13
WAITER, L’ADDITION
Something’s changed. I watch the dessert eaters. Michelle’s head is down. Am I imagining it that since I’ve returned to the table, she hasn’t looked at me once? I would expect her to lick up every crumb of her chocolate almond mousse, since she was so set on choosing it. But no, she is moving the spoon around the dish, pretending to eat. Suddenly she’s lost her appetite? Jack barely takes small bites out of his raspberry sorbet, looking from me to Michelle with a rather odd expression on his face. I can’t quite read it. I reach over and take a teaspoon-sized bite from his portion. He smiles at me, it seems, gratefully.
Michelle pats her lips daintily with her napkin and then stands up. “I’ll be right back,” she says, tossing Jack a little wave in the air as she ambles away.
I look at Jack. So poker-faced I still can’t read him.
After too much silence, I have to say something. Be careful, Gladeze, I tell myself. “Well, this was an illuminating experience.”
He glances up to see if I’m being sarcastic. But I’m sure my face is bland, my tone as well.
Jack replies equally mildly, “You might call it that.”
“Oh, oh, here it comes. Brace yourself.” Our very own Charles is bringing a dainty silver dish with the check. “Wanna bet what it comes to?”
Jack manages a weak smile as he reaches for his wallet. His humor’s coming back. “Maybe I’ll just hand him my Visa and not even look at it. Less painful that way.”
“I’m betting we could have had eighteen dinners at Nona’s with what this cost.”
Charles bows. “I hope everything was to your satisfaction.”
“Beyond my wildest expectations,” I say, bracing myself.
As Jack reaches for the dish, Charles places it in front of Michelle’s place. We both look at him in surprise. Charles explains, “Your very charming dinner companion has already paid. This is her credit card and her receipt.” He bows again and says, “Have a pleasant evening.”
I look at the plate with astonishment. “Well, I’ll be … ”
“That was very nice of her.”
“Maybe it’s another kind of manipulation.”
“Maybe she realized she could afford it better than we can.”
“Wanna peek?”
I start to reach over. Too late. Michelle is bearing down on us. She doesn’t bother to sit. She picks up her card and the receipt. “Are we ready to leave?”
We both get up. After all, Madame has set all the rules. She’s ready to go, therefore we go. Jack manages the usual cliché. “But you shouldn’t have.”
“Nonsense. Mon plaisir … ” She puts her arm through Jack’s, then waits for me to catch up to his other arm.
That woman is full of surprises.
As a parking lot attendant brings us our car, Jack’s cell phone rings. He answers as the doormen help his two women in. Naturally Michelle sits up front.
Suddenly I’m aware of Jack’s voice getting louder. He moves away from us and paces the driveway back and forth, listening to something that must be disturbing. Moments later, he quickly tips the attendant and slides into his seat. He takes off like a shot.
He looks to Michelle. “That was my son Morrie calling. He’s at your hotel suite. Somebody broke in and robbed the place.”
Michelle is horrified. “No, it isn’t possible. No!”
“And worse,” he tells her. “A woman was found murdered there.”
When we arrive at the hotel, this time Michelle doesn’t play the “who will Jack help out of the car first” game. She’s out and running for the revolving doors. Jack does me the honor of giving me his arm. But he isn’t walking me to the hotel entrance. He’s guiding me to the driver’s side of the car, where he left the motor running.
“Go on home, dear,” he says to me. “Morrie or one of his men can drop me off.”
I glance at him for a moment, then I reach over, remove the keys, and hand them to the hotel parking attendant, who is standing right there. Heading for the doors, I toss back at him, “Not this time, honey. You’re not going to a crime scene involving Madame while I wait hours until you get home and report in. I’m staying this time.”
Jack is startled. He realizes I am not going to change my mind. He catches up to me and we hurry inside. “Okay, Ms. Private Eye, you’re officially on the case.”
When we get to Michelle’s floor the crime scene has been secured. The yellow tape is up. Hotel guests walk by, curious of course, but they are told to move on. We arrive as a body bag is being carried out by Morrie’s men. Frankly I’m glad I didn’t get to see the dead woman.
An elegantly dressed man, fifty-ish, watches and takes notes. From the tightness of his lips and his rigid posture, this is a man who is clearly worried.
I glance around. So this is where Michelle gets to spend her nights. Elegant. Expensive. In superb taste. It sure beats our tiny little inexpensive condo. This is a woman who travels first class wherever she goes—does she enjoy all this beauty? Or does she take her entitlement for granted?
But right now I get to watch Michelle storm her way inside the ransacked suite, ignoring the police. She reaches the faux Queen Anne desk and starts smacking the wood, looking under and around it. She groans.
Jack asks Morrie, “Who’s the victim?”
“A hotel maid. The unsub knifed her.”
My eye is immediately caught by the bloodstains on the carpet.
The elegantly dressed male speaks. Now I realize he is the hotel manager. He wears a name tag that says so. In fact, he could have come from central casting—the perfect hotel stereotype. Ever so officious and I’ll bet ever so concerned about a lawsuit. “In all the fifteen years I’ve been working here, this has never happened,” he says. “We have security men everywhere. How could he have slipped by them?”
Morrie answers, “The maid’s cart is still in the hall. He either got her to open the door for him, or he snuck in when she wasn’t looking.”
Jack adds, “Perhaps he took a key from Colette.”
Morrie shakes his head. “No. We ascertained that she had her own room key with her when she was attacked. It was with her when she was brought to the hospital.” He turns to Michelle to ask about her key.
I add, “He got lucky that the maid was here while we were out, but not so lucky for the maid, poor lady.”
But Michelle isn’t interested in what we are talking about. She races from room to room in the spacious suite, screeching at the same time. “Where is it? Where’s my laptop?” She turns to Morrie. “I don’t see it. Do you have it?”
Morrie is not happy to give her the news. “If you had a laptop in here, I’m afraid it’s missing. Perhaps you would look around and tell us what else is gone. It might help.”
She is out of control. “Help what! I don’t give a damn about anything else!” She tears at her hair in frustration. “How could I be so careless? I never leave that computer. Never!”
One of the policemen tries to give her a cup of water. She smacks it out of his hand. “Leave me alone.”
She paces the room again: a caged tigress. “You want to know what else is missing?”
I watch the woman lose total control. She runs her hands feverishly through her jewel box lying open on a chest of drawers. “Two diamond bracelets and a pendant.” She tosses the box onto the floor, upending it, scattering the rest of her jewelry. She flings herself down on a chair in anguish. “And what do I care anyway.”
Jack walks slowly up to her. “Michelle, please try to stay calm. What can I do to help?”
I fully expect her to smack him or something else in her rage and frustration, but Mr. Magic seems to be the only one able to comfort her. She drops her head down, starts sobbing.
Jack says, “I’m so sorry I didn’t go back up for the laptop.”
She looks up at him, tearfully. “My fault, not yours. Oh, how could I do that? I never, never go anywhere without that case. Just this one time … ”
She looks up at him, poignantly. “I can’t bear it.”
“I know. I know,” Jack says soothingly.
Yeah, I know, too.
“Brandy.” She points to the mini bar. The hotel manager hurries over and removes one of the bottles and pours her the drink. He passes it to Jack, who reaches down and hands it to her. She sips at it, and then shudders.
I watch all this, fascinated. The amount of rage inside her and her obedient reactions to Jack; she is something to watch. The men have no idea how to handle her volatility, even while they’re attracted to her beauty. I may be the only female on the premises, but I know she wouldn’t take kindly to Jack’s fiancée trying to comfort her so I stay out of her line of sight.
I try to imagine what must have happened while we were at dinner. If the thief knew the maid was inside, why did he go in? Probably because he knew Michelle was out, but he didn’t know for how long. Perhaps he didn’t think he had enough time to wait. It seems obvious that the missing jewelry is just a diversion. He wanted that computer. And no one was going to get in his way.
Morrie walks over to Michelle and shows her an eyeglass case in a plastic evidence bag. “Is this yours?” She shakes her head.
I recognize the unique logo of Eye Openers. “Morrie, that’s from a shop in the Sawgrass Mills Mall.”
Morrie comments, “We found it under the larger bed. Might have belonged to a former guest, and not swept up after they left.”
The manager speaks up again, trying not to be confrontational. “We are a five-star hotel. I assure you, our staff is trained to thoroughly clean the rooms before, during, and after each guest’s stay with us.”
Morrie places the eyeglass case in a box with other filled bags. “I’ll have to check this out.” To the manager, he says, “Please move Ms. duBois to another suite. This is now a crime scene.”
He nods. “Right away.” He starts out of the room.
Michelle adds, “And hurry.” She is staring in horror at where the maid’s body had lain.
Morrie and his team have gone. We are the last to leave. We waited until Michelle was relocated to another room, where she’s now languishing on the couch. A policeman has been assigned to guard her. She’s finished three of the little brandy bottles and it’s quieted her down. I can tell Jack is reluctant to leave.
“I’m so sorry,” he says to her. “This has been a bad-luck trip for you.”
“I can’t wait until I can take Colette home.” She’s hardly able to keep her eyes open. She no longer plays the grand dame. It’s as if all the stuffing has been pulled out of her. I feel sorry for the woman, in spite of all my conflicted feelings about her.
I would like to say something kind to her, but even in her pain, she ignores me. She speaks only to Jack.
She yawns. “I need to sleep now.”
Jack agrees quickly. “Yes. You should. You are safely guarded. The thief is long gone.” There’s a soft plaid throw blanket on the arm of the couch. Jack tenderly covers her with it.
Oh, Jack, look at you. And that expression of so much concern. But then again, I was thinking of doing the same thing. If I did it, she’d probably snap at me. But it’s unnerving to watch my love do something that intimate to another woman.
As we head out, Michelle’s eyes are closed. She doesn’t hear us leave.
We pass the policeman standing guard outside the door. He nods to us. It’s past midnight by now and the hotel is very quiet.
“Do you believe what you said?” I ask Jack, who takes my arm as we head for the elevator. “That she’s safe and he’s long gone?”
“Not really. But I didn’t want to frighten her even more.”
“Are you thinking what I am? About the coincidence of her suite being robbed?”
He nods. “Probably fifty or more rooms and hers gets picked? Not too likely an accidental choice.”
We get off the elevator, being replaced by a noisy group of revelers still wearing their convention name tags. Looks like there will be some painful hangovers in the morning.
I share my thoughts with Jack. “My guess, it’s the laptop he wanted. The jewelry was supposed to fool the police. The thief left all the other expensive pieces. Following the logic that she has many enemies, then perhaps the attack on Colette wasn’t an accident—it was Michelle he was after. Not just for whatever is on that laptop.”
The lobby is equally quiet. Here and there I see a lone reader who isn’t ready or able to sleep yet. The night clerk ignores us as we exit the building.
It’s gotten cooler and I wrap my arms around myself while Jack retrieves his car. I am not a happy camper. I thought tonight was good-bye to Michelle for good. But I’m not rid of her yet.
Once I’m seated in my usual front seat, Jack turns the heater on for me. I can still smell the residue of Michelle’s perfume. It almost feels strange for me to sit in “her seat.” I wonder if that thought strikes him as well.
We’re quiet for a few minutes, both minds busily at work.
Traffic is fairly light now and we drive quickly back toward home. Jack speaks first. “I was thinking along the same lines. Someone who doesn’t want that book published and knows enough of Michelle’s habits to go for her as well as the computer. And the manager’s comments about the safety record in his hotel makes me sure this is a professional job. I’ll talk to Morrie in the morning and tell him what we know. Or think we know.”
So much for our dinner tonight being a farewell. Jack is very quiet now. And I wish I knew how he feels about this evening. Suddenly, our once easy relationship appears to have shifted. Are we no longer going to share our every thought as we did before?
However, the private eye in me is getting excited. Something about the eyeglass case waves a red flag at me. I wonder …
“Gladdy.” I glance over at Jack when he speaks, but he keeps his eyes on the road. “I’m sorry about tonight. I thought this would be the last I’d see of her.”
“I thought so, too.”
“But I can’t just walk away now.”
“Can’t you just let Morrie handle it?”
“It’s not that simple. Whoever’s after her is getting impatient. He took a chance breaking into the room with the maid there. He missed her in the book room and now in her suite. He must know that she will leave the country very soon. I have a strong feeling he’s about to make his next move. I need to be in closer contact with Morrie and Michelle.”
“I suppose you do.” I try not to sound like I’m whining.
He finally throws a fleeting glimpse at me. “I don’t want to, but I should. That was another terrible shock she got tonight. I have to help in some way. I’m sorry.”
The Snake peers out from the stairwell, glancing toward the redhead’s new suite. He’s not surprised to see a police guard sitting on a chair, sipping coffee from his thermos. The Snake smiles. Part one is fini—he has the laptop. Gaston had better be prepared to pay him well after he finishes off this pesky flea who buzzes around his ear. The Snake grows tired of this so-called Sunshine State. No comparison to his beloved Riviera. And besides, just before he left, a new yacht had pulled up alongside of his, with a luscious female appearing topside. He smiles at the memory. A nice rich widow, he hopes.