A Visit
Getting there wasn’t easy. The elevators required a card for access, and the one Winston had given me had been taken into evidence by the police.
A crisp hundred-dollar bill slipped into the sweaty hand of a bellhop procured me a new one.
I remembered Claire using a card to access Winston’s penthouse and made a note to ask if the hotel had issued her one that day. Colton’s investigator could find out.
I held my breath swiping it against the panel, but the card was good, and the elevator set into fast motion. I rode up to the top floor, then waited nervously near the elevators for about forty minutes until a housekeeper appeared. She was young, Hispanic, with a sweet face and long brown hair.
“Excuse me,” I said, walking toward her with a spring in my step. “I wonder if you could help me.”
She managed a smile. “Yes?”
“We checked out of five-oh-oh-three, and I just realized I lost my earring,” I said, showing her a large diamond earring in my left ear, then my barren right earlobe. “Would you be so kind as to open the door for a minute? I won’t take long.”
She sized me up hesitantly. My entire strategy was based on finding the room empty. If guests occupied it, I was toast. She’d call security on me, and things would turn ugly. But what was another charge on top of murder one?
“Please?” I smiled, slipping a hundred-dollar bill into her hand. “No one needs to know.”
Reluctantly, she pushed her cart over to that suite, then ran her card to open the door. She didn’t ask me how I’d accessed the floor without a valid card.
I held my breath upon entering the luxurious suite.
It was empty and recently vacated, with leftover drinks in a couple of glasses on the counter and ruffled sheets on the king-size bed.
A faint smell of a woman’s perfume lingered—something delicate and exotic.
The room looked just like in the crime scene pictures, except for the small pillows on the gray sofa.
They were gray and blue, while the ones in the photos had been blue and yellow.
Touching the surfaces with the tips of my fingers, I forgot I was to pretend I’d lost an earring.
I walked on the gleaming white marble to where Winston’s body had been found, and stared at the floor, in my mind, still seeing the blood smear, his hand reaching out.
I wondered if he’d thought of me in his last moments. If he’d called my name.
“You’re that woman, aren’t you?” the maid asked, her voice riddled with fear. She spoke with a faint Spanish accent. “You’re going to make me lose my job, senora! Please leave.”
“I didn’t kill him, I swear,” I said quickly, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. “I just wanted to see—”
“You have to leave. Por favor, don’t tell anyone I let you in. I have two children, senora.”
I looked at her through a blur of tears. “I won’t say a word, I promise.” I took a few steps toward the door, then stopped. “Were you the one who found him?”
She nodded, her hand clasped over her mouth. “Yes, it was me.” Tears streamed down her beautiful face.
“Was there anyone else here that day? Did you see anyone?”
“No, senora, I didn’t. Please, go now. I don’t want no trouble.”
“Thank you,” I said, and left the room. The door closed quietly behind me.
I’d almost reached the elevators when Billy Ray’s phone rang loudly in my pocket. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was a Las Vegas area code, so I took the call.
“Hey, it’s Colton.” He sounded rushed, almost frantic. “Can you be back in half an hour? The prosecutor wants to discuss a deal.”