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 ballroom, 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.”
“And how do I explain your presence?”
“I won’t go in unless the suite is empty,” Miss Tilley said. “I’ll wait here. If anybody comes I’ll just pretend I’m one of those foolish old people who go wandering off and get themselves lost.”
“Okey-dokey,” Elizabeth muttered, tapping on the door and getting no response. “What exactly is the penalty if you’re convicted of breaking and entering?” she asked, slipping her key card into the slot.
“In Florida? Probably death by lethal injection.”
“Not funny,” Elizabeth growled, stepping inside the suite and closing the door behind her. A moment later she came back and admitted Miss Tilley.
It was clear at a glance that the Grubers were still in residence, at least Noelle was, judging from the numerous bags and boxes bearing the logos of exclusive shops that were strewn about the expansive living area with ocean views. The floor was dotted with shoes, and the furniture was piled with heaps of clothing: mountains of white satin and clouds of frothy tulle. The white fur coat was balled up in a heap on the floor outside the bedroom door.
Miss Tilley merely shook her head, clearly horrified at the mess. “Not a very ladylike way to live,” she finally said.
Elizabeth was amused at Miss Tilley’s old-fashioned word choice. “My women’s studies professor insisted that the concept of ladylike behavior is a form of bondage that kept women from expressing their true selves.”
Miss Tilley waved an arm at the mess. “Perhaps it’s an old-fashioned term, but the concept remains valid,
even today. There are still standards of decent behavior,” she said, “and this is not any way to live.”
Elizabeth was about to agree when she heard voices outside the door and the beep that signaled the door had been unlocked by a key card. “Quick!” she hissed, grabbing Miss Tilley and shoving her into the bedroom. Once inside she glanced around frantically, but the only place to hide was either under the bed or in the roomy closet. There was no way Miss Tilley was going to crawl under the bed, so Elizabeth chose the closet. “Quick, in here,” she said, opening the louvered door.
Chapter 9
As closets went, it was really top of the line, Elizabeth noted. It was huge, for one thing, amply ventilated and well lit, thanks to the louvered doors that admitted plenty of air and light. Noticing there was a bench to sit on to put on shoes, Elizabeth helped Miss Tilley lower herself onto it. It was really quite a comfortable hiding place, except for the fact that it didn’t offer much in the way of concealment. There were only a few pieces of clothing hanging from the rod, probably put there when the maid unpacked. Noelle certainly didn’t bother to hang up her clothes after she wore them; she simply pulled them off and dropped them wherever she happened to be when she undressed.
If anyone opened the door, which made the light turn on automatically, Elizabeth and Miss Tilley would be immediately discovered. But what were the chances of that? There was no need for Noelle to open the closet since the larger part of her wardrobe was scattered about the suite, tossed on the furniture and floor. The few garments left in the closet seemed to Elizabeth to be rejects: a simple gray tweed suit, a tan pantsuit, and a couple of conservative knit dresses in muted, solid colors. Not at all the sort of clingy, revealing thing that Noelle usually wore.
Feeling somewhat relieved, she concentrated on listening to what the two women were saying. The closet was located just inside the master bedroom door, only feet away from the wet bar in the living room.
“Jonah is furious with me,” Noelle said, plunking some ice into a glass and following with a few splashes of liquid. “He thinks I was careless with the jewels.”
He’d be right, Elizabeth thought, remembering the way Noelle ripped off the necklace and tiara after the photo shoot and tossed them on the bed. Elizabeth had actually needed to crawl around on the floor to recover the emerald ring. How could people be so careless? she wondered. Noelle seemed completely oblivious to the jewels’ incredible value, didn’t have any respect for the money they represented, or the talent and effort that enabled her husband to afford them. Gruber, as everyone knew, was a college dropout from an average, middle-class family who had built his fortune from the bottom up by developing a computer program that spotted developing market trends, which he then applied to build his astonishing fortune.
“What’s the big deal?” Layla asked. Her voice was fainter than Noelle’s, so Elizabeth figured she must be standing by the door to the terrace. Good idea, she thought, concentrating hard and willing the two women to step outside. If they went out to the terrace, it might give her and Miss Tilley an opportunity to make a quick escape. But no—now Layla’s voice was louder, which meant she was coming closer. “They’re insured, aren’t they?”
“You don’t understand,” Noelle replied. Elizabeth heard the slight sucking sound that meant the fridge was being opened, and there was more clinking of ice, which undoubtedly meant Noelle was fixing herself another drink. Elizabeth thought it must be alcohol of some kind that she was splashing into the glass.
“So tell me, what don’t I understand?” Layla asked. “And since you’re pouring, I’ll have a Scotch, too, while there’s still some left in the bottle.”
“Oh, sorry. It’s just I’m so distracted,” Noelle said. “Jonah’s been so mean to me lately. We haven’t had sex for two whole days and now he’s gone off to Seattle, leaving me to cope with the cops and everything. I know it’s because he blames me.”
“I still don’t get it,” Layla said. “If they’re insured, what’s the big deal? He’ll get the money and he can buy more jewels.”
“But not those jewels,” Noelle said. There was the sound of a glass being set down on a table and Elizabeth winced, thinking of the flawless French polish finish, laboriously applied by hand to all the furniture in the suite. “He was batty about them. Like they made him some sort of emperor. An Internet emperor! He did all this research, and he’d go on and on about the empress, who was Napoleon’s second wife. Did you know he divorced Josephine? I thought they were big lovers, like Cleopatra and that Roman guy, or Liz Taylor and Richard Burton.”
“They got divorced, too,” Layla pointed out.
“You’re right!” There was more clinking of ice, and this time the glugging from the bottle went on longer than before; Noelle was pouring herself a generous drink. “You know, Richard Burton gave Liz a lot of jewels. Do you think that jewels are unlucky? Bad for relationships, I mean?”
“Well, things certainly didn’t work out for them, or for Napoleon,” Layla said.
“Really? What happened?”
Elizabeth glanced at Miss Tilley, whose wide eyes and pursed lips seemed to express both disbelief and disapproval. She knew how the former librarian detested misinformation.
“He was killed at the Battle of Waterloo,” Layla said.
Elizabeth made eye contact with Miss Tilley, who she knew was dying to rush out and correct this false statement. “No, no,” she mouthed, and Miss Tilley rolled her eyes and expelled a long sigh.
“That’s just tragic,” Noelle said. “And he invented champagne, too.”
“I don’t think that’s right,” Layla said. Her voice was growing louder, which Elizabeth figured meant she was coming closer to the closet. “I think it was a monk.”
“A monk!” Noelle exclaimed, also sounding closer. “That’s crazy.”
Elizabeth found herself tensing, crossing her fingers and willing the two women to go in the other direction, back to the terrace or the bar. Anywhere except the closet.
“So,” Layla asked, “what are you going to wear for dinner tonight?”
When she heard Noelle’s reply Elizabeth thought her heart would stop. She instinctively stepped closer to Miss Tilley.
“Jonah wants me to wear that ugly green dress, the one he chose because it set off the jewels. He said I need to watch my image, that I need to appear more conservative now that I’m the focus of so much attention. But if you ask me, I think he’s punishing me.”
Elizabeth and Miss Tilley both turned to stare at the demure green sheath suspended from a padded satin hanger. It was long-sleeved and high-necked, with a slight gathering of fabric that emphasized the waist.
“So where is it?” Layla asked. “I don’t see it anywhere.”
“I guess it’s in the closet.” Noelle’s voice rose, as if she’d had a sudden inspiration. “I’m tempted not to wear it. He’s not here after all.”
Good idea, Elizabeth thought. You don’t like it, wear something else. Like those skinny black pants you left on the sofa, and that silky halter top that was draped across a lamp shade.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Layla advised. “There’s bound to be a photo of you on Page Six and he’s already pretty pissed at you. Why make it worse?”
“Oh, all right.” Noelle sounded exasperated.
Darn. This was it, Elizabeth thought, her heart thudding in her chest. The game was up. Miss Tilley stood up and Elizabeth took her hand, as if they were facing a firing squad.
“I’ll get it for you,” Layla said, opening the door.
You had to hand it to Layla. She was cool as a cucumber when she spotted Elizabeth and Miss Tilley. It was Noelle who was shrieking her head off.
“What are you doing here?” Layla demanded.
“Checking towels?” Elizabeth said. “Just making sure you had enough.”
“Very funny,” Layla said. “And who’s your little wrinkled friend? The towel elf?”
Noelle had quieted down and was staring at Elizab
eth. “She’s the one who stole the jewels!” she declared, snatching the wig off her head. “I’d recognize you anywhere,” she snarled. “I saw you on the video.”
“That’s utter nonsense,” Miss Tilley said. “Elizabeth is completely innocent and, for your information, Napoleon did not die at Waterloo. He died in exile on the island of Saint Helena. The cause is in dispute; some historians believe he was poisoned.”
“Big deal,” Layla said. “I’m calling security.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Lois,” Miss Tilley warned, seating herself primly on the foot of the bed. Elizabeth remained standing protectively by her side.
“Lois?” Noelle demanded in a know-it-all voice. “There’s no Lois here. You think you’re so smart but you haven’t even got Layla’s name right.”
“Oh, I think I have.” Miss Tilley turned to Layla. “You’re actually Lois Feinstein, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Layla declared. “I don’t know where you got an idea like that. Everybody knows me, I’m famous. I’m the party planner everybody wants. You can read about me in the New York Times, in Vogue, even Vanity Fair.” She laughed. “And I’m pretty sure you can’t afford me.”
“Journalism simply isn’t what it used to be,” Miss Tilley said. “Whatever happened to investigative reporting? It only took me a few clicks of the mouse to discover your true identity.” She opened her large purse with a click and extracted a printout of a mug shot picturing a younger but clearly recognizable version of Layla. The name beneath the sullen face was Lois Feinstein. “You were convicted of drunk driving and vehicular manslaughter, for running down three club-goers in Long Island in 2003. One died, one remains in a coma, and the third is confined to a wheelchair.”
“Is this true?” Noelle demanded.
A Winter Wonderland Page 28
