A Rose From the Dead (13 page)

“H
ow are we going to get inside Sybil’s room?” I asked Marco as he steered me toward the bank of elevators. “We don’t have her key card, and the door is probably sealed with yellow police tape.”

“It won’t be a problem. Watch and learn, Sunshine.”

That was quickly becoming my least favorite saying. We stepped into an empty elevator car, and Marco pressed the button for the fourth floor. “What’s your take on Sybil’s message?” he asked.

“That she had things in her possession she shouldn’t have had, something illegal. Otherwise, why not go to the police if she was worried about them? Maybe she was selling drugs and used her cosmetics line as a front.”

“That doesn’t fit her style.”

“And you know her style because…?”

Marco kept his gaze fixed on the changing floor numbers. “Because I excel at sizing up women.”

“Oh, really? And how do I size up, Mr. PI?”

He gazed down at me, his dark eyes igniting with sudden heat at my challenge. It didn’t take much to light Marco’s fire. Of course, it didn’t take much to light mine, either, because when one corner of his mouth curved up ever so slightly, my core temperature rose at least ten degrees. It was still climbing when he dipped his head toward mine. But just as our lips touched, the elevator doors opened, and five people stood outside, staring at us.

I blinked at them in surprise, then glanced up to see whether we were on the right floor. Apparently we were, because Marco took my arm and ushered me out. Across from the elevators a large brass wall plate indicated room numbers. I stood in front of it, trying to remember which way we’d gone the evening before. “Is Sybil’s suite number 412?”

“This way,” he said, turning my body toward the right. He knew that elevator rides left me directionally disabled.

According to what Delilah had been told, most of the conference attendees had single or double rooms on the second and third floors. But some, like Sybil, had chosen a more expensive suite on the fourth floor.

“I’ll bet Sybil reserved a suite up here to give her more privacy,” I said as we strode up the long hallway. “Maybe she squeezed in a few other liaisons besides the one in the storage room. That bellboy-toy crack we heard at the banquet might not have been too far off. She could have even brought Chet up here.”

Marco looked doubtful. “Chet would have to be awfully careful to maintain his wholesome reputation, especially in a place this public.”

“You’d think so, yet Max said Sybil was the one who arranged for Chet to attend the convention, so they must have had some kind of relationship. Oops. That reminds me.” I checked my watch. “Chet’s show ends in fifteen minutes.”

We rounded a corner to a shorter hallway, and Marco stopped with a muttered, “Damn.” Down the hall I could see a door sealed with two strips of yellow
DO NOT CROSS
tape.

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought the maids would be cleaning down on this end. I didn’t see their carts at the other end.”

“They won’t be cleaning Sybil’s room anyway,” I said as we turned around and headed toward the elevators.

He gave me a look that said,
No kidding.
“Let’s go back to the lobby. I’ll check at the front desk to see what time they clean this floor.”

“What are you going to do? Steal a key card from one of them?”

“Do you know a better way to get in?”

“Well…you’re always bragging about the power of your famous Salvare charm. Why don’t you use it to dazzle one of the maids into opening the door for you?”

He gave me his heart-melting grin. “Only if I want to take the easy way out.”

“Someone’s certainly full of himself.”

“You were the one who brought it up.” We stopped in front of the elevator bank, and Marco pushed the
DOWN
button. The door slid open and he held it so it wouldn’t close on me. “So you like my charm, huh?”

“Among other things,” I said with a flirtatious smile, taking my place beside him.

“Want some time to elaborate on those other things?” He pointed to the red button marked
STOP
. “There is such a thing as an elevator getting stuck between floors.”

Hmm. Stuck between floors with a very sexy guy. Now
there
was something I’d never experienced before. Well, actually, I
had
been stuck on an elevator once, but not with Marco…and not on purpose.

Still, with my claustrophobia, could I stand the furious heart pounding and breathless sweatiness that was sometimes accompanied by a near faint whenever I felt trapped? No problem. Marco had that effect on me anyway. Of course I wanted to be stuck with him. Was I kidding? With the hot look he was giving me? “Let’s go for it,” I told him.

I had one hand on the top button of my blouse when I heard, “Hold the elevator, please.”

Hey,
I
was supposed to say that! I peered out to see Colonel Billingsworth striding toward us. So much for the sweaty elevator interlude.

“Thank you,” he said, stepping in beside us. As usual, the colonel looked dignified in his dark suit, white shirt, and solemn tie, his Purple Heart medal pinned to one lapel. “It’s hard to get an elevator at these conventions. Too many people wanting to use them at the same time.”

As the elevator began to descend, I said, “I see you’re one of the lucky ones to have gotten a room on the fourth floor.”

“To tell you the truth, I got it by chance. Some sort of mixup at the front desk. I told them I didn’t mind.” He chuckled.

“Are you anywhere near Sybil’s suite?” I asked, trying to figure out whether he could help us get into her room. An adjoining suite would be ideal. There was usually a connecting door.

“Opposite end of the building.”

That was no help. The elevator stopped to pick up passengers, so I shifted to the back of the car to make room and happened to spot a security camera in the front corner. If there were cameras in the elevators and a camera in the bar area, there would have to be more all over the hotel, so why not in the convention center, too? I nudged Marco and pointed upward. He nodded that he’d seen it, too.

As soon as we exited into the lobby, I pulled Marco off to the side. “Maybe there’s a videotape that shows Ross with Sybil in the storage room.”

“I thought of that, too, but I’d bet any money the police already confiscated the convention-center videos. After all, they have the bar video that cleared Jess.” He paused to think. “The security manager might have backup tapes, though.”

“Let’s find out.”

First we stopped to ask when the maids would be cleaning the fourth floor and learned they would be there between noon and three o’clock, a pretty wide window. Next Marco asked to see the security manager, and a few minutes later a scowling, beefy guy in a short-sleeve white shirt and a buzz cut stepped through a door marked
PRIVATE
.

“Uh-oh,” I said softly. “He doesn’t look user-friendly.”

“Not a problem,” Marco murmured out of the side of his mouth. “See that tattoo on his right forearm? Navy SEAL.”

Ah! The brotherhood of the Special Forces. Being a former Army Ranger, Marco would know just how to get the man’s cooperation.

Marco checked his watch. “It’s almost noon. Why don’t you go chat with Chet, and I’ll see what I can do here? I’ll meet up with you at your booth later.”

“What about lunch? I’m getting hungry.”

“Don’t wait for me. I may get to see the tapes now.”

Marco left to talk to the security manager, so I headed for the convention hall to get the autograph for Nikki and see what information Chet would give me. I made it to his booth with five minutes to spare, and because the crowd was thinner, I nabbed a seat in the last row just as the
Make It Easy
star was wrapping up his show.

“So you see,” Chet said to the audience, unbuckling his tool belt, “you have no reason to toss your old tapes or reel-to-reels and lose all those precious memories. Remember, there are always ways to”—the theme song started in the background—“make it easy on yourself.”

It was smarmy, but the crowd ate it up, applauding wildly as the music swelled behind him. He hung up the tool belt; then, after the director gave a signal, he walked to the front of the stage and sat on the top step to sign autographs as the production crew began to shut down the set behind him. Digging for my notepad, I hurried to get in line.

“Isn’t this exciting?” asked a very tall, attractive woman with auburn hair, golden brown eyes, and a wide, full mouth, smiling down at me from her towering height. She had on a hot pink V-neck sweater and a tight black skirt. There were smudges of hot pink lipstick on her front teeth, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her. Plus, her eyeteeth looked like viper fangs, so I thought it was best not to rile her.

“My name’s Sue Antioch,” she said, sticking out her hand. “I’m with Jasper and Krebbs Mortuary in Chicago.”

“Abby Knight,” I said, shaking the offered hand. “I own Bloomers Flower Shop in New Chapel, Indiana.”

“Never heard of it. Omigod, look at Chet up there. Don’t you think he’s the sexiest man alive? I just love his captivating Russian accent.”

That captivating accent was so minimal, you’d miss it if you were chewing. “I thought he was from Croatia.”

“No, Russia.”

“Are you certain? I read in
USA Today
that—”

“Russia.”
Sue narrowed her golden eyes at me. Were her pupils vertical? Didn’t snakes have vertical pupils?

I forced a smile, then looked away, glad I hadn’t mentioned those lipstick smudges. I glanced at my watch again and saw it was already past noon. I had less than five hours before the convention ended. Why wasn’t the line moving faster?

With only one person ahead of her, Serpent Sue experienced a sudden moment of panic and quickly pulled out a silver lipstick tube, then doused her mouth with a fresh layer of slick color. She pressed her lips together twice, then turned toward me, baring her fangs once more. “Did I get any on my teeth?”

“Not a problem.” And that wasn’t a lie. Considering how far down that V-neck sweater went, I doubted Chet would notice anything above her larynx anyway.

“Hello,” the
Make It Easy
star said to her, his brows lifting as his gaze moved to the point of the V, proving that even wholesome types could be tempted by the right letter of the alphabet.

“Oh, Chet,” she breathed, “I adore your show. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Tank you,” he said, taking the pen she held out for him. Since she didn’t offer any paper, he asked, “What would you like me to sign?”

She leaned down to whisper in his ear, then pulled back to say in a purr, “But maybe we should meet up later for that.”

He laughed uneasily. “I tink we might be arrested if I tried that.”

Oh, ew!
That Sue had a lot of nerve.

When my turn finally came, I handed Chet my notepad and pen and said, “Would you make that out to Nikki, please? That’s
N-I-K-K-I.
”

He scribbled a few words, handed me the notepad, and said, “There you are, Nikki.”

“I’m Abby, Nikki’s roommate. But thanks for the autograph.”

“Okay, Nikki,” he said with an exaggerated wink, as if he were in on my secret. “Tell your
room
mate I said tanks for stopping by.”

My eyebrows came down like falling bricks. Whether Chet was a TV star or not, I didn’t like having my word doubted. Pulling out my wallet, I flipped it open so he could see my driver’s license, then pointed to my name. “See there? Abby Knight. Not Nikki.”

He barely glanced at it and instead looked around to see whether anyone else was waiting to see him. Since I was the only one left, he stood up and gave me a well-rehearsed smile. “Tanks for stopping by, Nikki’s roommate.”

Suddenly, over the PA system, we heard, “A reminder that there will be a memorial service for Sybil Blount at one o’clock this afternoon in the Redenbacher Room. Please make time in your schedule for a short tribute to our late chairperson.”

Chet had paused to listen, and as he turned away at the end of the announcement, I heard him say under his breath, “No, tank you.”

Not exactly something a friend would say—and yet Max had told me that he’d come to the convention as a favor to Sybil…or so she had said. It made me a little suspicious of their purported relationship.

“Isn’t it tragic about Sybil?” I called as he started across the stage toward the back of the set.

“Very,” he called back.

I jogged up the steps after him and picked my way around electrical cords and equipment. “You were a friend of hers, weren’t you?”

“Not really, no,” he called over his shoulder.

“But didn’t she arrange for you to appear here?”

Chet stopped and turned to face me, clearly exasperated by my pestering. “Yes, she arranged it. That doesn’t mean we’re friends. Are you friends with everyone you talk to?”