The Scratch on the Ming Vase (3 page)

Chapter Six

Nicki was in the den going through her mother's desk when Fenwick came in, feather duster in hand.

“What are you doing, Miss Nicki?”

“I need my mother's pass key for Haddon Heights, and I need the override tool. I have to bypass the security system, and I've got to be able to open a safe.” She searched the drawers until she found them.

“I don't understand, Miss.”

“I don't have much time. I've got to be back at the hotel in less than an hour.” She looked at her watch. “I've taken a job there.”

“You've done what?”

“It's the only way, Fenwick. I've got to find that vase for Mr. Kahana. And Haddon Heights is where he was staying.”

“Just tell the manager who you are, Nicki, and he'll help you, I'm sure.”

“I doubt it. If I reveal my identity, everyone will clam up and watch my every move. That's the last thing I need right now.”

“But there's a murderer out there, Miss Nicki. How do you know—”

“I don't know.” She turned to leave. “Fenwick, you've got to promise me that you won't say a word to anyone. Please.”

Nicki picked up a mop and pail and followed Dolores and Ellen into the service elevator.

“You'll be dead on your feet for the first week or two, then you'll get used to it. Once the blisters heal.” Dolores pulled a compact out of her pocket and checked her face. “Always look your best, Yin,” she added. “There are lots of millionaires in this place, and plenty of them are single. That's how I'm going to escape one day. On a yacht. Hopefully before I'm thirty.”

“You turned thirty last year, didn't you?” Ellen tapped her fingernails against the wringer bucket. “Only way out of here before you're sixty-five is in an ambulance. Or a coffin.”

Dolores glanced at Nicki.

“You're too young for this. You should try for something better. If I had it to do all over, I'd become an actress or a hairdresser or something. Something glamorous.” She pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and snapped them on. “So where do we start, girls?”

“How about the eighth floor?” said Nicki.

“Sounds good,” said Ellen. “That way I can talk to that handsome police guard.”

“Someone tried to murder the man who was staying in 813,” Dolores told Nicki. She felt around in her pocket, then handed the girl a staff keycard. “This will work on any door in the hotel, but remember, every time you use it, it's recorded on the computer downstairs. The room number, the time, and the fact that it was your card.” She smirked. “That way, if a guest can't find her pearl necklace, they'll have somebody to blame.”

The service elevator opened, and they lifted the cleaning cart out and started down the hall. Ellen smiled at the policeman when they passed room 813.

They walked to the far end of the corridor and pushed open the door to a recently vacated suite. “Looks like they've been having some fun in here.” Dolores tossed a load of clean linens onto the bed.

Toppled wine and liquor bottles oozed out their dregs onto the rug, half-eaten plates of shrimp and lobster slopped over the dresser, and honey from the breakfast tray coated the TV remote. The bathroom was even worse.

Slobs
, she thought.

“Start with the bed,” said Ellen. “I'll face the bathroom.”

Nicki threw off the quilt, stripped the bed down, and reached for the fresh sheets. She threw one over the bed and started to jam the edges under the mattress.

“What the heck are you doing?” Dolores leaned her dust mop against the wall and called Ellen out of the bathroom. “Will you look at this? The girl has never made a bed in her life!”

Ellen laughed. “Here's how it's done,” she said, starting with a fitted sheet and smoothing it out from the middle to each end. “Everything has to be tight as a drum, and remember that the flat sheet always goes good side down, so when you fold it back—and it must be exactly one-third of the bed—the right side will face up.”

“Got it,” said Nicki.

“Oh Yin,” said Dolores. “Don't forget the chocolate on the pillow.”

Dolores checked out the room. “Not bad, not bad at all. You catch on fast,” she said. “We're going on our break now, Yin. Take fifteen.”

“You can join us if you want,” said Ellen. The staff lunchroom is in the basement, next to the laundry.”

Dolores made a face. “The vending machine spits out stale sandwiches and warm juice, but if you give it a swift kick, it returns your coins.”

“Not mine,” said Ellen.

“You're not lucky like me.”

“Right, Dolores.”

“Thanks, but I don't want anything right now. I'll see you later,” said Nicki.

She watched from the end of the hall as the two women headed for the elevator. Ellen stopped to chat with the cop and Dolores joined her. This was Nicki's chance and she took it.

I just hope Newman isn't watching the surveillance camera.

Dragging a mop and pail, she shot up the hall to room 813.

“I heard a scream,” she told the guard at the door. “A terrible scream from across the atrium. Someone's in trouble!” The cop dashed down the corridor, then headed toward the atrium.

Ellen and Dolores ran behind him.

“Come on, Yin!” they hollered.

Nicki knocked her pail over with her foot. “Oh, no!” she cried. “You two go. Hurry! I'll be right there.”

Once they were out of sight, Nicki pulled out her mother's universal passkey, rammed it into the slot, grabbed her mop and pail, and quickly shut the door behind her.

She went straight to the in-room safe.

The vase has to be in there.
Her mind raced as she pulled out the override tool.

It was!

Standing alone in the middle of that cold metal safe was the most exquisite piece of porcelain she had ever seen. But there was no time to admire it now. Nicki grabbed a thick towel from the bathroom, wrapped it around the vase, and carefully placed it in the bottom of her pail. Then she opened the door a crack and peered down the hall.

Good. I still have a bit of time.

She riffled through Kahana's shirts in the chest of drawers.

There's got to be a clue here someplace. Something to lead me to the creep who stabbed Master Kahana.

Next she tried the closet.

It was empty except for a couple of light jackets. She went through the pockets, but there was only a package of gum and a slip of paper. On it Kahana had written a phone number and a name: Robert A-G. Nicki shoved it into her pocket.

Sensing her time was up, she crept out the door, just as the cop was coming down the hall. Wheeling her mop and pail to the service elevator, she took a deep breath and prayed that he didn't see her get on.

He didn't.

But Trent Newman did. When the doors opened, he was standing in the elevator.

Chapter Seven

“What the devil are you doing?” Newman had a chunk of Spam in his hand. No bun, no mustard, just Spam. Neat.

Now I know he's a kama'aina
, thought Nicki.
Nobody can stomach Spam like a born-and-bred Hawaiian. There isn't a restaurant in Honolulu that doesn't serve it.

“You're supposed to be cleaning with your team! Why aren't you?”

Nicki shrugged. Then she noticed that the towel had shifted and part of the vase was exposed. She draped her mop over it in an attempt to conceal it from Newman.

It felt like the longest elevator ride of her life.

“Find your team and don't go off on your own, do you hear me?” declared Newman. “Any more missteps and you're history.”

Newman stuffed the meat into his mouth, holding it between his teeth so it didn't fall out, then stomped through the door when the elevator finally came to a stop.

Nicki hurried to her mother's office on the main floor. When no one was looking, she slipped inside and found a place to hide the vase. Then she called home.

“I need your help, Fenwick. And I need it now.”

“My help, Miss?”

“I've got the vase.”

“You found it?”

“I'll explain later. Right now it's hidden in my mother's office at the hotel, but I've got to get it out of here. I'll be working on one of the floors, but I'll keep my eye out for you every chance I get. Bring a suitcase, Fenwick. And try to look like one of the guests.”

“I'll try.”

“Oh, and Fenwick?” Out of her pocket Nicki pulled the slip of paper she'd found in room 813. “Can you do a reverse phone check for me?”

Nicki finished work at seven. Before she left, she returned to the eighth floor, stood with her back against the wall and peered around the corner toward 813. The forensics team was inside, poking into every corner. Newman stood outside the room, hands folded in front, a vacant look on his face.

After a few minutes, a detective came out.

“We're almost finished in there, Mr. Newman,” he said.

Investigators shuffled past; they didn't appear to be carrying anything from the room.

“Didn't they find anything?” demanded Newman.

“I can't tell you that,” answered the detective.

“Mr. Kahana informed me that he required a room with a safe,” said Newman. “I believe he must have deposited something valuable in there.” His face went red. “I need to know for insurance purposes. If there's going to be a claim—”

“No, sir,” said the detective. “There was nothing in the safe.”

“What?” Newman craned his neck to look inside, but the detective pulled the door shut. “But I'm sure—”

“Sure of what?”

“Well, Mr. Kahana specifically asked me about the safe. I'm sure he must have—”

“I'm sorry, sir,” said the detective. “You'll have your room back shortly.”

“Good!” snapped Newman, and he stormed down the hall.

Nicki ducked into a closet. While Newman hammered the elevator button with his fist, she took the stairs to the ground floor and headed outside.

On her way to the hospital she passed Bloom's Deli, just as Margo came out the door.

“Yin!” Margo called. “Come on over! Do you like corned beef?”

Before Nicki could explain she was vegetarian, Margo had already set her a place at the picnic table and was bringing out
food by the boatloads. “Not too busy tonight, so we've got tons of leftovers.”

“Margo,” said Nicki, “I'm not a meat eater myself, so I—”

“No problem. Have a bagel and cream cheese. And rye bread. And pickles. And lox—do you eat fish? And coffee!”

She sure loves her coffee
, thought Nicki.

“Thanks, I guess I am pretty hungry.” Nicki tossed back two bagels and half a dozen pickles.

Margo smiled. “You like pickles.”

“I love pickles,” admitted Nicki, helping herself to another. “And these are the best I've ever eaten.” She scrunched up her napkin and let it drop into the middle of the empty plate. “I must have built up an appetite; I've been cleaning rooms at the hotel all day.”

“You got a job? Hey, that's great!”

Ira and Ruthie Bloom, Margo's parents, brought out sticky buns and soup and more coffee.

“This is my new friend, Yin,” said Margo. “And these are my parents.” She made a sweeping motion with her left hand while reaching for a bun with her right.

Margo's dad took a place on the bench.

“You girls care to join me in a bowl of soup?”

“I don't think there's room for all three of you in there,” quipped Ruthie, making Margo laugh.

“Sit down, Mom.”

“There are still some customers to serve.”

“You can never have too many customers,” said Ira. “In
the old days, you could, but no more. I'm telling you…what's your name again?”

“Yin.”

“I'm telling you, Yin, this health food craze is going to put me out of business. Nobody wants pastrami, nobody wants kreplach, nobody wants knishes. They act like anything with a bit of
schmaltz
will kill them on the spot. My grandfather in Brooklyn lived until he was ninety-eight, and he ate nothing but schmaltz. And cream soda.”

“Schmaltz?” asked Nicki.

“Fat,” Margo managed to squeeze in before Ira was off again.

“All this nonsense about health,” cried Ira. “You know what it is, girls? You know what it is?” He swallowed a big spoonful of soup. “
Bupkis!
That's what it is!”

“Bupkis?” asked Nicki.

“That means nonsense,” said Margo. “In Yiddish.”

Nicki managed to drink almost half a cup of coffee by swallowing it at the same time as the sweet bun. Then she helped Margo and Ira carry the dishes back inside.

“Everything was really good, Margo,” she said. “How much do I owe you for this?” She pulled out her wallet.

“Your money's no good here, Yin,” said Ira. He shoved a stack of plates into the dishwasher.

“He's right,” added Ruthie. “And remember, you're welcome anytime.”

“Thank you both, very much.”

Margo walked Nicki outside.

“I like your parents,” Nicki said.

“They're okay, I guess.” Margo rolled her eyes. Then she smiled. “I love them.”

“I know you do.”

“So you're headed to the hospital?” asked Margo.

“I have to find out how Mr. Kahana's doing.”

“You know anything I tell you is off the record, but—”

“Is he okay?”

Margo smiled. “Your feet must be tired. I might as well save you the trip to the hospital.” She put a hand on Nicki's shoulder. “It sounds like Mr. Kahana is going to recover.”

“Oh,” sighed Nicki. “Thank goodness.”

“I heard two nurses talking about how his vital signs were stronger and that the coma wasn't as deep as it had been. I think they expect him to come out of it.”

“Thanks so much, Margo. That's such a relief, you've no idea.” She took a deep breath.

“One thing, though,” added Margo.

“What's that?”

“I don't want to upset you.”

“You won't.”

“The police have posted a second guard on the floor.”

“A second guard?”

“Yes,” said Margo. “I…I heard that—”

“What, Margo? What did you hear?”

“Someone tried to cut off Mr. Kahana's oxygen supply.”