Authors: Flo Fitzpatrick
Hot Stuff (9 page)
I wandered around the hall pretending to look busy while Asha calmly inserted the passcard and entered Ray's room. I expected to hear shouts or guns or screams. Instead, Asha stuck her head out and motioned to me. The hall remained empty. I hurried over to the doorway.
“No one's home, Tempe. Come on in and we'll see if we can find any clues as to the whereabouts of Ray Decore. Not to mention discover who the hell took over his room.”
This did not make me happy, but I quickly slipped inside. If a nonfriendly returned and found one maid in his room, either of us might be able to talk our way out. Asha knew Hindi, and I could say I was a European girl working my way across India. But two maids? Yeah, Taj Mahal was a five-star hotel, but hiring two maids to deliver one stack of towels? Not plausible.
We began to tour the room. Two suitcases had been placed on luggage racks but were closed. Asha headed right to them.
“Crap. They're locked.” She looked up at me, now headfirst into the trash can by a large desk. “Tempe. Any good at picking locks?”
“Excuse me? Jersey girl? You think I spent my childhood in Manhattan hanging with juvies breaking into cars on Fifth Avenue?”
She grinned. “Well, yeah. You strike me as pretty resourceful.”
“Resourceful, maybe. But my off hours as a kid were spent in dance or gym classes. My talents do not include breaking and entering. Although I think I now have to change my résumé to include that activity.”
She ignored me. She headed for the bathroom. “I want to see if the key for the luggage might be tucked into a travel kit. And use the facilities while I'm here.”
I whispered, “Asha? Try the shaving kit. Bad guys always stash their stuff there in movies. Maybe that's why they have permanent five o'clock shadow.”
She rolled her eyes but nodded. I began digging through papers in the wastebasket, for what I had no idea. I did find yesterday's
New York Times
crossword half finished. In pencil, not in ink.
New York Times
crossword half finished. In pencil, not in ink.
I snorted. “Wimp.” Then I picked up the pencil and twirled it for a moment. I considered filling in twenty-six downâ“a five-letter word for demented”âwith “Tempe” and couldn't resist writing the correct one, which was “crazy.” Then I stopped.
I motioned to Asha, who'd just peeked out around the bathroom door. The dismay in her eyes told me that she'd heard it as well. The muffled sound of a card key being inserted into the door.
I panicked. I ran to the balcony doors, threw them open, stepped outside, and immediately closed the drapes behind me. I prayed Asha could fake out whoever had entered. I knew our chances were better with one actress improvising than with two.
No voices. Either the guy who'd entered had ignored the new maid or the bed had provided a hiding place for the new maid, or the guy had just blown off all niceties and knifed the new maid. I stayed crouched on the balcony, unsure whether to pop out screaming and kicking or wait for the next sound to determine the course of action most appropriate.
The snap of something metal breaking surprised me so much I had to try and find out if Asha was in trouble. I parted one small edge of the curtain.
A man stood with his back to me, rummaging through a suitcase. Then he stood straight up and turned toward the window. I closed my eyes and willed the balcony to collapse, taking me with it.
The doors flung open. I clutched the pencil, my only weapon. I opened my eyes wide in the classic manner of the deer in the headlights. Then I blinked.
“Brig?”
“Tempe? What in the name of Saint Swithen are you doing on the balcony?”
“Hiding. Is there really a Saint Swithen?”
He groaned. “I thought you were safe and sound at Asha's. Giggling over tea and crumpets about what a fool Jake is when it comes to his ladylove.”
The woman in question crawled out from under the bed.
“Yo! Brig. I'm so glad it's you and not some killer popping in to slash my throat.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and groaned again. Louder. Asha plopped next to him. I sank into the chair by the desk. The three of us stared at each other.
Brig finally broke the silence. “Ladies? Would you mind explaining what you're doing here? And just whom were you planning to kill with the blunt pencil, Miss Walsh?”
Asha smiled. I smiled. She said nothing. Brig glared. Fine. Up to me.
“We're trying to find out what happened to Ray and who's using his room and where my stuff is. You?”
“The same.”
I squinted at him. “How did you get in?”
He smiled. “With a room key. Passcard.”
I threw the pencil at him. I missed.
“And how did you get the room key? Bribery? Pickpocketing? You're still in civies, not decked out as hotel help. We managed to get two keys. Everyone thought we were maids.”
“And lovely ya are, the both of you in the black and white. The veil is a nice touch, Tempe, but your hair is peekin' around the cloth. Looks quite exquisite in the sunlight. But very red, you know.”
I might have known he wouldn't answer about the passcard. I tried a different question.
“Did you find anything interesting in the suitcase you managed to pry open?” I glanced at Asha. “Obviously, Mr. O'Brien did spend some quality time with the boys in the 'hood. His lock-picking skills are excellent.”
He inclined his head. “Sadly, those skills did not yield anything of interest. At least in suitcase number one. Other than the knowledge that the user has fine taste in shirts. Armani. Mediums. Too small and I dislike the color.”
He turned to Asha. “I know Tempe didn't find anything on the balcony. She'd never have been able to contain her joy if her own traveling case had been stowed out there. You discover anything under the bed?”
Asha pursed her lips, shook her head no, and then grinned. “Yes. Taj Mahal Hotel runs the cleanest accommodations I've ever seen. Not a dust bunny in sight. I'm very impressed.”
I stood. “This is pointless, gang. Looks like it's time to turn in our uniforms. Maybe hang out in the lobby for the rest of the day and see if we recognize any of the players connected to this show?”
Brig put his hand to his lips. We froze. Once again we could hear the sound of a passcard being inserted into that door. And unless Jake had driven off in search of either Brig or Asha, this time the three of us might well be facing a killer.
Chapter 10
We had no time to dive under the bed, scurry to the balcony, hide behind the shower doors, or crawl into the toilet. The door opened. A gun entered. Well, a man holding a gun entered. But all I saw was the gun.
Brig sprang to his feet, intent on shielding me from that gun. Bless the man. How he figured he'd save me from blazing bullets was a mystery, but I had to give him high marks for chivalry and sheer guts.
I sank back down onto the chair. If death proved imminent, at least being comfortable would be nice. As I casually swung one leg over the other in an attitude of inappropriate nonchalance while also hiding my shaking limbs, I looked up at the newcomer's face. I sprang up again.
“Ray?”
He moved to one side of Briggan, who had planted his frame in the middle of the room, ready to defend honor, country, and all of our hides.
“Tempe?”
“Ray! Hot damn! You're alive! I thought Mahindra had killed you back at Hot Harry's, then taken over your room! Or Patel. Either. Or both. This is incredible! How on earth did you escape? You were just lying on the table there. I really did think you were dead.”
Brig sat back down on the bed. Asha hadn't moved. She did let out a whoosh of breath.
Brig stood and extended his hand in greeting. “Mr. Decore. You don't know what poor Tempe has been through since Mahindra's hooligans came burstin' through Hot Harry's with murder on their minds. Lord, man, we thought you were at the bottom of the bay communin' with the eels!”
Ray stared at Brig. “Do you mind telling me who the hell you are and why you've taken over my bed?”
Good question. One a large bear had once asked a wench named Goldilocks. He hadn't gotten a straight answer either. Since Brig was on the receiving end of this current query, I figured Ray had as much luck as that furry fairy-tale bruin for a sane response.
Brig glanced at me. I smiled. Let the Irish charmer come up with a nice reason for breaking and entering and tossing Armani shirts.
“We'el, ya see, Tempe here thought you were either dead or mortally wounded, as 'twere. And we larned that someone had gotten rid of her t'ings, ya know, and checked her out of the hotel. And so we all came here to see if we could larn where her t'ings had been stashed and also to ascertain the right or wrong of your demise.”
Not bad for a spur of the moment pack of half-truths and blame-the-other-guy-to-protect-your-butt excuses, done up in a pretty package topped by a ribbon of brogue. In this case “the other guy” was a girl. Me.
I stood.
“Ray Decore. Meet Briggan O'Brien. Brig rescued me from the back of the storeroom where I'd been hiding to escape the barrage of bullets pelting around the saloon.”
Brig nodded.
I continued, “And then kindly put me up at his place when we discovered that two sets of rather nefarious sleazebags were chasing me.”
Brig nodded again.
I continued, “And then agreed to help me find the things I brought from New York, like my passport, and helped me gain access when we thought Mahindra had usurped your identity and grabbed your room.”
Brig smiled.
Ray leaned up against the door of the bathroom and motioned toward Asha. “Who's the shrimp?”
Asha stood.
In her best Hindi accent she whined, “I am just the maid. These two forced me to find a uniform for the tall lady and give them the key to the room. I am not involved in this. And I have work to do. May I leave, sir? And please do not report my conduct to the manager. I need this job very badly. I am begging of you.”
I kept silent. As did Brig. I had no idea why Asha hadn't fessed up to her true identity, but she had a funny expression on her face. Ray nodded at Asha without even looking at her. He seemed to want her to leave.
“Well, I don't want to be responsible for getting you thrown out of work. It appears you got smooth-talked into sneaking into a guest's room by a man who is obviously experienced at charming women. Please leave. Now.”
Asha stood, bowed, then in a flourish of chutzpah pointed to the towels she'd deposited onto the bed. “Clean, sir.”
Ray grunted a thin “Thank you.”
Asha wriggled out of the room with not a single backward glance.
Brig held his hand out to me. “Tempe? Perhaps now that we know Mr. Decore is safe, we should be about leavin' the man to be gettin' his own good rest. I'm sure he had an exhaustin' night as well.”
I took his hand and smiled at Ray. “We'll talk in a bit. I'm just glad you're okay.”
Ray did not return my smile. The gun shook in his hand, but he hadn't dropped it.
I started to feel nauseated. “Ray? What's the matter? You have this strange look on your face.”
“I've never shot anyone before, Tempe. I'm debating the best way to go about it.”
“Excuse me? Are you nuts? Are you going to try and take on Mahindra or Patel, the goons who've cornered the market on villainy? Don't. You'd never stand a chance.”
Brig squeezed my hand. “He's not talking about our Indian friends, Tempe. Are you, Mr. Decore?”
Ray gave a slight bow. “Very astute, Mr. O'Brien. Tempe, for a woman who earns her living through communication skills, you're not quite up to your usual intellectual standards today. And O'Brien? Please, sit back down. You are far too tall to suit me.”
I shut my eyes. “Oh crap.”
“Ah. She's finally caught on.”
I had. I muttered, “You've somehow turned into another bad guy, haven't you?”
I turned to Brig. “Remind me to tell Jake, if we get out of here with limbs intact, that this is an okay plot twist for one of his films. Not very original, but not completely clichéd either.”
With Brig's hand holding mine, I attempted to edge closer to the door.
Ray coughed. “Tempe, do not move. Now then. You're a beautiful young lady and perhaps I have a way you can avoid floating around Bombay's harbors. I'm even confident we can come to a nice arrangement as to a future relationship. But your newest companion? I'm sorry, young man. I can't see where you fit into my plans to procure the Saraswati statue, then head to my villa in Nice for a few years.”
I held my hand up. “Whoa! Ray. Can we go back a frame or two? I'm confused.”
“You are? Why? I should think the situation would be quite clear to such a supposedly brilliant woman.”
“Well, let me see if I've got the rhyme and reason of this particular scenario. First, you hire me in New York to help you in negotiations for a statue you're preparing to buy but which you are, in actuality, planning to steal. Sorry. Not original, Ray. Half of Bombay feels the same.”
Brig nodded. Great. He agreed with my assessment. He should. He was part of the half.
“Be that as it may, Ray, we get here after an excruciatingly long flight with you trying to hit on me, which isn't really relevant but I thought I'd throw it in anyway.”
I turned to Brig. “Where was I?”
“Hot Harry's. Almost.”
“Ah. Okay, there we are in the middle of transactions with Khan and all hell breaks loose. Ray supposedly gets shot. I hide, meet Brig, haul butt, and get an unofficial tour of the seamier side of Bombay, which is also not relevant, although it was certainly interesting, at least to me. Then today I come back here with Brig to try and discover how you are and learn that you have lost your mind. Have I left anything out? Is that about it?”
“Correct. Up to a point. And that point is where a large amount of rupees would have been exchanged. An amount, my dear linguist, that translated to a million five, as I'm sure you recall. An amount I had no intention of paying.”
“Aye,” sighed Brig. “There's the rub.”
I threw a glance at Brig. Quoting Shakespeare in stressful situations. A fascinating, if annoying, trait.
Ray nodded. “Exactly. The rub. In a way, Mahindra did me a favor when he and his thugs came barging in. Except that forced me to, as you so nicely phrased it, haul butt and hide from Mahindra in a disgusting cellar while I held an even more disgusting cloth to my bleeding ear. I bled a lot.”
“Not enough,” muttered Brig under his breath.
Ray shot him a look but didn't ask him to restate his comment. Instead, he turned back to me. “Now you tell me there's another set of goons? Patel? Was he the ugly one who came over during negotiations and offered me a cigar? Not that it matters. When I returned to Hot Harry's late last night and discovered the statue had disappeared, I was not pleased.”
Brig squeezed my hand a bit harder. I did not flinch. I did not want to betray any movement that smacked of communication between Brig and me to the man holding a weapon aimed in our direction. I knew without words what Brig wanted to say with that touch. In what Ray might call succinct language, it translated as, “Shut up.” As in “Don't tell him that Shiva's Diva made it out with us.”
Ray did not know who had ended up with the statue. Which could be the primary reason those bullets were still in that gun instead of lodged in Brig's chest. Or mine.
Ray glared at me. “Would you happen to know where that statue is now?”
“No, Ray, I don't. Honestly. I would imagine it's residing either in the Mahindra mansion or the Patel pit. Maybe Khan himself retrieved it.”
I hadn't lied. Brig had hidden Shiva's Diva sometime this morning and hadn't filled me in on her most current location.
Ray took a step closer to Brig, who'd found a nice perch for himself on the edge of the bed.
“What about you, Mr. O'Brien? Would your knowledge be a bit more up-to-date than Tempe's?”
He whacked Brig on the head with the muzzle of the gun. O'Brien must have possessed one heck of a strong Irish temple because, although he swayed, he remained upright.
Ray sighed. “Idiot playing the hero. Why don't I just shoot Tempe and see if that refreshes your memory?”
He turned toward me. I sent up prayers to Saraswati, Shiva, St. Cecilia (patron saint of music), and St. Swithen (patron saint of what? Irish Robin Hoods?) to get us out of this.
A high-pitched keening wail sounded from just outside Ray's door. The noise sounded like a cross between a moose in heat and a wild boar during a roundup. It produced a painful racket and provided a great distraction.
Ray whirled. Brig kicked the gun out of his hand. I threw the nearest large object, which happened to be the suitcase full of Armani shirts, at Ray's head. The door burst open. There stood Asha, still dressed in the maid's costume.
She held the door for us and in Hindi yelled, “Go! Now! It ain't getting any better!”
Brig and I did not waste time congratulating her on either her award-winning performance as the subservient hotel employee or the hideous noise she'd just made in order to get that door unlocked without Ray noticing.
I'd really whapped Ray with the suitcase. He was rocking and swaying on his knees. His hands were clasping his head where two pink silk shirts from the tossed luggage had landed. Brig and I leapt over the kneeling, crying, newly discovered miscreant, then charged out of the room.
The three of us galloped with the grace of stampeding oxen toward the fire stairs located at the end of the hall. A pair of English tourists inched back inside the elevator from which they'd been trying to exit. As one, we turned and yelled, “Sorry!”
With true English aplomb, one of the elderly ladies called, “Not a problem, dears.”
I could hear her as she turned to her companion and exclaimed, “Elizabeth? Did you see her? It's that darling little film star. Asha Kumar. From
Pirate Princess
. I wonder if this is part of a scene? On location, as they say. And if we might be in it?”
Pirate Princess
. I wonder if this is part of a scene? On location, as they say. And if we might be in it?”
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