Threads of Love

by Frances Devine

  The hotel woman politely tipped her head, her raven hair pulled back in a knot.

  “George,” she said to the bellman, “the gentleman in one-twenty is leaving, and he’s requested you specifically.”

  She smiled at Eve. “I hope you don’t mind. I can send another …” Her dark eyes flashed warmth and her facial features lit. “Eve? Eve Kirkwood?”

  Eve stared at the woman. Then, like a sunrise, her childhood summers at Gran’s house here in Colorado Springs came to light. “Isabel Cordova, is that you?”

  “One pepper, two peppers, one big dish,” Isabel said in a sing-song voice.

  “How many pepper boys did you kiss?” Eve finished.

  She laughed as Isabel gave her a heartfelt hug.

  “You’re working here?”

  Isabel pointed to her employee badge and grinned. “Chief gopher in guest services. How long you staying?”

  “Six days on my own. And I’ll be with the cousins for a week after.”

  “Fun.” Isabel’s happy face glowed. “Listen, oodles to do at the moment, but we’ll get together while you’re here.” She was already moving down the hall. “Phone the front desk.

  Ask for Isabel Escobar.” She disappeared around a corner.

  “Will do,” Eve said to the empty hallway.

  George had departed without a word. “Oh well.” She started gathering her bags.

  “Here, miss,” Eve heard a strong voice say behind her, “let me get that for you.”

  She turned to see a very tall, very muscular bellman with blond spiked hair and a well-trimmed goatee. From elf to giant.

  The fellow came forward. “Your bag?”

  “Yes, yes, please.”

  When they arrived at the room, Eve didn’t wait for the giant. She expectantly flung the door open. From the large floral design of the long curtains to the gold lavatory fittings in the en suite bathroom, it felt like a palace.

  The tall bellman stood next to Eve’s luggage.

  “Thank you.” She smiled, tipped him, and he departed.

  The moment the door closed, she stretched herself across the comfortable king-sized bed. “Oh, yes. Thank you indeed.”

  She popped up and went directly to the bathroom, where she started drawing her bath. She returned to her overstuffed suitcase, opened it, and pulled out a change of clothes.

  And there it was, sitting atop her new cashmere sweater. She pulled the vintage box out and held it in her hands like a prize rose. The gold gild that plated the wooden box was regal. Tiny freshwater pearls encrusting the lid glistened a pink opalescence. But the real treasure, as far as Eve was concerned, was inside. She lifted the lid. The beautiful quilt squares Gran had painstakingly created so many years ago were placed, as it were, upon their throne. For Eve, they were of greater value than any gem.

  “Oh, my bathwater.”

  She closed the lid and put the box on the night table. She made for the bathroom and a nice soak.

  The world and all its frantic pace was shut out the moment Eve closed the bathroom door. Her high-pressured police administration job, including the unwanted advances from predatory detectives and the daily grind of urban life, all melted away as she slipped into the toasty, frothy water.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the relaxing whirlpool when she realized she’d drifted off.

  Wrapping the hotel robe around her, Eve moved across the tile floor and chose a fluffy towel to envelop her hair. She stepped into the bedroom.

  She would dress for dinner, take a quick stroll up to the lake, and then dine in the formal Penrose Room.

  She picked up the sea-green cashmere sweater she had purchased for her trip. “You’ll do quite well.” She held it to her chest and glanced in the mirror. But in the reflection, she became aware that something didn’t seem right. She looked past her sweater sleeve to the empty night table.

  She spun around. It was gone. Her beautiful box was gone.

  “Gran’s quilt squares.” The words burst from her mouth like the rush of an autumn wind spinning leaves into a whirlwind. “No.” Eve shook her towel-wrapped head and dropped the sweater on the bed. “No.” She took several deep breaths. It could have simply fallen. Frantically, she searched the floor around the table. No, it was definitely gone.

  She unwrapped the towel from her head, allowing the masses of waves to drop past her shoulders. She went to the room’s phone, lifted the receiver, and dialed.

  “Front desk,” a pleasant voice answered.

  “I want to report a theft,” Eve all but yelled into the phone. She could hear her voice become ragged. “It just occurred.”

  “We’ll have a security team there right away.”

  “Good.” She banged the receiver down and lowered her head. “Lord, help.”

  Chapter 2

  Eve sat on the bed and opened the night table drawer. “God bless the Gideons.” Her frenzied shock was soothed by the presence of a Bible. When she picked it up, it dropped from her hands and fell open on the floor. As she retrieved it, she noticed pen-noted lines and a star with the words for you written next to them. The red underlining drew her like a magnet to true north. “Be still, and know that I am God.” Eve blinked. “I know I asked for help, but what’s that got to do with Gran’s quilt squares being pinched?”

  A loud bang sounded on her door. She put the Bible on the night table and moved to answer it. “Yes?”

  “Security,” a male voice called.

  Eve opened the door to find the tall man she’d seen in reception, his short, blond colleague just behind him.

  The square of the man’s jaw, just above the blue windbreaker, drew her eyes up past his tantalizing lips, past his aquiline nose, to dark eyes that burned with an autumn fire. His dark brown hair was well groomed.

  “Security,” he said again.

  “Credentials?” Eve put on her no-nonsense attitude.

  He smiled broadly and flashed his employee badge.

  She scanned the credential. Detective Jason Gregory. Even his employee ID picture couldn’t hide his pleasing features.

  “There’s been a theft?” Detective Gregory eyed the robe.

  Suddenly aware of her appearance, Eve pushed a dripping strand of hair away from her eye. Heat rose to her face as she realized the enormous robe she wore was more akin to a puffy pink pillow. In defense, she stood as tall as her slender five-foot-seven frame would allow.

  “Yes, something priceless has gone missing.” She put her shoulders back. “My grandmother’s hand-sewn quilt squares.”

  “Your what?”

  “My deceased grandmother left them to me. They’ve been stolen.”

  The detective knit his brow. “Costly fabric? Historical value? Insured art work?”

  Eve lifted her chin. “None of those things. Precious, nevertheless.”

  Detective Gregory placed his hand against the doorframe. “You called because your grandmother’s stitchery’s gone missing?” His tone was stiff, and she could hear a smothered laugh from the fellow behind.

  Eve pursed her lips. “I work in law administration. I am aware of police procedure, and at this moment, I don’t see you applying it.”

  “Police procedure?” he snorted. “Just now, ma’am, I’ve got a real theft I’m investigating over in the cottages.”

  Eve could feel the pink of her former blush go red. “A real theft? Mine is a made-up crime?”

  “Inform guest services about your dilemma. They’ll get a housekeeper to help you look.”

  “Oh, I’ll inform them, all right.” Eve put her hands on her hips. “I’ll inform them that you don’t know how to do your job.”

  The detective’s jaw tightened. “Right, well, fun as this has been, I’ve got to go.” He turned and strode down the hallway, his comrade in tow.

  Eve leaned out into the hall, looking after the departing detective. “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out,” she trumpeted.

  Jason’s brisk pace nearly set th
e hall carpet ablaze. “Bingham, how is it that someone with such intoxicating eyes can be so obnoxious?”

  “Search me,” Bingham fired back, trying to keep pace.

  “A twenty thousand-dollar necklace stolen, and she wants me to find her granny’s needlework,” Jason huffed.

  Bingham smiled. “I know her kind. Very high maintenance.”

  “We’ve got much more to do than coddle an impetuous female guest.”

  “Yes sir, we do.”

  Then why can’t I get her out of my head? Jason’s pace picked up even more speed.

  Like a spitfire, Eve once again dialed the front desk. “Manager.” She paced.

  “Guest services,” a courteous male voice said. “How may I assist you?”

  Eve took a deep breath. “I would like to lodge a complaint against Jason Gregory.”

  “Complaint? Concerning Mr. Gregory?” The gentleman sounded surprised. “What complaint?”

  “He was rude.” Eve fingered the phone. “He was arrogant, incompetent, and”—she stumbled—“and he was rude.”

  She hung up and felt a bit foolish. She wasn’t even making any sense. And she had let the detective’s rudeness make her rude, too. How dare this handsome stranger at her door unnerve her so?

  What now? She’d just have to carry out her own investigation. She sat on the edge of the bed. Her job, though just an administrative position, had made her privy to more than a few criminal investigations. One method used to solve a crime was to retrace your steps. She had come up the hallway with the elf. Her father called. She felt her stomach do a flipflop. Dad. How on earth would she tell him what happened? She shook her head, as if to dismiss such a thought. No, she wouldn’t tell him. Focus. Hallway, elf, Isabel, the giant.

  Eve examined the door’s automatic lock. There was no forced entry at the door or at the window. Someone with a professional lock, pick, a pass key? She added the thought to her process. “Giant and I entered, he left, bathwater, box on table, in the bath.” She took a deep inhale. “I was in the bathtub when someone entered my room.” She put her hands to her cheeks. A sense of violation turned her stomach inside out.

  Like the sound of thunder in a dark October storm, the ringing of the telephone wrenched her from her fresh illumination.

  She picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

  “Miss Kirkwood?” The gentle voice of the manager was on the other end of the line.

  “Yes?”

  “If you please, will you come to my office in fifteen minutes? I do hope it’s not a huge imposition.”

  “No, it’s not a problem. Yes, I’ll come.”

  “Grand, see you then.”

  Eve did a passing glance with the blow-dryer on her long, thick hair. A little blush; some light, sandy-colored eye shadow; a flit of mascara; and a touch of warming pink lip gloss was her slapdash attempt to dress her fair skin a bit.

  She put on a light tank top and buttoned her blue cotton sweater over it. Her most comfortable jeans were close at hand and she popped them on in a scurry to exit. A quick spritz of her favorite botanical scent as she eyed the clock, a slip into her black leather flats, and she was out the door. “Four minutes left,” she said as she moved down the hallway. “I can do that.”

  When Eve entered the supervisor’s office, a middle-aged man with graying temples and smart glasses extended his hand to her.

  “Miss Kirkwood, I’m Peter Hill. Please sit down,” he invited.

  Eve sat in a large Queen Anne chair covered in floral brocade.

  The manager looked toward Eve as she took a good look around. The office wall was littered with framed recognitions and service awards. And Mr. Hill’s desk was littered with files and folders. He took a seat behind the cluttered desk. “Our guests’ satisfaction is our highest objective.”

  “Thank you. I look forward to things being made right.” Eve relaxed against the back of the chair, placing her hands on the arms.

  At that moment she heard a familiar voice outside the office and the half-closed door flew open.

  “You wanted to see me, Pete?” Jason’s voice was buoyant. When he stepped inside he caught sight of Eve.

  Mr. Hill inhaled deeply. “Now, calmly, tell me what has happened, and what has created such animosity?”

  Chapter 3

  Pete, I’m currently investigating another situation. Can this wait?” Detective Gregory remained on his feet, ready to launch into his former task.

  “Please sit down, Jason.” Mr. Hill pointed to a chair near Eve. “Bingham can proceed momentarily without you.” He came around to the front of the desk. “This situation needs attention.” He took off his glasses and fiddled with them. “Let’s try to get things in order here.”

  Eve felt a flush rise again to her face.

  “Facts first.” Mr. Hill spoke with wonderful calm. “Now, what’s missing?”

  “My grandmother’s quilt squares and a valuable antique box.” Eve worked at keeping her anxiety at a polite level.

  “Box?” The detective knit his brow. “This is the first I’ve heard of a valuable box.”

  Eve raised her chin. “Yes, well, perhaps I neglected to inform you about the box.”

  The manager leaned against the desk. “How valuable is this box? Can you describe it?”

  “It’s antique, gold-gilded, and the lid is encrusted with freshwater pearls.”

  “O-kay,” the detective said. He looked at the manager, then at Eve.

  She caught his warm brown eyes with her own and rubbed her hand on the chair arm. “But what means the most to me is my grandmother’s handiwork inside the box.”

  “I was told one thing was missing.” Detective Gregory raised his index finger. “The handiwork.”

  “You would say, then, Miss Kirkwood”—Mr. Hill elevated his brow—“that the contents of the box are of great sentimental value.”

  “Yes. I informed Mr. Gregory that the quilt squares were priceless to me.”

  “Ah.” Mr. Hill put his glasses on.

  Eve pulled her shoulders back. “I think a hotel employee is the thief.”

  Mr. Hill reared his head. “That is a serious allegation, Miss Kirkwood.”

  “I wouldn’t make it if I didn’t think it were true.”

  The phone on Mr. Hill’s desk rang. He moved a file and grabbed the phone. “Guest services,” he said into the receiver. He paused, glanced at his watch, and frowned. “Yes, yes, I’ll be right there.” He hung up and stood military straight. “Jason, why don’t you look through employee files with Miss Kirkwood and get more information from her.”

  “Right.” The detective inhaled deeply and let the air escape slowly.

  “Miss Kirkwood.” The manager smiled. “Jason Gregory is an incredibly capable agent and”—he turned his gaze to Jason—“this is a noteworthy crime. Do you think we can call your initial contact a misunderstanding and move on?”

  Eve balked. She turned her gaze to the detective, whose jaw was tightly clenched. Still, she nodded.

  He hesitated and then gave a quick nod as well.

  “Good.” Mr. Hill tipped his head to Eve. “Miss Kirkwood.”

  He reached the door. “Jason, use my computer.” He departed.

  Mr. Gregory came to his feet. He eyed Eve, who tried to smile warmly while sitting on her urge to tackle the computer herself. She returned the eye contact.

  “Shall we get to work then?”

  Eve rubbed her hands on her knees. “I feel like a twelve-year-old in the principal’s office.”

  “Just like,” he confirmed. “Heaven knows I was there often enough.” He raised a hand to his chest and unzipped his windbreaker. “Well, water under the bridge.”

  Eve stood, and the detective pulled another chair up to the computer at the desk for her. She sat down, and as he loosened his tie, he dropped into Mr. Hill’s chair.

  Eve sensed how close the two chairs were and became aware of the detective’s long, masculine frame. He clipped his sizeable fingers a
cross the keyboard.

  “Here we are,” he said. “Employee photos.”

  He sat back in the chair. “Miss Kirkwood, why suspect a hotel employee?”

  “There was no forced entry, which suggests a professional pick or passkey.”

  His face gave a note of restrained professional regard toward Eve.

  “I had contact with three people before I entered my room, all hotel employees.”

  “Did you talk to them or anyone here at the hotel about your possessions?”

  “No one. I had a quick phone call from my dad in the hallway, that’s it.”

  “I’m sure you had a bellman. Would you recognize his photo?”

  “Their photos,” Eve corrected. “There were two.”

  “Two.” Detective Gregory leaned toward the computer. “Really?” He maneuvered the mouse. “Here are the bellmen. Take a look.”

  Eve bent forward to see the screen. As she did, her shoulder touched the detective’s arm.

  He clicked the mouse and unfamiliar faces popped up.

  Eve shook her head after each one until the elf appeared, with his whimsical grin and rounded cheeks. “Yes, he carried my bag from the front desk, until he was asked by a guest services worker to see to another guest.”

  “George Spiros?” The detective ogled the photo. “Not a likely suspect. Been here for years, a father of six, good work ethic.”

  He continued through the pictures.

  Eve tried to move her shoulder away from the detective’s arm, but she found herself sensing a certain amount of comfort being close to him, almost a kind of ragged shelter in a whirlwind storm.

  “That’s it,” he announced.

  Eve shook her head. “No, the giant wasn’t there.”

  “Who?”

  “The giant. The tall, athletic fellow, with blond, spiked hair, a goatee, in a bellman’s uniform. He carried my bag and put it in my room.” She paused and put her hand to her lips. “He’s not there.”

  “I’ll check with HR on new hires—maybe he’s not in the system yet,” Detective Gregory said. “When did you notice the box was missing?”

  “I was running my bath—I pulled the box out, went into the bathroom, and when I came out, it was gone.”