by Becky Clark
I glanced at the closed workroom door. “Did you transfer the funds already?”
“They said the ransom had to be paid in full.”
“Viv, you have to cancel this conference.”
“It’s already”—she looked at her phone—“3:40. The conference starts tomorrow. People are already trickling in. It’s too late to cancel. I’d have to return everyone’s fees, maybe even their travel costs, and I’d still be on the hook to pay for the hotel and speakers and food. You know I can’t afford that. We’ve had this argument and I don’t want to keep having it!” She brushed me aside to return to the Clackamas Room.
I stood in the doorway and watched her log out of Lily’s computer and collect her things. As she shoved past me she whispered, “Besides, I’m sure they’re bluffing about killing people. How would the kidnappers know who was a conference attendee and who wasn’t?” She rushed away down the hall.
I stared at her back, stunned. Then I glanced at the table containing the pile of Stumptown Writers’ Conference name tags awaiting lanyards.
How would they know? Because every attendee would be wearing one of those.
Like sitting ducks.
I recovered from my shock when I realized that Viv had never answered my question about whether she’d transferred the funds. I raced down the hall after her but didn’t see her anywhere in the lobby. I rushed out the revolving door, hoping to make her see reason before she drove off. Hurrying through the portico, I skidded to a stop behind a pillar when I saw Viv having words with Roz. They were too far away for me to make out their conversation, but it was clear by their body language and faces that they were arguing. Something behind them caught their attention and they both bolted. Viv to her car, where she roared away, and Roz to behind a pillar that matched mine on the other side of the large circular drive.
I peeked around my pillar to see what had scared them. Jack? He was struggling to place a large, lumpy duffle bag into the back of the hotel van. My imagination fired up. Was there a body in the duffle? Was he strong enough to carry a body like that?
After Jack closed up the van, he went back to the side of the building, where he’d come from. Roz popped out from behind her pillar, looked furtively around, and then hurried toward the van and drove away.
I returned to the lobby, surprised to see Jack already back at his desk. I walked nonchalantly toward him. He flashed me his thousand-watt concierge smile, which I returned. Or tried to. I could only work up to a dim forty.
“That was some big duffle bag. What was in it?”
His wattage flickered like his electric bill hadn’t been paid. “Nothing. Hotel business.”
A guest walked up to Jack before I could find out if he was strong enough to lift a dead body in one hand. I wasn’t sure how to go about that short of loading myself into a bag and asking him to deliver me to my room.
I moved away from the concierge business being conducted. Pushing aside two throw pillows, I plopped myself down in one of the plush loveseats in the lobby. I wanted to make a list of everything, to help clarify my thinking and perhaps see some solutions, but I didn’t have a notepad with me. Instead, I stared into the nothingness across the lobby. Before I could have a good think, though, I heard a voice say, “Do you mind if we use this?”
A border collie with a woman attached stared intently at me. “Do you?” the woman repeated, pointing at a hassock near me.
“No, I don’t mind.”
The dog danced beside her as the woman pushed it across the lobby toward two other hassocks. She maneuvered these three, then a fourth, situating each exactly ten heel-to-toe lengths apart. She called the border collie over, pointed at each of the hassocks, and upon some magic command, the dog took off like he was shot out of a cannon, sailing over each hurdle with precision. When he finished, he circled to the woman’s side and sat gazing up expectantly. She gave a tiny nod and he raced to leap over them again.
I watched them do this eight times in a row. I grew tired of it, but the dog and his handler looked like they could do it until Christmas.
The handler noticed that others were waiting for a turn on the obstacle course. She stepped aside and pointed at her border collie, who sat. Then she walked behind the dog’s back, pulled something from her pocket, and tucked it under a chair. She did it again, this time tucking it inside a couch cushion. She hid treats in four more places, then went back to her dog, who hadn’t moved a muscle. She said “Search!” and the border collie took off, finding and gobbling the treats one after the other.
A man escorted by a weimaraner asked if I was using the pillows I’d pushed aside.
“Take whatever you want.” I stood and waved my arm magnanimously.
I had a plan.
Ten
I strode across the restaurant, flinging my messenger bag bandolier-style across my chest. The room was mostly empty this late in the afternoon and nobody saw me push open the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. I didn’t recognize any of the kitchen staff, and I hoped they wouldn’t toss me out like wilted lettuce.
“Is Roz here?” I asked, knowing full well she wasn’t.
A server leaned on a stainless steel prep table swiping on her phone. She didn’t look up. “Nope.”
“Do you happen to know if she left the menus for us in her office?” I also hoped this was where Roz’s office was, but you know what happens when you assume.
“Nope.” Again, no eye contact. I could be a crazed murderer carrying an axe, a pipe bomb, and a half-starved Siberian tiger and the server wouldn’t have been able to identify me.
“Do you mind if I go back and look?”
“Whatev.”
I accepted that in the same manner I would an engraved invitation. Hoping I wouldn’t meet any inquisitive kitchen staff, I held my breath past the walk-in freezer, a storage area, and a door identified with only a generic Executive Chef nameplate. I exhaled slowly when I reached a door marked Catering Manager. Slipping into Roz’s office, I pulled the door closed behind me. No lock on the knob. I’d have to work fast. I surveyed the small area. Desk covered with file folders and scattered papers. Credenza stuffed with binders and cookbooks, scraps of paper, and Post-It notes sticking at crazy angles from most of them. Since I had no idea what I was looking for, unlike the border collie, I didn’t know where to start. I only knew that the duffle bag, Jack’s demeanor, and the argument between Roz and Viv made me suspicious.
The desk was closest to me, so I began there. I lost no time shuffling papers, flipping files, rooting through drawers, and moving practically everything I could reach, sure the door would fly open and Roz would catch me. After what seemed like forever, I clasped three items to my bosom.
The first was an unopened letter addressed to Roz from ReTurn a New Leaf, Hanna’s rehab place. Why would Roz have anything to do with Viv’s daughter’s drug rehab? I desperately wanted to open it, but tampering with the mail was a federal offense. Clasping it to my bosom undoubtedly made me some sort of desperado, but if I got caught, maybe I could argue entrapment. It was right there in plain sight and leapt into my arms. Kind of.
The second item was a manila folder stuffed with photos of storefronts and attractive young women in their mid-twenties, like Hanna. Some sort of high-class prostitution ring? Escort service? None of the women were posed suggestively, and all wore proper and modest clothes. It didn’t matter to me what kinky thing Roz was into, unless it might involve this situation with Hanna.
And the final paper I clutched was the original catering contract Roz and Viv had signed for the conference. At the top was scribbled Never again. A threat from Roz? From Viv? It didn’t look like Viv’s handwriting, but I couldn’t be certain.
I found a stack of oversized mailing envelopes and shoved my evidence, or theft, or contraband, or whatever they’d call it when they arrested me, inside one. I shoved the envelope into
my bag. I peeked from Roz’s office into the kitchen. The only soul there was still the server playing on her phone. I walked past and neither of us acknowledged the other.
My plan was to march over to Jack’s concierge station and demand information, but my hands started to shake. I veered to the bar and asked for a glass of water. I forced myself to sip the entire thing mindfully, willing myself to calm down.
Sure, I’d stolen stuff from Roz’s office, but it had to be done, right? Roz and Jack were both acting so suspiciously, lying about this and that, and Viv was being completely wacko. I was the only one who could get to the bottom of this fiasco.
Right?
Was I?
I drained my glass, feeling less and less sure of anything.
“Anything else for you?” the bartender asked.
I studied the rows and rows of bottles behind him. “Give me a shot of that.” I pointed to his left, at a squat bottle made of clear glass with a silver stopper that resembled a pineapple. Or maybe a pinecone. The bartender lifted it down by its neck and I saw two silver hands clutching the sides of the bottle. Or maybe they were two silver leaves.
“You’re a tequila gal?”
“I am today.”
After my shot—okay, fine, two shots—I summoned courage to my sticking place—or sticky place, since my shaky hands had spilled a bit of tequila—and marched across the lobby to where Jack worked at his desk.
He saw me coming and retreated to the reception desk in a poorly masked attempt to act busy far away from me. I met him there, leaned toward the desk clerk, and said in the sweetest voice I could muster, “I’m so sorry to drag Giacomo away, but I have a problem only he can help me with.” I held Jack’s upper arm and saw the clerk’s mouth twitch. She got a knowing look on her face and nodded the teensiest bit. “No! Not that,” I said, dropping his arm. “I have some questions only he can answer.”
The clerk’s nod became more emphatic. “I hear you, sister,” she muttered before walking away.
I turned to Jack, both of us fire-engine red and clutching ourselves as if we had been caught naked in math class.
“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” he said.
“It’s not my fault your handsome is right out there for everyone to see.”
Jack used his arm to wipe his brow. “What was it you wanted?” I could tell from his voice he’d rather I didn’t actually tell him.
“I have more questions about Hanna. I need to—”
Cutting me off with a finger in the air, he pulled me away from the reception desk. He dialed his phone and whispered into it, “Meet me downstairs.” He marched to the hallway leading to the meeting rooms and I followed.
Was he taking me to Hanna? Was she hiding in the hotel? Or was he taking me to the kidnappers? I stumbled in front of the Deschutes Room but he only gave me a cursory glance over his shoulder.
When we got to the Clackamas Room, before the hallway made its ninety-degree turn, I stopped. The chances were good not many people were in the other, more distant parts of the hallway. “Where are we going?”
Jack had already turned the corner with his long stride, but stepped backward toward me. “Downstairs.”
“Why?”
“You said you had more questions about Hanna.”
“Why can’t I ask them here? And who did you call?”
“saRAH. Better for her. Lots of people happy to rat us out.”
“For what? Dating? Besides, I told the front desk clerk I had a problem. I’m sure she assumed it was work-related.”
Jack turned the corner. “Are you coming or not?”
Was I? No, I wasn’t. I considered diving into the workroom, and all the tasks waiting to be done. That’s what I should be doing. Not this, whatever “this” was. I took a hesitant step toward the Mount St. Helen’s Room. But what if Hanna was down in the basement? What if she needed help? What if Clementine hadn’t gone down there to question Billy the PI or smoke weed after all? What if that was just a story? What if I could mop up this mystery in the next hour, then get back to putting this stupid conference on?
Courage. Sticking place. Suck it up, Charlee.
I turned the corner and saw Jack gripping the handle of the hidden door.
I looked behind me. I looked at Jack.
Then I followed him through the door.
Eleven
J ack reached behind me to shut the door. As before, the dim yellow bulb cast the short hallway in a weird, unnatural sort of twilight. Jack moved faster than I did and the darkness swallowed him. I hurried to catch up. When I did, I saw him waiting at the stairs, which descended into even more darkness.
“Watch where you step. Sometimes there’s rats. Or worse.”
Worse than rats? I shuddered to think what I would have done if I’d seen any rats when I was down here alone.
Of my two choices, to go back or to keep following Jack, I knew one thing. Neither was a good decision.
I chose to follow him down the stairs. But as I did, one eye watching for rats, I pulled up Lily’s number on my phone. I’d only talked to her twice on the phone since I’d been at the hotel, but I knew that if there was trouble, I’d only have to hit one button and in half a second I’d hear her standard cheery greeting: “It’s Lily! Thanks for calling! What can I do for you?” Unless I got her voicemail, that is. Still a cheery greeting, but absolutely useless for my purposes.
Of course, I was assuming I’d have cell service. I checked my phone. Two bars. I drew a breath.
We reached the bottom of the stairs with nary a rat, mouse, or worse sighting. The yellow caged light bulbs were set farther apart, making the light even more dim. I hurried to keep up with Jack, who expertly picked his way through the maze. Only the darkness seemed familiar from before. We twisted and turned so many times I knew I probably couldn’t make it back to the Clackamas Room even if I wanted to. And I was beginning to want to.
Jack stopped suddenly and I crashed into his back. I took two steps backward when he reached for a door. It opened to the outside of the hotel, and I peeked over his shoulder as he blocked the threshold, looking right then left. It seemed to me like an underground parking area, maybe for deliveries. But there were no vehicles or people there, and he closed the door and continued through the maze. It was bright above my head now, the dim yellow bulbs replaced with higher wattage white ones. I tried to memorize our location in case I needed to make a run for the outer door. I snapped a few quick photos, but they showed only the washed-out back of Jack’s head ahead of me and darkness behind. As I checked the photos, something caught my eye.
Zero bars.
Jack was out of view and I hurried after him, longing for daylight.
After a few steps, the bright light disappeared and the hallway was plunged back into the eerie twilight. I pulled up my flashlight app and used it to better light my way.
As I followed Jack, I realized the bowels of the hotel, from the looks of it, were mostly used for storage. Jack zigged, zagged, and then finally stepped into a room filled with furniture that matched some of the pieces in my room on the eighth floor. Three loveseats covered in the same fabric, but the cushions were torn. Several rolling desk chairs missing some of their wheels. Armoires with broken hinges. And one desk broken completely in the middle, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.
“What?” a voice behind me said.
Simultaneously I heard a bang on a wall. The hallway and storage room blazed with fluorescent light.
I jumped directly out of my skin and did an awkward pirouette toward Jack.
I saw saRAH and Jack staring at me. “Why didn’t you do that on the way down here?” My terror made me sound petulant, which maybe I was.
“Do what? Turn on the lights?” Jack said.
I nodded and tried to regain some dignity.
“Why would I do that
? I knew where I was going. The emergency lights save energy.”
There was no sign of Hanna or kidnappers or anyone else down here. I plopped myself on the nearest torn loveseat and took a deep, cleansing breath. I powered down my flashlight and noticed I was at 38 percent power. “Why did we come all the way down here?” I still sounded petulant, but I was fine with that. Better than having them know how close I was to peeing my pants.
“It’s obvious. I have the run of the place, but maids don’t. Ever seen a uniformed maid in a hotel lobby? It’s easier for saRAH to sneak down here.”
“She was in uniform in the restaurant,” I pointed out.
“I like to push the envelope. Live dangerously,” saRAH smirked.
Suddenly I jumped up from the loveseat. “Do you guys come down here to—”
“Gross!”
“No!”
To cover my embarrassing imagination, I said, “Sorry. I thought it would be a good place to, you know, live dangerously … sneak a smoke.”
“Oh,” Jack said. “Well, yeah, we do that.”
“What’s this all about?” saRAH asked, lighting a cigarette.
Since it didn’t look like I was going to rescue Hanna or get whacked, I said, “I need to access Hanna’s social media.”
saRAH expelled a smoky breath that would have been right at home in a film noir from the 1940s. “Hanna doesn’t respond to calls or texts unless she instigates the conversation.”
How convenient, I thought.
“She might respond to a direct message from me,” Jack said. “Why?”
“I told you before. Viv wants to get in touch with her.”
“Maybe she’s avoiding for a reason.” More smoky words from saRAH.
I fought the urge to wave my hand in front of my face because I suspected that was exactly what she wanted me to do. “Maybe. But wouldn’t you like to know?”
Instead of answering, she blew smoke slowly and deliberately into the air and then panicked when she realized she was directly under the smoke alarm. She and Jack frantically fanned the smoke away. When it had dissipated, saRAH stubbed out her cigarette and dropped to the arm of one of the loveseats.
