This is my chance to prove I love him, and I may not get another.
The difficulty of comprehending what would come next began to extinguish her will, but, marveling at a semblance of resolve, and not knowing why, she picked up the front desk phone and called Gerald Smith, her only real friend, then left a message devoid of any mention of the dilemma.
There was still time to consider the choices and weigh the risk.
Doris was giving directions again. Pepper’s hand reached for the metal lock box under the front desk. An unsteady forefinger punched buttons on the four corners of the lock box. The hotel master key hung on a tiny hook inside. Her free hand pushed the hair out of her eyes. She shut the lock box, pushed the small button down to confirm it was secured, and clutched the master key as if it were a solid gold coin.
“Doris, I’ll be right back.”
Doris stepped back and whispered, “No problem, Pepper. I’ll take care of things.”
Pepper started fast, then braked.
I don’t want to give any clues about what I’m doing.
She nodded casually at a man in Doris’s line and said, “Now there’s a handsome man.” She squeezed her lips together so tightly she could taste the balm. With a single stroke from the hand holding the master key, her hair flew back.
Once in the employee hall, she looked in both directions. No one was close by.
Inside the counting room her teeth began chattering at the sight of the great, gleaming vault. As she turned back and faced the shut counting room door, second thoughts surfaced, but there was no time. She steadied herself, dumped the master key into her purse, and placed the purse on a table. Her right hand turned the dial back and forth. The other rested on the vault’s brushed, sleek face. The room smelled of new money.
The first try failed.
On the second try, with a sound that was deafening in the closed room, the locking mechanism released, and the heavy door sprung open a fraction of an inch.
With one foot in front and one foot behind, she pulled on the five spoke handle. This time it seemed heavier. Hands pushed the door to the wall and dropped to her side. Her foot got caught, and she stumbled on the vault precipice. When she regained her balance, she stood face-to-face with the first row of silver cash trays, their luster lost forever in the face of the task that had brought her there. This time, she was a cat in water.
Her heart pounded wildly as she stepped out of the vault and scooped the purse over one arm.
She scanned the five shelves. A finger lifted the lid of the first tray on top to reveal bundled stacks of bills. Both top trays contained five stacks of one hundred-dollar bills. Each stack had one hundred bills apiece. The tray she had lifted contained $50,000. Below were other trays for fifties, tens, fives, and ones. She looked in the second top tray, and the bills were still in their bank straps, just like the first tray. Perfect.
The first stack of hundreds dropped into the purse. Suddenly, a tray tipped over and plummeted to the steel floor. As it slid and turned over, a blue strap broke, and one-dollar bills spilled out. She bent over and hastily put the tray back on the bottom shelf. After gathering the dollar bills and carefully placed them in the tray, and still terrified that any one of the trays might fall again, Pepper pushed them back as far as they would go.
All the stacks she needed filled up her purse.
She turned the five spoke handle again until the mighty locking mechanism clicked shut.
Where’s the master key? I need to get in his room.
It was where it was supposed to be, inside the purse, buried under the money. Snapping the purse shut reignited the panic and propelled her out of the counting room and down the hall to the elevators.
Pepper punched the dimly lit button several times until the elevator door opened.
Empty.
Exiting on Cornelius’ floor got her closer to the end of her mission, and the realization that no one was in the hall slowed her footsteps. She found the keyhole, and with a short twist, entered and placed the bills on a black coffee table. The fingers of one hand interlocked the fingers of the other. The purse dangled from her arm.
The phone rang.
It might be Cornelius.
“Hello.”
“Who is this?”
“Who is calling?”
“Father Ralph. Where’s my brother?”
She hung up, but panic strangely helped her remember the first time she spoke to Cornelius. He needed help reading a city map. He tried so hard, and she ended up asking Doris for help. Afterward, she attempted to pry information from coworkers and got only vague scraps of information. Later, employees whispered that they had been told not to talk about him.
Why does love have to be so complicated?
She picked up Cornelius’ phone.
“Doris, is everything okay?”
“Well, yes, of course, everything is fine.”
“Did anyone call? Anyone asking about Cornelius?”
“No. Where are you?”
“I’m outside in the back. I needed some fresh air. I’ll be right back in a few minutes.”
“Hurry up. The line is getting longer.”
On the wall was a photograph of Cornelius kissing a fluffy white bunny. It conjured his cuddly head. A sterling silver coffee and tea set on a side-board conjured his shiny face, a beacon of light, leading, moving, inspecting. Next to the bunny hung a snapshot of Mr. O’Hara handing Cornelius a twenty-fifth anniversary watch at a luncheon in the hotel restaurant. This picture evoked an even more powerful memory, the day Cornelius had invited her to lunch in the restaurant and had offered to pay for the most expensive item on the menu.
She had few friends. No one to play matchmaker. No text messages to read. No voice messages to replay. Still, here she was, in his apartment, alone, but surrounded by his calming presence and filled with the power of feelings that had brought her there in the first place.
A small habit forced a glance at her watch’s pink mother of pearl dial.
Five past nine.
No exit could have been faster than that of leaving the forbidden apartment.
Paper-white legs vaulted down the hall to the elevator. Straightening her uniform jacket became more difficult to do as guests boarded. Looking dumpy might make her appear frazzled and expose her deception. When the door opened, she rushed forward into the employee hall. The sight of the counting room door made her legs buckle.
A little boy came running down the hall, and a woman in a red coat was chasing him.
How did they get in here?
One last breath filled her lungs with enough strength to get behind the front desk, and the activity on the other side helped her feel she was blending in.
“What took you so long?”
“I’m sorry, Doris, you can take your break now.”
Doris left, and Pepper handled a guest checking in. She remembered to return the master key to the lockbox. Half an hour later, Doris returned and startled Pepper, who flinched and hit her hand on the counter.
“What’s the matter?” Doris asked.
“Oh, nothing.” Pepper shrugged her shoulders, rubbed her hand, and glanced at the lobby clock. “It’s only 9:40 p.m. How are we going to get through the rest of the shift? I’m already pooped.”
“Why so tired, pumpkin?”
“Oh, just stress, Doris.” Pepper pulled her chair forward and propped her chin on wet palms. Her elbows were hard-pressed on the counter.
“You need some time off, and the man you said was handsome...he’s a bachelor. The woman behind him was his sister.”
Pepper grew sluggish and used what energy was left to pull a one-ounce tube of buttery hand cream from deep inside the purse, the secret place where it was protected from sharing. The blend of almond and coconut wafted upward. The swipe of a hand over beads of perspiration to loosen her sticky white blouse from the back of her neck released an odd odor.
When no one was looking, she wiped her hand on her pan
ts. A smell like that of dirty aquarium water floated upward.
Midnight approached. Doris listened to a guest complain about the lobby heat and another about her sore feet. A tipsy couple entered the lobby from outside. The girl said, “Tarzan, lead the way.” Colorful holiday streamers swathed her virtue.
Cornelius looked at Pepper, said good-night, and walked off as if it had been a normal evening. Pepper pulled back her shoulders and watched. Suddenly, before she realized what she was doing, she left the front counter and darted into the elevator hallway, pushed her way past Tarzan, and intercepted Cornelius before he could reach the elevators.
“Cornelius!”
He held onto her arm.
She wanted to stroke his face but felt a shove back. His mystified look muted her voice until courage gathered and the toes in her shoes began to curl like claws.
“Cornelius, I just wanted to tell you I did exactly what you told me to do. You don’t have to say anything. I...love you.”
His hand dropped, freeing Pepper to move forward and caress a button on his jacket. She moved closer and pleaded, “Just tell me you have feelings for me. I’m not asking for anything more. Just tell me...so I know.” Taking the money to his apartment was on her mind.
“Pepper, I’m tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
She stood back, glared at him, and said more stridently, “I need to know now!”
He took a step toward the elevators.
She blocked him. “Is it that woman, Maureen Daley?”
“Leave me alone.” With a hand on the wall, Cornelius stepped around her.
For the first time, Pepper felt the impact of Cornelius’ frailty. Up to now, she had been certain he was a prospect. Was she completely wrong? No one had encouraged her flirting. No one had discouraged it. There was no change in his demeanor whenever she came near. The more she thought about it, the more she doubted.
Maybe, he found out I had an abortion.
Maybe, I flirt with hotel guests too much and he thinks I’m a floozy.
Maybe, one pricy lunch in the hotel restaurant was not the start of a romance.
Maybe, I’m too ambitious.
Maybe he does love someone else...
Suddenly, she felt as if Maureen were choking her. Remorse followed her back to the front desk.
“Doris, stop surfing the internet and get back to work.”
But there’s nothing to do,” Doris complained.
“Just look busy!”
•••
O’Hara moved among his guests, and black water eighty feet below drowned out noise from the grand room. The fireworks had ended two hours ago, but the bridge still glowed like a campfire. Guests were regrouping.
Father Ralph kept his distance and looked at his watch. “Thanks for the evening, James. I need to see Cornelius. Please give my thanks to Clare.”
“No problem, Ralph. You have a good night.”
While an attendant retrieved the Buick, Father Ralph thought about what had been revealed. As he closed the car door, an image of the Topaz Lake vacation home appeared. It was a place for hunting and fishing. Cornelius had friends who liked the sporting life and invited him on expeditions into the mountains, something that was foreign to Father Ralph. The friends had found the cottage and had raved about it. As executor of the family trust fund, he had reluctantly agreed to its purchase. The location was remote, one Father Ralph didn’t care for, and so his emotions were torn between wanting Cornelius to retire but wanting him to stay in San Francisco.
He looked at his cell phone. The time was fifteen minutes to twelve, and he would arrive at the Greenwich sometime after midnight.
He was on the verge of a decision. The sick feeling that he had whenever he was driving began to intensify, and it was time to decide, remain a priest or marry Joyce Contorado.
When the Greenwich came into view, he had a strange and vague sensation that something sinister was afoot, and it had nothing to do with Joyce.
•••
Cornelius turned the knob. The tangerine-colored swivel chair comfortably accepted his tired limbs. Off came the shoes. A glance at the clock told him it was fifteen minutes until midnight. The room was neat as usual. However, a stack of bills sitting on the coffee table caught his attention.
•••
At the back door used by tradesmen and employees, Pablo Morales, one of the bellhops on duty, was meeting up with a friend. “You have it?”
He bumped fists with Ready from housekeeping.
Ready looked away and said, “How come I have to bring it, bro?”
“I’m a little short on cash, but I know where to get more.”
They walked thirty feet down the sidewalk, over a homeless man sleeping against the hotel wall, and escaped into the doorway of another building. A dull ceiling bulb threw their shadows on the sidewalk.
“Spark up, man.”
Ready drew the lighter and confetti-colored, glass pipe close to his mouth. As the smoke poured out of his nostrils, he asked, “Hey, man, what happened to you? Ortiz got arrested, and your ass was gone.”
“I’m not gettin’ my ass locked up.” Pablo took the pipe.
Fifteen minutes later Pablo killed his cigarette and lit one more to cover the smell of the weed. Beneath the entrance overhang, he back-handed the Marlboro into the street. On the way to the front desk, his mouth opened for a peppermint tic-tac to cover what lingered of marijuana. He felt dizzy from inhaling a hidden stash of linen-scented glade in the Envoy Suite, but not so much as to trip and fall.
He saw Pepper enter the counting room and followed. Pepper turned and said, “What are you doing? I can take care of this. Please stay here while I go in the vault.”
He hid his resentment. “Yeah, whatever.” He watched Pepper’s backside disappear into the vault and shook his head. “Bossy, skinny-ass bitch. She don’t know what I know.”
Pepper pushed the vault door shut and twirled the spoke handle.
He followed her out of the counting room but decided to take the elevator hall back to the lobby. He looked around for admiring glances. Passing twins watched his tattooed fingers stroke long, shining hair the color of dark syrup. He patted his zero-cropped side cuts for added affect.
White girls.
Back in the lobby, Pablo scanned Pepper’s face and caught a glimpse of her left eye looking at him from behind snarled, red hair. Now he would get a chance to do what he needed to do, and she would cave into his request for another break because she found the half-Filipino, half-Mexican muscleman irresistible, just like all the other white girls.
He stood in front of the grandfather clock and looked himself over, and though he preferred his gang’s colors, no matter how he was dressed, he looked better than anyone else at the Greenwich. The West-Point-gray-blue uniform, black cuffs, one-inch black collar, and white shirt underneath put girls into a trance. He noticed it was half past eleven.
Without looking at him, Pepper said, “Pablo, can you take that obnoxious green purse on the baggage trolley to Lost & Found?”
He watched Doris step toward Pepper and whisper in her ear.
“What’s wrong with asking him?”
After helping another customer, Pepper snatched a quick glance at him.
“I saw you.”
Pepper stared back and said, “What?”
“I saw you earlier.”
Pepper ran around the counter and pulled on Pablo’s arm. “What do you mean?”
“I saw you go up Cornelius’ apartment.”
“Did you follow me?”
“I saw the elevator go all the way to the top.”
“Be quiet. Don’t tell anyone. I was just doing him a small favor.”
“The hell you were. You took him money, didn’t you?”
“No. I was putting the money in the vault from my cash drawer.”
“Give me another break.”
“Aren’t you still on one?” Pepper asked.
“Another b
reak or I’ll tell the boss what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Pepper pushed the swinging gate and returned to her station.
Pablo watched Gerald Smith walk up to the front counter. While Pepper was distracted, Pablo walked away, laughing loudly enough to cause panic in the little brains of mama mouse and papa mouse and send their family of five to a different hole in the hotel kitchen.
•••
“Gerald, what’re you doing here?”
“Where’s Cornelius?”
She looked at her cell phone. Eleven-thirty. “Do you want me to page him? Is it urgent?”
“Yeah, I need to talk to him right away.”
He looked exhausted.
Pepper paged Cornelius.
“Cornelius isn’t answering, and you don’t look too good, Gerald.”
“Can I go up to his room?”
“You know I can’t let you do that.”
Gerald’s phone rang.
Pepper couldn’t hear what he said, but she could smell him. He looked as if he had been rolled in mud and beer. She couldn’t put his needs ahead of her own when it came to Cornelius, and knowing that Gerald was in AA, she didn’t feel that much sympathy. That was just enough for her to stand firm and keep him from Cornelius. She was glad Cornelius hadn’t answered.
“What was the phone call about, Gerald?”
“Nothing. I need to see Cornelius. Now.”
“What about? Can I help?”
“No.” He walked over to an Edwardian three-seater and sat down. Pepper was not pleased at the prospect of an untidy ex-employee sitting on the fine white and gold fabric, and when he pulled up his socks and it looked as if he might put his feet on the seater, she prepared a reprimand. He folded his hands in his lap and crossed his legs at the ankles. She was relieved.
“Doris, can you handle the counter for a few minutes?”
“Sure. You want to talk to Gerald, don’t you?”
“Look after the customers.”
Pepper carried the cell phone over to the three-seater, as if another incoming call would make her appear to be occupied. She stood to the side and bent over. “Gerald, can we talk?”
Pretty City Murder Page 5
