by Iris Kincaid
*****
The next morning, Justine was anxious to see the house, but she had two job interviews scheduled. Which was just as well. Zoey really wanted to clean up the place to make it nice before her roommate got a look at it.
In the light of day, it looked even worse than it had the previous evening. There was dust everywhere, cobwebs, and trash spilling out of cans. Lousy squatters. But conveniently, they had been too frightened to take the “haunted” television with them. Sweet.
Where to begin? Probably with the dishes. There was a sink full of them. Zoey hated doing dishes, but there was no getting around it. Unless . . . the dishes felt like washing themselves! Zoey watched in grateful amazement as the sink filled itself with soap and water and the dishcloth washed every single dish, one by one, including a thorough scrubbing of the pans.
What she was starting to figure out was that the work would continue as long as she was thinking about it and focused on it. If she went into a different room or let her mind wander, the cleaning would come to a stop. She had to stay and will it to happen, kind of like a foreman who didn’t have to actually do any of the work herself. Which was fine by Zoey.
After the dishes were done, then the counters wiped themselves down. And then the floor really could use a sweep and mop. But at this point, the cleaning project was interrupted by that large gray cat she had seen earlier. It appeared cautiously in the kitchen doorway and then slowly walked to the middle of the floor and planted himself down defiantly.
“They’re gone. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that they’re gone. Those awful guys. So, I don’t really know what I’m going to be doing with a cat, but you just need to keep out of the way while I’m cleaning this place, okay?”
Unlike the boys, who were terrified of moving brooms, this cat was fascinated. He attacked the broom, batting at around, leaping on it, and generally making a nuisance of himself.
“Listen, cat. You’ve got to let that broom do its thing,” Zoey scolded.
The cat’s entire body levitated from the floor until he was suspended four feet high in the air. Zoey would have expected him to panic, and he did swat at the empty space around him for a moment. But he was a pretty resilient creature. He just started doing that whole grooming thing, with the licking of the paw and the brushing of the top of his head. He was a hard cat to surprise.
He also looked as if he’d had a really rough life. His right ear was half chewed off. And his skin was patchy, with some visible scars. It looked as if he had been on the wrong end of more than a few fights. This must be a really rough hood for felines. But this one was a tough survivor, even if he had been on the losing end of his last fight. Zoey decided to call him Rocky.
*****
By the afternoon, an impressed Justine was unpacking her belongings in her very own room, in a remarkably clean house. She didn’t pay much attention when Zoey said she had some errands to run.
But Zoey wasn’t going shopping. She was going on what could be a very foolhardy mission, but she was a desperate woman who couldn’t stop thinking about her daughter. It was time to make a deal with the devil. And by devil, she was thinking about her ex, Dalton Spitz.
The man had tried to kill her, and yet she intended to offer him a deal. She wanted joint custody of Camille, and he undoubtedly would like her to drop charges. She was willing to make that offer, whether he deserved it or not. She remembered a multitude of incidents in the prison where two opposing individuals or groups had had to make similar deals with an enemy in order to get what they wanted. And in her case, the end, Camille, would very much justify the means. But there was no reason to be stupid. Zoey made sure to bring along a very sharp knife in her purse, just in case.
Dalton was almost as surprised to see her this time as he had on the day when she walked back into his life. “Aren’t you full of surprises. This is a pretty bold move . . . considering.”
“Considering that you tried to kill me?”
“Are you wearing a wire?”
“No. I came to make a deal. I want Camille. I mean, I want joint custody. That’s more than reasonable. And in return, I’m willing to drop all charges for the stabbing.”
Dalton grinned a very cruel grin. “You know why I’m not in jail? Why I’m enjoying room service and pay-per-view and a sweet ocean view? Because you’re an ex-con and no one believes a word you say. Not really. You’ve got nothing to bargain with. I’m going to have Camille all to myself, and my freedom. And you can take that to the bank.”
“Camille needs to know me.”
“Camille needs to know what I tell her. You made me look like a liar, what with the whole not being dead thing. But she and I will be cool. I know how to fix it. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . ”
Dalton slammed the door in her face. Zoey was so angry that she practically had to run back to the elevator and try not to think about what she wanted to do to him, lest his apartment turn into another poltergeist nightmare.
Down in the lobby, Zoey had to rest a moment. She was beside herself and not sure where to turn next.
“Madame, may I be of some assistance?”
It was Mr. Frost, looking at her with genuine concern.
“Dalton Spitz. He’s one of your guests.”
“Has he been causing you some trouble, ma’am?”
“Oh, if you call keeping my daughter away from me and stabbing me and leaving me bleeding in the back alley to die. . . if you call that causing me trouble, then yes, he has.”
Frost shook his head angrily. “I have told my employer repeatedly that Mr. Spitz should not be allowed to remain at our institution. This is, or it should be, one of the finest establishments of its kind in the entire country. Just as we control the quality of our service and the quality of our meals and our decor, our presentation, we have a similar obligation to control the quality of our guests. For the safety and wellbeing of the other guests, you see. And Mr. Spitz is someone who jeopardizes the safety of all of our guests.”
“You mean the drug dealing?”
Mr. Frost looked around quickly to make sure that they would not be overheard. “That is precisely what I was referring to. But what you said about the stabbing . . . I really must make Mr. Churchill aware of the full nature of Mr. Spitz’s character. I cannot see why he would agree to keep him on the premises. Especially now that the little girl is no longer with him. I . . . had hoped that she would be with her mother, but I see that is not the case.”
Zoey shook her head sadly. “Social Services. Foster family. Good family. But I want her with me. Dalton will never allow it.”
“Are you willing to repeat these facts to Mr. Churchill?”
“Sure. Everything I said is true.”
Arthur Frost took Zoey to an opulent back office, where the owner, Frank Churchill, was wrapping up some paperwork. He listened thoughtfully to Zoey’s account and inquired how she was doing after her injuries. On that point, Zoey had to feign a bit of lingering pain and discomfort. She couldn’t very well say that her body had been witch-healed.
“Should we ask him to leave? Should we tell Mr. Spitz that he has to evacuate?” Frost asked hopefully.
“No, no, I think not. But I will have a word with him,” Mr. Churchill responded carefully.
Frost was clearly unsatisfied, as was Zoey. They returned to the lobby.
“This never would have happened if the hotel still belonged to Mr. Bacon. Mr. Lloyd Bacon. He regarded this hotel as a sacred and honorable place, just as I do. He would never allow it to be sullied with the likes of Mr. Spitz. You must pardon me for speaking so openly. But this hotel is my home, my calling. It deserves a worthier steward.”
Mr. Frost excused himself to take care of this afternoon duties, and Zoey remained in the lobby, lost in thought. But not for long. Susan Sidwell and her noisy entourage were trooping through the lobby after an early afternoon of holidaying. Ajax spotted Zoey and approached her with a big smile, with his friends close behind.
“Is everything all right? Well, I can see that it isn’t. Anything you’d like to talk about?”
Zoey tried to gather her thoughts. “Custody. Custody problems. I haven’t been able to spend time with my little girl in . . . a very long time.”
Ajax sat beside her and clasped her hand in his. “I’m so sorry. That’s rough. Your ex sounds like an absolute loser, douche bag, jerk.” From behind him, Susan, Gabrielle, Gabriel, and Boris also chimed in with, “Earwax, fungus, roadkill . . . ”
Zoey had to laugh. That was the sympathy and distraction that she had so desperately needed. And the handholding.
Susan stepped forward. “The brunch here at The Grand is supposed to be divine. Join us at 10:30 tomorrow morning, right in the restaurant.”
Joey smiled gratefully. “That sounds great. Thanks.”
New friends. Elite, lucky people. Zoey couldn’t possibly have anything in common with them. But they were funny. And kind. And they had really beautiful dimples. Okay, maybe only one of them.
*****
The next morning, Zoey’s conversation with Dalton was still infuriating her, and her enthusiasm for returning to The Grand Hotel was at an all-time low, but she had to. She had a brunch date with Susan Sidwell, and she couldn’t very well stand her up. She doubted that anyone ever stood Susan up for any reason. What different worlds they came from. There was also that dimpled manager of hers . . . Ajax. Spending some time with him wouldn’t be so terrible.
She had about twenty-five minutes to wait in the lobby before she was to meet them. But then, she knew she just had to give it another try. She just had to know that she had done everything possible to reason with Dalton and try to get her daughter back peacefully. For Camille’s sake, no stone could be left unturned.
As Zoey approached room 206, she saw a strange collection of things sitting outside the room. Every room had an engraved mail slot through which messages left at the front desk and daily meal specials could be inserted. There was a strange contraption sticking out of this mail slot. It was a large plastic funnel, the kind used to get liquid into a small opening.
Next to the door were two large empty bottles of ammonia and bleach. Ammonia and bleach. Ammonia and bleach! That was a killer combination. Zoey knocked at the door frantically. What on earth could be happening? There was no answer.
She could only run down to the lobby and notify Mr. Frost about the alarming chemicals outside room 206. He was such a calm, placid man. But he sprang into action, virtually breaking into a run toward the stairs. Zoey ran after him and shouted up the stairwell.
“You can’t open the door. The fumes will be toxic. You have to call the police. And they’ll have to bring masks.”
That slowed Mr. Frost down. He nodded in agreement and pulled out his cell phone. Zoey returned to the lobby and sat down and waited.
In a short time, the luxury hotel had descended into chaos. The lobby was full of EMTs and police officers and a coroner’s unit. Only a few of them were allowed to go up to the crime scene at a time. It was still full of toxic fumes and needed to be aired out. Although apparently, the body had been pulled out into the hallway. Finn Cochran entered briskly and shook his head with irritation at the sight of Zoey.
“Sticky Fingers. I wish I were more surprised. I’m going to want to have a word with you. Don’t go anywhere.”
Zoey watched as Finn talked to the EMTs, the other cops, and Mr. Frost and finally pulled out his cell phone to call back to the station. She was close enough to listen in.
“Yeah, he’s dead. Definitely a homicide. The body’s out in the hallway. But no one can go into the room without serious protection. It’s still pretty deadly in there. The name of the deceased . . . Franklin Churchill, owner of The Grand Hotel.”
Finn glanced sideways to take note of the surprise on Zoey’s face. Genuine surprise. Could it be that Sticky Fingers was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?
CHAPTER FIVE
Even as Finn gathered more information, he kept an eye on Zoey across the lobby and noted when an older and decidedly sinister woman joined her. Like most of Oyster Cove’s witches, Esmeralda had gotten wind of the fact that pieces of Lilith Hazelwood had been transplanted in a multitude of commoners. But this was her first encounter with one of the transplant heirs.
“Dibs on room 206. I’ve been waiting forever for it to become vacant. It’s got a much better view than mine. Well, all good things come to she who waits.” She cackled heartlessly. “You’re rather interesting, aren’t you? If you had any more of Lilith Hazelwood in you, my hair would positively stand on end.”
Zoey’s mouth dropped open. “You know. Does that mean that you’re a . . . ”
“A very talented woman? Why, yes, I am. In fact, if I’m in a charitable mood, I may just take you under my wing.”
“That’s very generous.”
“My first bit of advice is to stay away from Fiona and Zelda. They are much like Ms. Hazelwood and may follow in her footsteps if they don’t take care.”
Zoey wondered what that could possibly mean.
Lilith was pretty sure she knew. What else could it be but a thinly veiled confession? Esmeralda had just leapt to the top of a very short list of suspects in Lilith’s own demise. And what was her intention in recruiting Zoey? She was going to have to speak to Delphine immediately to warn Zoey to be on her guard from Esmeralda’s influence.
Esmeralda was getting bored. If they weren’t going to bring the body down, she might as well get some breakfast. She promised Zoey that they would meet again. Or was it a threat?
As officer Cochran continued to make his rounds, Zoey remembered that it was time for her brunch date with Susan Sidwell. She was hoping that she could just run over to the restaurant, explain that the event would have to be postponed, and be back in her seat before Finn even noticed. No such luck.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m supposed to have brunch in the hotel restaurant with Susan Sidwell, and I didn’t want her to think that I was just blowing her off.”
“Yeah? I was going to meet George Clooney myself for coffee, but he can be a little full of himself, so I decided to blow him off.”
“I’m serious.”
Finn raised an impressed eyebrow. “Well, I’m very sorry that this murder has inconvenienced your brunch plans. Marty! Get over here. Marty, could you go into the restaurant, locate Susan Sidwell, and tell her that Zoey Proctor has been detained and will not be able to join her for brunch?”
Marty beamed with excitement. “Susan Sidwell! Heck, yeah, I can deliver that message. Maybe she’ll let me take a selfie. My wife’s a big fan.”
Marty darted away. Finn turned back to Zoey. “You’re staying close to me. Do not move until I say move. Mr. Frost. You’re the man I need to speak with. Please have a seat.”
Zoey was close enough to hear the conversation.
“First, where are the security cameras?”
“There aren’t any.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Mr. Churchill had to weigh the merits of privacy versus security. And in the end, he decided that our guests’ privacy overrode all other considerations. It was a rather unconventional decision, certainly. But there you are. There are no cameras.”
Finn sighed. “Who found the body?”
“This young lady here was the first to identify the crisis situation—the ammonia and bleach outside 206.” Frost gestured in Zoey’s direction. “We’re most grateful for her assistance.”
“I’ll bet. Okay, I want to talk to all the staff, and probably a few of the guests as well.”
“Of course. I only ask that you please try not to disrupt the operations of the hotel any more than they already have been. Hopefully, the lobby will be restored to normalcy in the next hour or so?” Frost asked hopefully.
“That would be nice. Now back to the ammonia and bleach. That sounds like something I need to talk to your housekeeper about. Geez. Who knew
those things were so lethal together?”
“I thought it was common knowledge, sir,” Frost said.
Zoey tried to hide a smile. Apparently, officer Cochran hadn’t done a whole lot of housecleaning in his life. Everyone knows about ammonia and bleach.
“If only . . . well, the timing was striking and most unfortunate.”
“What do you mean?” Finn asked.
“Well, that room used to belong to one of our long-term guests, a Mr. Dalton Spitz. It was a two-bedroom suite. But yesterday, just after dinner time, Mr. Spitz moved out of the room and Mr. Churchill moved in.”
“Why did Spitz move out of the room?”
“He no longer had his daughter with him and no longer required such a large space. Or that was my understanding.”
“Please have Mr. Spitz join me.”
“Certainly,” Mr. Frost said, happy to get off the hook.
Dalton and Zoey exchanged hostile glances as he settled down beside Finn Cochran.
“Mr. Spitz. I’m officer Cochran, and I have a few questions for you. Let’s start with what you do for a living.”
Dalton cleared his throat. “I’m a consultant. Marketing consultant. Internet. Branding. You know, digital revolution . . .” he said, his voice trailing off.
Finn wasn’t buying it. “I would love to hear more about that. I’ve been contemplating a career change from law enforcement to digital revolutionary.”
Dalton smiled weakly.
Finn continued. “I see that you’re living on the same floor as Mr. Churchill. Where were you last night?”
“Moving into my new room. Watching the Red Sox.”
“Yeah, what was the score?”
“Oh, I don’t remember the exact score.”
