The Hotel

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “Everything okay?” Bailey questioned, suddenly appearing behind me.

  My phone was still in my hand. “Yes, I was just about to send my mother a text,” I lied, also aware we weren’t supposed to use phones for personal matters while on the job. “I wanted to make sure she picked up Ava and everything was okay.” To appear legit, I sent the text:

  Did you remember to pick Ava up?

  My mother replied:

  Good Lord, Emily. I told you I wouldn’t forget. Besides, I always pick Ava up on Tuesdays and Fridays. I’m not senile, you know.

  “Yes, she’s picked Ava up,” I said when Bailey looked like she wanted a report.

  The afternoon crawled by at a sloth’s pace until five o’clock finally came. I was walking to my car when my phone vibrated. Taking it from my purse, I read a text from Greg.

  Dinner and a movie tonight. I can’t wait for you to get home. I love you so much.

  I replied: On my way home now. See you in a bit. I love you so much too.

  On my drive home, all I thought about was that check Rhonda cashed. It made no sense to have Greg’s name on it. Besides, why did Rhonda have a personal check from Paul Jensen in the first place? While I desperately wanted to ask Greg about it, I decided tonight was our date night. After arrangements had been made for the kiddo to be at mom’s, I wanted to focus on her motherly advice … marriage was like a budding flower and needed nurturing in order to thrive, or something like that. Confronting Greg about the check might cause a fight and tonight just wasn’t the night.

  When I walked in the house through the garage door, Greg was there to greet me. He was still decked out in his dark brown suit and cream-colored shirt. He hadn’t even shed his multi-colored brown tie. In his arms he was holding a dozen red roses.

  “For my lovely wife,” he said, greeting me with a kiss and presenting the bouquet.

  “Oh wow, thank you.” My eyes took in the beauty of the dark crimson flowers and my nose sniffed at the sweet rosy smell. “I love them,” I said, giving Greg a return kiss.

  Either tonight was truly a romantic date night, or my husband was atoning for something he felt guilty over. The question was, which one?

  ◆◆◆

  “There’s a new Italian place off of Camp Bowie,” Greg told me. “I thought we could check it out.”

  “Sounds delicious,” I agreed.

  Living off Tremont Street and within a few blocks of the new eatery, we were there in no time. And with it being a Wednesday night, the crowd was moderately thin. The hostess seated us near the front by the glass windows. While the view was mostly of the parking lot, the place was slightly chilly. Thankfully, the evening sun was shining in the windows giving me a bit of warmth. Otherwise, I would’ve asked to be seated further back.

  “What looks good to you, hon?” Greg asked.

  “I’m thinking the eggplant Parmesan,” I said glancing at the selections.

  “Sounds delicious. But you know me, I’m getting the lasagna.” He grinned, flashing his brilliant white teeth. “You can’t go wrong there.”

  My eyes caught his and we shared a moment. It was like we were back years ago on our first date. Two lovebirds just getting to know each other. My heart skipped a beat, reminiscing about our first dinner together when he had also taken me out for Italian.

  “Do you remember taking me to Pizza Hut and sharing a pizza?”

  “Do I ever,” he said bobbing his head up and down. “When you agreed to go later to the billiard hall and shoot pool with Roger and Neal, I knew, at that moment, you were the one for me.”

  Lucas Baker, Neal Clark and Roger Blanton were Greg’s high school and later college buddies and they had remained friends ever since. They met up on Thursday nights and played racquetball.

  Lucas was a well-organized attorney, still working for Blevins & Howard. Greg introduced Lucas to my best friend Kay, and they ended up getting married.

  Neal was a successful realtor, and his wife, Joyce was a curator at the Fort Worth Science Museum. Neal, a handsome brown-haired, brown-eyed man, was jovial and loved to make people laugh. Joyce, a natural beauty, was the more reserved of the two, always coming across as organized, detailed and intelligent, but her most attractive asset was her long, brown silky hair, which would make any hair commercial look good. We enjoyed each other’s company and made it a point of getting together every two or three months for a Saturday night out together. On the rare occasion they came over to the house for a meal, since Neal and Joyce didn’t have any children, I always dropped Ava off with my mother in order to give Greg and I some adult time with our friends.

  Roger was a surprising friend of Greg’s. While I understood their bond from back in their shenanigan days, their on-going relationship was a hard pill to swallow. Roger was lazy, unfocused and never had a goal in his life. Though he had managed a job at Home Depot in the tool section, he was one of those guys who mentally never left college. Most of his conversational topics were based on antics he had pulled during either his high school or college days. Roger and Darlene, his wife, whom he met during his college days, still had a kegerator on their back porch and Roger continued to enjoy partying and getting drunk on the weekends. I considered time with them to be wasted, though for Greg’s sake, I always grinned and put up with it.

  “What looks good tonight?” the waitress asked with a little pad held in her hand and a pen poised over it. Greg ordered for both of us and while we waited for our food, we dipped bread into a seasoned olive oil and sipped on a smooth white wine.

  The whole evening was spent enjoying our meal and then taking in a movie. Greg was completely attentive. The perfect date in all respects. We were even holding hands as we walked from the theater to the car.

  On the way home, I asked, “Did you get everything wrapped up on your case today?” In the back of my mind, I was testing the waters to figure out a way to question him about Taylor.

  “Yes, it was only routine. The guy accepted the plea, the judge approved it, and then he was hauled off. Nothing spectacular. The family of the murdered girl was happy though since they didn’t have to go through hearing a lot of testimony about how their daughter was raped and then killed.”

  “Well, I’m glad it all worked out.” I paused. “Are you and Taylor starting a new case tomorrow?”

  “No, not a trial. We have several cases that are pleading out. Again, I think I’ll have some noticeably short workdays for the rest of the week. I should be home early every night.” He flashed a smile. “I’m really happy about it. I’ve been missing my two favorite girls on the whole planet.” He arched his brows. “And I cannot wait to get you home for another romp.”

  I smiled back at him as thoughts of Taylor Anderson, Lisa Jacobs and that mysterious check fell by the wayside. My husband couldn’t wait to be with me. Honestly, I didn’t know why I thought Greg was cheating on me. We’d just had the perfect date. He’d brought me flowers. And Ava and I were his two favorite girls on the whole planet. Truly I had let my imagination get the better of me. Silly me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  (Wednesday - Six Days Before)

  When I awoke in Greg’s arms, everything in the world seemed perfect. I couldn’t remember when our marriage had been so romantic. Last night Greg pulled out all the stops and treated me like a queen. This morning when he left for work and told me goodbye, he hugged me so tight I thought he was going to squish me, and he didn’t seem to want to let go. Yes, I had most definitely worked myself up over absolutely nothing. There was no way Greg was cheating on me. And I hadn’t even thought about that strange check that Rhonda had cashed. It was out of my mind. Gone.

  Except it wasn’t.

  Why was Greg’s name written in the memo? I went so far as to look in our antiquated phone book to see how many Greg Mills were listed in the Fort Worth area. Guess what? There were fourteen. It was a common name. Just because we happened to know Rhonda Payne and Paul Jensen, it didn’t mean it was the same Greg Mills.
In fact, after thoughtful consideration, it must have been a different Greg Mills because we’d never given any money to Paul — not personally and not investment-wise. So, you see, it wasn’t my Greg Mills. It was one of those other thirteen. In fact, there might even be more Greg Mills, or even Gregory Mills, in the area because most people didn’t have landline phones anymore. There was no telling which Greg Mills it was. There was nothing to worry about.

  With a deep breath, I pushed that stupid check out of my mind. For that matter, I pushed Taylor Anderson and Lisa Jacobs to the far recesses too. There was no need to be wasting thoughts on any of that foolish nonsense. Today I was going to get my hair done, stop by the grocery store and come home and cook Greg his favorite meal. Ava had already called me and begged to stay another night with her grandmother because it was Wednesday night bingo and Ava was dying to go with her. My daughter’s impromptu decision to stay over with my mother was the perfect setting for another romantic night. This time at home, which equated to a faster track to the bedroom.

  The morning was spent shopping for a new dress, especially for tonight. Something sexy as hell and not something I could ever possibly wear to work. My journey took me to a small boutique where I found a shiny silver number with spaghetti straps and a slit up the side that went on forever. It was the slinkiest thing I’d ever pulled over my head and shimmied myself into. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, the fabric noticeably hugged every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. My mother would’ve had a cow. But since we weren’t going to be in public, I figured why not. And to top it off, I purchased a pair of silver-studded stilettoes. Hopefully, my attire wouldn’t look ridiculous, and I wouldn’t fall off those giant heels and kill myself.

  The afternoon hair appointment went off without a hitch. There weren’t any nearby women carrying on about my handsome husband. When I stepped out of the salon, my hair was freshly cut with added light blonde highlights and a fashionable style of twisty curls resting just past my shoulders. Buckling the seat belt and donning my shades, I paused for a moment to admire my new hairdo and then backed out of the parking space and drove to the nearest grocery store.

  Working my way up and down the aisles I concentrated on tonight’s meal. Greg was a meat and potatoes kind of guy. With his taste in mind, I chose baking potatoes, green beans, mushrooms, a bag of salad, and his favorite cut of meat, a ribeye. As I worked my way through the store, I added things from my grocery list and my mother’s request to pick up Ava’s favorite strawberry yogurt. With a filled cart, I made my way to the checkout stand.

  After searching out the shortest line, I pushed my cart up behind the old man in front of me and waited for my turn. Inching closer, I gazed at the tabloid magazines to see who was caught in the latest of scandals. My heart sickened at reading a headline that my favorite TV couple from Fixer Upper was heading for a divorce. It had to be a vicious rumor. Something designed to sell the tabloid’s ugly lies. There couldn’t be any truth to that cute, talented duo to be separating. Just like me and Greg. They were going to make it.

  One lane over I heard a loud woman yelling at a cashier. “You must be doing something wrong on your side.” Looking toward the familiar voice, I saw Molly Jensen, hand on her hip, glaring at the cashier.

  “You can try it again,” the cashier said in a hopeful voice. “Maybe the machine didn’t get a good card read.”

  Molly stuck her debit card in the machine again, tapping her fingers on the counter’s edge as she impatiently waited.

  My turn came into play and I loaded my items from the cart onto the conveyor belt.

  “I’m sorry. It was still declined,” the cashier from one lane over said in a low voice, looking at the line of customers building up behind Molly.

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Don’t you even know how to mash in the buttons on your side?” Molly gave a condescending look at the poor girl who couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. “There’s no way my card has been declined. You just don’t know what you’re doing. You’re wasting my time, too. Here, I’ll just write you a check.” Molly made a big deal of slapping her checkbook on the tiny little desk area by the turnstile. She scribbled madly while filling it out and then shoved it in the attendant’s face. “Here,” Molly barked. “Take it.”

  The girl, a short blonde, took the check, filled everything in according to Molly’s driver’s license and then she ran it through the register. The check went into a machine a little bit, then jerked back, then sucked in more and then finally grabbed up the whole paper. A moment later it spit the note back out. The clerk looked at the check, read something on a tiny screen and then took on a pale face. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, your check has been declined too.”

  The line of people behind Molly all made grumbling noises and shook their heads. One in the back pulled his cart to a different register. Molly stood her ground. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? I’m Molly Jensen.” She rolled her whole head at the clerk. “Obviously, you don’t. Otherwise, you’d know my check is good. This is utterly ridiculous, and you can rest assured, I’ll never shop here again. Ever.”

  “Perhaps you could try a credit card,” the cashier nervously suggested.

  As I bagged my own groceries, I watched as Molly tried several different credit cards.

  “Someone must be playing a joke on me,” Molly surmised. “I’m quite certain my bank account holds a larger balance than you make in an entire year,” she said arrogantly to the cashier.

  My how the mighty have fallen, I thought, watching as she tried method after method, each attempt to no avail. After tucking my filled bags into my cart, I wrote a check for my purchases, which was accepted. Thank God. Deciding it would be embarrassing for Molly to see me in her current situation, I pushed my cart forward and discreetly headed for the door.

  “Emily. Emily. Hey, Emily,” I heard Molly calling after me.

  So much for getting out unseen. “Oh, hello, Molly,” I said, turning in her direction.

  “Come over here and straighten these people out.” She jerked her head for me to get over there pronto.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked innocently as I made my way over to her.

  “This idiot can’t figure out how to take my debit card, my credit cards or my check.” She glared back at the clerk. “She must be new, or stupid.”

  The clerk looked as if she were about to cry. “I’ll get a manager over here,” she offered.

  “It’s about time,” Molly grouched.

  Awkwardly I stood by, knowing there was something wrong with Molly’s finances and a manager wasn’t going to change the situation. In the back of my mind I wondered about Paul, the know-it-all, high-powered investment broker, and wondered where all their money was. Good thing we didn’t give them any of our hard-earned dollars so they could make us rich. Right now, it didn’t look like Molly could pay for her groceries, let alone her shiny new silver Lincoln Navigator.

  “What seems to be the problem?” some forty-something, balding short man asked as he approached the cashier.

  Tiffany, now that I was close enough to read her name badge explained, “Nothing will go through. She can’t pay for her purchases.”

  “I most certainly can,” Molly butted in. “Your employee is too dense to figure out the register. That’s all.” Molly gestured at me and then glared at the manager, Walter according to his name tag. “This is Emily Mills. She works at United Federal Bank. This is where my accounts are held.” Molly turned her gaze to me. “Tell them Emily. Tell them my check is good here.”

  Right now, I wanted a hole to crawl into. Honestly, other than a couple of small checking accounts the Jensen’s maintained at our bank, I had no idea what her investment portfolio held. “There must be something wrong on the bank’s end,” I suggested with a supportive smile. “I won’t be back to work until Friday, but I’ll be happy to double check your account at that time.” I frowned at Molly’s unsatisfied look. “What was your total?”


  “It’s only two hundred forty-three something dollars,” Molly said, like it was meager.

  Pulling my checkbook out, along with my phone calculator, I deducted the purchase I had just made to see if I had enough funds left to pay for Molly’s purchases. After figuring my balance and deducting for her groceries, I’d have just over ninety-six dollars left. It wouldn’t leave me enough to pay my electric bill that was due within the week.

  Molly was so not my favorite person, but I knew Ava thought the world of Sarah. So, I did it ... opened my generous mouth. “Let me pay for it, Molly. You can pay me back when you get a chance. Then Friday I’ll figure out what went wrong on the bank's end.”

  Molly looked visibly relieved. “Thank you so much, Emily. I’ll get you paid back in no time.”

  “Of course,” I said. I doubted I’d ever see a repayment. Most likely, by the end of next week, I’d have to transfer some of our reno-savings into my checking account, just to pay the electric. Molly moved further up my list of least-liked people.

  We left, pushing our carts together out the store. “Thank you so much, Emily. I have no idea what went wrong back there. Paul must be moving our funds around. He’s always looking for great ways to invest our money. He probably inadvertently punched in our bank account number and moved it to our investment portfolio. I’ll get you paid back pronto. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Okay, well I do have an electric bill that needs to be paid. If you could get the money to me soon, I’d appreciate it.” It was hard to buy that Paul might have accidentally moved TWO checking accounts but, even if he had, it shouldn’t have affected their credit cards. Something smelled rotten with their finances, especially when I put into play that weird check that Rhonda Payne had cashed.