by Joanne Fluke
Elizabeth brightened at this idea, but froze when she heard voices on the other side of the apartment door. “Somebody’s coming,” she whispered.
“Time to go,” Lucy said, leading the way. They hurried outside and closed the sliding door behind them, then stepped to the side, where they couldn’t be seen from inside the apartment, and waited. A slight breeze stirred the branches of a hibiscus bush, a bird sang, a lizard froze on a rock. Nobody entered the apartment; whoever had been outside had gone on their way.
Lucy exhaled and said, “I could use some of that sherry.”
“Me, too.”
Lucy studied her daughter’s expression, noticing how depressed she seemed. “Cheer up, sweetie,” she said. “I know just the thing. We’ll stop and get a Christmas tree on the way home. What do you think of that?”
“Whatever,” Elizabeth replied with a shrug.
Chapter Eight
When they got back to the apartment, however, Miss Tilley was waiting for them impatiently. “What took you so long?” she demanded, picking up her purse and slipping on a light jacket.
“We stopped to get a Christmas tree,” Lucy said as Elizabeth entered carrying a tabletop-sized balsam.
“It smells so nice,” Elizabeth said, sounding almost cheery. “Christmasy.”
“Besides, we haven’t been gone all that long,” Lucy protested. “And what are you up to? Where do you think you’re going?”
“I am going out,” Miss Tilley said. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No,” Lucy began, putting the bottle of sherry on the kitchen counter, “but I was thinking we could trim this tree. Elizabeth could use a distraction.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” Miss Tilley said. “You make hay when the sun is shining—that’s what my dear mother used to say. Right now is the time for gathering evidence. We need to pick up the pieces of the puzzle. I’m feeling as if I’ve got a box of pieces but the top of the box, the part with the picture, is missing.” She paused for a moment, clicking her dentures. “I need to see the hotel, need to get the big picture.”
“That’s a good idea,” Elizabeth said. “You and Mom should take a look at the place.”
“Your mother wants to play Mrs. Santa Claus,” Miss Tilley said, pursing her lips. “And besides, I want the behind the scenes tour. I’ll need you to be my guide, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “I can’t go. I’m on probation. I’m banned from the property.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Miss Tilley said with a sniff.
“It is kind of high school,” Elizabeth admitted, “but if I want to get my job back I have to play by the rules.”
Miss Tilley’s jaw was set and Lucy and Elizabeth could practically hear the wheels grinding away in her grizzled old head. “I’ve got it,” she finally said. “You can wear a disguise.”
“It’s Christmas, not Halloween,” Lucy said.
“And I’m not an elf,” Elizabeth added.
“I wasn’t suggesting you should dress as an elf,” Miss Tilley said. “That would attract too much attention, which is exactly what we don’t want. You should go as a maid—nobody looks at the maids.”
“She has a point,” Lucy said, who had opened Elizabeth’s laptop and was soon scrolling through a list of uniform supply companies. “There’s a place not far from here that says they provide uniforms for all major local employers.”
“Come to think of it, I could use a little rest.” Miss Tilley was taking off her jacket. “I think I’ll take a short nap while you get your disguise together,” she said, with a nod to Elizabeth. “And don’t forget a wig. I’d suggest blond. Nothing changes a woman’s look as much as a different hair color.”
“She’s right,” Lucy said, writing down the address of the uniform supply store. “And you’re in luck. There’s a costume shop on the same block.”
“Lucky me,” Elizabeth said, realizing that resistance was futile. She didn’t doubt that Miss Tilley and her mother meant well, but she doubted that their cockamamie efforts would actually help her. In truth, she suspected they would only make things worse and she would probably spend the remainder of her fleeting youth in jail. These were her best years and she would be behind bars, wearing unflattering jumpsuits and a bad haircut.
* * *
Her GPS took her into an unfamiliar area of West Palm Beach, where small stores jostled for space with dodgy-looking bars and churches belonging to unfamiliar denominations. When she reached the uniform shop, she was surprised to see it was decorated to the hilt for Christmas. Colored lights were twinkling in the plate glass window, a couple of mannequins in hospital scrubs had wreaths around their necks, and inside a huge Christmas tree took up most of the floor space and Christmas carols were playing. The woman behind the counter, who could have been Mrs. Claus, was plump and twinkly and dressed in a red dress, white apron, and mobcap.
“Merry Christmas!” she exclaimed. “And what can I do for you?”
It suddenly occurred to Elizabeth that she was on a fool’s errand. The Cavendish housekeepers all wore lavender shirtwaist dresses that the company supplied, so there was no reason for the store to stock them. “I know it’s unlikely, but do you have anything at all resembling a Cavendish maid’s uniform?” she asked.
“I’ve got the real thing,” Mrs. Claus replied. “What size?”
“Four,” Elizabeth responded.
“No problem, I’ll be back in a tick.”
When she reappeared with a neatly folded uniform with lace collar and embroidered Cavendish logo on the breast pocket, Elizabeth could hardly believe her luck. “How on earth did you get this?” she asked. “The hotel supplies them and the girls have to turn them in when they leave. Who needs to buy them?”
“Well, you’re buying one.” Mrs. Claus raised an inquiring eyebrow. “I bet you spoiled yours and don’t want to pay for the replacement, which is the Cavendish policy. My price is a lot cheaper than what Cavendish wants from the girls—a hundred fifty bucks, I think it is. Something like that. They’re made in Italy, by nuns or something.”
This was news to Elizabeth. “The maids have to pay for the uniforms?”
“Sure they do, if it’s torn or stained and becomes unwearable.” Mrs. Claus gave her a funny look. “I would’ve thought you’d know that. What do you want it for, anyway?”
Elizabeth blushed. “My boyfriend has this fantasy. . . .”
Mrs. Claus grinned naughtily. “Ah! Turn-down service.”
One hurdle cleared, Elizabeth thought with relief. “But I still don’t understand how you get the uniforms if the girls have to turn them in when they leave.”
Mrs. Claus chuckled. “They’re leaving the country, dearie. They’re going back to Indonesia or Slovenia or wherever and they want to take as much money with them as they can, so they sell the uniforms to me. They know the hotel isn’t going to track them down in Outer Slobovia for a worn-out uniform.”
“Right.” Elizabeth realized she’d gotten more insight about how the Cavendish chain operated from Mrs. Claus than she had from hours of training sessions. “So, what is the price?”
“Twenty-nine ninety-five.”
Elizabeth paid and left, humming along to “Frosty the Snowman.”
As her mother had informed her, the costume shop was just a few doors down, next to the Reformed Chinese-American Church of the First Light. Inside the shop, Christmas and Halloween were fighting for space, the Bride of Dracula was sitting on Santa’s lap, and a sexy little elf was clearly wild about the Wolf Man. There was no music; the chubby man behind the counter was listening to Rush Limbaugh.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, looking at her through thick glasses and scratching the wispy beard growing on his chin.
“I need a blond wig,” she said. “And a pair of fake eyeglasses.”
“Going undercover?” he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Kind of,” Elizabeth said. “It’s j
ust a joke, really.”
“Like the ACORN thing?” he asked, eagerly.
“Sure,” Elizabeth said, unwilling to give him too much information. “So where are the wigs?”
“In the back, behind Rudolph.”
The reindeer’s red nose was alight, illuminating a rack of variously colored wigs. Elizabeth chose the most realistic-looking blond one, a short, pageboy style, and also chose a pair of tortoiseshell eyeglasses with plain glass. The bill came close to forty dollars, using up most of her cash. On the way home she stopped at a drugstore and bought a bottle of cheap foundation, choosing the darkest shade she thought she could get away with. A display of Christmas tree lights caught her eye at the checkout and she impulsively picked up a box, breaking her last twenty-dollar bill. Going undercover was an expensive proposition.
Returning home with her purchases, she found her mother busy making origami crane Christmas tree ornaments out of colorful pages she’d ripped from Elizabeth’s collection of fashion magazines. “Just what we need,” Lucy exclaimed happily, when Elizabeth gave her the lights.
“I thought you were a sleuth of sorts, Lucy,” Miss Tilley said, her voice dripping with disapproval. “What exactly are you contributing to this investigation?”
“This may look like busywork,” Lucy said, waving the scissors, “but I’m actually freeing my subconscious to make connections and solve the theft. You’ll see: the solution will pop into my head any moment.”
Miss Tilley did not look convinced. “Come on, Elizabeth,” she said. “Chop chop. I want to see the scene of the crime.”
“Not until you have lunch.” Lucy was already spreading tuna fish on huge slabs of whole wheat bread. “I don’t know what to do for supper,” she muttered. “I refuse to eat one of those microwave meals again.”
Thirty minutes later Miss Tilley was seated beside Elizabeth in the Corolla, wearing her usual wool tweed skirt and cashmere sweater set along with thick support stockings on her scrawny legs.
“Aren’t you too warm?” Elizabeth asked, sweating in the afternoon heat.
“Not a bit. Now what is our best plan of attack?” she inquired, as they proceeded down the long drive lined with royal palms that led to the hotel.
Elizabeth hesitated before answering, as she came up with a plan. As a pretend maid she had to park in the employee parking lot, but that was some distance from the entrance and she wasn’t sure Miss Tilley could walk that far.
“I think it would be best if I dropped you off at the spa entrance,” Elizabeth said. “There’s no doorman there, so chances are nobody will see you getting out of a car driven by a maid. Once you’re inside, you can ask the way to the lobby.”
“If anyone sees me I’ll just pretend I’m a dotty old lady,” Miss Tilley chirped.
Not actually that far from the truth, Elizabeth thought, biting her tongue. “I’ll meet you in the lobby. We’ll pretend that you’re lost and I’m showing you the way back to your room.”
“Got it,” Miss Tilley said as Elizabeth slowed the car and approached the canopied entrance to the spa. As she predicted, nobody was around and Miss Tilley was able to enter unobserved.
Driving onto the employee parking lot, Elizabeth was strongly tempted to speed off and head for the Mexican border, then remembered that although Florida was in the southern part of the country it was a peninsula surrounded by water and didn’t share a border with Mexico. No, she’d have to go to the airport and board a plane to somewhere. Anywhere, as long as it was far away. Australia, maybe. But since she had no money and only had a thousand-dollar limit on her one credit card, that wasn’t really an option. And she certainly wasn’t dressed for travel in this stupid maid’s uniform.
Sliding into a parking spot, she braked and turned off the ignition, then flipped down the visor to check her appearance in the mirror. The blond wig was itchy, but it really did change her appearance. When she slipped on the fake eyeglasses she hardly recognized herself. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, climbed out of the car, squared her shoulders and, once again, took the familiar route she had followed every working day to the employees’ entrance. This time, she feared, would probably be the last.
Suddenly suspicious that she might be observed by a hidden camera, she paused at the time clock and pretended to clock in, snagging a name tag from the adjacent rack and fastening it just above the breast pocket of her uniform. Then she popped into a supply cabinet and got a squeeze bottle of cleaner and a rag; thus armed she was confident she would fade into the background, somebody nobody wanted to see.
Her next problem was getting access to the secure areas of the hotel, which required a key pass. Mr. Dimitri had confiscated hers and without it she wouldn’t be able to give Miss Tilley much of a tour. She decided to try the women’s locker room on the off chance that somebody had dropped one. When she entered she found she was alone except for one middle-aged woman who was just unbuttoning her lavender shirtwaist.
“Hi!” she said, greeting her. “You haven’t seen a key card, have you?”
“Did you lose yours?” the woman asked. She had big brown eyes that expressed concern.
“I must have. I thought it was in my pocket but now it’s gone.”
“You’re in big trouble,” the woman said.
“I know,” Elizabeth wailed. “I can’t afford to lose this job.”
The woman’s face softened. “Take mine,” she said, offering a Cavendish-green rectangle of plastic.
“Are you sure?” Elizabeth was genuinely shocked at the woman’s generosity.
“Just slip it through the vent in my locker when you’re done—number thirty-four.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Elizabeth said, impulsively hugging her.
She patted Elizabeth on her back. “Just don’t forget to return it.”
“I won’t,” Elizabeth promised, watching the woman pick up her tote bag and leave, walking slowly as if her feet hurt.
Then she herself left the locker room and followed the service hallway, receiving nods and smiles from the few employees she met. So far, so good, but the lobby would be more of a challenge. For one thing, Toni might be on duty, and you never knew when Mr. Dimitri was going to pop out of his office. Reaching the unobtrusive doorway to the lobby, she nudged it open, relieved to see a large party of Asian tourists was checking in at the front desk. Seizing the moment, she slipped into the lobby and began polishing the first thing she saw, which happened to be a lamp. Glancing around, she noticed Miss Tilley, who had seated herself on a plump sofa beneath a twinkling wreath.
Elizabeth made her way around the room, flicking her rag at imaginary bits of dust, until she reached the seating arrangement where Miss Tilley was making a show of admiring a handsome pink and white amaryllis plant that was on the coffee table. Elizabeth bent down and began dusting the table.
“What a beautiful plant,” Miss Tilley said. “I believe this variety is called Apple Blossom.”
“It’s nice,” Elizabeth muttered.
“I guess I really ought to go up to my room and get ready for dinner. My son is taking me out,” she said, rising with effort and then plunking back down, as if she hadn’t enough strength to stand.
“Let me help you.” Elizabeth offered, playing along. She took the old woman’s arm and helped her to her feet.
“Goodness, I don’t feel very steady on my feet,” Miss Tilley said with a big wink, just in case Elizabeth didn’t realize she was playacting.
“I’ll help you to your room,” Elizabeth said, taking her by the arm and intending to lead her to the elevator. She was planning to give Miss Tilley a quick peek of a hallway, maybe a glimpse of an empty room, and then get her out of there. They were almost at the bank of elevators when Elizabeth spotted Mr. Kronenberg crossing the lobby in the same direction, clearly also headed for the elevators. Elizabeth’s heart was pounding. She knew that she could kiss her job good-bye if she was discovered. She quickly decided to make a detour to the ballroo
m, confident they could slip in unnoticed while staff members were occupied with the large group of newly arrived Asian guests.
Much to Elizabeth’s surprise, the decorations for the Blingle Bells Ball were still in place, though the patience roses were wilting.
“Goodness me!” Miss Tilley exclaimed. “I didn’t expect anything like this!”
“The party favors were diamonds,” Elizabeth said. “Money clips for the men, pendants for the women.”
“So unnecessary,” Miss Tilley said, clucking her tongue. “Such extravagance.”
“What next?” Elizabeth asked. “Did you see the pool?”
“I walked through, on my way from the spa,” Miss Tilley said. “They have some lovely succulents. So exotic-looking! And birds of paradise.”
“Did you see the tea room?” Elizabeth asked.
“I glanced in while I was waiting for you. I took a peek at the gift shop and the bar, too.”
Elizabeth thought she might be granted a reprieve. “So do you have the big picture?”
“I’d really like to see the Grubers’ suite,” she said.
Elizabeth had a vivid mental picture of a jail door banging shut behind her, locking her in a tiny cell. “Really?” she asked, in a small voice.
“Let’s go.” Miss Tilley sounded like a nursery school teacher rounding up her small charges. “Don’t dawdle.”
“Take my arm and hobble,” Elizabeth ordered, patting her pocket and extracting the key card.
Together they left the ballroom and made their slow way across the lobby to the restricted elevator, which they shared with a swarthy man wearing tennis whites. He ignored them and got off at the junior suite level, leaving them to ascend alone to the penthouse level. They stepped out, into a very white foyer, facing four sets of paneled doors, one for each of the hotel’s most luxurious and most expensive suites.
“What now? Do we just go in?” Elizabeth asked. “What if they’re here?”
“Knock and say ‘housekeeping.’ That’s what maids do,” Miss Tilley urged. “If there’s no answer, just go in. You can always say you were checking to make sure they have enough towels.”
