by Sara Rosett
“Very clever to get the room next door.”
“I could see an adjoining door between room 408 and 410.”
A quarter of an hour later, they had the key cards to room 408 and entered as noiselessly as possible. The maid had finished with the room, and the housekeeping cart was parked farther down the hall.
As their door to the hallway swung closed, Zoe pointed to the door to the adjoining room, which had a gap of about an inch between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor. She whispered, “Look at that. We should be able to hear absolutely everything.”
Unfortunately, there was hardly anything to hear. Zoe and Jack settled down to listen, keeping quiet so their voices didn’t carry. Except for a few words spoken in a deep voice a few moments after they entered their room, they’d heard no other sounds from room 410. After about an hour, Zoe stood up and paced back and forth across the room, alternating between checking the window and the peephole. She’d taken off her shoes so she wouldn’t make any noise as she padded back and forth. Patience wasn’t her strong suit, and she found waiting as irritating as a rash that she couldn’t scratch. Jack had settled on the bed with his long legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. He’d turned on the television but muted the sound. He found a soccer game, and the figures of the men racing back and forth across the green field irritated Zoe, seeming to emphasize her confinement in the small hotel room.
Zoe plopped down on the bed beside him and whispered, “We know there’s a guy next door because of the voice we heard when we came in here, but we don’t know if he’s the right guy. Is he Mr. Gray Ponytail? We haven’t seen him since last night. What if our guy checked out last night or this morning and it’s a new person next door?”
Jack replied in equally subdued tones, “There’s no way to know. We just have to wait until he makes a move.”
“Couldn’t we draw him out somehow?” Zoe reached for the booklet of hotel information and flipped to the menu page. “Let’s order room service and tell them to deliver it to room 410. He’ll at least have to open the door and speak to someone. We might be able to catch a glimpse of him then.”
“Too risky. If there’s a ‘mix-up’ in a room service order we called in from our room, the waiter would immediately bring it over here, and that would draw attention to us.”
Zoe closed the booklet. “You’re right. I’m sorry we’re stuck in here waiting. We should be out sightseeing.”
“Not a big deal. I’m as curious about what’s going on with the papers as you are. We did a lot of walking this morning, and we didn’t have anything specific planned for this afternoon. I figured you’d be reading Olive’s reports and we’d hang out in our hotel room this afternoon for a couple of hours. There’s not much difference between one hotel room and another. We can take a break here just as easily as we could in our original hotel.”
“Well, I don’t want to sit here all afternoon.”
“Let’s give it another half hour.”
Zoe agreed, then hopped up to pace around the room, her arms crossed. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Zoe paced faster, while Jack’s eyes seemed to get heavier and heavier. She expected to hear him snore at any moment.
“It’s a good thing you look so handsome when you sleep,” she muttered. There were times when Jack’s ability to compartmentalize was absolutely the most annoying thing in the world. How could he relax at a moment like this?
The rumble of a masculine voice sounded from next door. She tiptoed across the room to shake Jack’s shoulder, but he’d already sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. They crept to the adjoining door.
15
Zoe crouched down so that her ear was near the gap between the base of the door and the floor.
A deep voice said, “Hey.” Zoe flinched. The man’s words were so loud, it seemed he was only inches away.
The voice faded a bit, and a shadow traced along the gap. He laughed. “No, I’m not sitting in a coffee shop.”
Zoe mouthed the word, he sounds American. Jack nodded his agreement.
The shadow along the gap at the base of the door faded. He was pacing around the room, just as Zoe had. The man’s voice came through clearly after a pause. “I’m in my hotel room, packing up.”
Zoe widened her eyes and shifted to stand, but Jack grabbed her arm and tilted his head to the door, indicating that they didn’t want to miss anything.
He was right. Zoe stilled herself and concentrated on listening to the man’s words. “Did you get the flight information I sent?” he continued. “Right. The first flight tomorrow . . . yeah. It’s not my fault all the flights were booked today. I’ll be in New York by two . . . of course I’ll come straight to the office. Okay, good. See you tomorrow.”
Zoe sat back on her heels and murmured, “He’s leaving tomorrow.”
Jack’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Don’t worry, he’ll have to go out to dinner. We can catch a glimpse of him then and make sure he’s our guy.”
“What if he orders room service?”
“Then we’ll figure it out—”
The metallic snick of a latch disengaging sounded. They both froze. A few seconds later, the door in the next room thudded closed.
Jack was around Zoe and at their door to the corridor before Zoe got to her feet. Jack unlatched their door, easing the deadbolt back so that it didn’t make a sound, then cracked the door and put his eye to the opening. After a second, he eased the door closed and smiled at Zoe. “It’s him—Mr. Gray Ponytail. He’s waiting for the elevator at the end of the hall now.”
“Thank goodness. I’m glad we didn’t waste hours and hours sitting around a hotel room doing nothing only to find out it was the wrong guy.”
Jack glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “We’ve only been here for about two hours.”
“Is that all?” Zoe pulled on her shoes. “Well, it felt like an eternity. Let’s see where he goes.”
Jack opened the door a smidge, then gave a nod. Zoe snatched up her messenger bag, and they headed down the empty hall. When the elevator doors slid open in the lobby, the man with the gray ponytail was trotting down the short flight of steps outside the hotel to the street. They followed, staying back. It wasn’t hard to stay out of sight once they reached Damrak, a major street where the crowds of tourists were thick. A few blocks later, he turned off into a coffee shop with the image of a marijuana leaf on the window.
Jack pointed to the other side of the street. “We can wait in that bistro over there and keep an eye on him.”
“No, let’s go back to the hotel and take a little peek in his room. He probably left Olive’s reports there.”
“And how will we get in?”
“We have a connecting door. Perhaps . . . the lock didn’t completely fasten.”
“Zoe, I’m shocked that you’d suggest something like that,” Jack said, his voice taking on a prim tone. “Breaking and entering is illegal.”
“All’s fair in love and war and . . .”
“Document theft?”
“I’m only looking for Olive’s reports so I can return them to the original owner—the Blakely Archive.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, after having them authenticated and making copies, of course.”
“Of course.”
“This might be our only chance to get a look at them. I have to at least try. You stay here and keep an eye on him if you want. Call me if it looks like he’s coming back.”
Before she’d covered a yard, Jack fell into step with her. “I thought you didn’t want to be involved.”
“I’m better at lock-picking than you are,” Jack said. “It’ll be faster if I do it.”
“True.” She threaded her arm through his elbow. “Thank you, Jack. It’s the little things like this that I appreciate so much.”
“Little things, she says,” Jack said, but Zoe could hear the smile in his voice.
The adjoining door between r
ooms 408 and 410 was actually two doors set into the wall. Each swung open in the opposite direction, so even if one door was open, the other door could remain closed and locked. It was easy to flip the deadbolt and open the door in their room, but then they were faced with the locked deadbolt on the other door. Jack set to work. He improvised, using a screwdriver-like tool from Zoe’s keychain that she kept in her messenger bag and a bent paperclip he’d snagged from the business center.
Figuring that breathing down Jack’s neck would only slow the process down, Zoe went to the window that looked out over the hotel entrance to keep watch. She didn’t see any sign of Mr. Gray Ponytail returning, and after a few minutes, Jack said, “I think that should do it.” He twisted the implements in the lock, and the door swung open.
“You are the best husband ever.” Zoe gave him a kiss as she hurried by him into the adjoining room.
“I’m sure you could have finagled a key card from the maid if I hadn’t come back with you, but this way keeps anyone else from knowing we’re interested in room 410. I wouldn’t touch anything.”
“Do you really think we need to worry about that?”
“Like you said, old habits die hard.”
“I suppose it’s better to be cautious.” Zoe dashed back into their room and grabbed a couple of washcloths from the bathroom.
Room 410 looked as if housekeeping had just finished. The bed was perfectly made, and the only evidence of an occupant was the suitcase on the luggage rack. The lid was propped open, showing neat stacks of folded clothes. “Well, this shouldn’t take long,” Zoe said.
“No, not much to see.” Using the washcloth, Jack slid the closet door back. One suit jacket, a shirt, and a single pair of slacks hung inside. Jack gestured to the wall safe, which was set into the wall inside the closet. “If he was smart, he’d have left Olive’s reports in there or taken them with him.”
“I hope not. Surely he doesn’t want to walk around with them in his pocket. We’re talking about the original reports and inventory. The paper is several decades old and would be fragile.”
Zoe checked the interior pockets of the suitcase. It was difficult to do with the washcloth covering her fingers, but she managed to draw out a wad of bright white pages. “Lots of papers, but these are all receipts for hotel stays. Looks like his name is Ferris Thompson. He lists a post office box in Newark as his address.” She put the papers aside. “Who is Ferris Thompson and why is he interested in Olive’s reports?”
Jack had been checking the pockets of the jacket. “This answers one of those questions.” He’d used the washcloth to cover his hand as he flicked open a business card holder. “Ferris Thompson, private investigator.” Jack eased one of the cards out and handed it to her. “I doubt he’ll miss one card.”
“Maybe another buyer for Woman in a White Fur hired him, someone who wants an edge in the bidding.” Zoe studied the card, then tapped it against her chin. “If the papers can’t be located, the value of the painting could drop.”
Jack returned the card holder to the suit pocket, and Zoe went back to the suitcase and replaced the hotel receipts.
A man’s voice rumbled in the hall. Zoe froze with the papers half in the suitcase pocket, her gaze flying to Jack, who was poised over a bureau drawer he’d opened. They both waited, motionless, as they listened. The voice sounded again, closer, then faded out as the person passed the door.
Jack slid the drawer closed. “Let’s finish up. No need to linger here. Looks like all these drawers are empty anyway.”
“Right.” She shoved the papers back into the suitcase and fumbled with the zipper because her fingers were trembling. She blew out a calming breath.
Jack closed the drawers of the nightstand. “Nothing here.” The room phone’s red light was blinking, indicating there was a message. Using the washcloth, he picked up the handset and followed the instructions on the phone, punching in the code to retrieve the message while Zoe unzipped the outer pocket of the suitcase.
“Found them!” She drew out the delicate pages, her heart fluttering with excitement. She was careful to not catch the fragile paper on the teeth of the zipper. Zoe laid them on the bureau and quickly flipped through the stack. “The dates are right. These are Olive’s last reports . . . and yes, here’s the inventory at the end.”
“Zoe.”
She spun around at Jack’s serious tone. “What’s wrong?”
He held out the handset that was still wrapped in the washcloth. “You need to hear this.” Zoe left the papers spread on the bureau and took the handset as Jack used the keys from his pocket to punch in the code to repeat the message.
A female voice announced, “Hello, Mr. Thompson. This is Nina in guest services at the Amsterdam Plaza North Hotel. We’re always delighted to have the employees and associates of the Best Corporation stay on our properties. We want to make sure you’re enjoying your stay. If you have any problems or concerns, don’t hesitate to give me a call. Thank you again for choosing the Amsterdam Plaza North Hotel.”
“Best Corporation!” Zoe banged the handset down into the cradle. “Ferris Thompson isn’t working for a competing buyer. He’s working for Mr. Best.”
“You look annoyed.”
“I’m insulted. Mr. Best thought I wouldn’t be able to complete the provenance research and hired someone else.”
“Perhaps he was covering all the bases.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t know it was a race. I’d have pressed Mallory harder yesterday if I’d realized.”
“Feeling a tad competitive, are you? You’re going to tear the washcloth if you keep wringing it like that.”
Zoe loosened her grip on the fabric. “If I take a job, I want to do the job without people sneaking around, trying to cut me off at the pass.” Zoe marched back to the suitcase and closed the zipper on the outer pocket with a jerk. She ran the washcloth around the zipper and its metal tongue, then wiped down the edges of the luggage rack.
“I think you might be losing sight of the big picture—the reports have been found.”
“Yes. By us!” Zoe swept up Olive’s reports. “These are coming with me.” She rattled the paper. “I’ll admit you do have a point about taking them. I suppose it is stealing, technically speaking—”
“Yes, taking something that doesn’t belong to you is the accepted definition.”
“Says the former spy.”
Jack looked up from wiping down the phone and nightstand. “Details, details,” he said, his tone light.
“As I was saying, we’re taking them to return them.”
“I don’t think Ferris Thompson would agree with your assessment, but if he has a problem with it, we’ll just tell him our motives are pure.”
“No, a better plan is to not have to deal with him at all. Let’s get out of here. Are you with me?”
“You have to ask? Didn’t I just pick a lock for you?” The skin around his eyes had crinkled into a smile. “Of course I’m with you—no matter what crazy plan you have, I’m with you. And I think getting out of this room and this hotel is a great plan.” Jack motioned for Zoe to lead the way back through the open doorway to their hotel room. “I’ll make sure the deadbolt is back in place on Mr. Thompson’s side, then we can go.”
“Why take the time to do that? When he realizes the papers are missing, he can’t call the police and report the theft of stolen property. In fact, he might not notice the papers are missing until later—maybe not even until he gets back to New York.”
“I doubt that. I’d check.”
“You would have locked them in the safe. He’s not as smart as you. He didn’t even put these delicate papers in something to protect them, like a folder or binder.”
“Thank you for the compliment, but I’ll make sure his side of the door is locked. It’s better this way.”
“You can take the man out of the spy game, but you can’t take the spy out of the man,” Zoe said, reconciling herself to wait while Jack
worked the deadbolt. “While you do that, I’ll put the papers away.” Zoe picked up a magazine from the table positioned between the room’s single armchair and the window. She tucked the aged reports between the shiny pages, then put the magazine in her messenger bag. By the time she’d settled the strap of her bag across her chest, Jack had the deadbolt back in place. He closed the door on their side and snapped the deadbolt home. Then he took the washcloth out of his pocket and wiped down the lock and handle. “Okay, let’s go check out. The desk clerk will have a story to tell. I bet they don’t get many afternoon room rentals here, unlike some hotels in Amsterdam.”
“I got the automatic checkout. We just leave the keys in the room, and they email the bill.” She motioned to the key cards on the desk. “All done.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
16
They hopped on a tram to make their way back to their hotel. Zoe kept a tight grip on the strap of the messenger bag. She’d once had a thief attempt to snatch her messenger bag by cutting the strap, and she wasn’t taking any chances with Olive’s reports. Jack was ever-vigilant, always surveying their surroundings, looking for anomalies that might turn into a threat, but the ride back to the hotel was uneventful.
But the whole time, Zoe felt as if her fingertips were tingling as she pressed the soft leather of her bag. She wanted to take out the reports and read them as she swayed with the gentle motion of the tram. But the pages were too delicate, and she knew it was better to leave them out of sight until they were back in their hotel room.
They left the tram at the stop near their hotel, waited for the bicycles to whizz by, then crossed the street to the awning over the hotel’s entrance. The doorman in his gold-buttoned coat held the door, and Zoe’s shoulders relaxed as she headed for the elevator.
Jack murmured, “There’s a woman approaching us. Your two o’clock.”
Zoe tucked the messenger bag into her side. Jack had already moved around so that he was between her and the woman, but Zoe put a hand on his arm. She recognized the fair-haired woman with the asymmetrical haircut striding toward them. “It’s okay. I know her. It’s Farina.”
