"Who are you, then?" Daddy said. "Tacky?"
"Daddy!"
Peter looked confused. His eye twitched. "No, I'm Peter."
Reggie shifted from one foot to the other. "Bebe, we didn't mean to interrupt your breakfast, but we were wondering if you could help us with something."
"Sure," I said.
"It's like this," Reggie began. "We came downstairs because the room-service menu said the Sunday breakfast buffet had everything you could want for breakfast. Yet where are the baked beans? Where are the mushrooms? Where are the tomatoes?"
"Yeah," Peter chimed in. "You'd find those in any regular English breakfast. What's wrong with this place?"
Daddy spoke before I could say a word. "You're in America now, boy. You've got everything on that buffet that any American would want for his breakfast—with perhaps the exception of some good hot grits, but what can you expect in a Yankee town? We don't cater to English folks here. Haven't since about 1776."
"Daddy!"
"What? I'm just telling the truth, is all. These boys can't expect to come here and have us drive on the wrong side of the road and serve our beer warm and replace our toilets with loos." He turned his attention back to Reggie and Peter. "Now both of y'all get back over there and load yourselves up with some good American food. Y'a'll both look like you can use feeding up. Skinny things."
I gave the guys a long-suffering expression.
They looked from me to Daddy. Clearly they recognized a stronger force.
Reggie put his hand on Daddy's shoulder. "We appreciate your explaining all that to us, Mr. Bennett."
Daddy froze. One eye turned toward the hand on his shoulder. "Did I mention I was a sergeant first class in the army during the war?"
Reggie removed his hand. "Excuse us; we'll just go fill our plates as you suggested."
Daddy nodded.
"I'll see you soon," I said to the guys.
"Oh, one more thing," Reggie said. "Bebe, do you know any groovy nightclubs around here? We're going out of our minds upstairs. There doesn't seem to be a club like our Josephine's in England."
"Have you been to the Peppermint Lounge?"
"No."
"It's on West Forty-fifth Street. Try it."
Peter smiled. "Thanks, Bebe. I don't know what we'd do without you."
Daddy grunted like a boar.
Once they had left, I quietly finished my breakfast and let Daddy eat his. It was best not to say anything that might get him started on my choice of friends. He seemed to have forgotten a lecture. And it was pointless to try to change his mind about Reggie and Peter.
Except there was that one bit of information I needed.
"So, Daddy, is your room comfortable?"
"Oh, sure. I can sleep anywhere after being in the army," he said, intent on his bacon.
"What floor are you on?" I asked casually.
"Fourteenth."
Whew. The guys were on the fifteenth. That was a near miss. "What are you going to do this afternoon? Did you want to go out and see the sights?" Please say no.
"What sights? There's nothing here that Richmond doesn't have, is there?"
Let's see, the Empire State Building, a matinee on Broadway, Lindy's cheesecake, just for starters. "Nothing you'd be interested in, I suppose."
"Actually I thought I'd catch the game on TV. I thought we could meet up again and have dinner. You pick the place."
"That sounds great," I said, genuinely happy. "I have some things I have to get done this afternoon. What time did you want to meet?"
"How about if I come to your place at six?"
"That's perfect, Daddy. I'd better go now. Thank you
for breakfast. It was delicious." I slid out from my place in the booth, and he immediately stood. I reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "And it was very American."
I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
I bet he wouldn't have been quite so happy with me if he knew what I had planned for that afternoon.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"This isn't right, is it?" I asked as Darlene came into my room. I was standing in front of the full-length mirror attached to the back of the open closet door.
Darlene tried hard not to laugh, I could tell, but a giggle slipped past her lips. Then another. Then a fullblown laugh. Then she was laughing uncontrollably and slapping her right thigh.
I turned to her, my voice rising. "Okay, these aren't regular maids' uniforms, are they?"
Darlene held her index fingers under her eyes to catch any wet mascara that might have gotten on her lower eyelids when she laughed herself silly. "No, Bebe. They're French maids' uniforms. Something completely different."
I looked back in the mirror. We were dressed in very short black cotton dresses with short sleeves. Thin white aprons tied around the waists, with matching white bibs. Black caps with white lace trim sat on our heads. Black stockings completed the sexy ensembles. They were not outfits for scrubbing bathtubs.
I sighed. "The man at the costume shop assured me they were the only maids' uniforms they had. What was I supposed to do?"
"Maybe try a uniform supply store. But don't worry, Bebe. These will do."
"Really?"
"Yes. Besides, time is a factor here. You said you wanted to search Philip's room today, right?"
"I do. Darlene, maybe we can find some sort of clue about who might have been in Philip's room the day he was murdered. I mean, we have the tie tack, so we know Peter was there. We have to follow up on that. But who else was there? And what about Philip? Is there something in his room that would tell us why he was killed?"
Darlene put her hands on my shoulders. "We can do this today, just like you planned. People will only think we're special maids, that's all. The Legends is a fancy hotel, after all."
"You're sure? I feel like such a dip."
"You're far from being a dip. Now, things will be quieter on a Sunday at the hotel. Let's go. But, uh, have you got a raincoat you can cover up with for the ride over to the hotel?"
When we put on our trench coats, I began to feel like a female James Bond. I had seen From Russia with Love last week and relished every minute of it. Sean Connery's voice made me melt.
At the Legends Hotel, Mr. Duncan was on duty at the elevators. "Good afternoon, Miss Bennett, Miss Roland," he said.
Well, we weren't really in disguise, I consoled myself at his instant recognition.
"How are you today, Mr. Duncan? Feeling better?" I asked. Was it my imagination or did he look at Darlene with disapproval?
"Yes, my cold is almost gone. Where are you two headed today?"
"The fifteenth floor, of course," Darlene replied.
Mr. Duncan didn't bother to hide his dismay. "Back to the scene of the crime. That won't do anybody any good."
"We'll see, won't we?" Darlene said.
Mr. Duncan shook his head.
"Don't worry, Mr. Duncan." I said. "We're going to get the matter all straightened out."
"I'm still gonna have to testify. Courts scare me," he said, looking pointedly at Darlene, "as they would anyone with any sense." Maybe it was her red hair. I don't know, but people tended to think of Darlene as a troublemaker. Kind of like a more troublesome Ann- Margret.
Fortunately, we arrived on the fifteenth floor at that moment. But I realized that we had no idea where the maids' closet was. And we needed to know so that we might appear official. We needed vacuums, dusters, cleaning products.
"Mr. Duncan, I wonder if you could help us out?"
Darlene shot me a look. I returned an expression that said, Be patient!
Mr. Duncan said, "Oh, no, I'm not getting involved with you two again." But he pressed his finger on the "door open" button and held it there.
I touched the sleeve of his brown uniform. "Really, all I need to know is where the maids' closet is."
"The maids' closet?"
"Yes, that's right. I, er, wanted to know what brand of air freshener the hotel uses.
The rooms smell so fresh." I smiled. And prayed Mr. Duncan wouldn't wonder how I could think a room with a dead body in it—the only room I'd been in at the hotel—smelled fresh.
"Okay, I don't want to know any more," Mr. Duncan said. "You go down the corridor to the left. It's near the ice machine between rooms 1548 and 1550."
"Thank you!" I gave Mr. Duncan a little wave, and Darlene and I exited the elevator.
He gave to me what passed as a smile. At least I was still in his good graces. And I had the information I needed.
We walked down the hall, hearing the little ding of the elevator behind us as Mr. Duncan took the car back downstairs.
"Whew, Bebe, I don't know how you manage to sweet- talk your way into getting information, but you did a good job with Mr. Duncan."
"I just askdd him, that's all. You're the sweet-talker."
"We're both sweet-talkers," Darlene said, and we laughed. "Mr. Duncan just doesn't like me."
"That's because for some reason he blames you for his having to go to court," I said.
"I guess. It's hot up here," Darlene said, as we walked down the hall. "Let's take our coats off. Where the heck is room 1548?"
I looked on the wall for signs, then heard the last voice in the world I wanted to hear.
"Confounded ice machines. Don't any of them work?"
"Daddy!" I stage-whispered to Darlene.
The ice machine on his floor below us must not be working. We looked up and saw the ice machines directly in front of us. At any second he would turn and see me dressed like this!
Darlene and I looked at each other in horror.
Darlene sneezed.
I grabbed her by the arm and propelled us into a room whose door was ajar. We stumbled inside.
A man sat in a wing chair in a very luxurious suite, a glass of wine on the table next to him. He was reading the New York Times. He had removed his suit jacket, leaving him in dark trousers and a crisp white shirt.
With a delighted shock I realized I was looking at Bobby Darin, one of my favorite singers! His song "Dream Lover" had played in my head constantly when it had first come out.
At my side, Darlene stood stock still, her mouth hanging open.
Mr. Darin turned a corner of the newspaper down at our appearance and raised one eyebrow, maybe at our sexy maids' uniforms. He was so handsome! "There's no need to clean up, girls. Someone's already done the room."
I could only stare.
Darlene found her voice. "We're terribly sorry to disturb you, Mr. Darin. The door was ajar, and we just didn't know whether the room had been cleaned."
He smiled. "That's okay. I left the door open because I'm expecting Sandra back any minute. She always forgets her key."
Sandra! He meant Sandra Dee, his beautiful wife.
Darlene put her hand at my waist, tugging a little, indicating we should leave now.
I turned to go, but suddenly looked at Mr. Darin and blurted out, "I love your singing. And you were wonderful in CAPTAIN NEWMAN, M.D.!"
. "Thank you," he said with another smile. "I'm a very lucky man. And I'll be sure to stay here at the Legends next time I'm in New York. They have the loveliest maids."
"Thank you," I said, sure I was blushing.
Darlene and I walked out of the room backward and closed the door quietly behind us.
As one, we turned and shook each other by the shoulder, then started giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.
In unison, we said, "He's so dreamy!"
I laughed and poked Darlene's arm. "Jinx, you owe me a Coke!"
Darlene laughed too. "You've got it. Bobby Darin, Bebe! Not ten feet away from us!"
"I can't believe I just met Bobby Darin!" I said. "And that I forgot to get his autograph."
Darlene chuckled. "What were we going to do, get him to sign our aprons? Hmmm, now that I think of it . . ."
"Darlene, don't you dare! He's a married man. I wonder what he's doing in New York. I thought he liked Las Vegas."
"He plays at the Copacabana sometimes," Darlene said.
"Too bad we don't have dates to take us there," I bemoaned. Then, "At least we got to meet him, talk with
him, and find out he's just as nice in person as anyone could want him to be. I'll never forget it!"
"Neither will I. But we'd better pull ourselves together and get back to what we were doing."
I took a fast look down the hall, but there was no sign of Daddy. "I think Daddy's gone. Let's go find the maids' closet."
I couldn't help but do a little dance. "Darlene, we just met Bobby Darin! We just met Bobby Darin!"
"I know. I wonder what he's like in—"
"Sshhh! You know he's married. You mustn't think like that!"
"What about you, Miss Pious? Hmmm? Does the name John Lennon ring a bell? He's married too, you know."
I punched her in the arm. "Point taken, but I'm not changing my feelings for John. Oh, look, there's the maids' closet, right where Mr. Duncan said it would be." The closet was not locked. I pulled out a cart with soaps, shower caps, towels, toilet paper, and cleaning products. Darlene got out the vacuum.
We rolled the cart down the hall toward Philip's room.
My mind was still on Bobby Darin. I started to sing "Dream Lover."
"Bebe! Bebe! We're here at Philip's room."
"Oh, good."
"Bebe, snap out of it! We've got a locked door here and not much time before we call attention to ourselves. Come on!"
"Don't look at me. What are you waiting for? Isn't that the master key hanging off the cart?"
Darlene made a dive for it. "If you aren't the limit, Bebe Bennett."
Darlene turned the key in the lock.
The door of the dead man's room swung open.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We entered the room with the cart and closed the door behind us. All was eerily still inside. Dust motes hung suspended in a slim line of sunshine beaming in from a crack in the curtains. Otherwise the room was dim. There had been no crime-scene tape outside the door. Maybe the hotel wasn't renting it out until the police finished their investigation.
"Can we turn on the lights?" I asked.
Darlene reached for the wall switch. "We'll have to if we want to see what we're doing," she said. It looks like the room has been cleaned since the police were in here. The bed's been made, the beer cans and pizza boxes are gone, and there's no fingerprint dust anywhere."
"Thank goodness for that. We'd have a hard time explaining ourselves if the place were still supposed to be untouched." Luckily, no one has cleared Philips things out of here.
"No one is going to bother us. Come on; let's get to work. It's a big room. I'll take the closet. You start with the bedside table."
I sat down on the edge of the bed. The bedside table was littered with guitar picks and a guide to New York City. I shook out the guide to make sure there was nothing in it. Then I opened the drawer to the table. Several red square foil packets met my gaze. I picked one up and examined it. In tiny print I read the word prophylactic.
I dropped the packet like a hotcake. So that's what they looked like! Hard on the heels of this realization came the vision of Bradley standing in front of me holding one in his hand, a smile on his handsome face. Oh!
My face got hotter, but my lips curved into a devilish smile.
Then, as if to remind me of my upbringing, there was a Gideon's Bible right next to the little square packets! I took a quick look through the rest of the drawer, which mercifully held only some earplugs and tissues. I slammed the drawer shut and fanned myself with a little complimentary hotel guest pad that was lying next to the telephone.
"Find anything?" Darlene called from the closet.
"No!" I responded.
"I'm going through Philip's pockets. Why don't you try the desk?"
I took a deep breath. "Okay."
Starting with the smaller drawers on the side, I went through the desk. Empty. The larger center drawer was a different story,
though. I was running my fingers through a generous supply of hotel stationery I'd lifted out of a box, enjoying the feel of the fresh paper. In the middle of it, my hands stopped over the smooth surface of a black-and-white photograph. I took it out and saw a picture of Reggie with a young girl in a school uniform sitting on his lap. He was smiling at her. Another photo revealed her again sitting in his lap, but this time with her arms around his neck and him laughing.
And then on the hotel's stationery there was a letter scrawled in nearly illegible handwriting. Actually, there were a couple of different drafts of the letter. I picked one up and began to read:
Dear Jean,
I know we're not the best of friends, but I still think you've a right to know what's going on while we're on the road. If you'll look at these
photos, you'll see that Reg is not the adoring, faithful husband he wants you to think he is. Sorry about that.
Philip
What a horrible letter! I looked again at the pictures. Surely Reggie would have an explanation for this. Him cuddling with schoolgirls didn't match up with the man I'd met, the one who was so anxious to call his wife, or the proud father holding out pictures of his son.
But that didn't take away from the fact that Philip was trying to torpedo his bandmate's marriage. "Darlene!"
She joined me, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. "What?"
"I think I found something."
Darlene looked over the photos and the letter and raised her eyebrows. "What a terrible thing for Philip to do. I wonder if it was the first time he'd tried to come between Reggie and his wife."
"Probably not," I said. "But if you're thinking that Reggie killed Philip, you're wrong. He's a nice family guy."
Darlene looked at me. "Look, Bebe, some of the prettiest plants are the poisonous ones. We can't rule anyone out, including Reggie."
"I suppose."
"Anyone is capable of murder if they're pushed hard enough. If Reggie thought his family was threatened, we don't know what he might have done."
"You're right. I guess I just don't want to look at Reggie that way. But I will, since—"
The sound of male voices outside the room interrupted me.
Darlene heard them too. "Quick, Bebe, hide the photos and the letter on the maid's cart."
It's A Mod, Mod, Mod, Mod Murder Page 9
