Murder Follows Money

by Lora Roberts

  “Hannah Couch is here!”

  I took great pleasure in shushing her. “We don’t want a scene in the lobby. Do you think you could just—”

  “Of course. I’ll show you up myself.” She seized some plastic cards and passed them through a machine, then locked her drawer and came out from behind the polished marble countertop.

  We went up in a special elevator that had to be operated with a key; the keys were those strips of plastic. I hoped there were enough keys for all of us. The woman from the desk cooed some more at Hannah, who accepted it graciously. Naomi watched, her expression dour.

  The hotel suite was something else. It looked like the White House. A small foyer opened into a vast drawing room, full of antique tables and brocade-covered chairs and sofas, with lots of red silk draperies and priceless-looking oriental rugs on the floor.

  Naomi nodded in approval. Kim, like me, was practically gaping with awe. Don was his usual laconic self, unimpressed by the splendor of a gilded ceiling inset with a Renaissance-style painting of frolicking cherubs and dripping with crystal chandeliers.

  Hannah stood in the middle of the room, looking around critically. She went to the ornate fireplace surround and drew her finger across the mantel, then tested one of the gilt curlicues that supported the mantel. “Your maids don’t dust,” she said to our hotel escort.

  “I’m sorry.” The desk person, whose nameplate read JENNIFER, looked frightened. “I’ll send someone up right away.

  “Not now,” Hannah said reprovingly. “Not while I’m in the suite. Do the dusting after I go out.” She crossed to the enormous arrangement of flowers that filled a crystal vase on the polished wood of a low central table. “These are lovely. Did you use preservative in the water?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Jennifer stammered. “Shall I check?”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll know tomorrow.” Hannah examined the rest of the room with pursed lips. “I hope my bathroom is clean. I don’t like to see dirty corners anywhere, but especially not on a bathroom floor.”

  “Yes, Ms. Couch. I’ll make a note of it.” Jennifer began to look desperate.

  “I believe in keeping up standards,” Hannah said, bestowing a brief smile on the hapless woman.

  Naomi headed for a set of the tall, carved doors that folded open on either side of the room. “Kim, Liza.”

  I jumped, but Kim was at the long windows that opened onto a balcony. “Look! The view!” She opened the windows, letting in a gust of cold, damp air, and went to hang off the balcony parapet. “What’s that funny building over there? The Space Needle?”

  Don joined her. “Isn’t the Space Needle in Seattle?”

  I joined them at the window. “That’s the Transamerica Pyramid. Kind of ugly, but San Franciscans are used to it now.

  “It’s so cool.” Kim smiled. Don snapped a picture of her against the San Francisco skyline.

  “Excuse me.” Naomi’s voice was peremptory, summoning us back into the drawing room. “It’s freezing out there. Please close the window.”

  “Sorry, Naomi.” Kim darted back into the room, with Don following in a leisurely way that implied he was not to be ordered around.

  Naomi sniffed. “Kim and Liza, check the kitchen and get it set up with our utensils. Don, figure out where the best place to take a picture is, in case any of the interviewers insist. Hannah, you must rest for a few minutes.”

  Jennifer, the desk clerk, said in a trembling voice, “Oh, you had some messages. I should have brought them. I’ll have them sent up. And may we say how honored we are that you chose to return to our hotel, Ms. Couch? Please, if you need anything else, anything at all—”

  Naomi shook her hand briskly. “We’ll be in touch.”

  I followed Kim into the kitchen, which was compact but well designed and very modern, with marble counters and glass-fronted cabinets. “Isn’t the refrigerator kind of small?”

  “I think that’s actually the ice maker.” Kim pulled out what looked like a deep drawer from the base cabinet. “These drawers are refrigerated. And the cupboards are pretty roomy.” She started taking armloads of dishes and linens out of the big plastic footlockers and transferring them to shelves and cupboards. “Listen, I bet room service would send up milk and eggs and butter for the crepe batter.” She giggled. “Especially if Jennifer spreads around what a dragon Hannah is. And I’ll help you with the prep. The only problem is getting the shopping done. I don’t know where they keep the food stores around here.”

  “I’ve got an idea about that.” I stashed some copper pots and looked around for my knapsack. “I’ll just make a few phone calls. Where’s that cell phone Judi Kershay gave me?”

  “Use the room phone. It goes on Hannah’s bill, which goes on the publisher’s bill, so you don’t have to pay.” Kim sounded worldly. I was impressed, but she added, “My mom told me to sign all my expenses on the room.

  I’m not getting paid that much, and no tips. It makes sense.”

  “It does at that.” I looked around for a phone.

  “There’s one by the sink. I think there might be one every five feet or so. I saw two in the living room, or whatever you call that room we were in—”

  “The parlor?” Its grandeur had been rather intimidating. “The drawing room? The throne room?”

  “I think that’s some other room.” Kim laughed.

  I hurried into the drawing room to find my humble knapsack, with the list of phone numbers for the night’s events. Only a couple of pieces were left from the tower of high-class luggage. My knapsack had been ignominiously discarded in the foyer.

  Naomi appeared on the other side of the room and beckoned imperiously. “Come help Hannah unpack.”

  “I’m helping Kim with the kitchen,” I began.

  “You can get back to that.” She pulled the last of the elegant suitcases toward the carved wooden doors. “Get that train case, would you?”

  I slung my knapsack over my shoulder and bent to pick up the little leather bag. There was a knock at the front door. As I was in the foyer, I answered it.

  One of those glittering bellhops, or whatever they were called in this exalted hostelry, stood outside, holding a silver tray heaped with envelopes. “Messages for Hannah Couch,” he said, making a kind of half bow in my direction.

  “Uh, thanks.” I didn’t know if I should scoop up the envelopes, or just take the tray. He solved the problem by coming into the room and sliding the messages onto another tray at a small gilt table beside the door.

  “Is everything all right?” He glanced around the palatial space. “You’re finding everything okay? Is Ms. Couch pleased with the suite?”

  I wondered if he’d talked to Jennifer. “She should be,” I said. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

  Still he lingered, and I remembered that tipping was expected. Judi Kershay had given me petty cash for things like tips and bribes, which she explained were sometimes necessary. I pulled a bill off the wad she’d given me and passed it along to the bellhop. It disappeared into his palm.

  “Oh, and by the way,” I said, and he stood at attention. “We are desperately in need of really fast room service.”

  “The menu,” he began, pointing toward the kitchen.

  “No, not real food. I mean, not cooked food.” The opulence was starting to get to me. “We need two gallons of whole milk, two pounds of butter, and a couple dozen eggs. Ms. Couch wishes to prepare crepe batter for a demonstration this evening.”

  “Of course,” he said, nodding. “You want that as soon as possible?”

  “Right.” This time, I wasn’t so slow peeling bills off the wad. He accepted them graciously, tipped his little organ-grinder’s-monkey cap to me, and vanished.

  I took the tray of messages in my free hand and, so burdened, followed Naomi. The carved doors led into a short hallway with two rooms opening off it. On the left was an opulent but empty bedroom, with luggage stacked near the bed. The door of the room on the right was shut. I t
ook a deep breath and knocked briefly before going in.

  Hannah lay on the huge, silk-covered bed, a black velvet eyeshade over her eyes. Naomi had evidently gotten over her mad. She bustled around, taking clothes from the suitcase and hanging them in the closet while she talked. “… don’t know how that’s going to work out.” Her nasal whine would get on my nerves if she were my business partner. “And of course the schedule is all screwed up—” She broke off to glare at me. “You certainly took your time.”

  “Your messages arrived.” I set down the train case and held out the tray full of white envelopes.

  Hannah took off the eyeshade. She sat up, banking the pillows, and patted the bed beside her. “Here.”

  “You can read them while you’re resting.” There was something anticipatory in Naomi s voice.

  “How the hell can I rest when you’re yammering at me?” Hannah looked at the tray of messages fixedly for a moment, then at Naomi.

  “Liza, Hannah needs a mineral water. Would you bring one?”

  “It’s Liz, actually.” I knew the deliberate mispronouncing of my name was a way to keep me in line. I’ve always had trouble with lines. “Do you want lemon or anything?”

  “You go with her, Naomi. Show her how to do it.” Hannah’s voice was commanding.

  “But—” Naomi was still looking at the tray of letters.

  “I am thirsty.”

  “Very well.” Naomi flounced out of the room and I followed her, turning to close the door. Hannah was sorting through the envelopes; as I pulled the door to, she reached slowly to pick one out of the mass.

  Following Naomi through the drawing room and into the kitchen, I wondered about the note Hannah had picked up. She hadn’t opened it, but her expression as she regarded it was one of dread.

  Chapter 4

  In the kitchen, Kim turned from the last of the big crates and smiled at us. “Almost unpacked.”

  “Great.” Naomi hardly looked at her. “Where’s the Pellegrino?”

  Kim took a big green bottle out of one of the cabinets.

  “Hannah likes her water like this.” Naomi filled a tall glass with ice. “Always a tall glass, never a short one. Always one slice of lime.”

  She gestured to Kim, who plucked a lime from a basket of citrus fruit on the counter and sliced it quickly.

  “Squeeze the lime into the water,” Naomi said in a lecturing voice, “then drop it in and stir.” She suited action to word. “Got it?”

  “I think I can do that.” From the corner of my eye I caught Kim’s grin, quickly suppressed.

  “Fine. I’ll take this to Hannah. Liza—”

  “I’ll give Kim a hand here and get the room set up for the interview.” I felt lucky to have remembered this snippet from my lengthy list of instructions. “If that’s okay, Ruth.”

  “Ruth? It’s Naomi.” She gave me a look of disgust.

  “Oh, right. I’m sure I can remember that.”

  Naomi sailed from the room, and Kim collapsed in nervous giggles. “You dare,” she said. “She’ll just get angry.” She shivered. “She’s really mean when she’s angry.”

  “She’s your aunt. You probably know.”

  “It’s gotten worse the past couple of years. I think she’s having that change of life thing.” Kim piled the lime slices into a little container, popped on the lid, and put it in the refrigerator drawer. “She just lets herself be swept away with it, like she did in the limo.”

  “She seems over it now.”

  Kim shivered. “Yeah. It blows over, and she doesn’t even remember the things she said. My mom says we have to make allowances, but it creeps me out.”

  “No kidding. Especially if she regularly goes around accusing people of murder.”

  “She didn’t exactly—”

  “She implied that Hannah caused her husband’s death.” I looked at Kim. “Do you know if that’s possible?”

  She looked uneasy. “I don’t know. He died last year. I didn’t really pay much attention, though I heard Naomi tell my mom it was something he ate. She said it in a meaning kind of way, you know?”

  “Well, I doubt there’s anything to it. And we have work to do.” I dug the schedule out of my knapsack. As I’d hoped, the phone numbers of our destinations were there. “Listen, let me see if my idea about the food for the TV show works.” I looked at the kitchen clock; twenty minutes until the interview, and we hadn’t begun to be ready for the TV appearance. “If it does, can you carry the load until I see how the interview goes? I’m supposed to be sort of monitoring it and keeping it smooth.”

  “Poor you.” Kim patted my arm. “I will be happy to prep the food. Much less hassle than what you’ll be doing. It’s just that there is a lot to do. I have to get all the ingredients prepped for both demonstrations, plus assemble a huevos rancheros casserole so it can cook while Hannah’s showing how to make one. And I have to get that crepe batter made right away or it won’t work.”

  “That should be under control. The bellhop will bring milk and eggs and butter.”

  I punched in the number of the contact person at FanciFoods Marketplace. “I’m calling on behalf of Hannah Couch,” I said sweetly when he came on the line. “We’re just checking to make sure everything is in order for this evening.”

  “Oh, yes. We’ve had a tremendous response, and are sure to have a standing-room-only crowd,” he assured me.

  “She’ll be preparing huevos rancheros.”

  “Marvelous,” he gushed. “That will be wonderful. What equipment should I collect?”

  This was a stumper. I tried to think of the most indispensable piece of equipment Drake used in his gourmet forays. “We’ll bring cookware and the like,” I said, looking at Kim. She nodded encouragingly. “But there is something you could help us with. Of course, we want to prepare the dish ahead of time as much as possible, plus we’re doing a cooking demonstration on Live at Five, and what with the interviews, I just don’t have time to do the shopping. Could you all send over a few things? We’ll be sure to give you and the event tonight a plug on Live at Five.”

  “Well, sure,” he said. “What do you need?”

  I ran down the list Hannah had rattled off in the limo, with Kim making a couple of whispered suggestions, and the man assured me he would personally pick out the produce and have our order delivered pronto. “As our thank-you gift to Hannah,” he assured me. “In half an hour. No problem.”

  I hung up the phone and took a deep breath. “At least that went right.”

  “Good going.” Kim looked at me in awe. “You said you’d never done this before?”

  “Never before, never again,” I muttered. “Okay, I have to call Judi Kershay and bring her up to date. Then I’ll do the hostess thing in the drawing room. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Nothing,” Kim assured me. “Don’s going to help me take all the bins but one down to the hotel’s storage area after I get the crepe batter together, and then we might take a walk around the block. I don’t need to be here until the market delivers our stuff, do I?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. Have a good time.” I was already hauling out Judi Kershay’s cell phone, programmed with her number. Just as it rang, a knock came on the front door. Kim darted off to answer it.

  Judi answered on the first ring. “Liz! How’s it going?” She sounded apprehensive.

  “So far, so good.” I gave her a rundown on what had been accomplished to date.

  “Listen, you’re doing a great job.”

  “I don’t know.” Kim came back from the front door, carrying a basket with all the crepe ingredients I’d asked room service for. She clattered around the kitchen, so I moved into the drawing room. I glanced over at the carved double doors that led into the rarefied bedrooms; they were closed, but I lowered my voice anyway. “Naomi hates me.”

  “She hates everyone,” Judi assured me. “Don’t worry about getting on her good side. I don’t think she has one. If you’re tight with the
food stylist, you’re halfway there.”

  “She’s very nice. And the photographer is nice too. He doesn’t seem to mind being treated as a kind of uber-busboy.”

  “And Hannah?” Judi sounded as if she’d braced herself. “How’s she doing?”

  “Okay. She seems fine.” I hesitated. “Although there’s something funny going on. She and Naomi are at each other’s throats one minute, and then major pals the next minute. And Hannah seems—frightened of something. I don’t know what.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Hannah.” Judi was dubious. “She’s frightening, I grant you that.”

  “Maybe it’s my imagination.” I looked at the ornate grandfather clock in one corner of the room. “Listen, I have to set stuff up for the print interview.”

  “You sound like a pro already.” Judi laughed. “You’ve really taken a load off my mind, Liz, I don’t mind telling you.”

  “Wait until Friday before you congratulate me. I may end up bopping Naomi in the nose before this is over.”

  We hung up, and almost immediately I heard a knock on the front door.

  The bellhop again. This time he carried a charming arrangement of forget-me-nots and ivy in a brass bowl.

  “Oh, how pretty.” I reached for the tip money again.

  “My pleasure, ma’am.” He smiled cheekily when he tipped his hat, and as he folded the bill, I saw I had given him a five instead of a one.

  At least it wasn’t my money. I set the flowers down and went through the checklist that Judi had given me for the room.

  All ashtrays had to be removed. Smoking was banned from Hannah’s presence, not because of health risks, but because it was bad for fabrics and ruined the palate for the delicate nuances of wines and foods.

  I moved the magnificent bouquet from the low central table and put it on a table near the french windows; it was at least three feet across, and Hannah didn’t like looking over flowers to see people. In its place I put the just-arrived bowl of ivy and forget-me-nots, which was less than a foot tall. The usual card-holder was missing from the arrangement; I checked back to make sure it hadn’t dropped off in its brief journey from the door, and saw nothing.