The Oldest Sin (9 page)

“Really?” She covered the distaste in her voice with a cheery lightness.

“Yeah. Say.” He shifted his weight toward her again. “There’s a service elevator right off the main stairway. It ain’t far. The only people usin’ it are kitchen staff.” He glanced at his watch again.

Lavinia’s eyes rose to the light above the elevator, willing it to turn red.

After another minute he said, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m gonna take the other elevator down. I know it’s off limits to guests, but I used it last night and nobody arrested me. What do you say? You wanna join me?”

Lavinia was torn. If she was late for her appointment, she was afraid the person she was meeting would leave. She couldn’t have that. “Okay,” she said tentatively. “Why not?”

The man walked so quickly Lavinia had a hard time keeping up with him. From the back, he was even more of a mess than he appeared from the front. The heels of his boots were worn and lopsided, and the bottoms of his jeans were badly frayed. Worst of all, walking in his wake, Lavinia became aware of just how much he needed a bath.

Finally, after following him down several long hallways, they reached the small service elevator. Lavinia looked up at a sign above the doors: hotel staff only.

The man pushed the button then turned to look at her. “The name’s Morton,” he said, grinning and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

She had no idea if it was a first or last name, and he didn’t elaborate. She smiled at him briefly, and then returned her attention to the elevator doors. For whatever reason, she couldn’t seem to rid herself of the feeling that something about this guy was a little off. Oh, stop it, she told herself. You don’t need your New York City radar here. It’s the Midwest “Here she comes,” he said, continuing to grin. His teeth were yellowed by centuries of tobacco smoke.

Finally, the doors opened.

“Your carriage awaits, madam,” said Morton with a slight bow and a wave of his hand.

Feeling a bit put off by his silly attempt at chivalry, Lavinia stepped on. Inside, the light was garish, the interior utilitarian. Still, it would get them where they wanted to go.

“The lobby?” he asked, his hand poised over die controls.

“Yes, thank you.” She moved to the rear, her eyes drawn to her shoes. She should have worn her blue pumps. She could walk more quickly in those. Checking her watch, she saw that she was already five minutes late for her appointment.

Suddenly the elevator lurched to a stop.

Lavinia looked up and saw the man with his hand resting on one of the buttons. “What’s going on?” she said, feeling her body tense.

“Don’t you know?” he said, all innocence.

Oh, God, he
was
a crazy person. She could see it in his eyes. Why hadn’t she listened to the alarms going off inside her head? “Know what?” she said, backing into the farthest corner. Her heart began to race.

“Didn’t you recognize my name?” He repeated it again, this time more slowly.

“I’ve never heard of you,” she said defensively, staring at a stain on his undershirt.

He seemed offended. “Sure you have. I sent you all them letters tellin’ you how much I was lookin’ forward to meetin’ you in person when you got to the Twin Cities. I been a fan of yours for years. I use your cookbook all the time.”

She swallowed back her fear and said timidly, “Do you? How … nice.”

“Didn’t you get my mail? Or the gifts?”

She rarely read her fan mail. She’d hired a secretary for that. And anything from potential weirdos went into a special file. Her lawyer took care of all those. “What gifts?” she said, steeling herself for the worst.

“The bonsai trees. They’re my hobby. I just knew you’d like ‘em.”

“Oh … sure.” She tittered. “The, ah … bonsai trees.” Her voice sounded more strangled than thrilled as her eyes darted frantically around the small chamber. There was simply nowhere to run. She had visions of him chasing her around in a circle, like a couple of cartoon characters. “I… love bonsai trees.” She lied.

“I knew it.” He moved closer. “I could tell from your picture that we had lots in common. That’s why I invited you.”

“Ah … invited me?” She clasped her hands in front of her breasts, ready to scream her bloody head off if he made even the slightest move to touch her.

“Why, to my apartment, Lavinia. I can call you Lavinia, can’t I? I feel like we been pals for years.”

“Your apartment,” she repeated.

“Sure. Tonight. For a late-night candlelight dinner. In my note I said that if you couldn’t come, you should just write and let me know. I’m a reasonable man. We could of rescheduled. But since I ain’t heard from you, that means you’re comin’.”

“It does?”

“Say,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not toyin’ with me, are you? I hate women who toy with men’s affections. My first wife did that, but” — his expression turned sad — “she ain’t around no more, poor old gal. It was a terrible accident. I’ll tell you about it sometime. You wouldn’t never treat me like she did, would you, Lavinia?”

“Of… of course not.” She added, gritting her teeth into a smile, “Morton.”

He returned the smile. “That’s good.”

“So … would you push the button for the lobby again? I have an important meeting I need to attend and I’m already late.”

“Oh?” he said, his head dipping in disappointment. “I thought we might grab a cup of coffee downstairs. My treat.”

“I’m sorry, Morton. But —” She took a chance. “I never agreed to that, you know. That wasn’t on our schedule.”

“No,” he said, his eyes cast down. “But you don’t wanna disappoint me too often, Lavinia. You wouldn’t like how I get when I’m disappointed.”

She began to inch ever so slowly toward the control panel. Squeezing her body against it, she reached behind her back and pushed the lobby button. She had to get the elevator moving again.

Still staring at the ground, Morton said, “Don’t you want to know where I live?”

She watched the numbers above the door change as the elevator began to descend. “Well, sure I do,” she said, realizing as she said the words that it was very important information. When she filed the police report, they’d be able to pick him up that much more quickly.

He looked up at her and grinned. “Nah. I’m gonna come get you in my car tonight, just like I said I would. I’m not havin’ you takin’ any crappy cabs. They can be dangerous. We wouldn’t want nothing to happen to you.”

“No,” said Lavinia with heartfelt conviction. “We certainly wouldn’t.”

As the elevator doors opened and she edged away from him into the lobby, Morton said, his voice meek, “Did you enjoy your dinner last night in the coffee shop?”

“What?” She whirled around. “What did you say?”

“It was just a simple question. I heard the food’s pretty good.”

“But. .. you saw me?”

“Sure. I been watchin’ you ever since you checked in. I loved what you were wearin’ yesterday, Lavinia. It was” — his eyes took on a faraway look — “very sexy. I like big, sexy women.” Grabbing a baseball cap from his back pocket, he said, “Eleven tonight. Don’t forget.”

In an instant he was across the lobby and out the front door.

Lavinia collapsed against the wall, her pulse racing. She took deep breaths until her breathing returned to normal. 5he had to inform the front desk about this right away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time a fan had gotten out of land. But this was a close call. Even though he hadn’t heartened her, or hurt her in any way, the encounter wasn’t one she wanted to repeat. Lavinia had made up her mind years ago — after her first fan mishap — never to allow her Fear of such rare occurrences to rule her life.

Glancing at an antique clock on the far wall, she suddenly remembered her appointment. Damn! If she talked to hotel security now, she might as well kiss that meeting goodbye. But what should she do? Feeling terribly conflicted, her mind raced ahead to the information she needed so desperately. She had to resolve this mystery. It had been eating away at her far too long.

Set priorities, she told herself. At this moment which was the most important?

The answer was obvious. Since she wasn’t in any immediate danger, she would simply have to file her report when she got back to the hotel. Squaring her shoulders, she took one last deep breath, and then marched resolutely across the lobby and out the front door.

‘Time for a toast,” called Sophie, pouring the champagne into the last of the glasses. Handing the delicate flute across to Lavinia, she moved in front of the hearth in the Maxfield’s Fireside Room and held her own glass high. ‘To our reunion,” she said, her eyes washing affectionately over the small group. ‘To friendship and, as always, to good food.”

‘To friendship and to good food,” repeated the five alumni of Purdis Bible College, clinking their glasses together.

“And to Terrace Lane,” offered Bunny. “We can’t forget that.”

“As much as we’d like to.” Adelle laughed.

Ever since breakfast, a nervous knot had been growing in the pit of Sophie’s stomach as she thought about what it would be like to see her old friends again. What would they talk about? Would their conversations seem stiff, stilted? Would Adelle’s presence stifle any real comments about the college and the church? And perhaps most important, would they even like each other anymore?

Before everyone arrived, Sophie had puttered around the suite she’d reserved for the evening, making sure all the pillows were fluffed, arranging the flowers ordered specially for the occasion, and stoking the fire one of the hotel staff had built in the fireplace. After last night’s thunderstorm, the weather had turned chilly. A fire was just the right touch. This party, after all, was her way of honoring the people she’d once called her dearest friends on earth.

As everyone filtered into the room shortly after ten, Sophie watched in amazement as the years dropped away. They were back once again at Terrace Lane, laughing and poking fun at each other. The chemistry that had once made them close was still evident. It warmed Sophie deeply to see her friends again — everyone so animated, so clearly delighted to be in each other’s company.

As she moved around the room making sure all the champagne glasses were full, Sophie couldn’t help but be amazed by how little most of them had changed. Then again, perhaps this wasn’t the best time for critical evaluation. Everyone was a little giddy with the wine and the reminiscing. Yet, as she stood looking across the room at Bunny, she couldn’t help but smile.

Bunny still looked as solid as a rock. And Lavinia, still flamboyant as ever. Adelle had changed the most. She’d become as thin as the proverbial stick. Also, Sophie felt she detected a certain bitterness in her choice of words, and in the tight way she held her mouth. It made Sophie wonder if she was happy. Perhaps they’d have more time to talk later.

The last person to arrive tonight had been Cindy Shipman, the D.O.S.S. national treasurer. From what she’d been able to glean from their brief attempt at bringing each other up to date, Cindy had remained single. Two years ago, after the death of her father, she’d taken over as head of Shipman Trucking in Norman, Oklahoma.

Cindy and Lavinia had always looked a great deal alike. In college, one had often been mistaken for the other. Even though Sophie could still see the similarities, she was struck now by the differences. Lavinia looked wonderful. Healthy. Vibrant. And while both she and Cindy must have tipped the scales at well over two hundred pounds, everything about Lavinia smacked of glamour and class. Cindy, on the other hand, looked frumpy. She was clearly attempting to be fashionable, yet she missed the mark by miles. It was that failed effort that seemed most pathetic. Bunny had no fashion sense either, yet her jeans fit her personality to a tee. She projected the image of a woman comfortable with who she was and how she dressed. Cindy, on the other hand, projected a discomfort so strong it was almost palpable. Being the curious sort, Sophie couldn’t help but wonder where all the discomfort was coming from.

“This food is fabulous,” called Lavinia, popping another cream cheese ball nugget into her mouth. “These were always my favorites. I haven’t had one in years.”

“It’s just like our Friday nights at Terrace Lane,” declared Bunny. “Remember? Right after Bible study we’d all troop back to the apartment and have our own secret Sabbath celebration.”

“It was the only time all week we allowed ourselves anything other than lettuce leaves,” said Adelle, adjusting her harlequin glasses.

Sophie didn’t want to belabor the fashion point tonight, yet there was something about the women in the Church of the Firstborn that made them all look as if they’d just stepped out of a 1950s Betty Crocker cookbook. Of course, if you waited long enough, just about everything came back into style. Sophie assumed that Adelle had no idea her glasses and hairdo were now fashion’s cutting edge.

“I went on a wine-and-popcorn diet once,” announced Bunny somewhat smugly.