Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Diane was on a reconnaissance mission at the Excelsior Hotel.
She wore her only true designer dress, a pastel blue tank, and a hand-dyed shawl patterned in watercolor pansies on an ivory background.
The matching blue sandals had two-inch chunky heels.
Anything higher, and her back would ache for a week.
But the hotel key had “Penthouse” printed on it, so she figured she should look the part.
The sunglasses were not designer, so she took them off as soon as she swept into the stunning lobby.
And then she just stood there, tracing Grecian columns to the elaborate ceiling where painted insets showed scenes of colonists, separated by tooled wood borders.
The entire wall behind the marble front desk was a mural, depicting early settlers and Native Americans trading together.
The place was breathtaking.
But she was gawking as if she’d never been there before. Her plan had been to stride confidently to the elevators as if she knew where she was going. “I knew Christine should’ve taken this job,” she muttered, looking around the lobby.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” a pretty young woman in a suit asked.
Her blazer was dark, over a crisp white shirt with a narrow black necktie.
Sixties narrow. With it she wore a skirt that was long enough to be taken seriously in the world of men, and short enough to ensure she would be seen by them. It was a fine line.
“The sight of this place just never gets old, does it?” Diane said breezily, casting a final admiring gaze around the lobby before she met the young woman’s brown eyes.
“Oh, you’re a guest?” she asked, nodding at the room key Diane was holding in her hand. She’d taken it out before entering, like she did with her ID at the airport.
Time to improvise. She wasn’t fooling anyone by pretending she knew her way around. “Guest of a guest,” she said. “It’s been a while between visits. Elevators are this way, right?” She took a guess, pointing in what she’d decided was the most likely direction.
“That’s right. Let me know if I can help with anything.” She said it while walking toward the elevators. There were two banks with two elevators on the right, and three on the left. On the left, the middle doors said “Penthouse” in cursive gold.
That was the one she wanted. But she didn’t want to make the management suspicious, so she stepped into the first set of open doors after a handful of other guests spilled out of it.
She pressed 5 with a knuckle so she wouldn’t leave a print, and gave a finger-wave as the doors slid closed.
Then she closed her eyes. “Three, I should’ve hit three.
” She was, of course, taking the stairs back down.
The elevator stopped on the third floor as if she’d willed it. The doors opened on a smiling couple who stepped aside to let her out, so she exited, looking around for whatever genie had granted her wish.
No genie. Just a door with the zig-zag outline of stairs on its front beside an alcove that held an ice maker and two vending machines.
She went through the stair door and trotted down all but one flight, then stopped, took off her sandals, and padded down the final stairs quietly.
At the bottom, she pushed the door open, and seeing no one, slipped out into the elevator alcove.
Quick as a rabbit, she jabbed her key card into the penthouse elevator’s slot.
And it worked! The gold-trimmed doors opened.
She stepped in, glancing behind her, still not seeing anyone as the doors slid closed and the elevator started upward. She’d assumed she’d need to press a button, but no. This elevator only traveled from the lobby to the penthouse, to the lobby again. No stops in between.
It moved fast, too.
In no time, the doors were opening, spilling her into a sort of mini-foyer that smelled strongly of lilies.
A large oval mirror with an ornate gold frame hung to her left, above a tall stand with an arrangement of mixed lilies as big as an exercise ball.
To her right, a smaller stand held a telephone, notepad and pen, and was backed by a painting of wild horses running through red-rock canyons.
Diane got stuck on that for just a moment, deciding she liked the piece.
Behind her, beside the elevator door, there was a stair door with a sign that said, “Roof” with a small sign below it.
“In case of fire use stairs.” And before her, the large double doors to the penthouse suite itself, white with gold-painted trim, and gold lettering on a black enamel plaque spelling out “Penthouse” in the same elegant scroll used on the exclusive elevator.
She went to those doors and knocked, just in case anyone was there. How she would explain her presence, she didn’t know.
“Found this key, just returning it,” she muttered.
“Lame. Um, I always wanted to see what the penthouse looked like. No, that’s even worse.
” She shook her head. “Sorry, guy, I got into the wrong elevator and it took off before I could get out again.” She leaned close and pressed her ear to the door, but not a sound came from inside, so she slid the keycard in.
The lock seemed inordinately loud when it released, and that made her wince and scrunch up her face while she cranked the knob and pushed it open. “Housekeeping,” she said, and leaned into the room. Then she sucked in a breath and stepped in the rest of the way. “Wow.”
Light oak and dark cherry parquet flooring created a mandala design beneath a tan sectional set that could’ve held twenty.
The furniture was arranged around a large TV screen mounted to the wall, over top of what looked like it might’ve once been a fireplace.
It was a flat wall with a pale wooden mantel now. Dumb choice, that.
She glanced left, where a baby grand piano held court. “Holy…”
No matter. She pulled a pair of gloves from her purse and reminded herself she’d touched the door handle without them and should wipe it down when she left.
Meanwhile, she had a hotel room to search.
She started where she supposed she was most likely to find evidence, in the suite’s master bedroom.
It was as posh as the rest. The place was clean and neat, but it did not read “vacant.” The bed was made, but not the way a hotel maid would have done it.
There were lumps, and the comforter was uneven.
Three water bottles were lined up on the nightstand, and three empty ones were in the wastebasket.
Apparently, Dangerous Dan didn’t let the maids in at all.
She opened the closet. He must spend a lot of time there himself. Four of his obnoxiously loud suits hung in a row, the neatest things in the place. Two pairs of his shoes lined the floor—one of them white.
She closed the closet and went to the dresser. Its drawers contained socks, underpants, pajamas, a few T-shirts and sweatpants.
She closed the drawers and turned to the bed. Nothing in it, nothing underneath. There was a photo on the nightstand, angled away from her, the way she was standing, and she turned it toward her, then gasped.
Three smiling men stood arm in arm on a dock, in front of a large boat, and she knew two of them. Dangerous Dan Fitzpatrick stood arm in arm with a striking man she didn’t know, and Jeff Schlotski—Christine’s husband.
Diane thought about it for a long moment, then decided to take the photo. If the police linked Dan to Jeff, that might also connect him to Christine. No, this was evidence she couldn’t leave. Maybe Dan wouldn’t notice it missing before Bonnie had the chance to deliver the death muffin.
They needed to get him to eat it in a place where he’d be alone for a few hours. He’d pass out from the megadose of Benadryl first, before symptoms of the water hemlock kicked in, according to Bonnie. He’d feel no distress, but it would take at least an hour and maybe two, for full effect.
Diane removed the photo from the frame, crushed it into her handbag, then slid the frame in, too, so she could toss it elsewhere. An empty frame on his nightstand, the pedo might notice. Better to take the whole thing.
The nightstand had only one drawer. Inside it, she found a foam-covered cylindrical device with the words “Pocket Puss” stamped on one side, and a pump bottle of silicone lubricant.
She shuddered and closed the drawer, glad she was wearing gloves. Even with the gloves, she was touching as little as possible.
Okay, all that remained was the large armoire opposite the bed and then she’d move on to the other rooms. According to its website, the penthouse suite had a second bedroom on the other side of the living room.
She opened the armoire’s double doors. There was a big television set in there, with a small camera mounted right on top, aimed at the bed.
God.
She opened the side drawers, revealing snake pits of depravity inside before closing them again. There were whips, handcuffs, gags, blindfolds, paddles and items she couldn’t identify and didn’t want to.
She closed the final drawer and stood straighter, every doubt she had erased from her mind.
The man needed a poison muffin, STAT. With a firm step and stiffer spine, she started into the living room of the suite.
That’s when she heard the text alert on her burner phone, the only phone she’d brought with her.
Christine: He’s on his way to the suite. Get out.
Christine: HURRY. I was in a dead zone. He’s already in the building.
“No-no-no-no-no-no-no,” Diane whispered, looking quickly left and right. Where the hell to hide?
The elevator pinged outside the doors.
“Nice advance notice, Christine,” she hissed, flipping the sound off on the phone.