by Laura Durham
Two loud honks of the car horn made me jump, and I finally noticed Leatrice’s jet black hair poking above the steering wheel. “Hop in, dearie.”
I opened the passenger door after a few hard tugs and lowered myself into the car. Leatrice perched on a pile of phone books on the driver’s side and wore what appeared to be old-fashioned flight goggles and a flying scarf.
She revved the engine. “I feel the need for speed.”
Great. Mario Andretti with cataracts. “We’re not in any rush,” I assured her.
“Don’t you want to see what this baby can do? She’s in mint condition.” Leatrice rubbed the dashboard. “I only take her out for special occasions, but she corners like she’s on rails.”
“Mint condition” was a slight exaggeration. The fabric roof of the car had started to bubble and sag in places, making the interior seem smaller than it actually was, even though from the outside it looked like we were driving a small apartment. I rolled down my window by hand as Leatrice stuck her arm out the window and merged into traffic.
“Did you just give a hand signal?” I glanced nervously behind me at the car that had slammed on its brakes to let us in.
“The turn signals are on the fritz,” Leatrice explained. “Don’t worry, though. I know all the hand signals.”
I fumbled for my seat belt and wondered if anyone else in the city knew them. My only consolation was that the Fairmont was less than a mile away. How much damage could we do in less than a mile?
Minutes later I pried my fingers off of the armrest and stepped out of the car in front of the Fairmont. Leatrice was indeed the only person in D.C. who knew or used hand signals. At least the official ones.
“That was fun.” Leatrice hopped out of the car. She handed her keys to a gawking parking valet and strode after me into the hotel, her long scarf fluttering behind her. “Didn’t I tell you she handled like a dream?”
I nodded, still steadying my legs. Driving with Leatrice was like riding in a runaway shopping cart. I paused as we walked into the lobby and noticed every person staring at us.
“Don’t you want to take off your goggles, Leatrice?”
She pulled them down so they hung around her neck. “Remind me to put them back on when I drive, though. They’re prescription.”
“This shouldn’t take long. Do you want to wait for me while I talk to the front desk?”
“Wait a second.” Her eyes lit up. “This is where the murder took place, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but we’re not here about the murder. We’re here to get my car back, so wait in the lobby and I’ll be right—”
“I can’t pass up a chance to see the murder scene.” Leatrice shook her head. “It would be bad investigating.”
“We’re not investigating. I promised Richard that I wouldn’t poke around and cause any more trouble.” I lowered my voice. “There’s a killer in the hotel who wasn’t too happy that Kate and I were asking questions yesterday and wouldn’t be happy to see me snooping around again.”
“Then you go find out about your car, and I’ll do the poking around.” Leatrice headed off across the lobby.
The thought of Leatrice snooping around by herself made me cringe. She was incapable of keeping a low profile, and I feared the mayhem she would create on her own. If I took her, at least I could get her in and out as fast as possible.
I chased after her. “Okay, fine. I’ll show you the murder scene, and then we get my car and go.”
“Agreed.” Leatrice skipped after me as I led the way to the Colonnade.
I hurried down the glass hallway and paused outside the room to listen for any voices before walking in. Silence. I craned my neck around the corner and saw that the room was deserted before waving for Leatrice to follow me inside. The Colonnade was set with a handful of round tables and upholstered chairs but was otherwise bare.
Leatrice went up to the raised gazebo. “Where did you find the body?”
“Over there.” I motioned to the far side of the room. “Now let’s get out of here.”
“In a minute.” Leatrice walked up the stairs of the gazebo and put a hand against one of the large white columns. “So these blocked the view of the murder on the videotape.”
“I guess.” I walked around to where the ice sculpture had been. “It would be hard to get a clean view across the room with all these columns.”
“So even though the chef was killed in broad daylight in a room with glass walls, it would have been difficult to get a good look unless you were in the room.” Leatrice tapped her foot while she thought. “Even if someone saw something, it would be hard to distinguish much because of the obstructed view.”
“I suppose you’re right, but that doesn’t tell us anything we don’t already know.”
“It tells us that the killer knew the room well enough to know where he would be hidden from view,” Leatrice said. “Which means that this wasn’t a crime of passion. The murder was well-planned. Who arranges the setup of the room?”
“You think the room was arranged for the murder?”
Leatrice shrugged. “Or the killer got very lucky that the ice sculpture sat directly behind a column.”
“It must have been a coincidence because Georgia did the room diagram.”
“Your friend who was arrested for the murder?” Leatrice raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure she didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“Of course I’m sure,” I said with more confidence than I suddenly felt. “She was in jail when the second murder was committed, remember?” I gave myself a mental kick for doubting Georgia.
“What if there are two killers? Didn’t you say that one of your suspects is in love with her? Maybe he was her accomplice.”
“That’s ridiculous. We’re leaving, Leatrice.” I spun around and my breath caught in my throat. A thin man with sparse dark hair stood in my path. Mr. Elliott.
“You two have some explaining to do,” he said without changing his stern expression. “Perhaps I should call Security.”
Chapter 24
“Who are you?” Leatrice narrowed her eyes and folded her arms in front of her. I tried not to groan aloud.
“I am the general manager of this hotel.” Mr. Elliott looked Leatrice up and down and sneered. His navy suit was perfectly pressed and silver cuff links glinted from his wrists. “Who are you?”
“You’re the general manager?” Leatrice looked at me with a glint of recognition. “That’s very interesting.”
“What I find interesting is what you are doing snooping around my property. Shall I call Security to get some answers?”
“We aren’t snooping,” I said quickly. “Your hotel lost and damaged my car yesterday, and we’re here to pick it up.” I returned his sneer. “You should be glad I’m not suing.”
“Oh.” Mr. Elliott’s demeanor changed, and I saw his PR smile for the first time. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“You should be,” I snapped, building up steam. “I do a lot of business in your hotel, and I don’t appreciate having my property damaged.”
“Are you one of our frequent guests?” He looked nervous and ran a hand over his perfect hairline. “Perhaps we could make this stay complimentary.”
“I’m not a guest. I’m a party planner and I do a lot of events here,” I admitted, squinting to get a closer look at the precise rows of hair plugs. Did he really think they looked natural?
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows. “What kind of events?”
“She’s the best wedding planner in town,” Leatrice chimed in. “She had a wedding in this room last weekend.”
Mr. Elliott studied me more intently. “That was your wedding? I thought you looked familiar.” He returned his gaze to Leatrice. “But who are you?”
“I’m her driver.” Leatrice tossed her scarf across her neck and over her other shoulder.
“I was just telling my…um, driver what a spectacular wedding it was.” I shook my head in feigned disappointment. “Such
a shame we didn’t get any photos before the unfortunate incident. The hotel didn’t happen to take any room shots did they?”
Mr. Elliott gave me a curious look. “The hotel? No, we didn’t take any pictures of the room.”
“I thought you might have arranged for a photographer on your own. For publicity purposes, maybe?” I furrowed my brow as if trying to remember. “I thought someone mentioned something about some room shots being taken.”
Mr. Elliott’s eyes went cold and hard. “They were mistaken. The hotel had no photos taken. If we had, I’d have known about it.”
“Of course. How silly of me. You probably know everything that goes on in your hotel, right?”
Leatrice put her hands on her hips. “Any idea who killed your two chefs, then?”
His jaw muscles flinched. “I’m afraid I’m keeping you from your car. Allow me to escort you to the lobby.”
“No need.” I breezed by him, waving for Leatrice to follow me. “We have to see Darcy anyway. More business for your hotel.”
Leatrice ran to keep up with my pace as we rushed out of the room and down the hallway toward the elevators. “I didn’t like that man,” she said. “I hope he’s high up on your suspect list.”
“He is,” I assured her. “It’s interesting that he denied knowing anything about photos of the room when he used that as his reason to clear the room before the murder.”
“Are you sure the source who told you that is reliable?”
“Why would Reg lie?” I brushed off the question. “No, Mr. Elliott is the one with something to hide.”
“So there weren’t any photos taken?” Leatrice followed me into the open elevator.
“No, but I think he made up the story about having a photographer come in so that everyone would leave the scene of the crime. That would have bought him about five minutes of uninterrupted time during which he could have killed Henri.”
“Really?”
I nodded and pressed the button for the second floor. “Because of the setup involved in events, the room is only ready to photograph about ten or fifteen minutes before the guests are invited in. Sometimes we can’t even squeeze room shots in because of the tight timing. But if the photographer does have time, it’s crucial that the room be cleared so he can get shots without any people in them. Once the staff has been cleared out, they usually don’t come back for five or ten minutes.”
“So anyone in the event industry would know that?”
“Definitely.” I held the elevator door for Leatrice, and then led the way through the glass doors to the executive offices lobby. Beige chairs clustered around a round mahogany coffee table that held sample wedding albums. I smiled at the receptionist sitting behind a narrow wooden desk. “We’re here to see Darcy O’Connell, but we don’t have an appointment.”
“Annabelle?” Darcy poked her head around the corner. Her hair hung loose around her face and the bags under her eyes seemed to have gotten bigger. She looked like hell. “I thought I heard your voice.”
“Darcy, how are you doing?” I asked as diplomatically as possible.
“I’m on my way to check on my cakes for this weekend and get a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. Do you want to join me?” She looked at Leatrice. “What happened to Kate?”
“Oh, we split up today to cover more ground. This is Leatrice.”
“I’m her driver.” Leatrice stuck out her hand for Darcy to shake.
Darcy shook Leatrice’s hand and looked at me. “A driver? I’m in the wrong job.”
“She’s my neighbor,” I explained. “She gave me a ride.”
Darcy managed a weak smile and held open the door that led to the back hotel corridors for us. “Should I ask what you’re doing back here?”
“This time it’s perfectly innocent.” I followed Darcy down the wide hallway to the elevators. “Leatrice brought me down to pick up my car since the valets lost it yesterday.”
“The valets lost your car?” Darcy looked shocked as she led the way onto an industrial-sized elevator car. “I’ve heard of them taking a while to bring a car, but not to find it at all?”
“Maybe someone did it on purpose to warn me away from the hotel.”
“Like who?” Darcy held the elevator door open for us once we reached the basement.
“Whoever killed Henri and Gunter might not be too thrilled that I was snooping around.” I noticed Leatrice lagging behind to read some staff memos tacked to a bulletin board, and I reached back and tugged her forward.
“So, are you any closer to finding out who did it?” Darcy wove her way through the labyrinth of hallways, and I followed closely at her heels, wishing I had bread crumbs to drop behind me.
When we reached the pastry kitchen, Darcy appraised the trays of miniature wedding cakes lined up on a metal counter. Jean looked up from piping icing on them and gave her a curt nod.
“Looks like we’re on schedule.” Darcy backed out of the narrow entrance to the kitchen.
Leatrice pulled on my sleeve. “Do you mind if I stay behind and watch him work? I’ve never seen such adorable little cakes.”
“Okay, but don’t go anywhere,” I warned her. “I’ll be right upstairs in the employee cafeteria, and I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”
“Take your time,” she called over her shoulder. “This is better than the Cooking channel.”
I caught up to Darcy, who held the elevator for me. “Sorry. She doesn’t get out much.”
“I wish I had her energy,” Darcy sighed. The elevator surged up to the second floor, and we got out as a banquet server passed us with a pile of tablecloths. We passed the dry cleaning counter where all the uniforms were stored and walked into the employee cafeteria.
A few maintenance workers sat at a table in the corner and the TV blared a courtroom drama. Darcy passed the trays of hot food steaming behind glass and made a beeline for the coffee machines. “I don’t know how much more of this workload I can take.”
“They haven’t brought anyone in to help you?” I took the foam cup she offered me and filled it halfway with coffee.
Darcy shook her head. “If Georgia doesn’t come back to work soon, I’m a goner. She didn’t take great notes, so trying to piece the information together in her files has been a nightmare.”
“Georgia was never strong on paperwork, that’s for sure.” I poured milk into my coffee until it was the color of caramel, then tore open a handful of little blue sweetener packets. “But if everything goes like I hope, Georgia should be released soon.”
“Really?” Darcy poured a cup of black coffee and took a sip. “Have you talked to the police?”
“I gave them the video of the murder yesterday, and it shows that the killer is a dark-haired man in a chef’s jacket. That should be enough to clear Georgia or at least get them to reconsider other suspects.”
Darcy shook her head. “Even if she’s released from jail, she might not get to come back to work. I’ve told you that Mr. Elliott has it in for her.”
“That’s not fair. He can’t fire her because he doesn’t like her. Anyway, I suspect he might have had more to do with the murder than everyone else thinks.”
Darcy’s eyes bugged out. “You think our GM is a killer?”
“Why not?” I asked. “Everyone thinks he’s too spineless to do it, but I think he’s every bit ruthless enough to commit murder. Leatrice and I ran into him before we came to see you, and he got very nervous when we brought up the murders.”
Darcy went pale. “You talked to Mr. Elliott about the murders? You’re braver than I thought.”
“Actually, Leatrice brought it up,” I admitted.
“Then she’s braver than she looks,” Darcy said. “Most people in this place are scared of him, including me.”
I grinned and glanced at my watch. “Speaking of spunky old ladies, I’d better get her before she drives the pastry chefs crazy.”
Darcy looked at the oversized metal clock on the wall. “And I’d better g
et back to work. No rest for the weary.”
We parted ways in the hallway and I traced my steps back to the elevators and down to the pastry kitchen. I stuck my head in the door expecting to hear Leatrice chattering away, but the kitchen was empty. The long metal worktables had pans full of individual square cakes decorated with marzipan fruits, but no sign of Leatrice or any chefs.
Great. She’d probably come looking for me and gotten lost in the maze of hallways.
“I told her to stay put,” I grumbled to myself. “Now I’ll never find her.”
As I turned to leave, my eye recognized a glint of gold on the floor. It looked like one of the jingle bells from Leatrice’s necklace. I picked it up and my stomach sank as I saw more scattered on the ground a few feet away.
I had a very bad feeling that Leatrice wasn’t wandering in the hallways looking for me. She was in danger.
Chapter 25
“I never should have left her alone with a killer on the loose,” I scolded myself, sinking against a narrow metal table. “This is all my fault.”
“Talking to ourselves, are we?” The Scottish accent made me jump. “You know that’s the first sign of insanity.”
“Ian?” I blinked hard. Despite the fact that his extensive arm tattoos were covered up by a black, long-sleeve shirt, he was still hard to miss. “What are you doing here?”
“I happened to be dropping off one of the band’s new demos to the catering office and thought I’d say hi to the old gang.” He winked at me. “Bit of good luck finding you, I might add.”
I sighed with relief that he wasn’t stalking me. “Of course. You used to work here.”
“In a different lifetime.” He grinned. “Before the band made it and I could quit my day job. Would you like to join me for a cup of the world’s worst coffee in the employee cafeteria?”
“No.” I gave a quick shake of my head, and then saw his face fall. “I mean, I’d love to, but I have to look for my friend, Leatrice. She’s missing.”
“Your funny little neighbor? Let me help you, then.” He pushed up his sleeves to expose part of his tattooed arms. “I know this place inside and out.”
