Who Glares Wins (Lexi Graves Mysteries)

by Camilla Chafer

  "What does she look like?" asked Lily.

  I left the photos in my desk so I described the woman. We both waited, staring at the front entrance.

  "I hope she's not unemployed," said Lily, five minutes later. "We could be waiting all day."

  "I didn’t think of that. I kind of figured she had a job just because Ted had one. Anyway, we can't wait all day. I have to be at the hotel at eight forty-five." I plucked my coffee from the cup holder and gulped it.

  "How's that going?"

  "Haven't a clue who’s doing the sabotage yet."

  "Sucky."

  "Hey, there is a Super Ponies convention on."

  "No way! I love Super Ponies. I had, like, hundreds."

  "I remember. Anyway, this convention is being run by dudes."

  Lily screwed up her face and raised one disbelieving eyebrow. "You're kidding me."

  "I kid you not. These dudes are totally into it. They're organized and,” I paused for effect, “they have seminars."

  Lily bit her lip. "I kinda still want to go."

  "We can go tomorrow maybe. Or Friday. It's on all week."

  "Cool. Hey, maybe I’ll get some of those colored hair extensions to put in my hair just like I used to when I wanted to grow up to be a pony."

  We slunk down in our seats, looking like two carpoolers who'd forgotten the object of their mission, while we waited for the mystery woman to show. Every so often, Lily would nudge me and ask, "Is that her?" but each time, I shook my head, no, to the various women getting into cars, and one person, whom I suspected, was actually a man despite the dress. Finally, at eight on the dot, I answered, "Yes!"

  The mysterious blonde exited the building, making her way to a small parking lot at the side. She climbed into a silver car and pulled out onto the street.

  "Buckle up," I said. "We're going to follow her."

  "Cool!"

  I handed Lily my cell phone, the function set to camera and she snapped a photo of the car, turning the screen to me so I could nod. The plate was in the shot.

  We followed her easily at first, then with more difficulty as traffic increased while we headed towards the business district.

  "We'll lose her," said Lily, her head bobbing from side-to-side to see past the traffic.

  "We won't. Besides, this is better. There's less chance she'll notice us following her."

  “I don’t see her. There are too many silver cars. What is it with everyone and silver cars? Is it the VW?”

  “The PT Cruiser.”

  Lily glanced at me. “What does it look like, other than silver and wheels?”

  “Um, it’s the one that looks like the spaceship from Flight of the Navigator at the front and a hearse from the back.”

  “Got it.”

  As it was, I almost missed the Cruiser when it turned off, but just caught sight of the tailgate as it descended a ramp to an underground parking lot.

  "Did you see which building that was?" I asked as we sailed by.

  "Yep." Lily craned her head to check. "It’s Becker, Hughes and Whitman. Isn’t that…?"

  I grimaced. "That's Ted's office."

  "He's boffing a colleague? That's so cliché."

  I ignored the sudden flash of Solomon in my head and concentrated on the actual news. Discovering they probably worked together—unless she was his “breakfast meeting”—made the woman easier to find. I checked the clock on the dash and winced. I had twenty-five minutes to turn around, hightail it back to our apartment and drop Lily off, and then make it to the hotel. Even at three a.m. with no traffic, it couldn't be done.

  "What's up?" asked Lily. "We did great, right? We totally aced that tail."

  I nodded. "We did great, but now I'm going to be late for my real work."

  Lily screwed up her face in thought. "If you drive to work, you can make it, but I'll need to borrow your car to get back. I can bring it back to you for lunch? Or I could get a cab home."

  "Would you mind? I'm really sorry. I don't want to be late on my third day."

  "You're taking the hotel thing seriously?"

  "It's part of my cover. I'm supposed to be an ace assistant. Ace assistants don't turn up late on their third day."

  "True. They never turn up late." Lily huffed. "Bet you can't keep it up more than a week.”

  I stuck my tongue out, which was childish, but what the heck. "Okay. We’ll go to the hotel, then you can take my car home. If you can't get it back for lunch, don't worry about it. Just pick me up at six."

  "I can do that. I will trade you for convention tickets."

  "Done."

  I pulled in around the front parking entrance and Lily unbuckled, ready to slide across to take the driver's seat. I had a moment to switch my shoes, and throw my sneakers on the rear seat before waving her off. I went into the hotel with a whole minute to spare before I was officially late.

  Edward's office door was shut when I passed by on the way to my own small office. I hurried in to sit behind my desk, eyeing the pile of folders while my shoulders slumped.

  First things first, I pulled up the photo Lily took of the mystery woman's Cruiser and used my phone to email it to Lucas back at the office. I called him and left a message on his answering service, asking him to run the plates and let me know to whom the car belonged. I knew I shouldn't ask Lucas to run it, because it wasn't an agency case, but he didn't know that and besides, I had to ask someone just to get a lead on this woman. I was pretty sure Serena would not want me involving our brothers; and if I asked Maddox, he would want to know why too. Lucas was the safest option. Once I had a name, address, and birth date, I could start digging through the woman’s virtual paper trail. Then Serena could annihilate her.

  I made tracks on the few files I had left to read from the day before. The sooner I got through them, the sooner I could start talking to the employees again. Like yesterday, nothing stood out as interesting. The employees were all, on paper at least, decent people. They worked hard, had good references, and no criminal records. Edward was truthful when he said he hired people who would benefit from his nurturing, even if he hadn't said it in so many words.

  I sorted all the employee files and put them to one side, with the theft reports I'd already reviewed. Soon, I would have to copy all the material and add them to the agency file. I didn't much relish the idea of spending quality time with the photocopier, even if it was a fancy-pants one.

  Next, I skimmed the leaver's files. The hotel's policy was to hold an exit interview for anyone who left, which included those fired, as well as those who resigned. Eight of the ten most recent leavers already had new jobs, according to their files and they weren’t fired, but resigned. I discounted them. Happy ex-employees with new jobs didn't have the time to sabotage their previous place of work. Two had been fired. One for theft, the other for gross misconduct. I flipped the pages a couple of times before I found the paragraph stating why. The first fired employee didn't know how to keep his hands to himself when it came to waitresses. The second employee was fired for smoking weed and failing a drug test. I couldn't imagine the dopey guy in the photo working up a sweat over getting fired. Even so, I put those two files to one side to investigate later.

  My last file was the assistant who walked out and never returned. When I opened it, I got a shock.

  Staring back at me was the smiling face of Marissa Widmore.

  Closing it in disbelief, I reopened it, double-checking. Yes, definitely Marissa. Her hair was a little shorter in this portrait, and she was wearing a nice blouse with a cute, little collar, but she was definitely the same woman I saw in the photo at her apartment and the same woman in the photo Elisabeth gave me.

  I took a moment to collect myself as I considered the likelihood of the two cases being connected. Like Elisabeth told me last night, Marissa was employed through a recruitment agency, Berwick's, and she hadn't been working at The Montgomery Hotel for long. It was definitely a step up from her usual kind of work, which, when I looke
d through her file résumé, was varied. The one here had been rewritten slightly, with office work in mind, leaving off some of her waitressing jobs, and making her appear more office-friendly. Clearly, she was adaptable. Learning the layout of the hotel would pose more trouble than learning how to be a good assistant. Maybe she suddenly started getting some ambition, something that was completely at odds with her sudden disappearance.

  Rocking back in my chair, my mind whirred.

  Elisabeth was sure her friend was missing. The hotel was having severe problems.

  I had the horrible feeling Marissa might be missing because of what was going on at the hotel.

  When my cell phone rang a moment later, I jumped, my heart racing. Lucas’ name flashed on the screen. I hit “answer,” pressing it to my ear.

  "Morning," he said in greeting. "I got your messages."

  "Great. Any news?"

  "First off, the plate you sent me this morning is registered to Donna Keegan." Lucas gave me the address too, which matched the apartment building I'd staked out. "I got some extra info on her, which I'll email to you. Birth certificate and driver's license."

  "You're a genius."

  "It has been said. Secondly, I'm still working on the hotel's intranet. It was no problem to get into, there's just a lot of information to sift."

  "Any signs of hacking from the outside yet?"

  "Not yet, but it's too soon to give a definitive answer. I'm not seeing any red flags."

  "Keep me updated."

  "Will do. One other thing, Solomon mentioned stolen property. I've asked around, but no leads. Delgado is checking his contacts too."

  "Thanks. Can I ask you another question?"

  "Shoot."

  "Say I wanted to look at a shop's surveillance cameras, how would I do that?"

  "If the cameras feed to a server, I can hack it; but a lot of them still use tapes, especially small, independent stores. You can't get to see those without a warrant, or at least a contact in the office or the security firm, if they use one."

  I didn't know where in Fenway Plaza Marissa’s car had been found, because Scotty Sibowitz at the impound lot didn't say, and there were several blocks where she could have feasibly parked. I knew for certain that I didn't have any contacts with any security firms, and besides, it was two weeks ago now that she disappeared. There was a strong possibility any tapes would have been erased. A dead end.

  "Okay, thanks, Lucas."

  "Later, Lexi."

  I grabbed the three files I'd set aside along with Marissa's, and walked over to the copy room, stopping in the doorway when I saw Louisa.

  "Good morning!" Louisa turned her megawatt smile on me as she looked up from the copier. She wore a simple shift dress in black with a beige cardigan over the top and a neat string of pearls. Her heels were low and functional, made for walking, not posing. "How are you getting on today?"

  "Great! Thank you for asking!" I chirped, holding the files to my chest.

  Louisa whipped her last page from the tray and opened the lid of the machine. "All done," she trilled as she gathered her papers. "Let's do lunch today," she said. "It would be good to get to know you."

  "Thanks. I'd like that." I stepped back to let Louisa out of the room and she flashed me another brilliant smile as she walked the short distance to her office. I wondered if they had a great dental plan here; the concierge's smile was blinding too. I set up the machine, input my personal email address, and stepped back to let the machine take care of organizing the paper while simultaneously emailing virtual copies to me.

  Next up: shaking down the witnesses. Except my shaking up abilities were non-existent, so I practiced my best nice, but dim smile at the wall. Then I returned my files to the desk and went in search of my first suspect.

  Chapter Eight

  I plastered on a smile as I made my way through the employees’ door and over to the concierge desk. In my mind, concierges knew everything. They knew when guests checked in and out, when rooms were ready, and when housekeeping needed to do a deep clean. They knew the restaurant menu by heart and could direct you to the perfect bar. So it was to the front desk that I commenced with my day’s questions.

  "Hi," I said, halting at the desk and sticking out my hand. I noticed a polished, silver-plated nametag that read “Peter.”

  "Hi, Peter. I'm Lexi, Mr. Killjoy's new assistant."

  "Oh, hello." Peter took my hand in a firm grip and pumped it, giving me enough time to notice that his manicure was better than mine. "What can I do for you, Lexi?"

  "Mr. Killjoy asked me to familiarize myself with the hotel. He says I need to understand everyone's jobs in order to understand mine. I figured the concierge must be the most important, so I came straight to you."

  Peter's chest puffed out a little under his navy suit and he gave his head a self-important little shake. "Well, I do know a lot about the hotel,” he said, with a wink. “Why don't you step behind the desk and I'll show you what I do while I explain."

  "Awesome! I've never been behind one of these things," I told him as I slipped round to join him. "Actually, I don't get in front of them much either." I giggled, trying not to blink when I looked down and saw Peter was standing on a step that gave him an extra half-foot of height. Peter saw me looking anyway.

  "Oh, that," he said, flapping a hand dismissively at it. "I read a report in Hotel Monthly that said taller people inspire more confidence. I've certainly gotten a lot less lip from our guests now that I appear taller."

  "I didn't know that," I said, nodding. "That's really smart."

  Peter did a little shake of his head and shoulders again that showed me he heartily agreed with my assessment of him. I watched him as he took me through his role, explaining what he did for guests, and I listened, as his tone seemed to burst with the importance of his job. He wasn't just concierge, he explained, he was senior concierge and guests trusted him to help them with every little detail, from arranging for cars to booking restaurants.

  I pounced on that. "Does Mr. Killjoy realize how indispensable you are to the smooth running of this hotel?" I asked.

  "I don't like to shout about it," said Peter, "but I was nominated for Concierge of the Year two years running."

  "This hotel is really lucky to have you. I bet some of those big chains have tried to poach you."

  "I don't like to brag, but yes, I've been approached. Three times, actually." Peter held up three fingers while nodding.

  "I guess it must be something of a temptation, what with all the..." I lowered my voice, looking around, "trouble," I whispered.

  Peter looked around too, despite being completely alone with me. "I actually like it here," he said. "Mr. Killjoy put me in for management training. He said with my skills, I could easily work my way up. Those big hotels offered me more money, but I said no, I've got a future with The Montgomery. It's going to be hard work, but maybe I'll even make manager one day."

  "Good for you," I said, patting his arm in a friendly way. "Sounds like you've got it all worked out."

  I asked Peter to direct me to the kitchens. He showed me a route that took me past the conference center and through an “Employees Only” corridor. He gave me a happy wave goodbye, as he turned to a guest lugging in a huge suitcase. I was left on my own and lost to the sound of his exclamation, “Where is a bellhop when you need one?”

  Peter was off my list. Not only was he far too happy to be a saboteur, but he also had an investment in the hotel's success, thanks to his training and ambition. There were three other concierges in rotation, each on a six-hour shift, ensuring the desk was manned twenty-four hours a day, and I intended to interview them all at some point.

  On reaching the lobby, I couldn't resist ducking my head inside the conference center. The convention activities were already in full swing, and the center had plenty of people, mostly men, scurrying about, pads and pens in hands, all engaging in what appeared to be serious conversation.

  "Isn't it fabulous?" A man
next to me clapped his hands. "You're with the hotel, right?" he asked, blinking at me with little eyes. "Do you know if the popcorn machine’s arrived yet?"

  "I am, and I don't know, but I'll get someone to check on it. I’m Lexi Graves. You are?"

  "Brian Williamson, Organizer." He extended his hand, and when I took it, he pumped it enthusiastically, holding onto it about thirty seconds longer than necessary. When he started to stroke his thumb over mine, I pulled my hand away, and tucked both my hands behind my back.

  "Great job, Brian," I said, while my brain sounded its weirdo alert. He wore a neon pink t-shirt and brown cords, over which he had on pink, plush chaps, and a rainbow embroidered on the left thigh.

  "This will be the screening room later. There will be a total blackout," Brian told me, leaning in to wink. "We've got popcorn and candy machines, and a pop stand. We're screening the original “Super Ponies” television series from episode one. This evening has been sold out for months."

  "I'm sorry I'll miss it," I said, trying not to sound facetious.

  A life-sized, purple Super Pony, complete with multi-colored mane and tail, trotted past. I looked down and saw sneakered-feet peeking out from under the black patent leather hoof trim. A realistic neigh echoed from the pony's plush throat as it made its way towards its pink counterpart. My nieces would have loved it. Lily would have exploded. Brian looked like he was ready to leap astride, or hump it, his hips seeming to follow the sashay of the pony as it continued its way. I felt a bubble of giggles climbing up my throat and bit the insides of my cheeks to hold it down, finally coughing with the effort.

  "I’ll save you a seat anyway, Lexi, just in case," said Brian, flashing me a hopeful smile that plumped his shiny, pink cheeks even higher. Across the room, the purple pink bumped into a pink one. "Oh, must go. Looks like Miss Twinkle and Miss Rainbow are getting antsy." Brian hurried away and I took the moment to slip out of the room. I fled through the employees’ door, away from the madness. I could get it if the room were stuffed with excited, little girls and their moms, but adult men? Too much. Maybe they were all smoking dope, I decided. That would account for their eager expressions, the bright colors and munchies available everywhere.