by Eliza Watson
“This is my first one.”
“Have you worked with Taylor Made Events before?”
“No.”
He stopped scrawling notes on his pad, glancing up with a curious look. “Who hired you?”
“Blair.”
“Who referred you to her?”
“Declan Grady.”
“How long has he worked for the company?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask Blair.”
And should I hire a lawyer?
Not only was I thought incompetent, but also a thief?
I maintained eye contact with Ted, trying not to fidget with the gold tulle on the table or to look guilty.
Because I wasn’t guilty!
“So the thief took the product but left your purse?”
“Yes.” I’d told him that three times. I picked up my purse for emphasis, then dropped it on the table. Crap. My teacup. I unzipped the purse and unwrapped the cup to make sure the fragile china hadn’t broken.
Ted eyed my purse, then the dirty teacups waiting to be cleared from the table. “Is that a hotel cup in your purse?”
My heart raced. “I didn’t swipe it. The banquet captain gave it to me.”
He arched a skeptical brow, jotting down notes.
My gaze darted around the room for Nigel to corroborate my story, but he was nowhere to be found. I also hadn’t stolen those prints from the guy on the street. I’d gotten them for free!
“Registration hasn’t had to make any new badges, and we haven’t had any lost ones turned in,” Ted said. “So nobody unauthorized accessed the room.” He eyed my badge.
Things could be worse. I could have lost my badge again, enabling the thief to steal the product while impersonating me.
After Ted’s interrogation, I was mentally drained, yet determined to prove my innocence. I hunted down Nigel and posed similar questions about his banquet staff.
“I guarantee my staff would not jeopardize their positions or this hotel by stealing the product.” He looked offended by my accusation.
“Everyone is a suspect. Even me. I was just questioned by security, as I’m sure you will be.”
Armando was removing chafing dishes from the appetizer station. He’d been skulking around the macaroons, likely taste testing them.
“What about Armando? He was ticked that I contacted you when he went missing from my VIP dinner.” The guy had been on a smoking break rather than addressing the dinner issues, and he’d eaten off a client’s dessert station. He didn’t appear concerned about keeping his job.
Had he been pissed enough to try to get me fired?
“He can be a bit lazy at times, but I truly don’t think he’s a thief.” Yet Nigel’s suspicious gaze narrowed on Armando. “However, rest assured I’ll investigate.” He marched off.
I’d just moved to the top of Armando’s shit list.
If a hotel employee had swiped it, they’d likely handed it off to someone immediately and it was no longer in the hotel.
“It’s never a dull moment, is it?” Mindy said, walking up. “I once had a VIP’s suitcase go missing after it was given to the bellstand for delivery.”
“How’d you find it?”
“We didn’t.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Sorry. I’m sure we’ll find this product. We should offer a reward. Some of these banquet guys look shifty, like they’d rat out their coworker for a few korunas.”
I nodded. “Definitely an idea.”
“Too bad they don’t allow their company photographer at these product launches. He’s so annoying—he’d definitely have gotten something on film. And there are no security cameras in this ballroom. But don’t worry. We’ll find the thief. I have a client who does those murder mystery trains all the time, and I’m always the first to figure out the murderer. Let’s think…what would someone’s motive be for swiping it?” She tapped a finger against her pink lips, her gaze narrowing. “Revenge, money…love…”
“A love of macaroons?”
Her eyes widened. “Revenge. Mr. Gauthier. He was passed up for a huge promotion last fall. I heard him bitching about it on his cell while I was waiting to stick him in a sedan to the airport. He was furious. I had no clue what he was saying, but a bellman translated the gist of it.”
“What’s he going to do? Sell it on the black market?” Gretchen had mentioned corporate espionage. And Prague was the perfect setting for a spy thriller. Yet this was more like Miss Marple and the Missing Macaroons than Mission Impossible.
Mindy’s face lit up. “His buddy Mr. Blanchet went to work for a competitor last summer. They were inseparable. Maybe they’ve had this planned since he left. It’s totally plausible. Motivation, means… He could have snatched it from under the table and slipped out the side door with it. We need to search his room.”
If Mindy was willing to go in the haunted suite, she must really believe he was guilty, or wanted him to be. Did she know about Blair and him? Did she think if he got canned, Blair would be gone? We’d be gone if we pointed the finger at Blair’s lover whether he was guilty or not.
“We can’t search his room,” I said. “Besides being wrong, if it was him, I’m sure he’s already smuggled it out of the hotel.”
He’d passed by the dessert station several times. He might have been in with the crush of people that swarmed the table at once. Had his lack of enthusiasm about the macaroons been a ploy to throw me off his track?
Mindy shook her head, a pensive look on her face. “He wouldn’t go to the length of stealing it, then hand it off to some random courier or someone who could possibly sell it for more. No, he still has it. Maybe Mr. Blanchet is in town and they’re meeting right now in a deserted alley behind an absinthe bar.”
What if we got caught rifling through this man’s room? Yet what if he had taken it? Every problem with this meeting seemed to circle back to Mr. Gauthier.
And me.
* * *
I dropped my computer bag on the guest room desk with a thud. If I were going to break into a VIP’s suite, it was going to be Ms. Callan’s so I could douse myself in her lavender air freshener. I took the china teacup and saucer from my purse and placed it next to Grandma’s pic on my nightstand. Maybe Nigel giving me the teacup was a sign that Grandma was watching over me. That I wasn’t alone in this mess.
I needed her sense of courage now more than ever.
Grandma had given up her family to be with the man she’d loved. Survived his death in a foreign country. And sailed alone across the Atlantic to an unknown land. My life could be a lot rougher, even though it didn’t seem like it right now.
A text chimed on my phone. Mom.
How did the visit with George Wood go? Any new info?
We’re meeting tomorrow night.
Keep me posted. Love, Mom.
Glad she was curious about our visit.
I FaceTimed Declan. As usual, I was calling from my guest room, whereas he was at a cool off-site event. He and attendees were strolling through an art-lined hallway in an old villa. He was decked out in a black suit and a five o’clock shadow, looking like an ad for his intoxicating cologne. I hadn’t had the energy to even comb my hair.
I explained my bleak situation in a nutshell.
His smile vanished, and he stepped out of a set of French doors onto a terrace. “Who do you think nicked it?”
“Mindy suspects a VIP, Mr. Gauthier. Cricket guy. Did you know he’s sleeping with Blair?”
“I hadn’t heard that but don’t doubt it. I know him to see him, but I’ve never worked with their VIPs.”
“She wants to search his room. I told her no way. That’s not right. Is it?”
“Not if you get caught. You’d definitely get the sack.”
“I think I’ve already sealed my fate for future employment with this company. Hopefully, I haven’t sealed yours. Security interrogated me, and I had to tell him you’d recommended me. Can you believe I’m a
suspect?” I gasped. “What if I’m found guilty? They couldn’t put me in jail here, could they? Omigod, remember that American woman who was imprisoned in—”
“You’re not going to get thrown in jail.” Declan’s confident look reinforced his tone. “You’re not guilty.”
My heart raced. “What if I’m used as the scapegoat?”
“Ya won’t be. You had no reason for stealing it, and there’s no evidence. You’ll get this straightened out. Especially with Mindy on your side. She can be fierce.”
“Surprisingly, Gretchen kind of stuck up for me. That was before I mentioned you were here. She hadn’t seen you get in the taxi.”
“Feck.” Declan dropped his head back, letting out a frustrated groan. “Sorry ’bout that. I was sure she’d been looking right at me when I hopped in the taxi. But it was a bit dark on the curb. She won’t turn on ya, professionally anyway. She was in charge of the reception and the product.”
“There’s a server who doesn’t like me much and might have stolen it just to spite me. I don’t get it. I only left the table for five minutes while Chad watched it.”
Declan rolled his eyes. “Jaysus. Chad’s on his way out. Gretchen mentioned it when we were in Greece last fall. He’s been getting a bit of an attitude and lazy, always on his mobile. Blair is tired of dealing with it.”
Actually, Chad had offered to man the dessert station. I hadn’t asked him.
“So maybe he did it for revenge,” I said.
Declan shrugged. “Even good guys turn bad when they’re desperate.”
I collapsed onto the bed. “Tell me a story.” I sounded like a little girl being tucked into bed at night. But Declan’s stories always made me feel better.
Declan passed by a gazebo with ornate columns and a fancy mosaic-tiled dome, likely used for weddings. “Right, then. I’ve got one. When I was escorting a group in Salzburg, we took The Sound of Music tour, visited the von Trapp house. I made the mistake of admitting having seen the movie dozens of times thanks to Zoe’s obsession with it. She used to make me sing the part of Rolf in ‘Sixteen Going On Seventeen.’ So when we were in the gazebo, the group convinced me to sing both parts and reenact the scene. An attendee filmed it on his mobile, and it ended up in the meeting’s candid video clips played during closing session.”
I laughed, picturing Declan as the young girl Liesl, twirling around the gazebo, leaping from bench to bench.
Someone called out to Declan, and he acknowledged them with a wave. “Sorry. Gotta run. Everything will be grand.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “Love you.”
Funny how just two words could make me feel like everything would be okay.
“Love you too, Liesl.”
He quirked a brow. “Going to regret telling ya that story, aren’t I now?”
I gave him a sly smile, and we said good-bye.
Talking to Declan made me feel better, but I really needed a hug…and a kiss…
A knock sounded at the door.
I peeked out the peephole to find a bellman holding a white wicker basket filled with items.
I left the security chain on and opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?”
“A room amenity for you, madam.”
“I’m not supposed to receive group amenities.”
I’d learned my lesson about gift basket protocol on my first meeting, after I’d pilfered a food and wine basket mistakenly delivered to my room.
He looked confused. “Compliments of Nigel, madam.”
I undid the chain and opened the door.
He handed me the basket. “Enjoy.” He marched off.
I set the heavy basket on the end of the bed. It contained a luxurious hotel-logoed robe. No more wearing the sketchy one in my closet. A candle, shower gel, body lotion, pillow spray, and a slew of other items in the hotel spa’s signature scent, Seaside Escape, rather than the strong-smelling eucalyptus products in my bathroom.
I opened the card.
Thought you might like to escape to the beach.
Nigel
Had he recognized the vanilla air freshener scent, from his loo hideaway, on my suit?
I slipped on the robe and snuggled into its velvety softness. I spritzed myself with the pillow spray, a fresh, relaxing scent. I briefly escaped to a deserted island before I called Rachel and returned to harsh reality, recounting my story, Miss Marple and the Missing Macaroons.
“It never fails,” she said. “There’s no such thing as a drama-free meeting. But don’t beat yourself up. This could have happened to a seasoned planner. Hell, I’d have stashed the product under the table knowing I wouldn’t have had time to get more. And if someone was determined to steal it, they’d have broken into the cooler if they had to.”
“Gretchen said the same thing.”
“See, she’s not a total wench.”
“Okay, she’s ninety-five percent wench.” Actually, this meeting she’d only been around eighty percent. Maybe that was because Blair was two hundred percent, making it relative. “And don’t you dare call and tell her to stick up for me. She already thinks the only reason you hired me was because I’m your sister.” In Dublin, she’d made a snide remark about picking up the slack for another planner’s relative on-site and made it clear she wasn’t going to pick up mine.
“That first meeting must have been rough on you. I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive. I’m glad Declan had your back.”
Rachel’s apology surprised me. And she rarely had anything positive to say about Declan on a personal basis since we’d started seeing each other.
“Thanks.”
“You’ve come a long way, Caity. Don’t let this planner shake your confidence. You’re great at solving mysteries. You uncovered Grandma’s history and tracked down Sadie Collentine. You’ll figure this out.”
My sister’s confidence in me gave me hope. Having earned her respect meant a lot to me. She was right. I loved playing supersleuth when it came to genealogy research, but not when it came to saving my job and my butt from being thrown in jail.
“George Wood is in Prague. I hope to have time to meet him tomorrow night with this whole fiasco going on.”
“Make time. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Just be sure to let someone know where you’re meeting him.”
Did Rachel regret all the times she’d chosen work over her personal life? She was right. I had to make time. I was too intrigued not to.
“In five years, you won’t even remember tonight,” she said. “So much other crap, probably even worse, will have happened.”
Even worse? That wasn’t comforting.
Chapter Fourteen
Despite only having a few hours of restless sleep, the following morning I was running on pure adrenaline, determined to clear my reputation and capture the thief. Rather than lying in bed all night fearing I might be doomed, I pulled up the link that Nicholas Turney had sent me for James McKinney’s military paper. It’d taken me an hour to decipher the fancy penmanship. The document noted his approximate birthdate was 1821 and he was from Paisley, a suburb of Glasgow, Scotland. Unfortunately, the papers didn’t note his parents’ names. However, they mentioned that he was tried and found guilty for having been drunk while on guard duty. Bernice and Gracie had said they didn’t want to know anything horrible, like if their ancestor had been a murderer. However, he hadn’t been dishonorably discharged—he’d been demoted in rank. Considering that the women loved their whiskey, they probably wouldn’t judge James McKinney too harshly.
Having immigrated to Canada with the military, he’d likely left his family behind. I had no clue how to trace the McKinneys forward in Scotland, but I was still inspired by my find.
I popped into the office to drop off my computer bag before joining Gretchen in the main breakfast room, where our staff now ate after the attendees. My stomach tossed at the thought of facing Gretchen and Blair. Gretchen because of Declan more so than the macaroons. However, as upset as she was with Blair, I didn’t see
Gretchen narking on me for having had Declan stay over.
Chad was alone in the office, sorting boxes in his crisply ironed pink shirt and starched pink tie with white polka dots. The only time he appeared busy was when Blair might see him.
I gave him a smile rather than a suspicious glare. “So security’s questioning was pretty intense last night, hey?”
He shrugged. “He just asked if I’d watched the desserts for you for a few minutes.”
Why hadn’t Ted drilled him with questions like he had me? Had he merely been verifying if I’d been telling the truth? If the rumor about Blair giving Chad the ax was true, shouldn’t she be questioning his guilt? I wanted to ask her if she considered him a suspect, yet I couldn’t tell her why I thought that or she’d know someone had leaked he was being let go. Maybe the theft hadn’t been premeditated but Chad had seized the opportunity when I’d asked him to watch over the macaroons.
“To think, someone might be paying millions on the black market for some stupid macaroons,” Chad said. “Black market macaroons.” A devious smile spread across his face. “I’d be able to pay off my house and retire early.”
Just the other day he’d been wondering how he was going to retire…
“Who would you sell them to?”
He rattled off several competitors, as if he’d been compiling a list.
“The drama gets exhausting sometimes.” He held out a stack of sign inserts. “Could you put these in the signboards on your way to the breakfast?”
Chad managed his stress quite well by not giving a rip.
“Ah, sure.”
“Thanks.” He snatched up his phone and started texting.
Fuming that he hadn’t slipped up and confessed, and that I was doing his work while he screwed off, I shoved the inserts in the signboards as I marched down the hallway toward breakfast.
I’d now officially worked every position on this meeting.
Ted’s security guys were lined up at the ballroom’s main entrance, guarding the closed doors. I glanced down making sure my stupid badge was still there. Before I went inside, I removed the Seaside Escape pillow spray from my purse and gave myself a blast, picturing Declan and me drifting along the Mediterranean on a private yacht…
