The Hammett Hex (8 page)

Gram gasped for breath. Smiley sank into the chair by the bed. I watched Zoya. She seemed to deflate, hard as that would be for a person so whippetlike.

“Do you think I don't know you are watching soap operas while I have my little naps, Zoya?”

The chin went up. “Is nothing wrong, missus.”

“That's right. There is nothing wrong, but all you had to do was say so. You're entitled to a break.”

Smiley said, “You were taking a break and that's why you didn't answer the door.”

Zoya managed a sullen nod. “Missus was sleeping. No need to disturb.”

I exchanged glances with Smiley and slipped in a comment to Gram. “That's a relief. You had us worried. You too, Zoya.”

I was staring at a strange appliance on Gram's bedside table. “What is this?” I said, worrying as the words popped out that I might have asked an inappropriate question.

“Iss tabletop humidifier,” Zoya said haughtily. “Good for missus to breathe.”

Gram shrugged. “Sometimes I have a little problem.”

Tyler said, “Should we turn it on?”

“Not now. I have my radio plugged in and the lamp, and if I turn that on, it blows the fuse. Hardly worth being plunged into darkness while we find the fuse box.”

Tyler looked prepared to argue in favor of unplugging the radio and turning on the humidifier. “I think you should—”

“I think you should stop fussing. I got to this ripe old age and I'm not done yet,” Gram said.

I liked her even more. Smiley turned red, of course.

Gram said, “Now that's all settled, I suppose a person could have a snack then?”

She leaned forward. “Don't you worry pet, I'm in good hands with Zoya. She knows how to use that cane too.”

It took another twenty minutes for Smiley to be convinced that Gram was all right. While Zoya departed to get the overdue snack, he grilled his grandmother. “Where did you find her?”

“A story for another time,” she said, her blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “I find it absolutely charming that you are so concerned about me.”

It was a nice moment. The eyes kept twinkling and she pointed to the dresser in her room. Like the rest of the room, it was a study in frills and flowers in pink, rose and fuchsia and cream, fresh from the planet Chintz. It suited her, right down to the feminine shades on the crystal lamps. The only thing out of place was the large glass apothecary jar filled with marbles, none of them pink, rose, fuchsia or cream.

“Remember those, pet?”

Smiley stared at the jar. “My marbles. One for every time I visited you. Hundreds of visits.”

She beamed.

He said, with a catch in his throat, “You moved them all the way out here? You kept them.”

“It was only twenty years. Of course I kept them. But I bet you thought you'd lost your marbles,” she said with the wheezy chuckle. “I meant to get Zoya to bring them downstairs earlier, but I forgot. Losing
my
marbles.”

“In more than one way,” he said with a grin.

I resisted making any lame jokes, maybe because I found myself tearing up. Couldn't have that. Kellys don't tear up, and the Binghams wouldn't have either, whoever they were.

“Kept them for you because I knew you'd be back.”

“You may have been hoping I was still a kid.”

“I figured you wouldn't be too happy if your precious collection wasn't still intact. Come here.”

He moved a little closer. She reached into the top drawer of her French Provincial bedside table and produced a deep purple aggie. It glinted gorgeously in the light. “Now you can add another one.”

They smiled their identical gap-toothed smiles at each other. A beautiful moment. Smiley turned, walked to the dresser, lifted the lid of the apothecary jar and dropped in the marble.

Gram leaned back on her flowered pillow and yawned. Her eyes fluttered and slowly closed. Before we could get a scare, a ladylike snore reassured us.

Smiley perched on the side of the bed and watched her.

After a while, I signaled to Smiley that the beautiful moment was over and it was time to go. He stood up and beckoned me aside. “Do you mind if I stay here awhile?”

His grandmother issued another soft and ladylike snore.

He must have read my mind. “I know, but we got a scare and I realize I may not have that much time with her after being estranged all these years.”

“Sure thing. I'll head back and give you some time together. I'll be at the hotel.”

I combined the cable cars and walking for the trip back. It was still broad daylight and the city makes you want to walk. It's also hard on the feet. I'd decided to put mine up as soon as I was back in my room, maybe with a glass of something refreshing on that great balcony. It was a vacation, after all, grandmotherly scares or not.

*   *   *

AS I REACHED
to put my key in the hotel door, I noticed it was ajar. Had Smiley had a short visit and made better time than I did by taking a cab back to the hotel?

“Tyler?” I said as I pushed it all the way open.

My brain tried to make sense of what I was staring at.

A cyclone would have done less damage. Every article of my clothing had been flung from the closet. I would have collapsed in a chair, but they were both tipped over. The bedding was off the bed and the mattress had been slashed. The pillows too, which explained the feathers flying around the room. My suitcase lining was cut. The liners had also been torn out of my good shoes.

The phone had been ripped from the wall.

In the bathroom, my toiletries were scattered, some broken. The shower curtain was ripped from the rod. Glass littered the floor. The cracked mirror reflected my shocked face.

I felt overwhelmed by a sense of menace and evil.

Come on, now, Jordan. This is the work of a burglar, not some unnamed evil.
My sensible side thought that while the rest of me screamed,
But just in case, run!

I backed out of the bathroom and then out of the room and stood in the hallway, getting my breath. Perhaps the hallway wasn't the safest place. What if the burglar was still making the rounds? I saw no hotel staff within sight. Where was our cheerful maid? I did have the second key to Smiley's room. That door was still closed. I inserted the key card and pushed it open. At least I could call the desk from there, with the deadlock on behind me.

It took a couple of seconds to let the scene in his room register. Half the room was torn up as mine had been, except he had two beds and the mattress was actually tipped off one. The other was still intact. That meant the burglar was still at it. In the bathroom perhaps?

I bolted through the still open door, pulled it closed and raced along the corridor toward the exit, reaching out to bang on doors as I passed and screaming at the top of my lungs. “Fire!”

I knew if you yelled “Thief!” people might hide in their
closets to avoid you, but “Fire!” might get them to the hallway. It's an old trick from my uncles. It can also help to generate a crowd if you needed one to blend in with. I could have used a crowd, but the trick failed. No one came. As I reached the door to the exit stairs and pushed it open, I turned to see if the burglar was in pursuit. Part of me said,
For the most part, burglars are nonviolent. They want your stuff. Not your life.
The other part said,
Just in case this guy's different, put up the best fight you can.
I raised my fists, figured I could get a nose with one fist and a windpipe with the other. What the uncles called the old one-two when they were teaching a small child self-defense. But there was no time for that.

A bizarre spectral shape loomed over me. I couldn't make sense of it. As I tried to grasp what was happening, I stumbled back on the metal landing. I felt rather than saw the thick bedspread drop over my head and shoulders. Unable to see, I felt myself begin a slow tumble. Slow and painful. Someone gave me a massive push sideways. I reached out to grab where I thought the railing was and just met cloth. I heard the muffled clatter of steps rushing past me and down. My back hit the wall, and I slid down and sat, stunned. I pushed against the cloth and tried to raise it. Three attempts and I finally got my head out. The clatter of feet was distant now. I crawled to the railing and stared down the stairwell. Nothing. No one. Of course, I could hardly see straight with my head whirling and the wail of . . . a fire alarm?

I leaned back and closed my eyes, took a couple of breaths and got to my feet. The door behind me opened and an older woman gasped. “Is there a fire?”

“That was me. Did I say ‘Fire'? I meant ‘Thief'! Can you call the desk? Tell them to send security, please.”

“What?”

An anxious chambermaid carrying towels rushed up
behind her. “What is happening? Are you all right? Is there a fire?”

I shook my head. “Not at this moment. Call security, please.”

She pointed around me, “But what's all this?”

“I believe it's a bedspread.”

“I don't understand,” the woman said. “Why would you take the bedspread from your room?”

“I didn't. Someone else took it and dropped it over me so I couldn't see him.”

“And did you see him?”

I shook my head.

“He tried to kill you!”

I gazed at her as my thoughts cleared. “I don't think so.”

He, whoever he was, didn't try to kill me, just get me out of commission. He'd tried to make sure I didn't see him. He'd succeeded on both counts. One thing I knew, he'd taken care not to kill me. Or even to injure me seriously.

What had he been trying to do?

Watch what you say to the police.

—The Kelly Rules

S
MILEY WAS BREATHING
raggedly when he blew in through the door of the manager's office in the hotel. Like me, he was not a welcome visitor. The manager, a short, thin, nervous individual with small eyes and hands and large feet, stopped pacing and glowered at Smiley. By this time, I was wrapped in a blanket and I foolishly hoped the bedspread would be bagged and placed somewhere secure, say, in an evidence room after forensics had checked it out before long. Of course, I knew better. There wasn't much chance of the attack on me being treated as a high priority as I hadn't been hurt. There was still no sign of the police. I felt there would be pressure from the hotel for them to deal with it. Unless they preferred to keep it under wraps. Having your guests robbed and pushed on stairways wouldn't be good for business.

“What happened?” Smiley said, running his hands through his blond waves. He wasn't blushing this time. In fact, he was whiter than the sheets that had been ripped from
my bed. “I went to the room and there's CAUTION tape. Security told me you'd had an incident.”

I snorted. “I guess you could call it that.”

Smiley stared. I did my best to keep from shaking. The shock of the attack was catching up with me.

“Did you see the room?”

“What? No! I came down here as fast as I could. What happened to you? What kind of a place is this?” He took hold of my shoulders. I thought for a second he was going to shake me—which would not have been well received—but he enveloped me in a tight hug. I buried my face in his chest and tried to stay cool.

The manager, who was even redder than Smiley usually gets, interjected, “We take security very seriously in our hotel. Our policy is—” He practically stamped those large feet of his.

Smiley pulled away and turned to face him.

I said, “Someone broke into my room and trashed it. And when I say trashed, I do mean trashed. Whoever did it was gone. I was sure of that, but the phone was ripped from the wall. I went next door to your room to phone and he must have been in the middle of it. I ran for the stairs and”—I shrugged, embarrassed—“he caught up with me. He dropped a bedspread over my head and pushed me on the landing.”

“She pulled the fire alarm,” the smirking manager said. “We had to evacuate the hotel.”

I rubbed my itchy nose. Perhaps I was about to have a fight. “I did not pull the fire alarm. Someone else did that. Possibly the burglar to create confusion.”

“My staff says it was you, miss.” His tone was growing more snide by the second.

“Whoever said that is lying.”

“I don't think that's possible.”

“If you had a staff member who saw me pull the fire alarm, can you please explain why this person didn't help when I was being attacked?”

Oh. Snap.

Smiley said, “Your duty is to your guests and my fiancée has been attacked.”

I looked as solemn as I could.

“Perhaps it was a staff member who opened our doors.” I turned to Smiley. “I have two keys, one to your room and one to mine. You?”

He reached into his wallet. “The same.”

“Therefore, either someone else had a set and that was not okayed by us or more likely a staff member let them in.” This was unfair as I knew from reliable sources that there are ways to get by key locks, but I just didn't know what those ways were. I didn't want some hapless chambermaid to get the blame. I'd let the manager push my buttons when my guard was down.

“Where are the police?” Smiley asked tightly.

“They haven't arrived yet.”

“What?”

“Security is equipped to take care of this.”

“I don't think so,” Smiley said. “It's an assault.”

“And are you a police officer?” the manager said with a sneer.

“Matter of fact, I am.” Smiley's smile had not the faintest touch of warmth in it, as he reached back into his pocket for his badge. “There has been a physical attack on a guest in your hotel and you have chosen not to inform the police. Is that correct?”

“Since you put it that way.”

“I do.” Smiley picked up the phone and “called it in.”

Once the call was made, I said, “We'll need new rooms.”

“That is out of the question. We can't be giving new rooms to everyone who—”

I snorted. “Gets attacked in your hotel? Social media will just love that. We had our keys with us, so I'm guessing that it was with inside help. Yes, two rooms, please. Adjoining. I'd like to lie down now.”

“You heard the lady,” Smiley said in his cop voice. “New rooms. Now.”

For once, I didn't mind the cop voice and all it stood for. I didn't understand this manager's attitude at all and I was glad Smiley was in my corner.

The manager looked like he was prepared to fight back on our demand. He stepped out of the room, leaving us to stew for at least five minutes. When he returned, he was a different critter altogether. As Vera might have said,
Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

*   *   *

NEXT WE HAD
to deal with the police. Not my best thing at any time. The less said to them, the better. Still, we did want them on our side in this case. I described what I'd seen in the room and what happened to me in the hallway.

I didn't know the name of the witness, but they'd be able to find her easily. The maid was probably still on the floor too.

No, I didn't know their names.

No, I hadn't seen whoever was in the room.

No, I didn't see who pushed me on the staircase because I had a bedspread over my head.

No, nothing seemed to have been taken.

No, I hadn't lost any money or my camera or my jewelry.

No, I had not the slightest idea what they could have been looking for.

Yes, I was all right.

No, I didn't want to go to the hospital.

Yes, I would get in touch if I thought of anything else.

Yes, also if I saw anything.

*   *   *

SMILEY DIDN'T CARE
much for his interview either. I suppose it's hard to be on the other side of the law.

“You know what?” he said.

“I don't.”

“They didn't seem to take the other two things seriously at all.”

“Other two things?”

“The Prius and the cable car. Now that we've had this—”

“
I've
had this. And I was hurt by the Prius and pushed from the cable car.”

“Sorry. I know you were attacked, but both our rooms were trashed so it's
we
in some way. The point is that three times in twenty-four hours can't be a coincidence.”

“And the officer said?”

He said, “Asked about a plate number, asked about a description, asked about the cable car number—”

“Well, who would have that?”

“Not us for sure. We could narrow it down.”

“There are people in this hotel who were on the cable car. We could ask them to speak to the police.”

“That's a good idea. I wasn't paying much attention to who was there. Were you?”

“Yes, I—”

“I hope you'll be happy with these rooms,” the manager said, rubbing his small, white hands together as he presented our new accommodations. “You've had a shock and we want our clients to be comfortable.”

Who wouldn't be happy? We seemed to have scored the best digs in the hotel. I noticed he hadn't said “safe and comfortable.” But comfortable was pretty darn good. I had ditched my security blanket in the office so I was able to stroll through the hotel with a bit of dignity.

“The Bay View Suite is our best suite and luckily it was
available. It should leave you with wonderful memories of our hotel.” His eyes pleaded for feedback, or did I imagine that?

“Beautiful,” I said, “and with its own living room and dining area.”

“And the bar.” He beamed. “Plus of course, you are high enough to have a spectacular view from your own private balcony.”

As much as I wanted to crash on the bed and not talk to anyone, I followed him out to the balcony. He was right. The view of the Bay was unbeatable in between foggy patches. There was stunning architecture wherever you looked. I could only imagine how gorgeous it would be at night. A door from the living area led out to it and so did a door from each of the bedrooms. We could never afford something like this and all it took was having our rooms trashed and me being attacked on the stairs.

“I'll leave you then, will I?” the manager said, disappearing through the door.

Before I could say, “I wonder what changed his attitude?” he popped his head in and said, “Of course, your belongings have been shifted to your new rooms. You should find everything to your satisfaction. We will make arrangements for you to dine at Magari tonight at our expense, if that meets with your approval.” I suppose he didn't really click his heels together, but just as good as. He left us nodding.

When the coast was clear, Smiley turned to me. I said, “Are they really that worried I'll sue over the break-in?”

“If they have an idea that an employee was involved, that might explain it. Also the attack on you in the staircase probably has them worried. I guess it has you worried too.”

If I knew that look, Smiley was worried as well. “You could have been killed.”

“Well, that's the thing. I don't think so.”

“Pushing a person down a metal staircase is good way to do them in.”

“Agreed, except that he didn't push me down the stairs. I've been thinking about what happened and he threw the spread over me, so I wouldn't see his face.”

“And then he pushed you.”

“Yes, but he pushed me sideways. He didn't push me down. I was stunned by the whole attack and I'm just starting to make sense of it.”

“Are you sure? It's an act of violence to throw something over a person's head to obscure their view and then push them on a staircase when they'd be helpless to break their fall.”

“I know that. I experienced it, remember? And I'm telling you that he pushed me sideways to the wall. And before you ask again, yes, I am sure. It was serious, no question, but I don't think he meant to kill me. He wanted to avoid being seen by me or anyone else. He needed to get away. I was probably a distraction too.”

“But people might have seen him anyway.”

“Why are you arguing with me? I'm the one who was there. And don't use your cop voice.”

“Fine. So he didn't intend to kill you?”

“Good question. But why couldn't I see him?”

“Because you had a bedspread over your head.”

“Funny. I mean what difference would it make if I saw him?'

“You could have identified him, given the police a description, which you were not able to do.”

“Or maybe it was because I would recognize him.”

“What?”

“It's not like we know anyone here, and you've told me how hard it is to get an accurate description of an assailant in a fast attack.”

“You think you knew the person?”

“More like I would recognize him. Maybe.”

Smiley leaned back and exhaled. “Someone around the
hotel? A staff member or another guest. That would make sense. But even if he didn't intend to harm you, that was a precarious situation. You could have been killed.”

“Could have been. It was a risky move. What I'm trying to say is that he wasn't trying to kill me or he could have.”

“So it wasn't personal.”

“The ransacking of the rooms felt personal. He was looking for something. Something very specific.”

“What did you have that he was looking for?”

“I have no idea, Tyler. Like I said to the cops, nothing seemed to be taken. He didn't take my jewelry or my tablet or camera. Then he hit your room. He must have still been there when I surprised him.”

Smiley scratched his nose. He only does that when he's irritated. “Why you?”

“No clue. Why you?”

He shot me a look. “Let's take this seriously.”

“I'm the one who got the worst of it. Trust me, Tyler, I am taking it very seriously. And I think we both have something to worry about because he didn't find what he was looking for.”

Smiley stared at me without speaking.

I made my point. “Therefore, he's going to keep looking.”