What had he been trying to do?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Watch what you say to the police.
—The Kelly Rules
SMILEY WAS BREATHING raggedly when he blew in through the door of the manager’s office in the hotel. Like me, he was not a welcome visitor. The manager, a short, thin, nervous individual with small eyes and hands and large feet, stopped pacing and glowered at Smiley. By this time, I was wrapped in a blanket and I foolishly hoped the bedspread would be bagged and placed somewhere secure, say, in an evidence room after forensics had checked it out before long. Of course, I knew better. There wasn’t much chance of the attack on me being treated as a high priority as I hadn’t been hurt. There was still no sign of the police. I felt there would be pressure from the hotel for them to deal with it. Unless they preferred to keep it under wraps. Having your guests robbed and pushed on stairways wouldn’t be good for business.
“What happened?” Smiley said, running his hands through his blond waves. He wasn’t blushing this time. In fact, he was whiter than the sheets that had been ripped from my bed. “I went to the room and there’s CAUTION tape. Security told me you’d had an incident.”
I snorted. “I guess you could call it that.”
Smiley stared. I did my best to keep from shaking. The shock of the attack was catching up with me.
“Did you see the room?”
“What? No! I came down here as fast as I could. What happened to you? What kind of a place is this?” He took hold of my shoulders. I thought for a second he was going to shake me—which would not have been well received—but he enveloped me in a tight hug. I buried my face in his chest and tried to stay cool.
The manager, who was even redder than Smiley usually gets, interjected, “We take security very seriously in our hotel. Our policy is—” He practically stamped those large feet of his.
Smiley pulled away and turned to face him.
I said, “Someone broke into my room and trashed it. And when I say trashed, I do mean trashed. Whoever did it was gone. I was sure of that, but the phone was ripped from the wall. I went next door to your room to phone and he must have been in the middle of it. I ran for the stairs and”—I shrugged, embarrassed—“he caught up with me. He dropped a bedspread over my head and pushed me on the landing.”
“She pulled the fire alarm,” the smirking manager said. “We had to evacuate the hotel.”
I rubbed my itchy nose. Perhaps I was about to have a fight. “I did not pull the fire alarm. Someone else did that. Possibly the burglar to create confusion.”
“My staff says it was you, miss.” His tone was growing more snide by the second.
“Whoever said that is lying.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“If you had a staff member who saw me pull the fire alarm, can you please explain why this person didn’t help when I was being attacked?”
Oh. Snap.
Smiley said, “Your duty is to your guests and my fiancée has been attacked.”
I looked as solemn as I could.
“Perhaps it was a staff member who opened our doors.” I turned to Smiley. “I have two keys, one to your room and one to mine. You?”
He reached into his wallet. “The same.”
“Therefore, either someone else had a set and that was not okayed by us or more likely a staff member let them in.” This was unfair as I knew from reliable sources that there are ways to get by key locks, but I just didn’t know what those ways were. I didn’t want some hapless chambermaid to get the blame. I’d let the manager push my buttons when my guard was down.
“Where are the police?” Smiley asked tightly.
“They haven’t arrived yet.”
“What?”
“Security is equipped to take care of this.”
“I don’t think so,” Smiley said. “It’s an assault.”
“And are you a police officer?” the manager said with a sneer.
“Matter of fact, I am.” Smiley’s smile had not the faintest touch of warmth in it, as he reached back into his pocket for his badge. “There has been a physical attack on a guest in your hotel and you have chosen not to inform the police. Is that correct?”
“Since you put it that way.”
“I do.” Smiley picked up the phone and “called it in.”
Once the call was made, I said, “We’ll need new rooms.”
“That is out of the question. We can’t be giving new rooms to everyone who—”
I snorted. “Gets attacked in your hotel? Social media will just love that. We had our keys with us, so I’m guessing that it was with inside help. Yes, two rooms, please. Adjoining. I’d like to lie down now.”
“You heard the lady,” Smiley said in his cop voice. “New rooms. Now.”
For once, I didn’t mind the cop voice and all it stood for. I didn’t understand this manager’s attitude at all and I was glad Smiley was in my corner.
The manager looked like he was prepared to fight back on our demand. He stepped out of the room, leaving us to stew for at least five minutes. When he returned, he was a different critter altogether. As Vera might have said, Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
* * *
NEXT WE HAD to deal with the police. Not my best thing at any time. The less said to them, the better. Still, we did want them on our side in this case. I described what I’d seen in the room and what happened to me in the hallway.
I didn’t know the name of the witness, but they’d be able to find her easily. The maid was probably still on the floor too.
No, I didn’t know their names.
No, I hadn’t seen whoever was in the room.
No, I didn’t see who pushed me on the staircase because I had a bedspread over my head.
No, nothing seemed to have been taken.
No, I hadn’t lost any money or my camera or my jewelry.
No, I had not the slightest idea what they could have been looking for.
Yes, I was all right.
No, I didn’t want to go to the hospital.
Yes, I would get in touch if I thought of anything else.
Yes, also if I saw anything.
* * *
SMILEY DIDN’T CARE much for his interview either. I suppose it’s hard to be on the other side of the law.
“You know what?” he said.
“I don’t.”
“They didn’t seem to take the other two things seriously at all.”
“Other two things?”
“The Prius and the cable car. Now that we’ve had this—”
“I’ve had this. And I was hurt by the Prius and pushed from the cable car.”
“Sorry. I know you were attacked, but both our rooms were trashed so it’s we in some way. The point is that three times in twenty-four hours can’t be a coincidence.”
“And the officer said?”
He said, “Asked about a plate number, asked about a description, asked about the cable car number—”
“Well, who would have that?”
“Not us for sure. We could narrow it down.”
“There are people in this hotel who were on the cable car. We could ask them to speak to the police.”
“That’s a good idea. I wasn’t paying much attention to who was there. Were you?”
“Yes, I—”
“I hope you’ll be happy with these rooms,” the manager said, rubbing his small, white hands together as he presented our new accommodations. “You’ve had a shock and we want our clients to be comfortable.”
Who wouldn’t be happy? We seemed to have scored the best digs in the hotel. I noticed he hadn’t said “safe and comfortable.” But comfortable was pretty darn good. I had ditched my security blanket in the office so I was able to stroll through the hotel with a bit of d
ignity.
“The Bay View Suite is our best suite and luckily it was available. It should leave you with wonderful memories of our hotel.” His eyes pleaded for feedback, or did I imagine that?
“Beautiful,” I said, “and with its own living room and dining area.”
“And the bar.” He beamed. “Plus of course, you are high enough to have a spectacular view from your own private balcony.”
As much as I wanted to crash on the bed and not talk to anyone, I followed him out to the balcony. He was right. The view of the Bay was unbeatable in between foggy patches. There was stunning architecture wherever you looked. I could only imagine how gorgeous it would be at night. A door from the living area led out to it and so did a door from each of the bedrooms. We could never afford something like this and all it took was having our rooms trashed and me being attacked on the stairs.
“I’ll leave you then, will I?” the manager said, disappearing through the door.
Before I could say, “I wonder what changed his attitude?” he popped his head in and said, “Of course, your belongings have been shifted to your new rooms. You should find everything to your satisfaction. We will make arrangements for you to dine at Magari tonight at our expense, if that meets with your approval.” I suppose he didn’t really click his heels together, but just as good as. He left us nodding.
When the coast was clear, Smiley turned to me. I said, “Are they really that worried I’ll sue over the break-in?”
“If they have an idea that an employee was involved, that might explain it. Also the attack on you in the staircase probably has them worried. I guess it has you worried too.”
If I knew that look, Smiley was worried as well. “You could have been killed.”
“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t think so.”
“Pushing a person down a metal staircase is good way to do them in.”
“Agreed, except that he didn’t push me down the stairs. I’ve been thinking about what happened and he threw the spread over me, so I wouldn’t see his face.”
“And then he pushed you.”
“Yes, but he pushed me sideways. He didn’t push me down. I was stunned by the whole attack and I’m just starting to make sense of it.”
“Are you sure? It’s an act of violence to throw something over a person’s head to obscure their view and then push them on a staircase when they’d be helpless to break their fall.”
“I know that. I experienced it, remember? And I’m telling you that he pushed me sideways to the wall. And before you ask again, yes, I am sure. It was serious, no question, but I don’t think he meant to kill me. He wanted to avoid being seen by me or anyone else. He needed to get away. I was probably a distraction too.”
“But people might have seen him anyway.”
“Why are you arguing with me? I’m the one who was there. And don’t use your cop voice.”
“Fine. So he didn’t intend to kill you?”
“Good question. But why couldn’t I see him?”
“Because you had a bedspread over your head.”
“Funny. I mean what difference would it make if I saw him?’
“You could have identified him, given the police a description, which you were not able to do.”
“Or maybe it was because I would recognize him.”
“What?”
“It’s not like we know anyone here, and you’ve told me how hard it is to get an accurate description of an assailant in a fast attack.”
“You think you knew the person?”
“More like I would recognize him. Maybe.”
Smiley leaned back and exhaled. “Someone around the hotel? A staff member or another guest. That would make sense. But even if he didn’t intend to harm you, that was a precarious situation. You could have been killed.”
“Could have been. It was a risky move. What I’m trying to say is that he wasn’t trying to kill me or he could have.”
“So it wasn’t personal.”
“The ransacking of the rooms felt personal. He was looking for something. Something very specific.”
“What did you have that he was looking for?”
“I have no idea, Tyler. Like I said to the cops, nothing seemed to be taken. He didn’t take my jewelry or my tablet or camera. Then he hit your room. He must have still been there when I surprised him.”
Smiley scratched his nose. He only does that when he’s irritated. “Why you?”
“No clue. Why you?”
He shot me a look. “Let’s take this seriously.”
“I’m the one who got the worst of it. Trust me, Tyler, I am taking it very seriously. And I think we both have something to worry about because he didn’t find what he was looking for.”
Smiley stared at me without speaking.
I made my point. “Therefore, he’s going to keep looking.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Someone is always listening to you.
—The Kelly Rules
THE HOTEL STAFF had done a commendable job of putting my belongings back in order. The smiling young chambermaid knocked to deliver extra fluffy snow-white towels. I recognized her from the fourth floor. I supposed that she was the person who’d lined up my shoes precisely on the closet floor and arranged my notebook, camera and sightseeing books neatly on the desk. I was glad I’d left her a tip at our previous room. She or someone had shaped our fluffy facecloths into swans.
My toiletry bag was hanging on the back of the door in the huge marble bathroom. They were falling all over themselves to make it right.
“You’re working long hours,” I said as she backed out of the room.
“I need to,” she said as she left.
I sat on the crisp white duvet on my new king-size bed and told myself to get it together. This was a vacation and one we both needed. It was a chance to rebuild trust. Even though we’d had our hotel rooms trashed in what seemed like a very personal way and even though I’d been attacked by persons unknown, I had to admit Smiley and I had been through a lot worse than this.
“Dinner,” I said out loud, “will be the best medicine.”
* * *
I HAD A little red dress I’d been saving for a special occasion and this situation certainly needed help. The dress was cotton jersey and required some serious undergarments to make it cling in just the right places. Plus it was just long enough to cover my battered knees, a very good thing.
A thin gold vintage belt hugged my waist. It made me feel like a femme fatale, so I was surprised that Smiley didn’t even offer a “you look nice.”
He continued to be silent on our stroll to Magari. I tried to get back to the buoyant frame of mind I’d been in before the break-in, but whenever I glanced at Smiley’s closed face, the mood slipped. If this kept up, he was going to need another nickname. Surly perhaps or Grumpy.
We passed many restaurants full of happy tourists spilling out into the street, as we left the more touristy areas and ventured into the parts of San Francisco where people actually lived. So many places to eat and we were walking past all of them. I liked the looks of the bistros in old storefronts and the eateries in converted homes. They all seemed to be overflowing with twentyish trendy locals, eating, laughing and making noise. On the main streets, we passed a surprising number of gelaterias. I love gelato. On a normal night I would have suggested that we get gelato after dinner, but this night I would be having dinner in a lovely restaurant compliments of the hotel.
Officer Grumpy was walking slightly ahead of me, his head down, hands in pockets. If this had been our first date, it would have also been the last. But I figured Smiley was in there somewhere. As I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I could spend my time speculating about his mood.
I didn’t have time to do much speculating when after twenty minutes—much of it uphill—we arrived at the restaura
nt. Magari was a traditional restaurant, heavy on the dim lighting and velvet drapes. It seemed out of step with the city. It screamed vintage 1974, which was perfect for me, of course, although it was before I was born. And the price was right. Along with the low lights, comfortable leather chairs and crisp white tablecloths, red cloth napkins and bud vases with red carnations, there was a collection of older waiters, all of whom had a tendency to bow slightly and snap their fingers at each other. Inside we found only five other couples seated, all with a good thirty years on us. At least they were having a good time. I liked the quiet clink of wineglasses and the exclamations when food arrived. The couples within my view were smilers and chatters, all caught up in each other. In fact, they all looked like lovers, not old-marrieds. Only Grumpy and I would have given the impression that we’d been married for thirty years, all of them less than happy.
It was after nine by the time we were seated. The tall doughy waiter passed us menus with an old world flourish, bowed, lit the candle on our table and recommended an Italian red as their featured wine. Grumpy didn’t put up a fight. The valpolicella sounded good to me.
I had a bit of nostalgia for the signora’s dinners as each plate went sailing by to our fellow diners. My experience was that restaurants couldn’t really compare. But I had decided to enjoy it anyway despite the sourpuss sitting across from me. Every now and then I used my phone to capture the restaurant’s décor, the other diners and the hilarious waiters.
I went for the gamberi in Sambucca. I didn’t recall the signora ever cooking shrimp in Sambucca and cream, so I had no feelings of disloyalty. It did not disappoint. I oohed and aahed over it, camping it up a bit. “So creamy and with just a tiny hint of garlic.”
Grumpy had the soup special and apparently not a word to say about it. It smelled wonderful from across the table.
All that lack of conversation gave me time to think about our break-in, about our relocation, about the strange inconsistent behavior and the over-the-top generosity of the manager, including dinner in this out-of-the-way time-warp restaurant.
The Hammett Hex Page 8
