Hot Stuff

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  I smiled at Chopra. “Perfectly reasonable assumption. Mr. Decore and I are business associates.” I giggled. “And Mr. Decore presumes too much. I’m sure you’ve seen that kind of behavior before at the hotel?”

  He nodded, relieved I hadn’t pitched a fit.

  Asha launched back into the meat of the matter. “Mr. Chopra, do you have any idea where Mr. Decore was going? Back to the States?”

  He looked surprised. “Oh, he did not check out. Perhaps I did not make that clear. He merely said Miss Walsh now had other accommodations.”

  Bingo. Mahindra, or perhaps Patel, had usurped Ray’s room as well as his name. I opted for Mahindra. Patel didn’t have enough class or English to fool a hotel desk clerk.

  We thanked Mr. Chopra for his kindness in answering our questions, then Asha autographed several pictures of herself for him and his family.

  Chopra beamed. “My wife adores you, Miss Kumar. We have seen Pirate Princess at least three hundred and fifty times. We have the DVD. My favorite part is you with Spot the tiger.”

  Asha whispered to me as we left, “The DVD just came out three weeks ago.”

  I had to rent this flick when I had a chance.

  We left the enthralled manager and headed for the new wing of the hotel. Ray Decore’s room was on the fifth floor, as was my original room six doors down from his. Each room on this side of the hotel had a balcony and a view of the harbor, amenities I hadn’t used since I’d spent my first three hours in Bombay sleeping. After that my night had been taken up with dodging bullets, shedding clothes, getting kissed, and listening to O’Brien talk. The latter being the most timeconsuming. The kiss had been the most. Just two words. The most.

  I couldn’t think about Brig right now. I stopped the elevator at the fourth floor. Asha looked surprised.

  “What? I thought you were one up?”

  “I am. Well, was. But it occurs to me that I can’t just knock on the door and tell some poor stranger, ‘Hey! This is my room and I want my stuff!’ Right?”

  Asha nodded. “True. We also can’t go pounding on Ray Decore’s door with the same question. I have a feeling a brand-new, innocent visitor from Finland or Russia now occupies your room. But, I’ll bet money that one of Mahindra’s gonzos is snoozing on Decore’s bed.”

  She punched the Open button on the elevator and we stepped out onto the fourth floor. Teatime. We didn’t see a soul in the hall. Everyone must be out at the cafés enjoying a nice brew and a scone. Sounded like a good way to spend this hour. My large brunch from Café de la Plaz had become a wisp of memory.

  A maid passed by with a load of fresh linens. She ignored us, intent on making her delivery and perhaps heading to the hotel kitchen for her own tea break.

  Asha nudged me with her elbow.

  “Ouch!”

  “Shh! Wimp! I have a plan.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no? You haven’t heard it yet.”

  “Asha, I’ve known you, what, two hours? Long enough to see wheels turning. Wheels grinding out little ideas like dressing up as maids and sneaking into Ray’s old room.”

  Asha looked at me with admiration. “You’re good. Actually my plan was to ask that maid if she’d mind checking to see if the so-called Mr. Decore is currently flat out on his back snoring, or fornicating, or chanting mantras in his room, but I like your idea much better.”

  I groaned. “Asha! I’m sorry I suggested it. This is bound to turn into one of those British farces where everyone and his brother are in maid or butler costumes and hiding under beds or in beds—with each other. I’m not ready for that particular production, thank you.”

  “I did six of those plays in high school, and they’re a lot like Jake’s movies. Easy. It’s all in the timing. Now just hang here a minute.”

  She took off down the hall after the maid. I could see an excited conversation taking place but couldn’t hear the substance. Asha sauntered back within minutes.

  “I am sooo good. I told her I’m researching for a part and you’re a new actress who’s doing a scene with me. The red hair kinda bothered her, but I explained that Jake wanted more foreigners in this particular film. More than me, that is. And I have dual citizenship.”

  This business of taking off on tangents during moments of stress seemed contagious.

  “Asha, you’re worse than Brig. Get to the point.”

  “Oh. I asked where we could find uniforms and keys. And she told me.”

  Definitely perks to hanging out with a movie star.

  Like most hotels, Taj Mahal used those ghastly ATM-style cards that force one to insert it and then in a mad dash try to open the door while the green light is still blinking. I suppose they’re better for inhibiting robbers accustomed to jiggling nail files, bobby pins, or other sharp instruments into keyholes. Then again, I’m sure any clever thief can manage a way to insert his driver’s license or credit card into the darn thing and gain easy entry.

  We had to trek down to the basement to the maid’s closet to get the uniforms and key cards, but we were back in the elevator and on the fifth floor within twelve minutes—with a passcard that should open Ray’s door.

  We looked ridiculous. A redheaded fair-complexioned woman towering over a tiny dark-haired girl who looked barely out of puberty. But the few people either entering or exiting the rooms on floor five didn’t seem to notice. Amazing how invisible one can become in a black and white uniform. Especially to those folks who look on anyone in service as unworthy of attention.

  Asha nudged me again. I nearly dropped the load of towels draped over my arm. If she continued poking me, I’d have bruises larger than my entire torso by nightfall.

  “What?”

  “I think it’s best if I go into Ray’s room first. The bad guys know you. They don’t know me.”

  I stared at her. “Bombay’s sweetheart of cinema? You don’t think they’ll recognize your face? Like it’s not plastered over half the billboards in town? Like there’s anyone outside of Mahindra, Patel, and me who hasn’t seen Pirate Princess at least four hundred times? Why don’t we just bring in Spot the tiger and stick him in a uniform while we’re at it?”

  She drew herself up to her full height of four foot nine and sneered at me. “Well, excuse me, but I can do this. I’m an actress. I’m in a maid’s costume. Aside from no one bothering to see the face atop the collar, I’m about to do the veil thing.”

  I sighed. Asha had managed to find two veils amongst the starched uniforms and had sashayed out with them under her arm. She handed me one, then eyed me critically.

  “Put it on. Plenty of Muslim women work in hotels. No one will think a thing about it. Really, Tempe, that stupid little cap will not hide Miss Flaming Carrot Top.”

  I did as asked. Even if Mahindra’s and Patel’s goons didn’t quite remember my face, the red curls were enough to blow my cover. I felt certain my hair had been the tip-off to Patel at C.C. Curry’s that all was not kosher last night.

  I wandered around the hall pretending to look busy while Asha calmly inserted the passcard and entered Ray’s room. I expected to hear shouts or guns or screams. Instead, Asha stuck her head out and motioned to me. The hall remained empty. I hurried over to the doorway.

  “No one’s home, Tempe. Come on in and we’ll see if we can find any clues as to the whereabouts of Ray Decore. Not to mention discover who the hell took over his room.”

  This did not make me happy, but I quickly slipped inside. If a nonfriendly returned and found one maid in his room, either of us might be able to talk our way out. Asha knew Hindi, and I could say I was a European girl working my way across India. But two maids? Yeah, Taj Mahal was a five-star hotel, but hiring two maids to deliver one stack of towels? Not plausible.

  We began to tour the room. Two suitcases had been placed on luggage racks but were closed. Asha headed right to them.

  “Crap. They’re locked.” She looked up at me, now headfirst into the trash can by a large desk. “Tempe
. Any good at picking locks?”

  “Excuse me? Jersey girl? You think I spent my childhood in Manhattan hanging with juvies breaking into cars on Fifth Avenue?”

  She grinned. “Well, yeah. You strike me as pretty resourceful.”

  “Resourceful, maybe. But my off hours as a kid were spent in dance or gym classes. My talents do not include breaking and entering. Although I think I now have to change my résumé to include that activity.”

  She ignored me. She headed for the bathroom. “I want to see if the key for the luggage might be tucked into a travel kit. And use the facilities while I’m here.”

  I whispered, “Asha? Try the shaving kit. Bad guys always stash their stuff there in movies. Maybe that’s why they have permanent five o’clock shadow.”

  She rolled her eyes but nodded. I began digging through papers in the wastebasket, for what I had no idea. I did find yesterday’s New York Times crossword half finished. In pencil, not in ink.

  I snorted. “Wimp.” Then I picked up the pencil and twirled it for a moment. I considered filling in twenty-six down—“a five-letter word for demented”—with “Tempe” and couldn’t resist writing the correct one, which was “crazy.” Then I stopped.

  I motioned to Asha, who’d just peeked out around the bathroom door. The dismay in her eyes told me that she’d heard it as well. The muffled sound of a card key being inserted into the door.

  I panicked. I ran to the balcony doors, threw them open, stepped outside, and immediately closed the drapes behind me. I prayed Asha could fake out whoever had entered. I knew our chances were better with one actress improvising than with two.

  No voices. Either the guy who’d entered had ignored the new maid or the bed had provided a hiding place for the new maid, or the guy had just blown off all niceties and knifed the new maid. I stayed crouched on the balcony, unsure whether to pop out screaming and kicking or wait for the next sound to determine the course of action most appropriate.

  The snap of something metal breaking surprised me so much I had to try and find out if Asha was in trouble. I parted one small edge of the curtain.

  A man stood with his back to me, rummaging through a suitcase. Then he stood straight up and turned toward the window. I closed my eyes and willed the balcony to collapse, taking me with it.

  The doors flung open. I clutched the pencil, my only weapon. I opened my eyes wide in the classic manner of the deer in the headlights. Then I blinked.

  “Brig?”

  “Tempe? What in the name of Saint Swithen are you doing on the balcony?”

  “Hiding. Is there really a Saint Swithen?”

  He groaned. “I thought you were safe and sound at Asha’s. Giggling over tea and crumpets about what a fool Jake is when it comes to his ladylove.”

  The woman in question crawled out from under the bed.

  “Yo! Brig. I’m so glad it’s you and not some killer popping in to slash my throat.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and groaned again. Louder. Asha plopped next to him. I sank into the chair by the desk. The three of us stared at each other.

  Brig finally broke the silence. “Ladies? Would you mind explaining what you’re doing here? And just whom were you planning to kill with the blunt pencil, Miss Walsh?”

  Asha smiled. I smiled. She said nothing. Brig glared. Fine. Up to me.

  “We’re trying to find out what happened to Ray and who’s using his room and where my stuff is. You?”

  “The same.”

  I squinted at him. “How did you get in?”

  He smiled. “With a room key. Passcard.”

  I threw the pencil at him. I missed.

  “And how did you get the room key? Bribery? Pickpocketing? You’re still in civies, not decked out as hotel help. We managed to get two keys. Everyone thought we were maids.”

  “And lovely ya are, the both of you in the black and white. The veil is a nice touch, Tempe, but your hair is peekin’ around the cloth. Looks quite exquisite in the sunlight. But very red, you know.”

  I might have known he wouldn’t answer about the passcard. I tried a different question.

  “Did you find anything interesting in the suitcase you managed to pry open?” I glanced at Asha. “Obviously, Mr. O’Brien did spend some quality time with the boys in the ’hood. His lock-picking skills are excellent.”

  He inclined his head. “Sadly, those skills did not yield anything of interest. At least in suitcase number one. Other than the knowledge that the user has fine taste in shirts. Armani. Mediums. Too small and I dislike the color.”

  He turned to Asha. “I know Tempe didn’t find anything on the balcony. She’d never have been able to contain her joy if her own traveling case had been stowed out there. You discover anything under the bed?”

  Asha pursed her lips, shook her head no, and then grinned. “Yes. Taj Mahal Hotel runs the cleanest accommodations I’ve ever seen. Not a dust bunny in sight. I’m very impressed.”

  I stood. “This is pointless, gang. Looks like it’s time to turn in our uniforms. Maybe hang out in the lobby for the rest of the day and see if we recognize any of the players connected to this show?”

  Brig put his hand to his lips. We froze. Once again we could hear the sound of a passcard being inserted into that door. And unless Jake had driven off in search of either Brig or Asha, this time the three of us might well be facing a killer.

  Chapter 10

  We had no time to dive under the bed, scurry to the balcony, hide behind the shower doors, or crawl into the toilet. The door opened. A gun entered. Well, a man holding a gun entered. But all I saw was the gun.

  Brig sprang to his feet, intent on shielding me from that gun. Bless the man. How he figured he’d save me from blazing bullets was a mystery, but I had to give him high marks for chivalry and sheer guts.

  I sank back down onto the chair. If death proved imminent, at least being comfortable would be nice. As I casually swung one leg over the other in an attitude of inappropriate nonchalance while also hiding my shaking limbs, I looked up at the newcomer’s face. I sprang up again.

  “Ray?”

  He moved to one side of Briggan, who had planted his frame in the middle of the room, ready to defend honor, country, and all of our hides.

  “Tempe?”

  “Ray! Hot damn! You’re alive! I thought Mahindra had killed you back at Hot Harry’s, then taken over your room! Or Patel. Either. Or both. This is incredible! How on earth did you escape? You were just lying on the table there. I really did think you were dead.”

  Brig sat back down on the bed. Asha hadn’t moved. She did let out a whoosh of breath.

  Brig stood and extended his hand in greeting. “Mr. Decore. You don’t know what poor Tempe has been through since Mahindra’s hooligans came burstin’ through Hot Harry’s with murder on their minds. Lord, man, we thought you were at the bottom of the bay communin’ with the eels!”

  Ray stared at Brig. “Do you mind telling me who the hell you are and why you’ve taken over my bed?”

  Good question. One a large bear had once asked a wench named Goldilocks. He hadn’t gotten a straight answer either. Since Brig was on the receiving end of this current query, I figured Ray had as much luck as that furry fairy-tale bruin for a sane response.

  Brig glanced at me. I smiled. Let the Irish charmer come up with a nice reason for breaking and entering and tossing Armani shirts.

  “We’el, ya see, Tempe here thought you were either dead or mortally wounded, as ’twere. And we larned that someone had gotten rid of her t’ings, ya know, and checked her out of the hotel. And so we all came here to see if we could larn where her t’ings had been stashed and also to ascertain the right or wrong of your demise.”

  Not bad for a spur of the moment pack of half-truths and blame-the-other-guy-to-protect-your-butt excuses, done up in a pretty package topped by a ribbon of brogue. In this case “the other guy” was a girl. Me.

  I stood.

  “Ray Decore. Me
et Briggan O’Brien. Brig rescued me from the back of the storeroom where I’d been hiding to escape the barrage of bullets pelting around the saloon.”

  Brig nodded.

  I continued, “And then kindly put me up at his place when we discovered that two sets of rather nefarious sleazebags were chasing me.”

  Brig nodded again.

  I continued, “And then agreed to help me find the things I brought from New York, like my passport, and helped me gain access when we thought Mahindra had usurped your identity and grabbed your room.”

  Brig smiled.

  Ray leaned up against the door of the bathroom and motioned toward Asha. “Who’s the shrimp?”

  Asha stood.

  In her best Hindi accent she whined, “I am just the maid. These two forced me to find a uniform for the tall lady and give them the key to the room. I am not involved in this. And I have work to do. May I leave, sir? And please do not report my conduct to the manager. I need this job very badly. I am begging of you.”

  I kept silent. As did Brig. I had no idea why Asha hadn’t fessed up to her true identity, but she had a funny expression on her face. Ray nodded at Asha without even looking at her. He seemed to want her to leave.

  “Well, I don’t want to be responsible for getting you thrown out of work. It appears you got smooth-talked into sneaking into a guest’s room by a man who is obviously experienced at charming women. Please leave. Now.”

  Asha stood, bowed, then in a flourish of chutzpah pointed to the towels she’d deposited onto the bed. “Clean, sir.”

  Ray grunted a thin “Thank you.”

  Asha wriggled out of the room with not a single backward glance.

  Brig held his hand out to me. “Tempe? Perhaps now that we know Mr. Decore is safe, we should be about leavin’ the man to be gettin’ his own good rest. I’m sure he had an exhaustin’ night as well.”