Battered to Death (Daphne Martin Cake Mysteries) (25 page)

“We need to find Fiona before she checks out of this hotel and makes it across the border, never to be heard from again!” Myra said.

Myra could be a little dramatic when excited. Unless the woman had a supersonic jet waiting for her in the parking lot, there was no way Fiona could make it to any border—other than a state border—tonight. And I’m fairly certain all of these United States extradite criminals to other states in the union in which they are wanted for questioning in a murder investigation.

Mark calmed Myra sufficiently for Ben to make the call to the Brea Ridge Police Department. Once the phone call had been made and Ben had reported that there were deputies on their way over, Mark told Myra that she could now go from room to room kicking in doors and overturning mattresses.

Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

“No, not really,” he said. “That would take too long. We need to know which room Fiona is staying in and go from there.”

“Of course,” said Myra. “Why kick in
all
the doors when only one is necessary?”

“The only trouble is that the people at the front desk aren’t going to be forthcoming with that information until the police get here,” I said.

“Hey, Jim,” Mark said. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

“No problem, man,” said Jim. “What do you need?”

Mark quickly explained that we were looking for Fiona and that we suspected her of murdering Chef Richards. Jim called the front desk and told them he needed Fiona’s room number. When he ended the call, he said, “Let’s go.”

With Jim in the lead, Mark, Myra, Ben, and I strode down the hall to Fiona’s room.

Jim knocked on the door. “Hello. I’m with Brea Ridge Inn security. Is anybody in there? If so, would you open the door, please? I need to speak with you.”

When he got no response, he knocked again and repeated the introduction. He gave anyone inside a third warning and then said he’d be using his passkey to enter the room. There was still no response, so Jim opened the door to the room.

The room was empty. There were no clothes hanging in the closet. There was no suitcase on the floor. There were no toiletries on the sink.

“She’s gone,” I said.

“We’ve got to find her,” Myra said.

“I’ll call the front desk and see if she’s checked out,” Jim said.

“Return to the room?” Myra squawked. “We’re not some helpless females who need to be mollycoddled here. I’ll have you to know we’ve stopped killers in their tracks before.”

“Killer,” I said. “It was one killer. And, as I recall, you and I did
not
stop anything. If the police hadn’t shown up—”

She whirled to face me. “Whose side are you on?”

“You know I’m on your side, Myra, but maybe they’re right. Maybe we should wait in the room.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied me for a full thirty seconds. I know. I counted.

“All right, then.” She turned back to Mark. “Let us know when you find out something.”

We left the room, and the men and the women went in separate directions. The men headed for the elevator.

“You’ve got a plan, don’t you?” she whispered when she thought the men were out of earshot. “I can tell. You’ve got a plan.”

“It’s not exactly a plan,” I said. “It’s more of a hunch.”

“Well, clue me in on it, sister,” she said.

“I figure that if Chris was so sure that Pauline knew something, Fiona might be under the same impression,” I said. “I think we need to get to Pauline and warn her.”

I seriously doubted it, but I didn’t say so. In fact, I was all for letting the men do the rest of the legwork and the heavy lifting. I would just as soon have gone back to the room Ben had rented for the two of us, dumped those rose petals in a bubble bath, and waited for him to join me. But by buying time by checking on Pauline and telling her about Fiona, I was getting Myra out of the men’s way while letting her believe she was still a crucial part of the plan.

That is truly what I thought I was doing . . . right up until the instant that Myra and I saw Fiona slipping furtively into Pauline’s room.