Jamie couldn't hide her surprise. She hoped Max and Dave were nearby. "The reverend actually keeps a suite here?" she said, voice raised in surprise. "Oh, my. His own suite."
"He often has business in Knoxville. He also invites guests from time to time, you know, visiting clergy? There aren't any nice hotels in Sweet Pea."
Jamie knew about the hotels in Sweet Pea.
The elevator doors opened, and they waited for the people to clear out before entering. Jamie could feel the tension in the back of her neck. Reed punched a number, and she realized they were going to the top floor. "Wow, we're going all the way to the top? I'll bet there is a great view from up there."
Reed smiled stiffly. "Yes. Reverend Rawlins says he feels closer to heaven."
Jamie nodded as though it made perfect sense. She tried to remain calm as the express elevator whooshed them upward, but the thought of going to Harlan's private suite was a little unnerving. Then she reminded herself of the great story she would have when it was over, and that spurred her confidence.
A bell rang out, interrupting her thoughts.
"Here we are," Reed announced, holding the doors so Jamie could exit first. She followed him to a door at the end of the hall. "Oh, my, would you look at that! Room Twelve-ten. That's my birthday, December tenth. But don't you dare ask the year." She laughed at her own joke. Reed merely nodded. Jamie decided he didn't have much of a sense of humor.
He tapped lightly on the door and inserted a card into the lock. He pushed the door open. "Go on in. I'll escort you down when you're ready to leave."
Inside, Jamie found a large, beautifully decorated living room with a kitchenette. Fresh flowers sat on the coffee table.
Harlan stepped through a set of sliding glass doors that led outside onto the balcony. He smiled. "Welcome, Jane."
"Your suite is very nice," she said.
"Thank you." He walked over and touched one of her red curls, toyed with it. His gaze met hers. "I'm glad you came." His finger slid down her cheek, brushed her neck, and rested on her shoulder. "I sometimes come here to unwind or write my sermons."
Or get laid, Jamie thought. "We all need time to ourselves," she said. "I imagine it gets hectic touring all the time."
"Yes, it does." He took her hands in his. "But spending this time with you is a real treat. Would you like something to drink?" He nodded toward a basket of fruit and a bottle of wine. "I don't usually drink alcohol, but a dear friend left this for me, and I hate to waste it. I'm not particularly fond of the red wine. It tastes bitter to me. But if you like it, I'll join you."
That just might work in her favor, Jamie thought. "Yes, let's have a glass."
He grinned and uncorked the bottle. "I took the liberty of ordering lunch. I hope you like fish." He looked up and caught her staring. "Is something wrong?"
"You look tired, Harlan." Which was true.
"Why don't you go out on the balcony, prop your legs, and I'll pour the wine?"
He nodded. "Promise not to take too long?"
"I'll be right out." Jamie waited until he stepped outside before she poured the wine into two glasses. Once again, her fingers trembled as she reached into her pocket for one of the laxatives she'd crushed into a fine, white powder. She sprinkled it into his drink. She stirred it, taking care to see there was no residue on the side of the glass. She had about twenty minutes before it would start to work and then she could make her getaway.
"I know what you're doing," Harlan said the minute she joined him on the balcony.
Jamie froze. "You do?"
"You're trying to spoil me."
She relaxed. "Looks like you need spoiling. Here, drink this. Maybe you'll feel better."
He took the glass. "Do I really look that tired?"
"Oh, now I've gone and hurt your feelings."
"No, actually I appreciate your honesty. I haven't slept well lately, except for last night, but I think I just need to catch up on my rest." He took out a small pillbox, opened it, and took out several tiny pills.
Jamie noticed he was trembling. "Are you OK?" she asked.
"I have a little headache. These help." He popped them into his mouth, then raised his glass to his lips.
Jamie watched closely as he took a sip of his wine. He didn't seem to notice a difference. "Losing sleep will catch up with you sooner or later. Are you worried about something?"
He shrugged. "Just everyday stress, but I don't want to burden you with it. We're here to enjoy ourselves." He drained his glass. "Perhaps I should have another," he said.
Jamie studied him. "It's none of my business, Harlan, but I don't think you should be mixing alcohol with your medication."
He nodded. "You're probably right."
"You look very handsome today in that navy blue suit," she finally said. "That's definitely your color. I'll bet half the women in your congregation have a crush on you."
He smiled and tugged at his tie as though it was too tight. "Well, I do get my share of homemade cakes and pies."
"I'll bet you do," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.
"There are a lot of lonely widows in the church. They just want someone to talk to, you know? I try to do my best."
"I'm sure you do." She sighed. "I know what it's like, Harlan. Not having anyone you can tell your troubles to. We all need someone we can trust. Someone who won't judge us or betray our confidence."
"People like that are hard to find," he said.
"My friends have always been able to come to me," Jamie said softly. "What good is a friend if you can't talk to them? I mean really talk to them," she added. "Unload, spill your guts, get it all off your shoulders kind of talk. I've heard it all, Harlan, buh-lieve you me. Nothing would shock me."
"That kind of friendship is rare indeed," he agreed.
"And I know about loneliness," she said. "The kind of loneliness you spoke of in your sermon. Sometimes ..." She paused, as though wrestling with her emotions.
"What is it, dear?"
"Sometimes I get so lonely my skin aches."
Harlan looked at her, studied her face. "Then you know what it's like. I've discovered I have to find solace wherever I can. However I can."
A knock at the door seemed to startle him. "That must be our lunch." He stood and walked inside, and Jamie followed. She wondered if it was her imagination, but he seemed to move sluggishly.
"Room service," a man announced.
Jamie thought she recognized the voice. Harlan opened the door, and Jamie felt her mouth drop open at the sight of Dave pushing in a food cart. He was dressed in a hotel uniform, and he wore a mustache and glasses. She wondered if he had counted the dust mites in the mustache before he'd put it on.
"Good afternoon," he said formally. "I believe you're expecting lunch?"
Harlan nodded. "Yes, we are."
"I'll have you set up in just a jiffy," Dave said, giving Jamie a private look. He pushed the cart to the table and began setting it, placing the utensils in their proper spots. "How are you today, ma'am?" he asked.
Jamie wondered how he had managed to get a uniform from the Hyatt. No telling what he and Max were up to. "I'm, uh, fine."
Dave set the dishes on the table and lifted a metal food warmer from the plates. Jamie eyed the food appreciatively: baked fish covered in a cream sauce, new potatoes, fresh asparagus, and a Caesar salad. Dessert consisted of pecan pie, a big favorite of hers.
Dave pulled out a chair for her. Jamie walked over to the table and allowed him to seat her.
"Will there be anything else?" Dave asked.
"That will be all," Harlan said.
Dave turned to leave. He paused at the door and gave Jamie the thumbs-up.
Jamie tasted her food. "It's delicious." Harlan was staring at his plate. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite."
"Oh, no. At least taste the fish. It's delicious. And you need to keep up your strength."
Harlan glanced up in surpri
se, as if he wasn't sure what she meant by the remark. Nevertheless, he forked a small amount of the fish and took a bite. "You're right. It's very good." He smiled, as if trying to put on a brave front.
"Thank you for inviting me," Jamie said. "It's not often that I get to dine on gourmet cooking in such grand surroundings."
"I hope you're not offended that I asked you to my hotel suite."
Jamie looked down at her lap. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to be seen with me in public."
"Oh, no, Jane, it's nothing like that."
"I mean, I've probably slept with half the men in this hotel."
He gasped.
"I'm teasing, Harlan. You're going to have to lighten up."
"You have a very unusual sense of humor. But I should be thanking you. It's a treat for me to share lunch with a woman who is not only beautiful but has a wonderful sense of humor." He put down his fork, mopping his brow with his napkin.
"Jane, I've been looking into your, er, addiction."
"Is there a cure?" she asked hopefully, fork paused in midair. "Or am I destined to be a sex maniac for the rest of my life?"
He looked taken aback by the remark. "Don't be ashamed of who or what you are, Jane. Your creator loves you no matter what. You know, I studied psychology in seminary because I wanted to be able to help people with their problems."
"That's why you're so easy to talk to. You're a very sensitive man when it comes to other people's needs." Jamie noticed he was perspiring heavily.
He mopped his upper lip. "I try to be. I sense you have a lot of needs that have not been addressed."
"You're so right, Harlan."
"From what I understand most sexual addictions are the result of either physical or emotional trauma suffered in childhood. Might I ask, as your minister, if that applies to you?"
Jamie glanced away. "I can't talk about it, Harlan. Perhaps in time."
He reached across the table and covered her hand. "We have all the time in the world, Jane."
His hand was clammy. Jamie leaned closer. "I suppose I don't feel I have much to offer a man. Except my body," she whispered. "You probably wouldn't understand, what with you being a godly man."
"I'm human, Jane. Do you think I didn't feel anything when you kissed me yesterday? Do you think I don't notice how attractive you are?"
"I'm so ashamed of myself for kissing you," she said. "You must think badly of me."
"Nonsense." He studied her closely, as if trying to read her thoughts.
Jamie took a deep breath, stood, and walked over to the sliding glass doors. "I think maybe we have something special."
Harlan joined her, placing his hands on her arms, sliding them downward. Very gently he lowered his head and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.
"Oh, Harlan!"
"Sweet Jane. I can't stand to see you hurting." He turned her around in his arms and looked into her eyes.
* * * * *
In the next room, Max tore off the head-set. "Oh, damn, it's quiet in there. She must be kissing him again. What the hell are we supposed to do now?"
Dave shrugged. "Jamie can take care of herself. How long do I have to wear this mustache?"
"Until we finish the job." Max grabbed his headset once more and winced when a loud squeal hit his eardrums. He yanked it off. "What was that?"
Dave had already removed his. "Hell if I know. Oh, great, my ears are ringing."
"Something's wrong," Max said.
"Damn right. That noise set off my tinnitus. Sounds like church bells going off in my head."
"I can't make out their words. There's a lot of static. Shit."
* * * * *
Harlan suddenly gave Jamie a funny look.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I don't feel so good." He gripped his stomach and swayed.
Jamie tried to steady him. He looked pale. "You need to lie down."
"I'm dizzy."
"Get on the bed, Harlan!"
* * * * *
Max managed to catch the last sentence. "Did you hear that?" he said, trying to listen to the voices through the static. "She told him to get on the bed!"
"I can't hear a thing," Dave said. "Except for static and bells. I'll probably end up losing my hearing after this."
"You need to get back over there."
Dave shook his head. "I can't just barge in."
* * * * *
Harlan struggled with the knot on his tie.
Jamie saw that he was having difficulty breathing. She began to panic. "Let me help you." She didn't know what to do. She had obviously given Harlan too much laxative and it was causing him painful stomach cramps. Or maybe he was having an adverse reaction to them.
He pulled his knees against his stomach and groaned aloud. "I can't stand it!"
Jamie's heart fluttered. He was sweating profusely; his color didn't look good. "Try to take a deep breath."
"I'm going to be sick!" he cried. "Please help me to the bathroom." He covered his mouth with his hands.
Jamie scrambled to help him, but he could barely stand. She struggled to keep him upright. Lord, she'd gone and done it now. If he was having an allergic reaction there was no telling what would happen. She managed to get him inside the bathroom. He slammed the door and locked it, and the next thing Jamie heard was a loud thud. She tried the knob. "Shit! Harlan, unlock the door."
Jamie picked up the phone to call for help but dropped it when she heard a knock on the living room door. She raced toward it. Dave stood on the other side wearing the hotel uniform. "I came for your dirty dishes, ma'am," he said.
Jamie grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the bedroom. "Something is wrong with Harlan. He's in the bathroom, and I can't get in. I think he fell."
Dave reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. He opened it up, and Jamie saw it was equipped with all sorts of gadgets. In a few seconds he picked the lock and turned the knob.
They found Harlan sprawled on the bathroom floor. Dave shook him, but there was no response. He reached down and pressed his fingers against Harlan's neck as Jamie stood there, wringing her hands.
Finally, Dave removed his hand. He shuddered. "Oh, Jesus Christ! He's dead! I touched a dead man!"
Chapter Eleven
Max and Jamie left the hotel immediately. Using his cell phone, which Max assured couldn't be traced, he called 911, and, claiming to be a security guard for the Hyatt Regency, reported that a man had become ill in room 1210 and was in grave condition. Max didn't bother to mention the man was already dead. He hung up before the dispatcher questioned him further.
Jamie, who'd struggled to maintain her composure while the valet went for her truck, fell apart the minute Max pulled onto the street and headed for the interstate. "Oh God, everybody is going to think I killed him!" she cried. "The mob is going to find out who I am and hunt me down like a dog until they—" She paused and made a slicing motion across her throat.
"Would you calm down!" Max said.
"And what if I did kill him? What if he had a severe reaction to the laxative I put in his drink? Oh God."
"How many did you give him?"
"Two. I crushed them into a powder and put them in his drink."
"You didn't bother to tell me that."
"I figured you would think it was silly."
"People don't die from an over-the-counter laxative," Max said. "Now, calm down until I can get us out of here." He turned onto the interstate and sped up.
"What is all this noise about?" Muffin demanded. "I'm trying to download an e-card from my laptop friend at MIT and I can't think straight for all this noise."
"Harlan Rawlins is dead," Jamie said. "I was the last one to see him alive. Somehow they're going to find out who I am, and I'll end up on Unsolved Mysteries." She gulped. "Vera will find out. She'll probably be the one to turn me in."
"I'm not easily confused," Muffin said, "but you're not making any sense."
Max filled her in. Finally,
he exited at a rest area and backed into a slot far away from the other motorists. He reached behind the seat and pulled out a license plate and a screwdriver.
"What are you doing?" Jamie asked.
"Covering our butts in case somebody got a look at the truck and wrote down the tag number. I always keep an extra on hand."
"Do you know how that sounds?" Jamie asked. "I can't believe I'm associating with a man who carries an extra license plate wherever he goes. That is scary."
"It works for me," he said, climbing from the truck.
Jamie leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. All she could see was Harlan's face as he'd looked in death. "Oh God," she said.
"Calm down, Jamie," Muffin said gently.
"I'm going to prison," Jamie said dully. "They'll put me on the chain gang. I could get the death penalty. What will I do with Fleas? Nobody is going to want him. They'll put him to sleep." She turned around and glanced at the bed of the truck where Fleas was sleeping.
"You're not going to prison," Muffin said. "Max will make a few telephone calls and—"
"And clear me of a murder rap? I don't think so."
Max opened the door. "Lose the wig."
Jamie looked at him. "Excuse me?"
"Give it to me."
Jamie plucked it from her head. She watched Max toss the wig and license plate into a trash can. He returned and stashed the screwdriver behind the seat before climbing in.
"That's not going to do any good. My fingerprints are all over the hotel room."
Max shook his head. "Dave wiped everything down while I was trying to revive Harlan. He's good at that sort of thing since he hates germs."
Jamie rolled her eyes. Dave had almost gone off the deep end after touching Harlan. "You seem to forget there was a witness, Max. Harlan's bodyguard personally escorted me to the room."
"You were in disguise. And a damn good one at that," he added. "Nobody is going to recognize you once you wash off all that makeup."
"The police are going to lock me up and throw away the key."
"You're not going to prison," Max said. "I don't know what happened to Harlan, but I know you didn't have anything to do with it.
Unless he got so excited with you he had a heart attack."
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