Murder With Reservations (23 page)

“I sure don’t,” Arlene said.

“The bedspreads are the weak link. Even most well-run hotels only change them every two weeks. Some wait longer.”

“And people have s-e-x on them,” Arlene said.

Helen wondered why she spelled out the word. “They’re also diaper-changing stations.”

Arlene wrinkled her face. Margery sat behind a screen of smoke, grinning at Helen.

“I wouldn’t sleep on a hotel bedspread if you paid me,” Helen said. “I’d avoid the in-room coffeepot, too. We had this absentminded maid who cleaned the coffeepot with the toilet rag.”

“Eeuw. I wish you didn’t tell me that. I need my coffee in the morning,” Arlene said.

“Then order it from room service,” Helen said. “Or walk to the nearest coffee shop.”

“Uh, thanks,” Arlene said. She was a not-so-hot shade of green. It clashed with the hot pink. “I’ve had a lot of hotel coffee in my lifetime. Now I wonder what I drank.”

This time she didn’t rise from the chaise with her usual grace. She ran for her apartment with an ungainly lope.

“I finally get a decent tenant in 2C and you have to make her sick,” Margery said.

“She’s a crook like all the others,” Helen said.

“Awwk!” Pete the parrot said. Peggy was drifting toward them like a lost soul, a sulky Pete riding on her shoulder.

“We’ll continue this conversation after Peggy leaves,” Margery hissed. She looked up at Peggy and said, “You look like forty miles of bad road.”

Peggy was on her cell phone again. She shook the phone, then checked the display screen and snapped it shut.

“What’s the matter?” Helen said.

“I can’t find Glenn,” Peggy said. “I haven’t been able to reach him all day. I’ve called and called. He usually talks to me four or five times a day.”

“Maybe he had a business trip,” Margery said.

“He would have told me,” Peggy said. “He could be sick or hurt.”

“Do you want to go to his apartment and check on him?” Margery said. “We’ll go with you.”

“No, I don’t want to be too clingy. That scares a man away. He’s entitled to a day away from me.”

Helen fought to keep from looking at her landlady. She knew Margery’s thoughts were the same as her own: I told you so. He took your money and ran.

The silence grew louder, until Helen couldn’t stand it anymore. “You won’t believe who I saw at work today.”

Margery glared at her. She didn’t want to hear more bad news about 2C.

Tough, Helen thought. She had other bones to pick with Margery in private. She told them about Arlene’s visit to the Full Moon.

“What do you think she’s doing in those hotel lobbies?” Helen asked.

“Spying on people?” Peggy said. “Blackmailing someone? Maybe she’s a private eye.”

“She didn’t photograph many people,” Helen said. “Sondra at the front desk said Arlene took the typical tourist videos of trees and flowers, then shot the pay phones and the snack area, the pool and the lobby. The Full Moon lobby isn’t anything to write home about, much less video.”

“Damn. I’ve been snookered again,” Margery said, stubbing out her cigarette. “I wish I knew why she hangs around hotels.”

“She’s too old to be a hooker,” Peggy said. “Maybe she’s a pickpocket or a thief. Any reports of theft or break-ins at your hotel?”

“No,” Helen said. “She didn’t talk to anyone at the hotel, didn’t approach any guests, and didn’t go toward the room elevators. She spends time at other hotels, too, remember? She told us about her day at that beach hotel.”

“She’s up to something,” Margery said. “I wish I knew what it was.”

“Awwwk,” Pete said.

Peggy checked her cell phone for the tenth time in five minutes. “I think I’ll go inside,” she said.The brilliant butterfly was gone. Peggy’s shoulders drooped and her hair needed a wash. Even Pete seemed downhearted.

Once Peggy was inside her apartment, Margery said, “Your ex and my friend Marcella really hit it off. She called me, absolutely ecstatic about her night with Rob. She’s letting him move in with her.”

“How soon before she kills him?” Helen said.

Margery tried to look innocent. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.

“Phil says your friend Marcella is the Black Widow,” Helen said. “She’s killed at least four husbands.”

Margery laughed. “Your man has quite an imagination. Marcella is a single woman, just like you.”

“Not exactly. My ex is still alive. What happens if Rob dies?”

“You’re being ridiculous. But what if he did, just for the sake of argument? The world would be a better place and you could quit slinking around. Why do you care? Right now your ex is living like a pasha and you’re cleaning toilets. Rob is like a cat. He’ll land on his feet. Aren’t you tired of being a martyr?”

“I like my life,” Helen said stubbornly.

“Then you should have a talk with Phil. He’d better be careful about spreading vicious gossip. Marcella has never been accused of anything.”

“She married a lot of dead men,” Helen said.

“She was unlucky,” Margery said.

“Not as unlucky as they were,” Helen said.

H
ey, Dean,” the man bellowed outside the hotel room. “Get your ass in gear. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

The man stood in the hall, pounding on the door to room 322. This section was infested by the business conference.

No wonder the maids hated corporate types, Helen thought. Not only were they slobs, they were rude. Look at this one, making a racket in the hall at nine in the morning. Didn’t he know this was a tourist hotel? Some people liked to sleep late on vacation.

The man shouted and slammed the door with the flat of his hand.
Boom! Boom!
The wooden door sounded like a kettledrum. He’d wake up the whole hotel.

“Dean, this isn’t funny,” he screamed. “Get your butt out of bed. We’re late, damn it.”

Cussing. The AARP tourists would love that. Helen had to stop this tantrum. She abandoned her cleaning cart and ran to 322.

The door pounder wore a gray pin-striped suit, a power tie and an air of impatience. A small bald spot sat on his head like a crown. He was not used to being ignored. A younger man with more hair and a cringing air held the door pounder’s topcoat. They must be headed for a colder climate.

The suit was about to batter the door with his fully loaded briefcase when Helen said, “May I help you,

sir?”

The door pounder dropped the briefcase. The coat holder picked it up.

“We’re trying to wake up Dean,” the suit said. “He won’t answer his phone and he won’t come to the door. My name is Richard. That’s Jason.”

The boss gave the coat holder a nod, and the young man showed his teeth in an obsequious smile. The attention made Jason bold.”If Dean doesn’t move soon, we’ll have to call him the late Dean Stamples,” he said.

The boss’s silence was arctic. Jason gulped.

“Will you open the door for us, miss?” Richard the boss said. It wasn’t a question. It was an order. “We have to be at the airport in half an hour. We have a rental car to return.”

“I can’t open the door, sir, but I can call the manager to help you. I’ll be right back.”

Helen didn’t wait for the elevator. She raced down the stairs to the front desk. Sondra was facing a long, impatient line of businessmen looking at their watches and talking importantly on their cell phones. The bow on Sondra’s blouse was slightly crooked, the only sign the impeccable clerk was frazzled.

“I need to see you,” Helen said, and dragged Sondra into the back office. “We’ve got a problem. The guy in room 322 won’t pick up his phone or open his door.”

Sondra groaned. “The curse of 323 is spreading.”

“Hey! Are you girls going to gossip or are you going to wait on me?” The balding pin-striped man at the desk could have been Richard’s clone.

Sondra came out to the front desk. “I’ll find the hotel owner to personally serve you, sir,” she said.

The pin-striped man puffed out his chest.

“Serves him right,” Helen said. “Wait till Sybil lands on him.”

Helen enjoyed watching the man’s face fall as the short, gnarled Sybil creaked out of her lair, trailing ashes and smoke like an escaped demon.

“What’s your problem?” Sybil said, in a tone that meant there’d better not be one.

“I’m trying to get my bill,” Mr. Pinstripe said.

“Well, things will go a lot faster if you’ll quit nagging my staff,” Sybil said. “They’re moving as fast as they can.”

Sondra pulled Helen into the back room again. “We’ll call the guest from here,” she said. The phone rang six times, but there was no answer from room 322.

Helen didn’t expect one. “A phone call isn’t going to disturb that guy,” she said. “His boss made enough noise to wake the dead.”

Sondra stared at Helen. “I hope this isn’t what I think it is. We’d better get up there fast.” She grabbed her passkey card and rushed past a cluster of tourists with fat flowered suitcases waiting for the elevator. Sondra pounded up the stairs. Helen ran two steps behind her.

“What do you know about the guest in this room?” Sondra asked as they climbed.

By the second floor, Helen was short of breath. Her words came out in quick asthmatic wheezes. “It’s a guy. One of the businessmen. Cheryl and I cleaned his room two days ago. He was a slob and a smoker. He had the
Do Not Disturb
sign on the door yesterday, so we didn’t have to clean the room. We slipped a card under the door so he could call housekeeping for clean towels, but he never did.”

“I don’t like this,” Sondra said. “I dread opening that door.”

“I’ll go in with you,” Helen said, as she paused to catch her breath.

They tumbled out into the third-floor hall. Richard the boss was pacing outside room 322. Jason circled in his wake, lugging the boss’ coat and briefcase. His own were piled on the floor.

Richard looked pointedly at his watch, but he gave Sondra a bright smile. Few men could resist her. “We’ve got a little problem waking up our friend Dean,” he said.

Jason leered at Sondra. “If you go in there, that will really wake him up.”

Sondra ignored him and knocked on the door. “Hello? Sir? Anyone in there?” she said.

Silence.

Sondra snicked her card through the slot and the room door swung open. Cold coppery air poured out, with a strong liquor stink underneath. Bourbon? Scotch? Something foul and sour was in that room.

Richard wrinkled his nose in disgust. The boss did not approve of booze. Helen thought she saw a sly smile flicker across Jason’s face. She wondered if Dean was an office rival.

Richard tried to bull his way into the room, but Son-dra blocked him. “Please stay outside, sir,” she said. “I’m not authorized to let other guests inside an occupied room.”

The boss paced in the doorway, irritated at being refused.

The room was so dark, Helen expected to find bats on the ceiling. She braced herself for an unpleasant sight as Sondra flipped on the light.

The bed was empty. Helen let out an involuntary sigh of relief. Dean wasn’t dead in his bed.

“Maybe he stepped out for coffee,” Sondra said.

“We told him we’d pick him up at nine,” Richard said from the doorway. His tone said any other alternative was unthinkable.

“Maybe Dean forgot,” Jason said. “He skipped part of the conference to score some serious sightseeing. Maybe he’s on the beach now.”

“I don’t think he left the hotel,” Helen said. “His wallet is on the dresser and his pants are on the chair. His shoes are by the bed.”

“I’d like to see old Dean running around naked,” Jason said, and giggled.

I bet you would, you little suck, Helen thought. She’d worked with her share of Jasons during her corporate years.

The bathroom door was closed, but a yellow sliver of light shone under the door. Helen listened for running water, but all was quiet. The carpet was dry, and no puddles seeped under the door. That was a good sign.

Sondra knocked on the bathroom door. “Hello? Hello, sir? Are you OK?”

More silence.

“Hope he didn’t do an Elvis,” Jason said. “You know, die on the crapper.”

“Shut up,” Richard said, and Helen silently thanked him for that executive order.

Jason clamped his jaws closed.

“I’d better go in there,” Sondra said. She rattled the handle. The door wasn’t locked. “Sir, I’m opening this door. I’m coming into the bathroom.”

The silence stretched on.

Very slowly, the door opened. Then it hit something with an odd rubbery thud. Helen saw the glitter of broken glass on the floor and dark red-black splashes on the tile. Blood was everywhere.

“Ohmigod,” Helen said.

Sondra backed out of the bathroom, stepping on Helen’s foot. “You don’t want to go in there,” she said, her voice shaky. She closed the door behind her. “Call 911. I’ll stay here and guard the room.”

Richard was on the threshold, ready to invade. “Tell me what’s going on,” he said. “I have a right to know. Is Dean sick? Does he need an ambulance?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Sondra said. She stopped and tried to phrase her next words carefully. “I’m very sorry. Your friend is beyond that kind of help.”

“Shit,” Richard said. “What am I going to tell his wife?” He was wringing his soft manicured hands.