Check in to Danger (3 page)

In the restaurant Mrs. Quinn gave her name to the hostess. “By the way,” Brian asked the hostess, “which waiter is Palmer? Jennifer Hicks told me about Palmer’s dog act, so I just kind of wondered who Palmer was so I could ask him about his dog.”

The hostess smiled. “I’ll put you in Palmer’s section, and you can ask him all the questions you want.”

The Quinns were seated at a table near the window, and almost immediately a young man with sun-bleached hair and a wide smile stepped up.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Palmer. I’m your waiter for tonight. If you’d like your dinner charges added directly to your hotel bill, you can give me your name and room number now. And I’ll take your order for drinks.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Quinn said.

As she gave him the information, Brian took a long, thorough look at Palmer. Just as Jennifer had said, he seemed like a nice guy. But the sheriff had put a check by his name, Brian thought. He must have had a reason. Brian remembered what Jennifer had told him about Palmer’s friendship with Robert Hopkins. Maybe that’s why the sheriff had put a check mark by his name, he decided. Brian recalled that last year at Redoaks High School one of the guys in his class had been called to the principal’s office after his best friend had been caught spraying graffiti. Because the two boys were friends, the principal thought they were probably in it together. It wasn’t exactly fair to make the assumption, but it was information that couldn’t be ignored, either.

“Wake up, Brian,” Mrs. Quinn said. “What do you want to drink?”

“Uh—milk,” Brian said. The others ordered drinks as well.

Sean quickly read through the large menu. When Palmer returned with their drinks, Sean ordered pizza, spaghetti, apple pie, lemon meringue pie, and rainbow sherbet.

“Only spaghetti and a salad, Sean,” Mrs. Quinn said. “We’ll discuss dessert later.”

After Palmer had left, Brian craned his neck, looking at everyone in the room and checking out the people who came into the restaurant.

“Brian, what are you doing? Are you looking for someone?” Mrs. Quinn finally asked.

“Kind of,” Brian said. “I was wondering if Mr. Hicks and his wife and … uh … Jennifer ate their meals in this restaurant.”

“Jennifer is Brian’s new girlfriend,” Sean said.

“Is not!” Brian said hotly.

Sean snickered and made kissy noises.

Mrs. Quinn smiled, then said, “I doubt they would eat here. The Donallys—you know them—who manage the Redoaks Inn have their own hotel apartments, and their meals are sent to their private dining room from the kitchen.”

Brian tried to look as though it didn’t matter whether he saw Jennifer or not, but he was disappointed.

When Palmer brought their salads, he said to Brian, “Jeanne, the hostess, said you wanted to ask me about my dog.”

“Yes.” Brian searched for the right thing to say. He really wasn’t interested in Palmer’s dog. He wanted to find out more about Palmer.

“I—uh—heard that your dog does tricks,” Brian told Palmer. “What kind of a dog is he?”

“Pete’s just a mutt,” Palmer said. “A friend of mine got Pete from the pound when he was a pup and gave him to me.”

“A friend?” repeated Brian. “Was the friend Robert Hopkins?” He knew he’d scored a point when he saw that his question had startled Palmer.

“Do you know Robert?” Palmer asked. Brian thought he sounded nervous.

“No, but I heard you were good friends. I thought maybe he gave you the dog.”

“He didn’t,” Palmer said. “I mean, well, actually … the thing is I hardly know the guy.” He quickly left the table.

Brian jabbed a fork into a wedge of tomato. Jennifer had said that Palmer had been openly friendly with Robert, he remembered, but just now he had acted as though he didn’t want people knowing they’d been friends. Of course, Brian had to admit to himself, with the way Jennifer said Robert had been acting, he really couldn’t blame Palmer.

“Psst, Brian,” Sean mumbled. “Palmer turned around and stared at you. Don’t look. Now he’s staring again.”

I don’t think that Palmer liked me asking him about Robert Hopkins, Brian thought. He pulled out his notebook and jotted down every detail of his conversation with Palmer. He had learned from his dad that being a detective mostly meant gathering information, then seeing how all the bits and pieces added up. So far, there was nothing very important to go on, Brian realized. But at least they’d made a start.

O
N THEIR WAY OUT
of the dining room after dinner Brian pulled Sean back. “Mom,” he said, “Sean and I want to look around the hotel. Okay?”

“I thought you might like to go to the employee talent show,” she said. “It’s in the ballroom and it starts at nine. Since you’re on vacation and can sleep in, Sean can stay up for the show.”

“Are you going?” Sean asked.

“Sure, with some of my friends from the convention. I took it for granted you’d go with us.”

Brian looked at his watch. “It’s only a little after seven. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“All right,” Mrs. Quinn said. “I’ve got to go over the speech I’m giving tomorrow anyway. I’ll meet you in the ballroom in time for the show.”

Brian watched their mother walk across the lobby before he went to the bank of house phones and called Jennifer. “Can you come down?” he asked. “We’re ready to move into Plan B.”

After Brian hung up, Sean said, “Do we have to do everything with Jennifer?”

“What have you got against Jennifer?”

“She’s a girl.”

“That’s dumb,” Brian said.

“It’s the best reason I’ve got.”

“Jennifer’s going to be a big help in this case,” Brian said. “I’m hoping she can get us into the kitchen. I want to check it out.”

In a few minutes Jennifer hurried toward them. Her cheeks were pink with excitement. “Plan B,” she said. “That means we’re going to investigate the kitchen.”

“And who goes in and out of there,” explained Brian. “That’s a question you can help us answer.”

“Well, let’s see,” she said. “There are the waiters, and the busboys, and the janitors, and the cooks, of course.”

“Anybody else?” asked Brian, “like people from housekeeping or the bellmen or the office help?”

“You mean like Edna Marker?” asked Sean.

“Right,” said Brian. “Don’t forget, her name was on the sheriff’s list, too.”

Jennifer frowned. “Well, it wouldn’t be impossible for someone like Edna to visit the kitchen, I guess. But they don’t belong there, so if any of them showed up there, the staff would remember,” she answered. “That was one of the first questions the sheriff asked. And Mr. Otis practically hangs out in the kitchen, trying to discover who’s stealing the meat. He would know who didn’t belong there.”

“Do you think we could talk to Caesar?” asked Brian. “He’s one of the people the sheriff questioned.”

Jennifer looked doubtful. “We can try,” she said. “But the thing about Caesar is that he’s always crabby. And he yells at everyone. Even me. But come on. We’ll find out.”

Jennifer walked down the hall, past the restaurant, until she reached an unmarked door. She opened it, and Brian and Sean followed her down a corridor that led to the kitchen.

When they reached the kitchen door, she opened it quietly and carefully. Brian and Sean stood with her in the doorway, watching the busy movements of the cooks, waiters, and busboys.

“Which one is Caesar?” Sean whispered.

A cook, wrapped in a white apron, stopped in front of them. “Hi, Jennifer,” said the cook, Ann Smith. “You know that you and your friends don’t belong here.”

“We’re not coming in, Ann,” Jennifer told her. “We’re just hoping to see Caesar. Is he here?”

“No, he’s not,” Ann said. “Around six o’clock he said he wasn’t feeling well and left to go home.”

Brian took a step forward in order to view as much as he could of the large kitchen area.

“Is there something I can help your friend with?” Ann asked Jennifer.

“This is a big kitchen,” Brian said, trying to sound casual. Maybe if he could convince the cook that he was just a curious kid she wouldn’t get suspicious. “Where are the meat lockers?”

“They’re in a back room.” Ann gave a wave toward the left where Brian could see a wide door leading to another room.

“Do you have to go through the kitchen to get to the lockers, or is there another entrance?”

“All deliveries to the meat locker are made through special sliding doors to the dock outside, but those doors are kept locked at all other times,” Ann said. “The door over there is the one the cooks use.”

She put her hands on her hips and studied Brian. “Why are you asking so many questions?”

“Uh—just interested,” Brian said, smiling innocently. “I’ve never seen a big hotel kitchen before.”

“We’re very busy right now,” Ann said, “especially since we’re a little shorthanded because of the employee talent show.”

“But that’s not until nine,” Sean said.

“The people in the show have got to get ready,” Ann told him. “Some are wearing costumes, and one of the waiters has to go through a few tricks with his dog to get him warmed up.”

“That’s Palmer,” Jennifer said, “and his dog, Pete.”

“Right,” Ann said, and smiled. “Palmer brought his dog with him before he went on duty this evening. He put Pete’s crate on the loading dock. Before the restaurant opened for dinner, Palmer took us outside and showed us some of Pete’s new tricks. Pete’s so cute. We even save bones for him.”

She suddenly glanced toward the double swinging doors that led to the restaurant. “Oh no! Here comes Mr. Otis again, probably for another look around. I have to get back to work,” she said. “Go to the talent show and see Palmer and Pete. They’re good.”

As Ann reached out and shut the door, Sean said, “If you’re through asking questions, Brian, why don’t we go swimming?”

“I’m not through asking questions,” Brian told him. “I have one for Martha Wood. Besides, it’s getting dark.”

“By this time Martha’s left for the day,” Jennifer said. “The pool’s lighted at night, and the water’s still warm. I vote with Sean. I think we should go swimming.”

“Okay, Jennifer,” Brian said, “but I’m going to keep asking questions. I’ve even got a couple for you.”

W
HEN THEY MET AT
the pool, Brian sat next to Jennifer on the lounge chair, but Sean threw his towel down on a table and cannonballed into the pool with a big noisy splash.

As he surfaced and hoisted himself to the edge of the pool, he was disappointed that even though Brian and Jennifer had been splashed, they didn’t seem to notice. They were too busy making smiley faces at each other. I hope I’m never like that, groaned Sean to himself.

Brian picked up the notebook and pen that he had laid on top of his folded towel.

“Do you always have those with you?” Jennifer asked.

“Always,” Brian said. “They’re an investigator’s most important tool.”

“Big investigator,” Sean said disapprovingly as he climbed out of the pool, but Brian ignored him.

“I’ve been so curious, Brian,” Jennifer said. “What are all these important questions you’re going to ask me?”

“Probably, ‘Did you commit the crime?’ and ‘Will you confess?’ ” joked Sean.

“My questions are about Martha Wood and her nephew,” Brian answered. “Martha doesn’t have a police record, too, does she?”

“Oh, no,” Jennifer said. “She’s worked for Dad for years and years.”

Sean broke in again. “Dad can find out anything about anybody. He could do a computer check into her background,” he said.

Brian frowned. “We can’t ask Dad to do it because he’d ask why we want to know, and when we told him he’d tell us to stop investigating because he’s not here to make sure we don’t get into something dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Jennifer asked worriedly.

“If you’re scared,” Sean said hopefully, “you don’t have to help us.”

“I’m not scared, and I want to help,” Jennifer insisted.

Suddenly Sean looked over his shoulder toward a stand of trees near the Hamburger Hut, which was closed for the night. “Did you hear something weird just now?” he asked. “Like a cough or something?”

“Stop trying to be funny,” Brian told him. He turned to Jennifer. “Sure, investigations can be dangerous. If a perpetrator knows you’re suspicious of him, there’s no telling what he could do. But during any investigation, there comes a time when it’s important to go to adults for help. Sometimes we call on Dad, sometimes the police. In this case, if we can get the information we need, we can call on the sheriff.”