L Is for Lawless (9 page)

"That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard,"
s
he snapped. "We just got those uniforms, as
Corporate
well knows. Besides, that's not proper procedure, and I'm sick of it. I told Mr. Tompkins at our last department meeting, this is
my
operation and I mean to keep it that way. You wait right here. I'm going to call him this minute. I will not have anyone from Corporate interfering in my business." Even her breath smelled indignant. Her eyes swung back to mine. "What's your name?"

"Vikki Biggs."

"Where's your name tag?"

"Upstairs."

She pointed a finger at me. "Don't you move. I intend to get to the bottom of this. Corporate has a nerve sending anyone down here like this. What's Miss Brace's extension?"

"It's 202," I said automatically. Now you see? This is the beauty of keeping up those skills. In a crisis situation, I had only to open my mouth and a fib flopped out. An unpracticed liar can't always rise to the occasion like I can.

She let herself in through the Dutch door, moving with surprising speed. The door snapped shut behind her. I folded the hangers across my left arm and walked on with apparent purpose, heart thumping. I rounded the corner and broke into a trot. I found the stairwell and headed up the stairs two at a time. I didn't dare risk the hotel elevators. I pictured Mrs. Spitz notifying Security, guards swarming the exits in search of me. By the third floor I was winded, but I kept right on climbing. I passed the sixth floor, gasping, thighs burning, knees feeling like my kneecaps were about to pop off. I finally staggered through the door at the landing marked "8" and found myself back on familiar turf, one bend of the corridor away from my room.

I let myself into 815. I flung the contraband uniforms across the back of a chair and collapsed on the bed, which was now neatly made. I had to laugh while I lay there, trying to catch my breath. Mrs. Spitz better have her hormone levels checked or her medication adjusted. She was going to get herself fired if she continued to mouth off at Corporate. I half expected someone to come pounding at my door with demands and accusations, an itemized accounting of the lies I'd told.

I got up and crossed to the door, where I slipped on the security chain. I spent the next few minutes trying on stolen uniforms. The first was the best fit. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. The skirt was big in the waist, but it didn't seem to matter much with the tunic pulled over it. Pinned to each tunic was a ruffle of white, which formed a sort of collar once it was buttoned into place. The tunic itself had a little puff to the sleeve. Color wasn't bad. Worn with bare legs and my running shoes, I looked like I could clean a bathroom in nothing flat. I changed back into my jeans and hung my uniform in the closet. I wasn't sure what to do with the two remaining uniforms, so I folded them together and stuck them in the desk drawer. Before I left the hotel, I'd find a place to put them.

I ate a room service lunch, fearful of venturing out into the hotel so soon. At two o'clock, I went out into the corridor on a prospecting expedition, checking the general layout of the floor. I located the fire extinguisher, two fire exits, and the ice machine. A house phone sat on a console table across from the elevators. In the utility alcove at the end of the hall, I could see two linen carts angled into the space. I walked down there and spent a few minutes acquainting myself with available equipment. Extra irons and ironing boards, two vacuum cleaners. Beyond the alcove was a big linen closet, lined with shelves stacked nearly to the ceiling with clean sheets and towels. I could see cases of toilet paper and short towers of plastic pallets containing the miniature toiletries. Nice. I was liking this. An armload of towels usually provides good cover for getting into a room. I found a plastic door placard reading Maid in Room, which I snagged while I was at it.

Having exhausted the possibilities, I went down to the gift shop and bought a book to read. 1 was forced to choose among fifteen torrid romance titles, which was all the hotel stocked. I paid for a handful of miniature Peppermint Patties, pausing in the lobby only long enough to ring Laura's room. When she answered, I murmured, "Ooops, sorry," and hung up. Sounded like I'd caught her in the middle of a nap. I whiled away the afternoon, reading and napping. In a spectacular failure of imagination, I ordered a room service dinner that was a duplicate of my room service lunch:
c
heeseburger, fries, and diet Pepsi.

Shortly after seven o'clock, I stripped out of my jeans and donned my sassy red uniform. I wasn't crazy about the bare legs with my running shoes, but what could I do? I stocked my pockets with peppermints and took the two remaining contraband uniforms from the drawer where I'd hidden them. I tucked my room key in my pocket and headed for the fire stairs. Going up, I paused on the tenth floor long enough to hang the two stolen uniforms in the utility alcove. I didn't want the other maids inconvenienced by the theft.

The twelfth floor was laid out identically to the eighth, except that the utility room didn't seem as well stocked. I grabbed a dust rag and a vacuum cleaner, found an electrical outlet in the corridor, and began to vacuum my way toward Laura Huckaby's room. The carpet was an extravagant meadow of geometric shapes, triangles overlapping in a bright path of high-low gold and green. Vacuuming is always restful: slow, repetitive motion accompanied by a low groaning noise and that satisfying snap when something really good gets sucked up. Never had the wall-to-wall carpet been so thoroughly cleaned. I was working up a sweat, but the effort did permit me to loiter at will.

At 7:36 I heard the elevator
ping
and a room service waitcreature appeared with a dinner tray. He headed toward 1236; the tray balanced comfortably at shoulder height, he knocked on her door. I vacuumed in that direction, managing to get a glimpse of her when she let him in. She was barefoot and looking bulky in a hotel robe with a nightie hanging down below. The loungewear suggested she was in for the night, which was good from my perspective. The waiter emerged moments later. He passed me without remark and disappeared into the elevator without acknowledging my existence. On the off chance that Laura would have a visitor or head out to meet someone, I stuck to my surveillance.

When I tired of vacuuming, I took out my dust rag and got down on my hands and knees, dusting baseboards that apparently hadn't been touched for years. Sometimes it's really tough to picture the boy detectives doing this. Periodically, I tilted my head against Laura Huckaby's door without hearing a thing. Maybe if I barked and scratched, she'd let me in. Other hotel guests came and went at intervals, but no one paid me the slightest attention.

Here's what I've learned about being a maid: People seldom look you in the eye. Occasionally someone's gaze might accidentally glance off your face, but based on the interaction, no one could identify you later in a lineup. Good news for me, although even in Texas I don't think impersonating a maid would be classified as a crime.

At 8:15 I returned the vacuum cleaner to the linen room and armed myself with a supply of fresh towels. I returned to 1236 and knocked, calling out "Housekeeping" in clear, bell-like tones. Worked like a charm. Moments later, Laura Huckaby opened the door a crack with the chain in place. "Yes?"

Without eye makeup, her hazel eyes seemed soft and pale. Her complexion was made ruddy by the faint rash of freckles previously masked by foundation. She also had a dimple in her chin I hadn't noticed earlier.

I directed my comment to the doorknob so I wouldn't seem uppity. "I'm here to turn the bed down."

"This hotel offers turn-down service?" She sounded appropriately startled, as if the idea were ludicrous.

"Yes, ma'am."

She paused and then shrugged. "Just a minute," she said. She closed the door. There was a delay of some minutes and then she released the chain and stepped aside to let me enter.

I was interested to realize how much I could take in through my peripheral vision. How vain could she be? I could have sworn she'd paused to put on her makeup again. The tangled auburn hair had been freshly washed and still clung to her head. Warm, damp, shampoo-scented air wafted from the bathroom. I set the clean towels on the counter near the sink and then moved into the bedroom area and closed the drapes. The television set was turned on with the sound turned down. She'd tossed her room key on the desk. Immediately, I began to scheme to get my hands on it. I could see from the disarray that she'd been lying on the bed with the telephone pulled close. Maybe she'd received the call she'd been waiting for. There was no sign of the duffel bag as far as I could see.

She took a seat at the desk with her magazine. She crossed her legs, and I caught just a flash of bare skin. Her right ankle and shin and all the way up to her knee was a sooty mass of old bruises, turning green at the edge. Had her fifty-some companion been beating the shit out of her? It would certainly explain her icy treatment of him and her obsession with her appearance. Her dinner tray still sat on the desk in front of her, a crumpled white cloth napkin tossed carelessly across the dirty plates. Whatever she'd ordered, she hadn't eaten much. Though it was ostensibly my job, she seemed embarrassed to have me in the room, which actually worked to my advantage. She ignored me for the most part, though she would flick me an occasional self-conscious look. I was beginning to enjoy my invisibility. I could observe her at close range without any pesky personal exchanges. Was that the shadow of a bruise on the right side of her jaw, or was I imagining things? What kind of guy was she with? From all reports, he'd pounded Ray Rawson to a pulp, so he might have pounded her, too.

My uniform made an efficient little rustling sound as I folded the spread in half and then in half again. I made a hefty jelly roll of it and tucked it in one corner. I turned the sheet down halfway, plumped the pillows, and left one of the paper-wrapped Peppermint Patties on the bed table.

I returned to the vanity area and tidied up the sink, turning water off and on, though I didn't do much else. I checked her makeup supply: a concealer stick, foundation, powder, blush. In a small round container, she had a product called DermaSeal, "a waterproof cosmetic to hide facial imperfections." I peered around the corner at her briefly, only to find her peering at me. Behind me was the closet, which I longed to search. I moved into the bathroom and picked up a damp towel she'd draped across the edge of the tub. I straightened the shower curtain and flushed the toilet as if I'd just given it a scrub. I moved back into the vanity area and opened the closet door. Bingo. The duffel.

I heard her call out, "What are you doing?" She sounded annoyed, and I thought I might have overstepped my bounds.

"You need more hangers, miss?"

"What? No. I have plenty."

Just being helpful. She didn't have to sound so irritated.

I closed the closet door and retrieved the remaining clean towels. She'd crossed the room and was watching me closely as I finished my chores. I transferred my gaze to a point to the left of her. "What about the tray? I can take it if you're finished."

She flicked a look at the desk. "Please."

I set the towels aside and crossed to the desk, where I picked up the room key and tucked it on the tray, concealing it with the crumpled napkin. I went over to the door and held it open with my hip while I set the tray on the floor in the corridor. I retrieved my towel supply.

She was standing near the door with something that she held in my direction. At first, I thought she was passing me a note. Then I realized she was giving me a tip. I murmured a "Thank you" and slipped the bill in my tunic pocket without looking at the denomination. Peeking might have implied a grasping nature on my part. "You have a pleasant evening," I said.

"Thanks."

As soon as I was out the door, I pulled out the bill and checked the denomination. Oh, wow. She'd given me a five. Not bad for a simple ten-minute tidy-up. Maybe I could knock on the door across the hall. If I covered the floor, I could just about afford my room tonight. I plucked her key from the room service tray and left the tray where it was. It looked tacky sitting there, and I didn't like the effect on my newly cleaned hall, but in current job parlance, removing it was not my department.

Chapter 9

By the time I got back to my room, it was 8:45. I felt grubby and half dead from the combination of manual labor, stress, greasy room-service food, and jet lag. I peeled off my uniform and hopped in the shower, letting the hot water pound down my frame like a waterfall. I dried myself off and then pulled on one of the two unisex robes provided by the hotel. My spare underpants were now dry, though a bit stiff, hanging across the towel rack like the pelt of some rare beast. Coming out of the bathroom into the dressing area, I noticed the message light on my telephone was blinking. The phone must have rung while I was in the shower — inevitably Henry, since he was the only one who knew my whereabouts. Unless the hotel management was on to me. Somewhat uneasily, I rang the hotel operator. "This is Ms. Millhone. My message light is on." He put me on hold and then came back on the line. "You have one message. A Mr. Pitts called at eight fifty-one. Urgent. Please call back."

"Thanks." I dialed Henry's number. Before I even heard the phone ring on his end, he picked up the receiver. I said, "That was quick. You must have been sitting right on top of the phone. What's going on?"

"I'm so glad you called. I didn't know what to do. Have you heard from Ray Rawson?"

"Why would I hear from him? I thought he was gone."

"Well, he was, but he's back and I'm afraid there's been a complication of sorts. Nell and I went shopping this morning, shortly after you rang. William and Lewis had gone over to Rosie's to help with the lunch prep, and that left Charlie here by himself. Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I said. "I can't think where this is going, but I'm listening."

"Ray Rawson showed up at Chester's and Bucky told him what was going on."

"As in what? That I'd seen the guy who beat him up?"

"I'm not sure what he was told except that you'd been hired. Bucky knew you'd left town, but he didn't know where you were. Ray must have come right over here, and since I was out, he gave Charlie some long song and dance about the danger you were in."

"Danger? That's interesting. What kind?"

"Charlie never really got that part straight. Something to do with a key, is what he said."

"Ah. Probably the one Johnny had in his safe. I was going to show it to a friend of mine who's acquainted with locks. Unfortunately, I suspect he's been incarcerated for his expertise."

"Where is it now? Bucky told Ray you had it with you last he knew," he said.

"I do. It's tucked in the bottom of my handbag," I said. "You sound worried."

"Well, yes, but it's not about that." I could hear the anxiety underlying Henry's tone. "I hate to have to say this, but Charlie told Ray your current whereabouts because Ray convinced him you needed help."

"How did Charlie know where I was?"

Henry sighed, burdened by the necessity for a full confession. "I wrote the name and number of the hotel on a pad near the phone. You know Charlie. He can barely hear under the best of circumstances. Somehow he got it in his head that Ray was a good friend and you wouldn't care if he gave out the information. Especially since you were in trouble."

"Oh, boy. The room number, too?"

"I'm afraid so," Henry said. He sounded so guilty and miserable, I couldn't protest, though I didn't like the idea of Rawson knowing where I was. Henry went on. "I can't believe the man would actually fly all the way to Dallas, but he'll probably call, and I didn't want you to be surprised or upset. I'm uneasy about this, Kinsey, but there's nothing I can do."

"Don't worry about it, Henry. I appreciate the warning."

"I could just wring Charlie's neck."

"I'm sure he was trying to be helpful," I said. "Anyway, there's probably no harm done. I don't consider Ray Rawson any kind of threat."

"I hope not. I feel terrible about leaving the information out in plain sight."

"Don't be silly. You had no reason to think anybody'd ask, and you couldn't have known Rawson was going to show up like that."

"Well, I know," he said, "but I could have said something to the sibs. I gave Charlie a fussing at, but it's myself I blame. It truly never occurred to me that he'd do such a thing."

"Hey, what's done is done. It's not your fault."

"You're sweet to say so. All I could think to do was call as soon as possible. I think you should check out or at least change rooms. I don't like the idea of his showing up on your doorstep. There's something 'off' about the whole business."

"I'd have to agree, but I'm not sure what to do. At the moment, I'm trying to keep a low profile around here," I said.

I could tell I'd put Henry on red alert. "Why is that?" he asked.

"I don't really want to go into it. Let's just say that right now I don't think it's a smart move."

"I don't want you taking any chances. You were foolish getting on that plane in the first place. It's none of your business, and the longer it goes on, the bigger mess it is."

I smiled. "Chester hired me. This is work. Besides, it's fun. I get to skulk around corridors and spy on folk."

"Don't be gone too long. We've got the wedding coming up."

"I'm not going to forget that. I'll be there. I promise."

"Call me if there's anything I can do to help."

The minute he hung up, I crossed to the door and threw on the security chain. I thought about hanging the "Do Not Disturb" on the outside knob, but that would only announce to one and all that I was actually in the room. I began to pace, giving the situation my serious consideration. I felt curiously vulnerable now that Rawson knew where I was, though why that should have made a difference I wasn't really sure. From what Chester'd said, he was in pretty bad shape, which would have made travel unpleasant to say the least. It would also cost him a bundle with no guarantee that I was still in Dallas. Of course, if he was wanted for questioning by the Santa Teresa cops, getting out of town wouldn't be a bad move on his part. I didn't really believe I was in any peril, but I wasn't unmindful of the possibility. Whatever Rawson's relationship to current events, it was clear he hadn't given me the relevant facts. I would feel a lot safer if I were in another room.

On the other hand, I didn't like the idea of asking to change. The hotel management wasn't dumb. It wouldn't have taken Mrs. Spitz more than a minute to figure out that I was up to no good. Hotels don't take lightly to pranksters and thieves. She'd seen me at close range, and at this point, the security guards probably had a fairly accurate description of me. Notice would have gone out to all the relevant staff — the hotel equivalent of an APB. If Vikki Biggs, the night clerk, remembered my name, I'd have someone knocking at my door very soon. Conversely, if the management
hadn't
figured it out, I'd be an idiot to go down there and call attention to myself. So forget the room change.

As for vacating the premises, I'd already laid out close to a grand for plane fare and expenses. I couldn't go back and confess to Chester I'd abandoned the pursuit because Ray Rawson
might
show up at my door unannounced. My best bet was staying right where I was, especially now that I had access to Laura Huckaby's room. I put my clothes on again. If someone came banging at my door in the dead of night, I didn't like the idea of being caught unprepared. I tucked the complimentary toiletries in my handbag and added my toothpaste and my traveling toothbrush, ready to flee if necessary.

I removed the key from my bag, wondering if there might be a safer place to keep it. In the morning, I'd stick it in an envelope and mail it back to Henry. Meanwhile, I surveyed the room and the various furnishings, considering possible hiding places. I was ambivalent about the prospects. If I were compelled to depart in haste, I didn't want to have to stop and retrieve the key. I took the complimentary mending kit from my handbag. I removed my blazer and studied the construction, finally using the scissors on my Swiss Army knife to pick open a small slit on the inside seam near the shoulder pad. I eased the key in along the padding and stitched the hole shut. I'd never make it past the metal detector at an airport security check point, but I could always take the blazer off and send it through X-ray.

I slept in my clothes, shoes on, feet crossed, lying flat on my back with the spread thrown over me for warmth.

When the phone rang at 8:00
a.m.,
I felt like I'd been electrocuted. My heart leaped from fifty beats per minute to an astounding hundred and forty with no intervening activity except the shriek I emitted. I snatched up the receiver, pulse banging in my throat. "What."

"Oh, geez. I woke you. I feel bad. This is Ray."

I swung my feet over to the side of the bed and sat up, rubbing my face with one hand to wake myself. "So I gathered. Where are you?"

"Down in the lobby. I have to talk to you. Mind if I come up?"

"Yes, I mind," I said irritably. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking after you. I thought you should know what you're dealing with."

"I'll meet you in the coffee shop in fifteen minutes."

"I'd appreciate that."

I flung myself back on the bed and lay there for a minute, trying to compose myself. Didn't help much. My insides were churning with a low-level dread. I finally dragged myself into the dressing area, where I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I sniffed at my turtleneck, which was beginning to smell like something I'd been wearing for two days. I might have to break down and buy something new. If I sent all my clothes out to be cleaned and pressed, I'd be stuck in my red uniform until six that night. Meanwhile, if Laura Huckaby took off, I'd have to trail her across Texas looking like a parlor maid. I rubbed some hotel lotion on the relevant body parts, hoping the perfume would mask the ripe scent of unwashed garments.

I tucked the two room keys in my pocket — mine and the one I'd stolen from Laura Huckaby's desk — and peered through the spy hole. At least Rawson wasn't lurking in the corridor. I went down the fire stairs, avoiding the elevator, and found myself emerging on the far side of the lobby.

When I reached the hotel coffee shop, I paused in the doorway. Rawson wasn't hard to spot. He was the only guy in there with a swollen green-and-purple face. He had a bandage across his nose, one black eye, a split lip, assorted cuts, and three fingers on his right hand bound together with tape. He drank his coffee with a spoon, possibly to spare himself the pain from broken, cracked, or missing teeth. His white T-shirt was so new, I could still see the package creases. Either he was buying his shirts a size too small or he was built better than I remembered. At least the short sleeves allowed me to admire his dragon tattoo.

I crossed the room and slid into the booth across from him. "When'd you get here?"

There were two menus on the table, and he passed me one. "Three-thirty in the morning. The plane was delayed because of fog. I picked up a rental car at the airport. I tried calling your room as soon as I got in, but the operator wouldn't put me through, so I waited until eight." His eyes were bloodshot from the battering, which gave his otherwise mild features a demonic cast. I could see that his left earlobe had been stitched back into place.

"You're too considerate," I said. "You have a room?"

"Yeah, 1006." His smile flickered and faded. "Look, I know you got no particular reason to trust me, but it's time to deal straight."

"You might have done that two days ago before we got into this ... whatever it is."

The waitress appeared with a coffeepot in hand. She was the motherly sort, who looked as if she'd take in stray dogs and cats. Her frizzy gray hair was held in place by a hairnet, like a spiderweb across her head, and her gravelly voice suggested a lifelong affection for unfiltered cigarettes. She flicked a speculative look at Ray. "What happened to you?"

"I was in a wreck," he said briefly. "You got any aspirin, I'll leave you money in my will."

"Let me check in the back. I can probably come up with something." She turned to me. "How about some coffee? You look like you could use some."

Mutely I held up my coffee cup, and she filled it to the brim. She set the coffeepot aside and reached for her order pad. "You ready to order or you want more time?"

"This is fine," I said, indicating that the cup of coffee would suffice.

Ray spoke up. "Have some breakfast. My treat. It's the least I can do."

I looked back at the waitress. "In that case, make it coffee, orange juice, bacon, link sausage, three scrambled eggs, and some rye toast."

He held up two fingers. "Same here."

Once she'd departed, he leaned forward on his elbows. He looked like a light-heavyweight boxer the day after the championship went back to the other guy. "I don't blame you for feeling sour, but honest ... after the break-in at Johnny's, I didn't think he'd come back. I figured that was the end of it, so who was the wiser?"

"'He,' who?"

"I'm getting to that," he said. "Oh, before I forget. You know the key Bucky took from Johnny's safe?"

"Yes," I said cautiously.

"You still have it?"

I hesitated for a flicker of a second, and then I lied on instinct. Why confide in him? So far he hadn't told me anything. "I don't have it with me, but I know where it is. Why?"