The Oldest Sin (18 page)

Feeling a bit annoyed, Sophie walked up to her door and gave it several solid raps. Then, slinging her sack purse over her shoulder, she waited for Lavinia to answer. When there was no response, she knocked again. After another full minute she leaned close and called, “Come on, Lavinia. Open up. It’s me. Sophie.”

The door remained locked, the suite behind it silent.

As Sophie pressed her ear against the smooth wood, listening for signs of life, she noticed a do not disturb sign hanging from the knob. What was going on? Was it possible her old friend was still asleep? Bunny had clearly come calling, yet had she been turned away by the silence, too?

Seeing one of the hotel maids emerge from a room several doors away, Sophie waved and then raced down the hall to talk to her. Thankfully, she knew the woman, and more important, the woman knew her. Frances Lester had worked at the Maxfield for as long as Sophie could remember. She was now the weekend housekeeping manager, in charge of the staff in both towers.

“Sophie.” Frances smiled, shutting the door behind her and making sure it was locked. In the past year her tightly permed salt-and-pepper hair had turned a rather brilliant shade of orange. All part of the aging process. Frances assured everyone with a broad wink. She held a clipboard in one hand, her reading glasses dangling from a cord around her neck. “How’s tricks, kiddo?” She always chewed gum and knew how to snap it at just the right moment.

“Great,” said Sophie, returning her smile.

“Hey, I hear congratulations are in order.” She elbowed Sophie in the ribs and gave a loud snap. “You’re my new boss.”

Sophie doubted Frances thought of anyone as her boss. Even so, she was one of her father’s favorite employees. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She pulled a pen out of her pocket and made a notation on the chart. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Actually, I need to get into Room 1432. Do you have a master passkey with you?”

“Right here.” Frances patted her pocket.

As they approached the door she said, “Are you sure you want to go in there?” She raised a cautionary eyebrow and tapped the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign.

“Yes. Very sure.”

“All right. It’s your funeral. But just remember. The room hasn’t been made up yet. Ms. Fiore called down to the front desk last night for a noon wake-up call.”

“She did what?’ Had Sophie heard her correctly?
“Noon?”

“Says right here on my chart,” said Frances. She shoved it under Sophie’s nose and drew her finger down to the room number. “See? Noon wake-up call. She phoned from her room last night at exactly ten to midnight. By my watch” — she glanced at it — “she’s still got another hour of snoozing to do.”

“But —” Was it possible that Sophie had mixed up her days? No, Lavinia had reminded her of the date just last night.
And
the time. How could she have forgotten? An inner sense was beginning to sound an alarm. “Open it,” she said, feeling her heart beat faster.

Frances slipped the card into the computer lock, waited for the light to change from red to green, and then pushed the heavy handle all the way down.

Inside, the curtains were drawn, the room dark.

It took a moment for Sophie’s eyes to get used to the dimness. When they did, she let out an involuntary gasp. “My God,” she cried. The room had been completely trashed.

Frances flipped on the wall switch. “This must have been some nasty slumber party.”

“We’ve got to call die police,” said Sophie, her eyes taking in the destruction. Drawers were pulled out and tossed aside, the contents dumped on the floor. Chairs and tables were upturned, pillows flung in every direction. Unfortunately, the doors into the bedroom were closed. An icy fist of fear squeezed Sophie’s insides as she contemplated what might be hidden from view.

“I’ll make the call,” said Frances soberly, backing out of the room.

“No,” said Sophie, grabbing her arm. “Don’t leave … I mean, don’t leave just yet. I want to check out the bedroom first. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I understand,” said Frances, her eyes scanning the room warily.

Screwing up her courage, Sophie pushed through the doors into Lavinia’s inner sanctum. The living-room lights illuminated another scene of destruction, yet as she searched through the rubble Lavinia was nowhere to be found. “She’s not here,” called Sophie finally, taking a moment to digest the scene. If she were a betting person, she’d lay odds that the bed hadn’t been slept in last night The sheets and pillowcases were still smooth, still perfidy pressed, although the bedspread was missing. She tried the closet door, but found that it was locked.

“I’m going to check the bathroom next” she called, taking a deep breath and kicking open the door. Again, no sign of Lavinia. All the towels were tossed in the bathtub, the contents of the storage area under the sink scattered on the floor.

“I think I should call the police now,” said Frances uneasily. “What do you say? I’ll just phone from in here.”

“No,” said Sophie, rushing out of the bathroom. “Don’t touch anything. Call from the housekeeping station, okay? And alert hotel security. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this right away.”

“Right” agreed Frances. She hesitated. “Where do you think your friend is?”

“I don’t know,” said Sophie, biting her lower lip and steadfastly refusing to entertain the worst-case scenario. “But if she’s not here now, maybe she wasn’t here earlier, when the place was ransacked.”

“Good point” said Frances, snapping her gum thoughtfully. “I’ll go make that call.”

As soon as she was alone, Sophie’s thoughts turned to the phone call she’d received from Lavinia last night Who had picked her up? If she’d been having a drink with Bunny, Cindy, and Adelle, it seemed likely one of them had driven past that phone booth and offered her a lift back to the hotel. Except, if Sophie recalled correctly, Lavinia had said they’d all left before she had.

Walking silently through the mess, she began to examine the contents of the room for clues. A half-filled glass of some amber-colored liquid — she sniffed it and decided it was brandy — was still sitting upright on the bar. Perhaps Lavinia had poured it last night. But that meant she had to have been here. And if she was here, why hadn’t she slept in her bed?

Sophie scanned the bar area and then the floor, but this glass seemed to be the only dirty one around. She also didn’t see Lavinia’s purse. She took that to be a good sign. If the purse wasn’t here, then perhaps Lavinia was somewhere safe. The thought struck her that maybe her friend hadn’t come home last night at all. But if she hadn’t, where had she gone? And where was she now?

As she mulled this over an idea struck her. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? When she’d talked to Lavinia last night, Lavinia had said that she’d called Peter’s parents’ house looking for him, hoping he could give her a ride back to the hotel. But his father had said he was out. Perhaps it was Peter who’d driven by the booth. Sure. And instead of waiting, impetuous people that they were, they drove straight back to Edina and broke the good news to his parents right then and there. And
that’s
where Lavinia had Stayed last night. Simple.

Sophie heaved a sigh of relief. That is, until she remembered that Lavinia had called from the room late last night for a noon wake-up call. That didn’t fit. Inkstand, her relief turned into even greater concern.

She moved resolutely into the bedroom. As she bent down to examine the contents of one of Lavinia’s many suitcases, now jumbled into a big heap on the floor, she heard a deep male voice. Then another. A second later two police officers entered the suite, followed closely by Frances.

“I’m glad you could get here so quickly,” said Sophie, hurrying into the living room. “I assume Frances filled you in on the details?”

“She has,” said the shorter of the two officers. “I’m Sergeant Wilhelm. And this is Patrolman Green.” He nodded to the other man. “We were just down on St. Peter when we got the call. I suppose you know about the mini-marathon.”

Sophie vaguely recalled something about a ten-mile run through the city ending at the state capitol.

Both officers had portable radios hooked onto their belts, quid blasting static into the air. As Wilhelm pulled out a notepad and pen he explained that he needed to stay in contact with what was happening down on the street. He’d spotted a gang of rowdy teenagers a few minutes ago and these kids clearly worried him. Watching him walk around the room, making notes and asking questions, Sophie could tell his main concern was elsewhere.

Patrolman Green disappeared inside the bedroom. “Does the housekeeping staff have a key to the bedroom closet?” he hollered, stepping back and glancing down at a snarl of clothes next to his foot.

“Sorry,” replied Frances. She chewed her gum nervously. “They take those old-fashioned skeleton keys. Mr. Tahtinen likes to maintain that old-fashioned feeling whenever he can. I can run down to the locksmith’s office and probably find one. We’ve only got twelve suites like this in the hotel.”

The patrolman rattled the knob. “Not a very good lock,” he mumbled, giving it one last yank. “But good enough.”

The portable radio on Wilhelm’s belt started to squawk. “Eddy,” called a voice. “We got a situation developing. Find Green and get back here right away.”

The patrolman spoke into a microphone attached to his shirt collar. “That’s a Roger.”

“There’s no sign of a struggle,” said the sergeant, moving more quickly now. “I’d say whoever was in here was looking for something. It might have been a robbery, or they could have been looking for something specific.” He paused, then asked, “Do you have any idea what that could be?”

“None,” said Sophie, touching her fingers to her temples. “No idea at all.”

“Well, they obviously had a key. Or — .” He paused again.

“Is it possible Ms. Fiore did it herself? Sometimes we overlook the most obvious.”

Sophie couldn’t imagine what would cause Lavinia to wreak this kind of havoc on her own belongings.

“Since there was no forced entry, there’s not much we can do,” said the sergeant, returning his notepad to his pocket and crossing quickly to the door. He glanced at his watch. “You might want to alert hotel security.”

“I did,” said Frances. “I wonder where they are?”

Where indeed, thought Sophie sourly. “I’ve got one last question before you go. I believe you arrested someone yesterday named Morton. He’d been stalking Ms. Fiore while she was here for her convention.”

“Is that right?” said the sergeant. “I’d have to check on that.”

“Do you think it’s possible this Morton fellow had something to do with … this?” She nodded to the mess.

Wilhelm removed his cap and scratched his head. “There’s always a possibility. Although, if this guy’s in custody, it would rule him out.”

Just what she wanted to hear. At least he was one person they didn’t have to worry about. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“If I were you, Ms. Greenway, I’d find Ms. Fiore. You said she was in town for a convention?”

“Yes. The Daughters of Sisyphus. They’re meeting over at the St. Paul Civic.”

“Well, then maybe that’s it. She’s over there. When you locate her, tell her to check her belongings carefully. She can call us later to file a report if anything’s missing.” He motioned to the patrolman to follow him.

“Thanks,” said Sophie. “I’ll pass that on.”

“Oh, and one other thing.” He leaned close and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “I saw one of your security guards downstairs in the bar. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure I recognized him from the last time we were here. If I were you” — he winked — “I’d fire his ass.”

“Sergeant,” said Sophie, giving him a knowing nod, “I believe you just read my mind.”

Remembering that the phone in her parents’ apartment hadn’t been disconnected yet, Sophie let herself in, grabbed a pad and pencil from a drawer in the kitchen, and made herself comfortable on the living-room couch. She had some people she needed to track down right away.

First she called Bram to let him know what had happened. She also explained that unless she located Lavinia soon, their plans for the rest of the day were off. They were hoping to (hive to an orchard near Stillwater, a small town on the St. Croix River, where they often picked apples in the fall. Even though he sounded disappointed, Sophie could tell her husband shared her concerns. And he wanted to help. He said he’d change his clothes and be right over.

In the meantime Sophie tried to contact both Bunny and Cindy — with no luck. She left messages for each of them to call her as soon as possible.

Next she tried Adelle’s suite. On the third ring, a deep male voice answered. “Hugh Purdis here.”

“Hi,” said Sophie. Though she obviously knew he was staying at the hotel, she was still a bit startled to be talking to a man she hadn’t seen in over twenty years. “This is Sophie Greenway. You may not remember me, but I’m an old friend of Adelle’s.”