Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 2 - Stellium in Scorpio (14 page)

"I
think the tape played in
someone’s
room," Callie said.

"But
how?" I asked.

A
man in his late forties approached us, pulled his business card out of his
pocket, wrote his room number on the back, and asked if we did three-ways.
"Saw your ad this morning on my in-house channel!"

I
blew up at him and the man hurried away looking confused. We glanced across the
room where half a dozen people were going about their vacation routine
uninterested in us, so not everyone had seen us. I suggested we abandon Paige
momentarily and take a walk so we could talk.

Down
the long corridor, under the Addizione VIII archway, I found a spot out of the
stream of tourist traffic where I could get cell phone reception and rang
George, my attorney in L.A.

"We're
going to sue the hotel!" I said.

George's
upbeat, Hollywood voice took on a nervous tone when he got the gist of my
request.

"Teague,
I'm an entertainment attorney. I don't do invasion of privacy. I do
entertainment. Now if you want me to book you for a lap dance..."

"Not
funny, George. We were entertainment for a lot of people in this hotel. George,
are you there?" I asked loudly in response to the silence. Then I heard
muffled laughter. "Are you laughing, George? So help me God, if you're
laughing..."

"Jesus,
Teague, cut me some slack, will ya? Most people can't even get toast brought to
their room and you manage to get an entire video shot of your sex life!"
George's laughter was choking him up.

"I
want you to contact the hotel's attorney and tell them we're suing."

George
got his laughter under control, but now his voice was agitated. "How are
you going to prove that people saw you?"

"I'll
get proof, George! What if I had broadcast you having sex with your wife—"

"I'd
be proud! Hasn't happened in years!" he interrupted.

"George,
scare them. Send an e-mail, a letter, an assassin. I don't care."

"Okay,
okay, okay," and George hung up.

"I
need to get a woman attorney. George has no balls. No balls!"

"So
what rooms got the video?" Callie asked.

"Let's
ask," I said with an anger that stemmed from a lack of support in serious
matters. I stopped several people and asked them point-blank if they'd seen me,
or anyone else like me, naked on their TV several hours earlier. They gave me
an odd look and moved away from me.

Callie
yanked me aside. "Stop it! You're acting crazy."

"Now
that's an odd thing for a psychic to say, and negative too, I think."

Back
down the corridor and into the lobby, we saw the two pro bowlers. I approached
and began quizzing them.

"Well,
we did see two people who looked like the two of you..." the smaller and
younger of the two said, fidgeting now that she was being pinned down and
couldn't fly by and just tell me we were hot. I asked for her room number and
she hesitated as if she thought we were contemplating bringing our act to her
bedroom. I told her we needed the room number to find out who was broadcasting
this video, and she finally gave in. I thanked them and went back to Callie,
leaving them with their jaws ajar.

"They
saw us and they're in room 332."

"What
are we going to do?"

"Demand
top billing out on their marquee?" I said, trying to lighten the mood, but
Callie only frowned.

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

Back
in our room, I sat down on the bed and stared at the business card the
middle-aged man who wanted the threesome had given me. His room number was 413.
I looked at my other scribbled notes from the people I'd spoken to. The ladies
were in room 332.

"Callie,
look at this. All the room numbers add up to eight. The guy's, the two women's,
our rooms. We were in 1142 originally, and 611, and 1250 where we were
videotaped. They all add up to eight! But your mom and dad were in 1252, which
adds up to ten..."

"Actually
to one in numerology," she said as I stared at her. "Ten is one plus
zero which equals one. You have to reduce it to the smallest increment."

"Ten,
one, whatever. Not eight. And they didn't see the video. But they were put on
the third floor, remember? And I'll bet you that room number did add up to
eight, but we moved them into the room next to us!"

Suddenly
I flashed back to the Roman numeral VIII carved in marble on the archway of the
hotel. I grabbed Callie's laptop and went online for an Italian dictionary and
then typed in "Addizione VIII." Callie stood beside me watching
silently as
addizionare
came up on the screen—the verb meaning "to
add up."

"So
it could have been put there to say it adds up to eight. That really freaks me.
How would Mo Black know, from the grave, what's going on right now?" I
called the concierge to ask if the hotel had ever had a wing added. I looked at
Callie as I hung up the phone. "Under the Addizione VIII archway, where
the shops are, that entire area was added just before the builder died. So
maybe Mo..."

"..
.knew what was going on and maybe he knew they would kill him. I'm getting
chills," Callie said in a whisper.

"Maybe
the rooms whose numbers add up to eight have cameras in them or pointed at
them. Wait a minute," I said, reaching a moment of clarity. "Remember
when Ted said I got 1142 moving to 611'? He told the desk that. They didn't
tell him. The desk normally tells the bellman or security where to move the
guest, right? But Ted told the front desk where he was taking us and then put
us in a room that added up to eight. Maybe Ted is more than a security guy.
Suppose that was all an act with the head of security and Roy." I was on a
roll now, pacing and talking. "Remember what Rob from the theater
said—everyone plays many roles. They could come up here pretending to
investigate a dead body or a threatening letter or a video when all they're
really doing is concealing it. Maybe the hotel employees are all acting. Think
about it. They could be working as a group. They could choose to put people
into those rooms for surveillance, blackmail, or murder."

"Everyone
in the entire hotel? That means there's no one we can trust," Callie said.

"That's
exactly what Rose said. What is she afraid of that is so serious she won't even
talk to us about it privately?" I plopped down on the bed and glanced at
the phone, and that's when I saw it—a newspaper article partially hidden under
the lamp. Callie and I stared at it, wondering how it had gotten into our room,
tucked under the lamp as if a friendly force had visited us. I slid it out and
opened it carefully, its edges frayed and yellowed. It was an old copy of a
decades-old newspaper article—a murder story about a young boy killed at the
new Desert Star Casino in what the article said were "mysterious
circumstances." The article stated that it was unclear from police reports
whether anyone had accompanied the boy to the hotel. "Who do you suppose
put this in our room?" I wondered.

"I
don't know. When I was here years ago for the opening, I never heard anything
about a boy's death in relation to the hotel." Callie stared at the
newspaper article. "Look what's written across the bottom of the page:
'This story was pulled from the press and never made the papers.' So it must
have been typeset but got pulled before the run. This could be a proof someone
kept."

"Who
would have been able to get their hands on a proof?" I asked.

"Someone
who worked at the newspaper or someone who pulled it," Callie replied.

"And
today, that someone would have to be over forty. I guess they covered it up so
it wouldn't ruin the glitz and glamour of the new hotel," I said.

"Or
perhaps for other reasons." Callie was deep in thought. "I touch it
and it feels like an old story, but it has new energy. Why would that be?"
she asked herself and then just as quickly began piecing things together.
"The person who left us the Stellium in Scorpio chart is the one trying to
uncover the darkness. That person knows the answer to all those
questions," Callie said.

The
following day, we prepared to drive Paige and Palmer to the airport. My goal
was small and short term: to get them through the hotel lobby before someone
else tried to book us for a menage a trois. I had them loaded into the car
before Sheik Skippy could even find their door handles, and I pulled out of the
drive so fast it blew his four-foot feather back. This was the first time I'd
been in close proximity to Paige and Palmer since my spontaneous sexual
confession at the coffee shop and I was feeling the strain—in fact, every part
of me was puckered. Paige talked about the scenery, Callie listened, Palmer
stared out the window, and I pretended to be intensely focused on maneuvering
through traffic. At the airport, they insisted on leaving us at the curb,
saying they were going to board right away and were taking their carry-on bags.
Callie gave her parents a big goodbye hug and told her mother to put the white
light around them. I hugged Paige and told her I was so glad I got to meet her.
Palmer stood back and then at the last minute stepped up like he was going to
quickly shake my hand but then, instead, he turned and headed inside. He was
almost out of sight when he stopped and reversed directions—heading right for
me. I braced myself, not knowing what he was going to do. He came to a halt
just inches from my face.

"Don't
let things get ya down, kid," he said in his first attempt at conversation
since I'd told him the intimate details of our sex lives. "And if you need
somethin', call me. I can be here in an hour." And with that, Palmer swept
Paige through the double glass doors and they were gone.

I
took a deep breath. That was the familial Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval as
far as I was concerned. It was also the first comforting thing anyone, except
Callie, had said since this whole mess began. I expected that if I ever called
on Palmer to "be here" it would mean that he'd come to knock
somebody's lights out, since he struck me as a man who believed in rapid
retribution. I also took it to mean that if it came down to it, Palmer Rivers
would be on my end of the tire iron. That thought warmed my heart.
Funny how
just a little show of support can change the energy,
I thought.

On
the drive back, Callie placed her small hand in mine and sat close to me.
"My parents like you," she said.

"And
I like them. You're mom's kind of out there," I said and Callie smiled,
rubbing her hand gently down my arm and then back up again. I asked what she
was doing.

"Just
feeling the strength in your shoulders and arms. You're such a strong
woman."

"You
must be in love. I have absolutely no muscle definition." I laughed.

"I
didn't say you were buffed. I said you were strong. You have great
strength."

"Buffed
would be better. Maybe I'll start lifting weights or taking steroids..." I
teased.

"You
will not!" Callie said.

Once
inside our room, I let no time lapse before I began slowly undressing Callie,
gently removing her shirt from her shoulders and unsnapping the little hook in
the front of her bra.

"What
are you up to?" She smiled at me. "I thought you couldn't make love
next to thin walls. There are people checked in next door."

"Not
our people," I said, unbuttoning her jeans and slipping them down her
soft, pale thighs. She bounced backward onto the bed as I pulled her jeans off
completely.

"In
many countries several generations of people all share the same big sleeping area.
With your obsession about privacy and silent lovemaking, you'd be in real
trouble," Callie said as I helped her tiny white panties take the same
trip down her slender legs while she tried to maintain her concentration.
"Or what if you lived in a cave..." she asked as I knelt by the edge
of the bed and pulled her toward me and rested her legs on my shoulders.

"I
would make love down by the stream," I said, burying my face in her and
listening to her moan.

Later
that evening, having freshened up and walked Elmo, we strode across the plush
mauve carpet and through the arches of the Star Bar. I could already make out
Barrett's tall, suave form from just the way her pants creased and her shoes
shone. She was butch-elegant. Either she shopped at very posh men's stores for
genderless European fashion or she had her clothes custom-made. Either way, she
looked great.

"Does
it bother you that I'm tagging along?" Callie asked.

"Not
at all," I lied, fearful that Barrett might say something inappropriate
and alter the good vibes I had going with Callie.

"Teeeague,"
Barrett said, extending my name and her hand at the same time. "It's so
good to see you. You look smart. This is Jeremy Jocowitz. Jeremy, Teague
Richfield." I shook his hand and then took Callie by the arm and pulled
her into our tight circle to introduce her. It was an awkward introduction, but
only in my head.
Is she Callie Rivers my lover? Callie Rivers my partner?
Callie Rivers a friend from Tulsa? Callie Rivers a well-known psychic?
I
settled for just Callie Rivers.