticed how his back tapered into firm buns.

“Hershey’s syrup? Honey? Chocolate ice cream?” She’d found them all on honeymoon beds.

Craig shook his head.

“Not bananas again?” Helen said. “Those are worse than whipped cream.”

“Use your imagination. It’s the honeymoon suite,” Craig said.

“If it was my marriage, it would be Rocky Road,” Helen said.

Craig laughed and stepped aside. A trail of white rose petals led to the deliciously rumpled bed. The sheets were covered with the fragrant petals.

“This marriage is a bed of roses,” Craig said.

“That’s so sweet,” Helen said. “I hope it’s true.”

“Some people do live happily ever after. Not all men are pigs.” Craig looked sad, and Helen wondered if he’d been hurt, too. She wanted to hug him. No, she wanted to do a lot more than that. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

“Well, I’d better get to work,” Helen said. “I’ll take the two bathrooms.” She closed the door behind her, hoping to shut out Craig’s words. Not all men were pigs. Phil certainly wasn’t. Why did she find Mr. Boy Band so attractive? She was worse than Rob, flirting with someone eighteen years younger.

I’m a slut, she thought, and scrubbed harder, as if she could wipe away her flirtatious thoughts.

She finished both bathrooms in record time. When she opened the door, the suite smelled of lemon polish.

Craig had made the enormous bed and was vacuuming up the last rose petals. She watched the long, strong muscles in his arms as he worked the heavy vacuum.

When Craig turned off the shrieking machine, she said, “That’s it. We’ve finished early.”

“I really enjoyed working with you today.” Craig looked shyly at the freshly vacuumed floor. “Care to join me for a drink on Las Olas?”

Helen searched for the nicest way to say no.

“We could have coffee if you don’t drink,” he said.

“Thanks, Craig,” Helen said, “but I’m meeting my boyfriend.” How was that for subtle?

“The good ones are all taken,” he said, and flashed that engaging grin. “I’d still like to have coffee with you sometime—as a friend. But I won’t keep you. I’ll go change.”

Craig pulled off his smock, revealing the tight white T-shirt. Running a vacuum cleaner sure pumped his pecs. Then he was down the hall and gone.

Helen was flattered and flustered. She pushed the cart to the housekeeper’s room, humming a little tune. Denise and Cheryl were inside, counting supplies.

“How was the new guy?” Denise said. She looked way too innocent.

“He’s a good worker,” Helen said.

“A fast one, too,” Denise said.

“He ask you out?” Cheryl said.

Helen said nothing, but a blush gave her away.

“Hah. I thought so,” Denise said.

“He asked me out, too,” Cheryl said. Suddenly Helen saw how pretty she used to be, with her pink complexion and curly dark hair. “I told him no. I had to get home to Angel. But it felt good, anyway. It’s been a long time since a hottie asked me out.”

“How did you know I said no?” Helen said.

“You wouldn’t be stupid enough to throw away a man like Phil,” Cheryl said. “But I bet you enjoyed the invitation, same as me.”

“Maybe the guy has a mother complex,” Helen said. “I’m a lot older.”

“I’ve got news for you, sweetie, you don’t look like anyone’s mother,” Denise said.

“Anything I can help you with before I leave?” Helen said.

“For that subtle change of subject, you can help us haul the trash bags to the Dumpsters,” Denise said. She called Sondra on the walkie-talkie.

“It’s clear,” Sondra said. “No sign of you-know-who. Come down the service elevator. I’ll distract Helen’s ex if he shows up.”

“I bet you will,” Denise said. She handed Helen and Cheryl each a huge, heavy industrial trash bag, then took two more in her muscular arms. Helen was pretty sure Sister Mary Justine didn’t have muscles like that.

When Denise unlocked the fence around the Dump-sters, hordes of flies poured out. “Pew. Get a whiff of that,” she said. “Something must have crawled inside and died, maybe a raccoon.”

“That smell is strong for a raccoon. Must be something bigger. Maybe it’s a dog,” Helen said.

“How can a dog get into a tall Dumpster behind a locked fence?” Denise said.

“It’s just rotten trash,” Cheryl said. “Nothing’s dead in there. The trash man’s coming tomorrow. Let it go.”

“I hope he comes early,” Denise said. “By tomorrow we’ll be able to smell it out front.”

“It is powerful,” Helen said. “You don’t think some kid was playing around in the trash and fell in?”

“No!” Cheryl said. “That’s a ridiculous idea.”

“Sybil chases off any kids,” Denise said. “That’s one reason why we put that perfume all over the trash, to keep the kids out.”

But the wind shifted and the sickly sweet odor was stronger. Helen’s stomach turned. She smelled death.

“Let’s go back inside,” Cheryl said. She sounded frightened.

“I’d better check those Dumpsters,” Helen said. “If some kid fell in, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“What are you doing?” Cheryl said as Helen dragged a small, sturdy recycling bin over to the tall Dumpster with the most flies.

“I’m going to take a look inside,” Helen said.

“No, don’t,” Cheryl said. “There could be things in there. Snakes. Rats.”

“They’ll run at the first sign of humans,” Helen said. She hoped that was true.

“Diseases,” Cheryl said desperately. “There are diseases and bacteria in there. You’ll catch something.”

“I’ll take a shower,” Helen said.

“Please, don’t! I’ve got a bad feeling,” Cheryl said.

“All the more reason for me to look,” Helen said. She hoisted herself up onto the bin. The Dumpster was sticky with unknown substances, and she wished she were wearing those gloves. An evil yellow liquid oozed down one corner.

She held her breath and pulled herself inside. The bags shifted and squished under her feet. The smell was overpowering. Flies buzzed frantically, bombing her face. She tried to shoo them away, but there were too many. Ouch! Did flies bite or were there mosquitoes in there, too? Helen slapped and fought the crazed insects as she pawed through the trash. A metal rod poked through a bag and scratched her leg. She hoped her tetanus shots were updated.

“There’s nothing up here,” Helen said. “I’ve shifted two layers.”

“It could have crawled under those bags at the bottom and died,” Denise said.

“No, it didn’t,” Cheryl said. “Get out of there now before you get hurt.”