Death Checks In

by David S. Pederson

“Do you enjoy working in the hotel, Mr. Bennett?” Alan asked.

  “It has its ups and downs,” he said, still grasping his glass. “One of the ups is meeting charming ladies like you, Mrs. Verte.”

  She touched his arm again. “Oh, Mr. Bennett, how nice of you to say. My husband was killed in the war, as I mentioned earlier before you joined us. I’m from Chicago, but I haven’t been back in several years.”

  “Welcome home, then, madam,” Mr. Bennett said with a warm smile.

  “Thank you. New York is my home now, but it’s nice to be back in Chicago. Have you been here at the hotel long?”

  “Fifteen plus years. I hope to someday be the general manager here.”

  “How impressive, Mr. Bennett. I’m sure you’ll do well.” She looked at me and Alan. “Do you two visit here regularly?”

  “This is my first time in Chicago, Mrs. Verte,” Alan said.

  “Oh, how nice. It certainly is a wonderful city. There are some things I definitely miss.”

  “Chicago has nothing New York doesn’t have, Mrs. Verte,” Mr. Bennett said.

  “Oh, Mr. Bennett, I wouldn’t say that.” She laughed and turned back to us. “I’m in room 812, but the weather’s been so dreadful, I can’t hardly see a thing out the windows.”

  “What a small world, Mrs. Verte. We’re in 804, and we got in this morning,” Alan said.

  She raised her painted-on eyebrows. “Oh my, such a coincidence. We’re practically neighbors. Well, yesterday morning as soon as Mr. Bennett here helped me get everything straightened out with my letter of credit and hotel reservation and all, I unpacked and decided to pick up a little something for my uncle, who lives up on the north side. So I went down to Blount’s store, and of course there was Mr. Blount himself, ever so charming.”

  “You are too kind, madam,” Mr. Blount said, smiling his thin smile.

  “Oh, and the clothes are exquisite. I picked up a lovely tie for my uncle, and Mr. Blount even wrapped it for me. The workmanship is outstanding.”

  “Oui, the finest silk, the best tailoring,” Mr. Blount added, taking out his cigarette case and lighting up another smoke. “Cigarette, Mrs. Verte?”

  “Oh, no thank you. I never do,” she said, shaking her head.

  “It seems the cheese stands alone, as you Americans say. I know you don’t smoke, Bennett. And neither do these gentlemen.”

  “I’m sure you won’t let that stop you,” Bennett said dryly.

  Blount ignored him and blew out a cloud of smoke almost directly at Mr. Bennett.

  Mrs. Verte, who was seated between Blount and Bennett, waved the smoke away. “Have you been to his store, Mr. Barrington and Mr. Keyes?” She coughed just a bit.

  I nodded. “Ah yes, we were in there today and made some purchases.”

  She giggled. “Oh, that’s right. You said that earlier, didn’t you? You bought a tuxedo. How delightful. As it said in the Tribune article, he really does have the most marvelous things, really exquisite taste. Do you shop there, Mr. Bennett?”

  “Mr. Blount’s clothes are rather expensive for me, Mrs. Verte, but I have purchased several things from him.”

  “Oh, Mr. Bennett, you can’t put a price on quality and style,” Mrs. Verte said.

  “My thoughts exactly, dear lady. It is what I always say,” Blount said, still smiling.

  I glanced over at him beaming behind his cocktail while Mrs. Verte continued.

  “Great minds do think alike, don’t they?”

  “Indeed, dear lady. Mr. Bennett, as a matter of fact, is a regular customer of my store, though you wouldn’t know it. He always dresses so drably.”

  “Don’t start, Blount,” Mr. Bennett said flatly.

  Mrs. Verte giggled again, her hand still on Bennett’s arm. “Oh, I think you dress quite smartly, Mr. Bennett. An assistant manager can’t be too flashy.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Verte.”

  “Hmpff,” Blount mumbled as Mrs. Verte continued.

  “Anyway, I’m so glad I decided to come back after all these years. And the train trip was delightful. I always find long train trips to be so relaxing. Everything’s just been wonderful, except for that nasty business with my handbag being stolen, of course.”

  “You should still report that to the police, Mrs. Verte,” Alan said.

  She waved him away with the flick of her wrist. “Oh pish posh, what’s done is done. I’ll never get it back, and besides, if it hadn’t been stolen, I never would have met you, Mr. Bennett, would I have?”

  He cocked his head. “Probably not. I don’t mingle with the guests often.”

  “So you see? Having that old handbag stolen was actually a good thing. And then yesterday, I also met the charming Mr. Blount, and he invited me for cocktails tonight. And now here we all are, aren’t we?”

  “Actually I think you invited me, and such a kind invitation it was, Mrs. Verte.” He laughed and so did she.

  “Oh, Mr. Blount, do call me Vivian.”

  “Vivian Verte, a lovely name for a lovely woman. It is so lyrical, no? Perhaps I should call you VV, like Gigi. It’s very French.”

  “VV, oh I like that. My maiden name was Dousman, so VV is definitely better than VD.” She blushed as she laughed at her little joke, and we all tittered with her, except Mr. Blount. His entire expression and demeanor changed, and he looked rather ill.

  Mrs. Verte looked over at him, somewhat alarmed. “Oh dear, I hope I haven’t offended you, Mr. Blount. It was just my attempt at humor.”

  He stared at her for some time, his face blank, but finally spoke. “No, no, it is fine, Mrs. Verte, VV. It was a funny joke.” But he sounded less than sincere.

  She put her hand on her ample chest. “Oh good. Sometimes I speak without thinking. I only wish you carried women’s fashions, but there are certainly plenty of other stores in Chicago for me. Though I suppose I really don’t need anything new.”

  Blount shook his head and tsk’d. “Don’t be absurd, VV. A woman such as you must have only the finest, the newest fashions. Of course, clothes only accent your beauty, really. You need nothing.” He seemed back to his old self.

  “Oh, Mr. Blount.” Mrs. Verte giggled again like a schoolgirl, and Mr. Bennett looked slightly sick as he finished his martini. Again I had to wonder what Blount was doing. I didn’t think Blount was interested in women in general, and certainly he wouldn’t be interested in Mrs. Verte.

  “I bought this dress just for the trip,” she said, running her free hand across the fabric.

  “You look lovely, Mrs. Verte,” Mr. Bennett said. I got the impression he really thought so.

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “Do you have children, Mrs. Verte?” I asked, changing the subject.

  Mrs. Verte rolled her eyes. “Thankfully, no. They’re a huge bother and a great expense. I never had time to be changing diapers, wiping snotty noses, or sitting through dreadful school programs and pretending to like them. For some reason or another, I never got the maternal instinct.”

  “Oh, I, uh, see,” I said, sorry I had asked.

  “I feel the same, Mrs. Verte. I go home to my cat at night, and that’s enough children for me,” Mr. Bennett said.

  “Oh. I have a cat, too. Her name is Selket, and she’s all black. Selket was an Egyptian goddess of magic, you know.”

  “I did not know that, Mrs. Verte. How very interesting. My cat’s name is Kona.”

  “Oh, how nice. Please do call me Vivian, or VV, Mr. Bennett, like Mr. Blount does.”

  “Thank you, but then you must call me George.”

  “Well, all right, then. Aren’t we all just getting along so well?”

  I nodded politely but it certainly didn’t seem that way to me.

  Mr. Bennett smiled at her. “Very well. How did you decide on the Edmonton for your trip, Mrs. Verte, I mean Vivian?”

  “I did my research, George. The Edmonton is right on Michigan Avenue, close to all the shops, the nightlife, the museums, everything, as you most
certainly know. And the article from the Tribune that my uncle sent me helped, too. It all sounded so marvelous.”

  “And now you’ve discovered Mr. Blount,” Mr. Bennett finished for her.

  “Oh, George, you sound jealous,” she said, her cheeks glowing.

  Mr. Bennett’s face was flushed. “Please, Vivian. Some men aren’t worthy of being jealous over.” He looked past Mrs. Verte to the little French man. “It’s no secret I don’t care for you, Mr. Blount, but it has nothing to do with Mrs. Verte, as you’re certainly aware.”

  Blount took a sip of his drink and stared back at Mr. Bennett. “Perhaps, monsieur, the feeling is mutual, but I have what you need, no? Good quality tailoring is hard to find.” He smiled that thin weasel smile. “And I pay the hotel good rent for my space.”

  Bennett scowled. “Yes, you have what I need, Mr. Blount, but at some point the well will run dry.”

  “Ah, well, until then we should drink, drink, drink.” Mr. Blount took several swallows of his cocktail and laughed.

  “As for your rent, we could easily lease that space to someone else for more than you pay.”

  “Ha. You make me laugh, Monsieur Bennett.”

  “It’s not intentional, I assure you.”

  “Now, boys, please,” Mrs. Verte said. “Let’s not get unpleasant.”

  “There is nothing to get unpleasant about, VV.” Blount took another sip of his drink and then suddenly narrowed his eyes and scowled.

  “Something wrong with your cocktail, Mr. Blount?” I asked.

  Blount shook his head. “No, monsieur, my cocktail, it is fine. It is her, that is all. Perhaps there is something to get unpleasant about after all. She is out late tonight.”

  Mrs. Gittings was making her way slowly and unsteadily out of the Acorn Bar toward us.

  “Mrs. Gittings?” I asked.

  Blount raised his thin little eyebrows in surprise. “You know her?”

  “We ran into her outside your shop this afternoon,” Alan said. “Literally.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Ugh. She haunts me. Every day she goes past my store, staring at me through the glass. She’s a drunk, a sot, an old crone, with nothing to do all day but drink and annoy me.”

  “I understand she used to work for you,” I said.

  “Did she tell you that?” His tone was sharp.

  “She did.”

  He shrugged his bony little shoulders and took another drink. “It is true, oui, a long time ago. She was a good seamstress once. Then the drinking, you know. I had to dismiss her, of course.”

  “How did she take it?” Alan said.

  Another drink from his glass, which was now nearly empty. “Not well. She became angry, bitter. She blames me for her failure. She’s even threatened me.”

  “Threatened you?” I said, surprised.

  “Oui, monsieur. I don’t take it seriously, of course, the ramblings of a drunkard. But still it is unsettling. She is in the hotel every day, as I mentioned, walking slowly by my store, staring in at me.”

  “Does she ever go in?”

  He shrugged, took yet another sip, drained it at last, and then set the empty glass on the table. “Sometimes. Usually on Saturday afternoons when she knows I’m at my busiest. She comes in, clucking like a chicken, and gives me the evil eye. If I say something to her, it only makes it worse, so I ignore her as best I can. She is not someone you can reason with.”

  “If she’s disrupting your business, you should talk to the house detective,” Alan suggested.

  “The leased shops are not the responsibility of the hotel, Mr. Keyes,” Mr. Bennett said.

  Blount nodded. “Oui, that is true. Besides, monsieur, I laugh at her, as do my customers. Or we ignore her, as I said. One does not take her seriously. Besides, I keep a gun in my desk in the back room, just in case.”

  “Speaking as a police officer, Mr. Blount, no threats should ever be taken lightly nor handled by the individual. I think you should report this to the authorities,” I said.

  “What I think, Monsieur Barrington, is that I need another drink.” He motioned for the waitress. “And you gentlemen? VV? Mr. Bennett?”

  “I’ve had enough,” Mr. Bennett said. “Of everything.”

  “No thank you, I’m fine, too,” Alan said.

  “As am I,” Mrs. Verte said. “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

  “And I’m good as well, but let me get your drink,” I offered.

  “Merci.” He smiled thinly again as I told the waitress to bring him another gimlet, extra lime.

  Mrs. Gittings had stopped just shy of our table and was staring at us, or more specifically, at Mr. Blount. He nodded in her direction, staring back until finally she turned and wobbled off toward the exit.

  “You see? She is harmless, but she watches me, no? Since she worked in my shop, she knows my routine. Sometimes when I leave through the back door at night, I even find her waiting silently in the alley. I park my car in the garage down the street as I don’t trust the hotel parking attendants. So I must exit through the alley door to get to my automobile, and sometimes she is there. It is unnerving.”

  “What does she do?” Alan said.

  “She watches me, monsieur. She never speaks, except for that annoying clucking sound. Sometimes she points one of her bony fingers at me and says ‘Evil,’ but that is it. I say, ‘Go home, Mrs. Gittings, it’s late and I’m tired.’ And then I walk away. She doesn’t follow me, I think. I don’t look back.”

  “Do you live near the hotel?”

  “I live in the Edgewater Beach Apartments on the North Side, by Lincoln Park.”

  “The Edgewater Beach Apartments is in a rather ritzy part of town, I understand,” I said.

  Mr. Blount nodded. “Oui. Though this recent housing crisis is getting out of hand. My apartment was once a single penthouse that has been divided, which is why I was able to get in. Many of my neighbors have divided their flats into two, even three units, but still the rents are very high.”

  “I see. That’s a bit of hike up to Lincoln Park from here.”

  “I drive a 1947 Cadillac Convertible coupe, burgundy with a tan ragtop,” he stated proudly. “It gets me back and forth quite quickly, as long as there is no traffic. I just picked it up last month.”

  “It’s so nice to see new cars on the road after the war,” Alan said.

  “That’s quite a car, Mr. Blount. A lot of power under the hood,” Mrs. Verte said.

  He smiled. “You have an appreciation for the quality automobile, VV?”

  “Oh yes, I certainly do.”

  Mr. Bennett ground his teeth. “A brand-new Cadillac convertible coupe had to set you back close to three thousand dollars, Mr. Blount.”

  Blount laughed. “As I’ve said before, you can’t put a price on quality, Mr. Bennett. What kind of car do you drive, may I ask?”

  Bennett scowled. “A 1938 Packard. Very reliable.”

  Blount smiled his thin smile. “Ah, reliable and dull, just like you, Mr. Bennett. It’s probably even beige.” Then he turned to Mrs. Verte again. “Perhaps, VV, I can take you for a drive in my car along the lake with the top down sometime.”

  “Oh, Mr. Blount, that sounds lovely, but my hair would be ruined.”

  Blount laughed. “On you, touseled hair would only enhance, madam, and please call me Victor.” The way her hair was plastered to her head, I doubted even a hurricane could move it.

  She blushed and giggled, and I got the impression once again that Blount was trying to irritate Mr. Bennett by flirting with Mrs. Verte.

  “Your shop must be doing quite well, Mr. Blount,” I said. “An expensive car, an apartment in the Edgewater, a Longines watch…”

  He looked back at me and shrugged. “I have an appreciation for the finer things, Monsieur Barrington. I do what I can to afford them. The shop does only so-so, as I mentioned before, so I diversify.”

  “You never hired anyone else after you let Mrs. Gittings go?” I asked.

  “
No. Hiring her was a bad experience, a bad idea. She was a nosy old busybody, always in my business. I am better off by myself. I am what some people call a loner, private, though I am sociable, of course. Mrs. Gittings hasn’t worked for me in over three years, yet still she haunts me, as I said before. It’s gotten worse lately. I think she is losing her mind, she is unstable.”

  “Mr. Blount, you really should report her behavior to the authorities.”

  “But, Heath, she’s such a sweet old lady,” Alan said.

  I looked at Alan, who had those puppy-dog eyes that drove me wild. “I agree she seems to be, but if what Mr. Blount says is the truth, it can’t be taken lightly no matter how nice she appears to be.”

  Blount shook his head and held up his hand. “No, no, Monsieur Barrington. She is fine. As I said before, she is harmless, I think. Perhaps I exaggerate. There is no need to involve the police. My, my, it’s getting late, I think.”

  Mr. Bennett looked at his watch. “Nearly eight thirty. It is getting late. I should be off in search of some supper.”

  “Oh my, I should, too. I haven’t had my dinner yet, either,” Mrs. Verte said, clutching her diamond pendant.

  Mr. Bennett smiled at her. “You’re welcome to join me, Mrs. Verte—Vivian—if you like. I think I can manage to find someplace nicer than a diner.”

  “Why, George, that would be lovely, thank you. And I don’t mind diner food.” She stood up, and so did Mr. Bennett and the rest of us.

  “Then let’s go, shall we?” He looked at her admiringly. “You will excuse us, won’t you, gentlemen?”

  Mr. Blount laughed. “By all means. You couldn’t be in safer hands, Mrs. Verte. Mr. Bennett is the strong, silent, dull, rather boring type.”

  “Look here, Blount—” Bennett started, but Mrs. Verte put her hand on his arm again.

  “I’m ready if you are, George. I like your type.”

  “Very well, Vivian. Another time, Blount. That well will run dry, believe me,” he said.

  Mrs. Verte smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Barrington, Mr. Keyes.”

  “Likewise, madam.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Blount. Victor.”

  “Good evening, VV,” Blount replied, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

  Without another word, Bennett walked away with Mrs. Verte on his arm, looking back at us once or twice.