I was doing my best not to move, but the extreme proximity to Grant had raised the temperature in the confined space significantly and the windows behind us were beginning to fog up. Grant shifted behind me, trying to get a look through the crack in the curtain. I pressed back against him to hold my vantage point. I could feel his heart racing. Mine was racing as well, panicked at the thought that Hugh might decide to reassess the view out the window himself.
Hugh finally reemerged from the closet in a pair of brown trousers and a sports coat. “Told you the view was the same.” Hugh continued to putter around annoyingly slowly. “I don’t know what this is all about, Patrick,” Hugh said from the direction of the bathroom, “but just so we’re clear, you’re not my type, you know? I’m happy scoring goals with the other team. No desire to switch sides, if you get my drift.”
“Oh, right.” I could hear the mortification in Patrick’s voice. “Well, maybe we should just…” He faltered slightly. “Everyone’s waiting for us downstairs.”
I heard the sound of the toilet flushing and then the sound of gargling. As Hugh returned to the room, a heavy scent of men’s cologne followed in his wake.
The smell made me want to sneeze, and I had to place my hand over my nose and mouth to hold back the urge. I closed my eyes and concentrated all my energy on remaining silent.
Patrick went to the door and held it open as he and Hugh left. I stood frozen in Grant’s embrace a beat or two longer than was strictly necessary before breaking away. We staggered out from behind the curtain, and I sneezed violently. It seemed like I’d been hidden there forever, but by the clock it had only been ten minutes.
“Well, we’ve seen what we came for,” I said, reaching for a tissue. “Let’s get out of here before he comes back again.”
We stood silently by the door for a moment or two longer, giving Hugh and Patrick time to clear the hallway. Grant finally opened the door a crack and looked both ways before nodding that we were clear.
“How’d you get the key?” he asked as we walked back down the stairs.
“I stole it from the manager’s office while the front-desk clerk was putting some valuables in the safe for me. I’ll need to put it back.”
“Let’s hang on to it, at least until the morning,” Grant suggested. “That way, no one else will be able to use it.” I handed the key to Grant and he tucked it into his jacket pocket. It was better hidden there than in my tight skirt.
We headed back downstairs and crossed to the bar. Brenna stepped out just as we were approaching the doorway.
“There you are,” she said to Grant. “We thought we’d lost you.”
“I went up to the room for a moment,” he said vaguely.
“And I just went to the ladies’,” I volunteered unnecessarily. My cheeks were still pink, and telling a lie without being asked caused my face to flush even more.
Brenna looked back and forth between the two of us. I could tell she thought we’d been up to something together, but she didn’t press for an answer.
I excused myself and went in search of Patrick, finally finding him at the far end of the bar, away from the rest of the group. “You didn’t have to follow Hugh all the way into his room,” I said.
“I was afraid the killer had left some kind of poisoned gift, and I didn’t think we had any other way of getting in there to see,” Patrick hissed. “How was I to know you and Grant had taken up a sideline in breaking and entering?”
“At least you know now he’s not your type.” I chuckled.
“He’s way too old for me,” Patrick snapped, “but you’re aging me fast, woman. Don’t do that again. My heart can’t take it.”
I ordered us both a drink—I owed Patrick a serious dram—and let my eyes wander around the bar. Grant was back with Brenna, talking to her and Oliver Blaire. Cam was still with Bruce Keenan and a couple of other older men I didn’t recognize. From their suits I would guess they were distillery staff and not owners.
For a change we whisky folk weren’t the only ones in the bar. The wedding party had started to arrive for the weekend’s events, and Hugh, who was conducting an impromptu tasting with one of the reps from Central, was turning on the charm for a young woman eager to sample the outrageously expensive drams Hugh was purchasing. I heard him saying, “Waste not, want not,” as he encouraged her to down the entire drink. She’d have to watch herself. The lecherous lothario was clearly on the prowl and she, unlike Patrick, was on the right team.
Patrick hung back and stayed drinking with me. He figured Hugh didn’t need a third wheel, and I was sure he was right. Especially while Hugh was working so hard on this young woman. As we stood there talking, Cam came over to refill his drink.
“You and Bruce having a good time?” I asked.
“Bruce is havin’ a grand time. He’s busy chattin’ up some bird.” Cam sounded a little put out. “I think I’ll finish this off and turn in. Bruce knows where to find me if he needs a couch for the night.”
I’d avoided pulling Cam into this mess so far, but with Patrick having worn out his welcome with Hugh, the stalking thing was getting more complicated. I knew Cam would be willing to help out if we needed him. He was the perfect right-hand man: stalwart, pragmatic, and imperturbable. He’d do as he was asked and not insist on answers to difficult questions. I explained in confidence that we were suspicious that the killings were the result of a business deal gone bad that Richard, Archie, and Hugh had all been a part of. I never mentioned Keenan as a suspect. Cam didn’t need to know—yet.
Cam agreed to help keep an eye on Hugh and follow him to his room at the end of the night. Cam was to watch from down the hall until one of us came to relieve him at midnight. By ten thirty I’d had it, and Patrick encouraged me to go upstairs to get some rest before my turn on sentry duty.
I kicked off my shoes as soon as I stepped off the lift and padded down the hall, anxious to return to the cozy comfort of our luxury quarters. I was more than ready for a shower to wash the remains of this day off me. I stood gratefully in the stream of water, letting the soothing warmth unknot the muscles in my back and neck. Less than ten minutes had passed when I heard Patrick return, and I barely grunted when he knocked on the bathroom door and came in to retrieve something from the counter. I was too tired to bother.
We’d found Bruce Keenan, and that was a good start. He wouldn’t get at Hugh tonight, and tomorrow I’d talk to Michaelson. With any luck the evidence from the lab would be solid enough to get him to transfer his focus from Trevor to Keenan as a suspect. After a good fifteen minutes I stepped out, dried off, wrapped myself in one of the hotel’s plush white robes, and slipped my feet into the scuffs that came with it. Patrick was sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his shoes.
“Did the party break up?” I asked, rubbing my hair dry with a towel.
“Let’s say it changed venues. Hugh went back to his room with his little friend, and Cam snuck along after him to stand on guard duty till midnight.”
“Did Grant leave as well?”
“Yes, he came up with me. Without Brenna,” Patrick added. “She left with one of the Quinn representatives.”
I returned to the bathroom to hide the flush that came to my cheeks at Patrick’s remark. The bathroom was so foggy, I couldn’t even see myself in the mirror. I went to the window and opened it a crack to allow the steam to escape. I returned to the sink and was searching for my toothpaste when I heard a loud crash echo from somewhere nearby. I peered around the door at Patrick and Liam. Patrick was sitting on the bed in a t-shirt and boxers, watching the late news, but Liam, lying next to him, was making a soft growling noise in the back of his throat.
“What was that?”
“I thought it was you,” Patrick responded.
“It came from that direction,” I said, pointing toward Grant’s room next door.
“Maybe he changed his mind and is entertaining the lovely Brenna.” Patrick raised an eyebrow at me. “He did just come by to borrow a tube of toothpaste. I gave him yours, by the way.”
I could feel a prickling on my scalp. “Mine? You could at least have given him yours.”
Patrick looked a bit sheepish. “This whole poisoning thing’s had me a bit jumpy. After Archie I bought some of those single-use toothpaste and mouthwash kits at the gift shop downstairs and threw my other stuff out.”
I hardly heard Patrick’s explanation. My nerves were on edge again, and I stood near the door, hesitating. Something didn’t feel right. But I didn’t want to look like a fool for crashing into Grant’s room, especially if he was entertaining Brenna.
I rousted Patrick off the bed. “Go check on him.”
“You go,” Patrick moaned.
“Less embarrassing if you go,” I murmured.
“For who?”
“Just go. I have a bad feeling about this.” Rolling his eyes at me like a teenager, Patrick pulled on a pair of slacks and went down the hall. From behind our door I heard him knock several times, but there was no answer. Patrick came back.
“See. He’s not even there. He probably went to check on Cam.”
That should’ve made me feel better, but it didn’t. “Someone was in there a minute ago,” I insisted.
Patrick shut the door firmly behind him. “Maybe he has company and doesn’t want to be disturbed. He’s not on Hugh duty till the three a.m. shift. He can fill the time however he likes.”
Patrick stripped off his slacks and climbed back into bed. “You’re just feeling jumpy with everything that’s going on.”
I finished getting ready for bed, but I kept watching to see if Liam settled. His head went down, but his ears were still pricked. Something was wrong, and he knew it too.
“Stop pacing,” Patrick grumbled. “You’re going to wear a hole in the rug.” The words had barely left Patrick’s mouth when a woman’s scream came from nearby.
I tore into the hall and ran into Brenna coming out of Grant’s room, her face as white as a sheet. “Get a doctor…quickly.”
Chapter 16
Patrick, who had followed me into the hall, pulled out his phone and started to dial as I pushed past Brenna, glancing at the bed before turning in the direction of the light from the bathroom. Grant lay crumpled on his side on the floor next to the bathtub. I reached for his wrist and prayed for a pulse. It was there, thin and soft, but thank God, it was still there.
Brenna looked at me, the anguish on her face clear. “He’s alive,” I said when I could find my voice.
I could see her shoulders visibly relax.
Patrick came back dressed in jeans and a sweater. “The hotel’s doc on call is on his way up, but I told them to send for an ambulance as well.”
“I’ll watch for the doctor,” Brenna said, stepping outside.
“Is he okay?” Patrick asked as soon as we were alone.
I knelt down next to Grant and put my hand over his. “I don’t know, but he’s alive and that’s something.” I looked at Grant lying there on the cold, hard floor and was overwhelmed by a wave of emotion. I realized in that moment that I would give anything, literally anything, to have him be all right.
Patrick bent down to pick up the toothbrush that lay on the floor next to the sink.
“Leave it,” I said instinctively. I hadn’t noticed anything else in the room when I saw Grant lying there but realized now that he must’ve been in the process of brushing his teeth when he fell. He was still dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, but he’d taken off his jacket and tie. The crash I’d heard must have been him hitting the floor. He wouldn’t just fall. Something had to have caused him to collapse.
Suddenly I scrambled to my feet, grabbed a tissue, picked up the tube of toothpaste, and examined it carefully. My first thought was that this was a terrible accident, but what if it wasn’t? Patrick had considered poisoning by toothpaste or mouthwash. He was worried enough to go to single-use products from the gift shop when he thought the killer might be after the judges. Could he have been right? But why would someone poison my toothpaste?
I sniffed at the tube but couldn’t detect anything unusual, although there was so much mint it would be hard to tell if anything else was present. I’d used the toothpaste before we went to dinner and I was fine. How could this have happened? My brain wasn’t thinking clearly. All I could think about was Grant.
The hotel’s doctor arrived at that moment and shooed us all out of the bathroom. Brenna perched on the edge of the bed in Grant’s room and I went back to our room to call Michaelson. I suddenly felt I was in way over my head. I wanted Michaelson’s support, and I needed the comfort of his calm logic.
His cellphone was forwarding to the front desk at the station. I told the sergeant that DI Michaelson was needed back at the Lodge and was assured he would be there as soon as possible. Grant’s room might not be a crime scene; then again, it might. My logic and instincts at this point had been totally upended, but Michaelson would help sort things out. I hastened back next door and found Patrick sitting on the bed with an arm around Brenna’s shoulders. She’d been crying, but she hadn’t taken her eyes off Grant as the doctor worked in the adjacent room.
The three of us waited there, stunned into silence and utterly powerless to help.
* * *
—
The ambulance service came and Grant was loaded onto a stretcher and wheeled away down the hall. I felt a part of myself go with him. Curious faces peeped out from behind doors as he passed, in spite of Asher’s best efforts to keep this latest disturbance under wraps. Brenna insisted on going with Grant in the ambulance. Patrick offered to drive the two of us to the hospital in my car. I stood in the hallway, torn between wanting to be with Grant and knowing that there was nothing I could do but worry if I did go. In the end, I sent Patrick off in my car with strict instructions to report back as soon as he heard anything.
I paced restlessly up and down the hall while I waited for Michaelson. I was the one who’d called him; I needed to be here when he arrived. As I waited, my head insisted on running away with itself. I might be totally off base. I had no evidence yet that what happened to Grant was anything more than an accident, but it just seemed like too much of a coincidence to me. Three nights, three incidents. The only difference was that this attack hadn’t been deadly. Not yet. The mere thought that Grant could die because of something aimed at me left me shaking with a mixture of fear and rage.
I’d paced for a half hour before collapsing on the floor outside the door to Grant’s room, holding my spinning head in my hands. I jumped to my feet as soon as I heard the door to the lift opening. Michaelson came down the hall looking as if he, too, was having a rough night. His contacts had been abandoned in favor of a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and his hair was sticking up as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. He looked younger and more vulnerable with the glasses.
“How’s Grant?” he asked immediately.
“The paramedics took him to the hospital in Stirling,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “He was still unconscious when they left, but he was alive.”
Michaelson looked grim. “Walk me through this,” he said.
I opened the door to our room and gestured for him to come inside. Liam was all over me. He knew something was wrong and he kept launching himself at me to get me to pay attention to him.
Michaelson stood watching me, notepad in hand. “Dinner wrapped up around nine,” I began, sitting on the bed and letting Liam jump up beside me. “The judges were called off for a powwow in one of the conference rooms, and the rest of us migrated over to the lobby bar or the Aerie.”
“What about Grant?”
“He was in the lobby bar.” I didn’t mention our brief detour through Hugh As
hworth-Jones’s bedroom at this point. It hadn’t yielded anything concrete, and I didn’t want to waste time dealing with a reprimand from Michaelson.
“Patrick was there as well?” Michaelson prodded.
“Yes, there was a large group in the bar, regular guests as well as the whisky crowd. There’s a big wedding this weekend and the guests are starting to roll in. I went up to my room around ten thirty and Patrick came up right after.”
“What happened next?”
“Like I said, I came back here, then decided to take a shower. When I finished, I cracked open the bathroom window to let the steam out. That’s when I heard a loud crash from the direction of Grant’s room.”
“What did you do then?”
“I sent Patrick over to knock on the door, but there was no answer. About ten minutes later we heard a scream and ran back into the hall together. Brenna Quinn was there. She claims she let herself into the room and found Grant on the floor.” I didn’t mean for that to sound as dubious as it did.
Michaelson looked up from his notes. “How did Ms. Quinn come to have a key?”
“I can only presume Grant gave her one,” I replied stiffly. I couldn’t fault Brenna for being upset by Grant’s injury, but why did she have to be the one who had his key, and why did she have to find him when he was in need?
Because you pushed him away, I thought to myself sadly.
Michaelson snapped his notebook closed. “Right. Get your gear.”
I grabbed my camera from the floor of the closet and forced Liam to stay put. He began to howl as we stepped through the door, and I had to put my head back in and say a forceful “no.”
Michaelson had been given a key to Grant’s room, but as we entered the now-silent space, I couldn’t help feeling like an intruder. Grant was still alive, I was sure of it, and sifting through his personal things felt like an invasion of his privacy. But I steeled myself to press on. If there was any evidence to be gleaned about what happened to him, I was determined we would find it. This had now become intensely personal for me.
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