The Unknown Woman

by Laurie Paige

  She glanced into the room then back at Matt. “I see.”

  As Matt stepped aside to let her enter, he realized—and so did his guest, he was sure—that he wore nothing but the black briefs he’d left on when he’d undressed. A quick survey of the floor revealed his pants in a heap at the end of the bed. Hurriedly he pulled them on, then joined the woman at the side of the bed.

  They both stared at the figure lying there. The white makeup on her face and black kohl outlining her eyes made her look ghostly. Her lipstick was dark, too, like dried blood.

  His neighbor took the limp wrist that lay on the coverlet and pressed her fingers against the inside to check the woman’s pulse. After a moment, she placed the lamp on the night table and sat on the side of the bed. She felt for a pulse in the woman’s neck.

  At the anxious expression on her face, Matt felt himself tensing up, too. He had a feeling that the situation wasn’t a simple matter of a drunk in his bed.

  At last she raised luminous eyes to him. “I think…I think she’s… She doesn’t seem to be breathing.”

  “Judas Priest,” he said, an expression he hadn’t used since college days, some fifteen years ago.

  “Well, see if you can find a pulse,” she invited rising from the bed with a frown as if he’d disputed her word.

  He, too, checked the woman’s wrist and then her neck. “My God,” he muttered, realizing his neighbor was right.

  “Call the police,” she said. “I’ve been trained in CPR. I don’t know if it’ll help…”

  She quickly leaned over the woman in the bed and began treatment.

  Matt found the phone and dialed. He got the night clerk first and explained the situation.

  “Wait a minute,” the clerk said. “I’ll get the boss.”

  Matt waited a couple of minutes before a woman’s voice came on the line. She asked him to explain exactly what the problem was. He demanded to know who she was.

  “Charlotte Marchand, general manager,” she told him. “The night clerk says there’s a strange woman in your room?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll contact the police and be there in a minute. Don’t touch anything.”

  Matt hung up. “The manager’s on her way over.”

  She nodded and began pumping the heart again. “This doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “Is there an obstruction?”

  After checking, she shook her head. “Not that I can see.” She tried the breathing routine again. There was no lifting of the chest as she tried to force air in.

  She rose and shook her head. “We need help.” She stood at the end of the bed beside him, her face reflecting the sense of worry and shock that affected them both.

  After a few seconds, she said, “I’m Kerry Johnston. From Minnesota.”

  “I’m Matt Anderson. Glad to meet you.” He realized how inane that sounded in view of the circumstances. “New York’s my home, but I travel a lot,” he added to bridge the awkward moment.

  He pulled a T-shirt from a drawer and yanked it over his head, then put on socks and shoes. Now that he was dressed, he felt slightly more in control.

  “Have a seat,” he suggested to Kerry. “I think it’s going to be a long night.”

  She nodded her thanks when he pulled out a side chair for her. He sat in the matching one while they waited for the manager and the police to arrive.

  “Oh, my God,” his guest said suddenly, getting to her feet and striding to the bed in two bounds. “I know who she is. I just realized—I know her.”

  She sounded so distressed that Matt stood, too, and instinctively placed his arm around her narrow shoulders.

  “Who is she?” he asked.

  “Patti. Dear God, it’s Patti. She was my waitress at lunch today. And the docent at the voodoo museum.”

  Matt’s scalp prickled. “I was at one of the voodoo museums this afternoon.” He studied the still face on his pillow. “She could have been the clerk who sold me a book on the history of voodoo in New Orleans for my mother—”

  A knock at the patio door interrupted them.

  Matt went to open it. A woman stood there, holding a battery-powered lantern.

  “Charlotte Marchand?” he asked. Like Kerry, this woman was petite, with auburn hair and almond-shaped green eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “Matt Anderson,” he introduced himself. “Kerry…”

  “Johnston,” she supplied.

  “What happened?” Charlotte wanted to know, going to the bed and bending over the figure.

  She held her lantern close to the gaudily painted face on the pillow. Charlotte checked the pulse as Kerry had done. “Mon Dieu,” she muttered. “She is dead.”

  “I tried CPR, but it didn’t seem to help,” Kerry told her. “Her lungs won’t inflate.”

  Matt felt a complete sense of unreality. “Have you called the police?”

  “Security is taking care of it, but the police are overtaxed with the blackout. I wanted to make sure this wasn’t some kind of joke.”

  “A joke,” Kerry echoed in disbelief.

  “It’s the beginning of Mardi Gras,” the manager said as if this explained everything. She removed a cell phone from her waist and punched in a number. After a short conversation, she turned back to them.

  “Security was alerted when I was. The police and an ambulance should be here as soon as possible. You’ll have to stay until the police arrive, then we can move you to another room.”

  “Miss Johnston is next door,” Matt explained. “She heard me stumble into the table when I discovered there was another person in my bed and came over to help.”

  This whole situation was like a scene out of some diabolical play. And he didn’t know his part. Neither did Kerry. He was sorry he’d involved her in the awful incident.

  “When I dialed 9-1-1,” he continued, anger now invading his voice, “I got the front desk.”

  “You must not have dialed 9 to get an outside line,” the manager explained.

  A man appeared at the door of the suite. “Tyrell said there was a problem.” His gaze took in the dead woman and the room in one sweeping glance.

  Charlotte explained all they knew.

  “You don’t know who she is?” the man asked Matt.

  “Who are you?” Matt demanded.

  “He’s head of security here,” Charlotte told him. “Mac Jensen. This is Mr. Anderson’s room, Mac. He doesn’t know how the…this person came to be in here.”

  Matt spoke to the security guy. “I realized when I came in tonight that the lock doesn’t engage because the curtain gets in the way. It’s too close to the door.”

  “I’ll have that taken care of. Right now we have to keep everything the same for the police,” Charlotte said grimly. “This is all we need—a death in addition to the power outage and the generator not working—”

  She stopped abruptly as if she’d given too much away.

  Matt felt rather sorry for the manager and her team, who would have to deal with the repercussions of the tragedy.

  The security chief checked for a pulse. Kerry told him about administering CPR and said there seemed to be a blockage in the airway. He glanced toward the courtyard. “I think we’d better tell the band to bring the evening to a close.” He glanced at the manager.

  “Would you do that?” she requested. “That would be one less thing to worry about.”

  “Unless someone in the crowd is involved in this.”

  Matt waved a hand toward the bed.

  They stared at the still form.

  “I don’t see any signs of struggle,” Jensen said.

  “No blood or bruising on her.” He glanced around the room again and frowned. “The vase is broken—”

  “I did that,” Matt admitted. “I jumped from the bed when I realized there was someone else here.”

  “Could it be an overdose?” Charlotte said to the security man. “You know there are people on the street selling everything one can imag
ine.”

  Matt observed the manner in which the security chief checked the room and relaxed a bit. The man was sharp-eyed and intelligent, his mind focused.

  “Anyone connected with the victim would have fled long ago,” Jensen said. “I’ll go out front and direct the cops in here. They can decide if we should send the partygoers home and call it a night.”

  When he left, the silence stretched to the four corners of the room.

  “This is most unfortunate,” Charlotte said to Matt and Kerry. “I’m so sorry you’ve been pulled into such a bad situation.”

  Matt shrugged. “That’s life,” he said, trying not to be judgmental and accuse her and the staff of not doing their jobs properly. He thought about changing hotels. With a glance at Kerry’s pale face, he wondered if she would like to move, too.

  Charlotte nodded and managed a grim smile. “A guest has left unexpectedly, so there’s another patio suite available, number three, on the other side of Miss Johnston’s. We’ll move you there after the police give their approval.”

  Kerry gave him a smile as if urging him to accept.

  He nodded, then wondered why she should have any influence on his decisions.

  Because she’d come when he’d needed her.

  That was an odd thought. At thirty-seven, he’d made it a rule to never let himself rely on anyone else for emotional or financial support. He’d worked through high school and college to support himself, separating himself from his father in all the ways he could. If it weren’t for his mother, he doubted he’d ever bother to speak to the man.

  But that was the past.

  After writing for the college paper, he’d chosen journalism as his field, rather than the law profession, as his father and grandfather had demanded. Youthful defiance maybe, but he’d worked his way into a career he enjoyed—wine critic for a slick and expensive magazine headquartered in New York.

  He traveled the world looking for the best wines and restaurants with the best-stocked cellars. He’d written three books, all still in print, one of them a nonfiction bestseller on living the good life.

  He’d worked his butt off to show his family he had chosen the best life for him.

  “Did anyone check for identification on the body?” Jensen asked.

  “Patti.” Kerry suddenly spoke up. “Her name is Patti. I met her earlier today. At the voodoo museum, she called herself Queen Patrice, but she was Patti, the waitress, at the restaurant where I had lunch.”

  Charlotte looked weary as she took in this information. Matt guessed she’d had a stressful night.

  “All the women who practice voodoo call themselves queens,” she said. “It comes from Marie Laveau’s tomb. It says she was a voodoo queen, so every claimant calls herself one, too.”

  Matt noted how her gaze took in the details of the room, as if she were searching for clues to what had happened earlier. In addition to the broken vase, which he’d knocked on the floor, the room had a disheveled appearance.

  Clothing hung out of the lower drawers of the armoire as if someone had rifled through them. The notepad and pen beside the phone were askew, as if hurriedly pushed aside.

  He was positive he hadn’t disturbed the room in that manner. Had the young woman…Patti, he corrected, glancing at Kerry, who now looked sad and drawn. Had Patti gone through his things, maybe looking for money for another drug hit?

  “Kerry had nothing to do with this,” he said. “Can’t she go to her room? The police can get a statement from her tomorrow if they need it.”

  “She’d better stay,” Charlotte told him, giving Kerry a sympathetic glance.

  The security chief appeared at the door at that instant. “The police,” he announced and led two men inside. He introduced them as detectives from homicide. “Crime scene investigators.”

  Charlotte moved away from the bed. “I’m not sure there’s been a crime. It may be an overdose.”

  “We’ll check it out,” the older of the two men said. “Who found the body?”

  “I did,” Matt said. “She was in my room when I came in. The electricity was off and I undressed in the dark, then went to bed. That’s when I discovered her—Patti.”

  Both officers gave him a sharp glance. “You know her?” the older one asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “I did,” Kerry told them. “I met her today. She was my waitress at lunch.” She told them where. The younger detective wrote the info down. “Then she was the docent at the voodoo museum this afternoon, only she called herself Queen Patrice. She took my picture with Jolie—the python,” she added at the blank expressions on the men’s faces.

  Matt reassessed Kerry’s delicate frame. If she’d agreed to have her picture taken with a snake as large as a python, she must be stronger than she looked.

  And braver.

  He liked the way she’d come over to help him out when he’d discovered a strange woman in his bed.

  That showed a level of confidence that he admired.

  Independent women appealed to him. Kerry wasn’t at all like the women in his family. For years, he’d wondered why his mom didn’t leave his father, a ruthless, controlling man. Finally he’d realized she couldn’t, that she didn’t know how to live her life without someone like her husband to take charge.

  Or maybe she was willing to put up with the cold temper and authoritative ways in order to live a comfortable life as the wife of a successful lawyer and community leader.

  He sighed and wondered what had brought about these ruminations. Glancing at Kerry, who waited patiently beside him for the police to finish, he had an odd impulse to take her hand and kiss it to thank her for coming over, for being cool and levelheaded when confronted with such a difficult situation.

  She looked over at him and gave him a wan smile that spoke of weariness and empathy.

  After the detectives had gotten a statement from everyone, paramedics arrived with a gurney and quietly took the body of Patti, alias Queen Patrice, from the room.

  Once the police and paramedics were gone, Charlotte and Matt walked Kerry to her door and bid her good-night, then continued to the next suite.

  Charlotte unlocked the door with a master key.

  “I’ll have a bellboy pack for you and bring you a key to this suite.”

  “Fine,” Matt said.

  “Thank you so much for your patience.” Charlotte shook his hand. “I can’t tell you how much I regret what has happened.”

  He shrugged. “It was a shock, but things happen that are beyond anyone’s control.”

  “I hope you rest well,” she said. She departed, leaving a battery-powered lantern for him.

  Next door, he heard a slight noise and wondered if his neighbor would be able to sleep.

  Glancing at the elegant bed in his new quarters, he gave a rueful sigh, then secured the interior bolt and chain.

  One ghastly surprise per night was more than enough for Matt.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SUN WAS HIGH and the temperature in the sixties by the time Kerry emerged from her room on Sunday morning. Dressed in white slacks and a long-sleeved, green silky blouse, she crossed the courtyard on the way to Chez Remy.

  Attempting to join in the spirit of the Mardi Gras season, she wore two earrings with dangling stars in her left earlobe and one earring, a smiling moon, in the other. This was good Ju-Ju, according to the street vendor who’d sold them to her. Between those and the charm bracelet, she should be safe from the city’s otherworldly elements. And shocks such as the one last night, she thought.

  “Kerry, good morning,” a deep voice said.

  Matt Anderson sat at an outside table. A waiter placed an insulated pitcher of coffee near his cup. The power had come on sometime in the night, and the staff must have worked overtime, because the hotel felt surprisingly back to normal.

  “Join me?” he invited.

  Kerry nodded. Matt stood and held a chair for her.

  “I’m having the cold breakfast buf
fet, but there are hot items like eggs, bacon and grits if you want the full service.”

  “Cereal and fruit is my usual, so I’ll have the cold buffet, too,” she told the waiter. “And coffee, please.”

  The man flipped her napkin open, laid it across her lap, then filled a coffee cup for her. He departed, only to return in less than a minute with pitchers of water and orange juice. He filled the stemmed goblets already in place on the natural grass mats, then left Matt and Kerry.

  “Did you sleep at all?” Matt asked, his deep-set eyes as solemn as a surgeon’s.

  Kerry was taken aback as she gazed into eyes the color of the blue-eyed Marys that grew on her grandparents’ farm back home. His hair was blond with darker undertones, like fields of ripe wheat, and had a stubborn wave that the short, stylish haircut couldn’t quite subdue.

  When he’d held the chair for her, she’d realized he was quite tall, probably six feet.

  Last night, with all that had been going on, she’d been much too upset to notice just how impressive he was in the looks department. As if to belie the thought, a distinct memory of a toned body in black briefs with long, muscular legs flashed across her mind. With an effort, she forced it aside.

  “Yes, actually I did.” She managed a smile. “It surprised me that I woke so late, even with all that happened. I’m always up by seven at home, even on the days I don’t have to get to work.”

  “What kind of work do you do?” Matt asked.

  “Dental hygiene. I work in a clinic with four dentists and one other hygienist.”

  “Do you like your work?”

  “Very much. I get to do the good stuff for our patients. No drilling. No root canals. No tightening up braces until the patient feels like screaming.”

  He returned her grin as she described the tortures of dentistry. “You’ve made me recall why I hated going to the dentist as a kid—braces.”

  “Yes, but now you have a perfect smile.”

  “So the pain was worth it,” he concluded. He raised his juice glass in a toast to her. “So do you,” he said. “Here’s to the good neighbor who came to my rescue last night.”