Chapter Nine
NINE
“ A hotel?” An hour later, Vesper found herself standing before the tallest building in Basalton. She turned to Maximilian. “This is where you want to begin our investigation?”
“
“Not just any hotel,” said Maximilian. “The Massey’s by far the most luxurious one in the city.” He gave her a significant look. “It also happens to be where Francis Gladwell was staying before he met his untimely demise.”
Vesper’s brows knitted. “Didn’t he own a house?”
Maximilian shook his head. “He’d only moved to Basalton within the last year. I’d heard that he was shopping around for homes, but it seems he never found one he liked enough to buy.”
Vesper took out her notebook and jotted down a note. “Identifying Mr. Gladwell’s hotel is one thing, getting into his room is entirely another.”
Maximilian winked. “Leave that part up to me,” he said. “Come on.”
He didn’t give Vesper the opportunity to question him further as he strode toward the hotel doors.
She stashed her notebook and followed, mildly annoyed at how much effort it took to keep up with his long strides.
A pair of uniformed doormen bowed in unison as they passed.
Vesper took a deep breath, then they entered.
White marble stretched across the hotel’s main floor, and a large glass dome in the center of the lobby filtered colored light through its stained glass panes. Each of the chandeliers suspended from its ceiling was the size of a small carriage.
“This way.” Maximilian nodded toward a reception desk, where a concierge stood at attention. The sorcerer leaned on the counter, smiling.
“Good morning,” he said warmly. “We have a friend staying at this hotel, and we’d like to go up to his room and surprise him with a gift. The trouble is … we’ve forgotten his room number. Are you able to give it to us?”
Vesper’s eyes darted to Maximilian, aghast. When he’d said to leave this to him, this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.
The concierge’s expression turned apologetic. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not permitted to share details about any of our guests without prior written consent. It’s a hotel policy.”
“I see. Let’s try this.” Maximilian didn’t miss a beat. Vesper watched as he withdrew a purple bill from his pocket, then slid it across the reception desk. “It’s very important that our friend receives his gift, and we’d very much appreciate your assistance. Are you able to help us?”
Vesper tensed as the concierge paled.
“Sir,” he said in a shakier voice. “I … I must … I must insist that you…”
“I appreciate that our request may be taxing to you,” Maximilian went on. He produced a second hundred-gild bill. “Be assured, I would be very grateful for your help.”
Vesper clenched her teeth. This was exactly the sort of behavior she couldn’t stand, rich people using their money to flout the rules.
She watched as the concierge looked from the two hundred-gild bills, then back to Maximilian.
He bit his lip. She could only imagine the kind of internal battle he was facing.
Accepting a bribe to break hotel policy could cost him his job, but two hundred gild was likely more than what he made in a fortnight.
He hesitated a second longer, then snatched the bills from the counter.
“I’ll be right back.”
Vesper waited until the concierge had disappeared around a corner before glaring at Maximilian.
“Bribery?” she said in a low voice. “In broad daylight?”
“A mere difference in preferred language.” The sorcerer shrugged. “You call it a bribe. I call it an encouraging incentive.”
Vesper glared. “I will not have my impeccable professional reputation tarnished by your unprincipled methods, Mr. Kite.”
Maximilian threw her an amused sidelong glance. “Does that mean that if this works, you won’t be going up to Francis’s room with me?”
“I—” Vesper clamped her mouth shut as the concierge returned. He was now holding a wooden clipboard.
“What’s your friend’s name?” he asked.
“Francis Gladwell,” said Maximilian.
The concierge ran his index finger down the clipboard. “Gladwell…”
Vesper’s eyes wandered, then stopped on a stack of newspapers on the floor near the concierge’s feet. She froze. Even from a distance, she’d have recognized a front page of the Globe anywhere, and she didn’t need to squint to read the headline typed in bold black ink:
GLADWELL SLAIN AT DERAILED EXHIBITION
The blood drained from her face. The concierge was still reviewing his list, but all he had to do was turn slightly and the gig would be up.
“Mr. Kite,” she whispered. When Maximilian didn’t look up, she stamped on his foot.
Maximilian looked up at her, glaring, but when she jerked her head in the direction of the stack of newspapers, he started.
The sorcerer glanced at the concierge, then covered his mouth as though he was about to cough.
Vesper watched as his lips moved, and the folded newspaper on top of the stack quietly flipped itself over so that the front page was hidden. The concierge looked up.
“Mr. Gladwell is staying in room 1624,” he said. “That’s our executive suite. It’s on the top floor. Head all the way down that hall and around the corner to get to it.”
“Thank you,” said Maximilian. He produced a fifty-gild bill and placed it on the desk. “You’ve been immensely helpful to us. We’ll be on our way.”
They left the main lobby and started down the corridor that the concierge had indicated. At the end of the hall was a small golden elevator. Maximilian strode forward, pulled its accordion door back, then gestured. “After you.”
Vesper swallowed, then ducked into the elevator, trying to temper a growing anxiety.
The elevator was only marginally larger than a closet, and Maximilian was quite tall.
There’d barely be enough room for them both.
She pressed herself against one of its walls as the sorcerer stepped in behind her, closed the door, and searched the buttons mounted to the wall until he found the one for the sixteenth floor.
At once the elevator lurched upward, and she searched for something to hold on to without luck. Maximilian turned to face her.
“You all right, Evans?”
Vesper swallowed. “Perfectly fine.”
“Good.”
They were standing mere inches apart, close enough for Vesper to notice every time the sorcerer’s chest rose and fell. She looked around, searching for something to fill the uncomfortable silence as the elevator chimed and passed the fourth floor.
“What else do you know about Francis Gladwell?” she finally asked.
The sorcerer shrugged. “Not much, to be honest. We didn’t run in the same circles.”
“Back at the museum, you said that you weren’t the only person in this city who had a motive to want him dead,” she said. “What did you mean?”
“Just that Gladwell was known for being a bit of a peacock,” said Maximilian. “He was always strutting about, showing off his wealth, and trying to be seen with the right people. He acted like new money, and annoyed plenty of people in the process.”
“Did he ever say where his money came from?” Vesper asked. “The executive suite at the Massey has to be expensive.”
“Someone told me once that his family’s fortune came from the shipbuilding business.” Maximilian frowned. “Or maybe it was oil? I’m not entirely sure, actually.”
“Being annoying is one thing,” said Vesper. “But clearly someone disliked Mr. Gladwell enough to want him dead. We’ve talked about friends, but did he have any enemies or rivals?”
“Not that I know of,” said Maximilian.
The elevator passed the tenth floor and abruptly lurched. Vesper braced herself in the corner to keep from falling over.
“Speaking of friends though, Francis was close to Charles Belver,” Maximilian went on. “You may know him. He’s a steel magnate who—”
“I’ve met him.” Vesper remembered the name. “He was at the exhibition, and he interrupted me while I was interviewing Mr. Gladwell.” She frowned. “He told Francis that they needed to talk, and that it couldn’t wait.”
Maximilian’s expression darkened. “Belver’s one to keep an eye on. He’s got a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to business, and he’s not afraid to do whatever it takes to get his way.”
“Have you done business with him?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Vesper started to press the question, when the elevator jolted upward. A small yelp escaped her as she pitched forward at the same time Maximilian reached out to steady her. His fingers encircled her wrist, holding tight. At his touch, her pulse leapt.
“Pardon,” he said quickly. At once, he let go. Vesper inhaled, taking in the woodsy scent of his cologne a moment before stepping back. A few seconds later, there was a cheerful ding and the elevator came to a stop.
“We’re here,” said Maximilian. “This way.”
They exited the elevator, then headed left down a quiet, dimly lit hall. Eventually, they reached a set of white double doors marked ROOM 1624. A simple DO NOT DISTURB sign hung from one of its polished gold handles.
“I don’t think the police have been here yet,” said Maximilian. “That concierge wouldn’t have let us up here otherwise.”
“That’s odd,” said Vesper. She ignored a small pinch of guilt as she thought about Chief Stettner. She’d promised him that she wouldn’t interfere in his case, and deep down she knew he’d be disappointed if he knew what she was doing.
It’s only interfering if you do something that hurts his work, she reasoned. So long as you’re careful, there’s no reason you can’t conduct your own separate, parallel investigation. You might even find something that helps him.
“I’ll do the honors.” Vesper moved aside as Maximilian placed his hand just above the knob. He murmured something under his breath, and then there was a click as it unlocked.
“Surely that’s not a part of your formal training,” she accused.
“Not at all.” Maximilian gave her a sly look. “I actually won that incantation in a game of poker.” He gestured to the door. “Ready?”
Vesper nodded.