by CeeCee James
Dayton’s difference between Milan and Madrid drove in like a battering ram. And what about that crazy article I’d read earlier? Did Dayton have a slip of the tongue? Was he somehow involved in that theft? It was hard to imagine him being a jewelry thief at his age.
I thought about all these relatives sprouting out of the wood-work. A half-brother, the uncle, and now a lawyer. And why hadn’t Kristi gotten back to me about her search warrant? What was taking her so long?
Bingo had found a flower to pounce on. I hated to disturb him, but I had to do some more digging into all of this. It was driving me crazy. I clucked my tongue and led him back to the suite.
Back in my office, I logged into the hotel’s reservation system, just to see if I could find a clue where Mr. Dayton arrived from. Sometimes the guests asked for shuttle service from the airport, which meant we sent a driver to meet them at the arrival gate. Ahh. There it was, room 360. Reservation was made two weeks prior by D. R. Austin. I already knew the lawyer had made Dayton’s reservation. I scrolled further to read the instruction sheet of guest preferences.
There was concierge service requested for pick up at gate eighteen. I needed to look that up to see what flights used that gate throughout that day.
I was about to log out when my gaze landed on the reservation for room 359. It’d been made under the name John Doe— not too unusual in the hotel business— and they’d reserved the suite for a week. The odd part was that they never showed up. They didn’t even give a cancellation phone call, especially since they’d been billed for 70% of the room fee. It was in the reservation that the room would only be held until noon the next day, with the first night billed to the reserving guest regardless of whether they checked in or not.
Something about that was making my feelers lift. I clicked on the billing for room 359. There was a foreign transaction fee. I clicked the charge and dug into the file deeper.
The name on the card was D. R. Austin.
A chill ran down my back. I returned to the main screen and sat there frozen.
Could there be some kind of mistake? A fluke in the system? I clicked on room 359 now, which I’d hastily given to Mrs. Richardson. Quickly, I scrolled to the billing. There it was again. D. R. Austin. Something was seriously wrong here. The billing system had to be glitching.
My phone buzzed, making me jump. Kristi’s no-nonsense voice came through the speaker. “Okay, lady. I’ve got the warrant. I’ll be down to get the letter and the rest of Dayton’s items.”
“Something weird is going on here,” I mumbled back, distracted.
“What? I can’t hear you. What’s the matter?”
“Something is weird with our billing system. It looks like Dayton’s attorney also paid for Mrs. Richardson’s room.” I rubbed my neck, trying to figure it out. Finally, I concluded, “It’s probably nothing. Somehow when the room got transferred, the name that didn’t get erased. But I need to get a hold of the billing department to find out for sure what’s going on.”
“What made you look at all?”
“I wanted to know if the hotel picked Dayton up from the airport so I could figure out what country he was returning from.”
“Why were you doing that?”
“His tag on his luggage didn’t match where he said he was coming from.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Not really. Just this weird billing issue.” I bit the pad of my index finger, where a remnant of super glue remained.
“Well, did it occur to you that the tag might be from another trip?”
“Oh.” I suddenly felt like an idiot. Had I built this whole case up on nothing?
“Leave the suitcase at the front desk and I’ll pick it up, along with the stuff from the safe. We’ll get this sorted out soon enough.”
“Got it.” My confidence buoyed since we were about to get some real answers. “I can’t wait to find out what’s inside that envelope.”
“Ahem. Strictly police business, Maisie.”
“What? I can’t even know?” I was shocked.
She laughed. “We’ll see. But only if it won’t compromise my investigation.”
Well, that was at least something.
“And you’re done with the room? I can get it cleaned?”
“Not yet. Give me another twenty-four hours just in case something comes up.”
“Maybe with the envelope,” I hinted.
“Maybe.”
“Any word from the coroner?”
“Not yet.” With that, she hung up.
There was some relief in keeping Mr. Dayton’s room off the roster. It was a popular suite, with its huge balcony, soaking tub and stone-inlaid shower with a waterfall. I knew it would have already been reserved tonight.
The thought of that room being filled with guests right after a murder filled me with unease. Maybe I’d see about keeping it off for a few days, just out of respect.
But respect for who? Maisie, you’re being silly, Get up there and make sure you have everything packed.
I found a pair of gloves from a box in the supply office and walked to the elevator.
As I boarded, I shivered as I remembered Dayton’s eyes when he questioned me about his room being haunted.
And what did the facts show? He died with a guard outside his room. We know that he was murdered because the settling pattern showed he had died face down.
What about that brandy bottle and cup? Where were they now?
There had been two wine bottles. But I just realized there’d been no wine glass either. Did Dayton just drink it from the bottle? Both bottles?
Anything was possible, I supposed.
Up at the suite, I used my pass-key and entered. The room smelled slightly of stale cigar smoke. I’m going to be honest, it was a little creepy being in there alone. Dayton had thought his room had been haunted. What had happened leading up to his death that had made him think that way?
I walked over to the couch and saw a t-shirt I’d missed earlier crammed into the crack. I pulled on the gloves and pulled it out. There was a sock on the side of the couch, and another near the window. Carefully, I searched for anything I’d missed and brought them to the suitcase and stuffed them inside.
Finally, everything was packed. My hands were sweating, and I tugged off a glove. It tore at my wrist as I pulled. What a cheap piece of crap. We really have to do better for our housekeeping.
I stared at the green shred, and my brain sparked, trying to remind me of something. But just as I almost had it, it disappeared.
I walked back to the bathroom to see if I missed something. The ironing board in the closet alcove was still out just as before. No clothing here. I ran my hand down its surface, trying to figure out what Dayton had been thinking. Why had he pulled it down? Was he getting ready to iron that night? It seemed improbable, given the state of his wardrobe. But drunk people do strange things.
There were a few tiny white crumbs on it. I examined one. Just seemed like a chalky bit of the drywall. Maybe they were from the wall cubby from when he’d lowered the board.
Might as well put it away. I kicked in the front leg of the ironing board and pushed it back up into the wall. It locked into place with a solid click.
A whiff of something indescribable came from the bathroom, immediately bringing to my mind the memory of me donning rubber gloves. Those poor housekeepers and what they had to clean.
Wait a minute. Didn’t Mike find a piece of a glove in here the night Dayton called me up? Obviously, the same thing happened to one of the housekeepers that happened to me.
I forgot it was still in my jacket pocket back in my room. I remember the latex had looked shredded, as if the glove had gotten pinched, and the wearer jerked away.
Mike said he’d found it on the floor of this closet. Kind of a weird place for it to be.
I studied the length of the ironing board and then up the wall to the ceiling tiles above. A shiver ran through my veins. One looked like it was missi
ng a chunk from the corner. Had it been moved? Did those white crumbles come from the ceiling tile?
I snapped a picture of the tile and sent it to Kristi.
She texted back. —What is this?
I licked my lip. I wasn’t sure. Not at all. She made fun of half my ideas, and I probably deserved it. After all, I had no clue what was beyond the ceiling tile. Probably just empty space.
But my gut told me this was it. Someone had moved that tile and pushed the ironing board down to have something to climb on. Maybe when Dayton woke up, the person escaped back through and tore his glove in the process of replacing the tile.
—I think I found out how they got into the room.
Chapter 16
A rustling at the suite’s door made me nearly drop the phone. I jerked around and stared across the main room.
The handle turned slowly. My heart hammered against my ribs. Every muscle in my body tensed to make my getaway. But escape to where? I searched for a hiding spot, even momentarily considering hiding behind the sliding glass door curtain.
The door opened and a squeaking trolley pushed through. Our head housekeeper’s eyes widened when she caught mine.
“Ms. Swenson?” Julie asked, a bit breathless.
Relief flooded through me, leaving me feeling boneless. I grabbed onto the doorframe for balanced and took a few deep breaths.
“Julie! You scared me! What are you doing here?”
“You scared me too, boss,” she said solemnly before closing the door. She wheeled the cart half-way into the room. “I got a note to pack up his things. What are you doing?”
“Oh, I forgot I’d sent that memo. The officer said she’s on her way so I came in to make sure everything was ready.” I suddenly felt miserable. “It haunts me that I’d talked to Dayton just hours before he was murdered. I’m the one who dismissed his fears.”
“Aww, Ms. Swenson. You put a guard outside his door, so you didn’t dismiss his fears. And we all thought he was a little special.”
I could barely nod through the flood of guilt. I knew he hadn’t seen a ghost but a real person. And I thought I could prove it. “Julie, you don’t suppose.... How good are you at climbing?”
She looked at me like I was a few crayons short of a box. “Climbing? I haven’t climbed anything since I was nine-years-old and fell out of my grandpa’s apple tree.”
I grunted in response. I guess it was going to be up to me then. “I think I know how they got in.”
“They? Who?”
“The murderer. Come help me. And bring a pair of gloves.”
I could hear Julie muttering under her breath as she rummaged for the gloves, but she had a noncommittal expression as she approached me. I pulled them on with a snap and led her to the closet.
“Just give me a hand,” I said, as I pulled down the ironing board.
“Ms. Swenson, what on earth? Are you going to iron? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. Help me up.”
Steadying myself, with one hand braced against the ironing board and the other on her shoulder, I climbed up. Metal groaned. The board wasn’t designed to hold this much weight and wobbled a bit. Adrenaline shot through my nerves like white fire. I nearly fell, but, after flapping my arms, caught my balance.
Julie watched me with her lips puckered into a worried frown. After I felt somewhat secure, I flexed my fingers and then carefully pushed up on the ceiling tile.
Dust sifted as it moved. I shoved it to one side. Hot air filtered down like I’d opened a woodstove. I couldn’t see past the metal lip of the opening into the blackness.
“Hold me steady, please,” I commanded and reached for the far wall. With my other hand, I got out my phone and switched on the flashlight. Then, carefully, I rose on my toes.
Julie held me around the knees, muttering with a new fury.
Balancing against the ceiling opening, I was able to peep over the opening. I carefully guided the beam of light. My hands were sweaty, and I could just picture dropping the phone. There were marks in the dust like something had traveled through, and up ahead, the light glinted off of an object, but it was too far to make out what it was. I flipped the camera on and snapped, hoping the camera would focus on the object.
“Okay, I’m coming down,” I warned and settled back to my heels. With one hand still against the wall, I studied the picture.
It was a coffee decanter.
What in the world? Was it the one from next door?
I stood on my toes again and peeked over the edge. Without the flashlight, I could see it was dark, but not the pitch black I’d imagined. The opening appeared to be a metal conduit of some kind. An outline of a rectangle, made of light, leaked ahead about thirty feet.
Right above Mrs. Richardson’s suite.
Using my fingers, I tested the conduit’s floor for strength. “I’m not sure if this could hold a person’s weight.”
“What?” Julie called from below.
I ducked my head to glance at her. “I said, I’m not sure if the tunnel could support a human. But maybe.”
Sliding my hand on the wall for balance, I climbed down. Julie watched with her hands out like she’d catch me if I fell.
I studied the picture again, this time zooming in. What was the coffee decanter doing up there? And there appeared to be garbage stacked behind the carafe.
With a sigh, I sent the picture to Kristi.
“So, what do we do now, boss? Just pack things up?” Julie’s forehead wrinkled.
“I’m not sure,” I said. And I really wasn’t. With this discovery, I figured the police would want to be back to examine it.
“Who do you think was up there?” Julie asked, her hands on her hip, staring at the black hole. “You don’t think Mrs. Richardson….” She left the thought unfinished.
That crabby woman? Really, the near-perfect stereotype of every critic I’d ever met.
But was she really a mastermind behind this plan?
I rubbed my arm as goosebumps rose on it. I realized that whenever I’d seen Mr. Dayton, I’d seen Mrs. Richardson at the same time. And when Mr. Stephenson, the half-brother came by, she was there watching.
Was she the killer?
I rang the front desk.
“Oceanside hotel, Sierra speaking. How may I help you today?”
“Sierra! Has Mrs. Richardson checked out yet?”
“I—I don’t believe so.” Her voice faltered. “Are you okay?”
There was still time.
“I’m fine. Let me know if you see her. If she tries to check out, stall her!”
“Absolutely, I will.” The confidence was back and her words crisp.
I hung up and started to text Kristi again. She’d just returned one to me. —What’s going on?
—Kristi, I know who the murderer is. Mrs. Richardson. Her room is connected to this one by the conduit. What do you want me to do?
There were bubbles as Kristi typed her reply. I waited impatiently. I nearly shrieked when the phone rang, instead.
“Maisie Swenson, just what are you up to?” Kristi demanded.
I lowered my voice. I didn’t want even a hint of a chance that Mrs. Richardson could hear me. “The ironing board was down. I found pieces of ceiling tile, and earlier Mike found a piece of a rubber glove. I climbed up there and there’s ductwork that goes right over Mrs. Richardson’s room.”
“Yeah.” Kristi’s voice was infused with extra patience, which told me she was feeling anything but that.
“Well, above her crawl space was a bunch of garbage, including the coffee pot she was complaining was missing earlier.”
The phone was silent for two beats. Then, “She complained her coffee pot went missing?”
I groaned. Seriously? With all those details that’s what she picked up on? “You’re not listening—”
“No. I hear you. You think she crawled through and killed him. But I’m curious why she’d complain the pot was missing. And what was her motive,
anyway?”
“I don’t know?” I was feeling panicked. Kristi better help me. “But what about that weird glitch that showed the same person paying for both rooms?”
“But that was the lawyer, right?”
I frowned. “Yes, I guess so.”
“Don’t worry. That’s enough for probable doubt for me to at least question her. I’m coming down now.”
“Well hurry, because she’s about to check out.”
“Sirens on,” she said and hung up.
Chapter 17
Next door, I heard rustling and then a thump. Julie and I looked at each other.
“Only ten more minutes to check out, Ms. Swenson,” Julie whispered.
I glanced at my watch. Kristi was never going to get here in time. Panic made me feel like everything was moving a million miles an hour. How was I supposed to keep Mrs. Richardson here, and not suspicious, until Kristi arrived?
Was I strong enough to be able to restrain Mrs. Richardson if need be? I pictured the wrestling match. That would never work. I could barely control Bingo when he was after a grasshopper.
I knew what I could do. Quickly, I called Sierra. That girl had a chip on her shoulder the size of a hubcap, and she wasn’t afraid to use it to whack some sense into a person. Luckily, through the time we’ve spent together, I’ve finally been able to earn her trust. But she was prickly when we’d first met, and I’d never forgotten that.
Turns out, sometimes being defensive is a good thing.
“How are things going down there?” I asked.
“Calm. Cool. Quiet,” she answered.
“Any chance Clarissa can cover for you and you can run up here? I need some backup.”
She didn’t even question me. “You got it.”
We hung up, and I glanced at Julie. “Okay, I need you to guard the elevator. Got that?”
“Guard?” She took a step back like there was a snake in her path.
I bit my lip. Julie was the antithesis of defensive. Every part of the short woman screamed soft and kind. “If Mrs. Richardson comes, try not to let her on the elevator. Delay and block the door, maybe with the cart. Act like the wheel is broken.”
