Death of a Six-Foot Teddy Bear (2 page)

Though the activity
in the lobby did not come to standstill, it had slowed. That whole dramatic hush thing really did happen. People craned their necks toward the handsome man and then whispered to their companions.

Before he made it to the check-in counter, a maid and a bellboy greeted him. The maid was blushing by the time her conversation finished, and the bellboy walked away, chin held a little higher, back a little straighter.

Tiffany had stopped her paperwork and stood at attention when he slipped behind the counter.

He buttoned his tailored suit coat and adjusted his cuffs. He half glanced back toward the open doors of the restaurant where an older woman in a hot pink pantsuit stood, arms crossed and scowling. Then his blue eyes rested on Ginger. Maybe it was just his good looks, but she felt hypnotized by his stare. He held out a hand. “I’m Dustin Clydell, the owner and manager of the Wind-Up.”

Ginger introduced herself and Kindra. He offered her a firm handshake.

Dustin touched Tiffany’s arm. “What is going on here, Elise?”

Elise?
Ginger exchanged a glance with Kindra as Tiffany or Elise or whatever her name was pulled the agreement out of the printer and placed it on the counter. “These folks are here for the Expo. They just made it before the deadline.” Tiffany’s smile was genuine. After what they had been through, it was nice to have someone be excited about their one triumph.

Ginger’s pen hovered above the agreement. But before she could touch ink to the signature line, the Ken doll snatched the paper and frowned as he scanned it. “Which one of you is Earl?”

His smooth voice lulled her. She took a deep breath and tried to get her brain fired up. “Earl is my husband. He stayed behind in Las Vegas. The airlines lost our booth display.”

The man made a clicking noise and waved the paper twice. His lids slipped over his eyes, almost snakelike as he turned toward Tiffany. “May I speak to you privately?”

Butter would still melt in his mouth, but Ginger detected a subtle aggression that hadn’t been a part of the grand entrance and introduction.

What now?
Her palm pressed into the countertop.

Tiffany and Dustin stepped away from the counter, their backs to Ginger. Dustin whispered in Tiffany’s ear. She turned so her profile was visible, planted a hand on her hip, and opened her mouth to protest. He raised a finger. She scowled. Then he touched the back of her neck making tiny circles with a single finger. Her stiff posture softened, and she leaned toward him. Finally, she nodded.

Tiffany returned to the counter and took a deep breath before saying, “Earl Salinski signed the original contract; he needs to sign the check-in agreement. It’s a”—she glanced over at Dustin—“it’s a policy.”

Ginger had a hard time processing what she had just heard.

“I’m sure you understand about policies, Mrs. Salinski.” Dustin’s tone was comforting, like water trickling over rocks. He said the most devastating things in the nicest way. “The booth will go to the next person on the waiting list.”

Ginger saw herself slipping down a mountain, sharp rocks digging into her skin as she grasped for something to hold on to. “Please, we’ve come all the way from Montana.”

Tiffany took a sudden interest in the vacation brochures on the display rack.

Kindra pounded the counter. “Where in the contract does it say that Earl has to be the one to sign? Where?”

How could this be happening? She wasn’t about to give this up without a fight. “Please, I have ID. I can prove that I am who I say I am.”
Don’t take my husband’s dream away, please
.

Dustin placed a piece of paper he’d been holding into Tiffany’s hand. “Give the spot to the next person on the list.”

Tiffany said something under her breath that sounded a little bit like, “This is no way to run a business.” Her voice was subdued, and she didn’t look at Dustin while she spoke. “It’s not this lady’s fault that you double-booked with the Squirrel Lovers convention and we’re overcrowded.”

Dustin put his finger to his lips. “I did not make that mistake.” He moved from behind the counter. “My former, incompetent staff did.”

Tiffany must have been tapping her foot because the whole upper half of her body vibrated, yet she said nothing.

“I have every confidence that you can take care of things, Elise.” He shot her one final piercing backward glance.

He glided across the lobby floor. Three people stopped him before he disappeared down the hallway. He offered hand holding to all and comments that made each one of them smile or laugh.

Tiffany unfolded the piece of paper Dustin had given her. Her face didn’t quite drain of color—given the amount of makeup she had on that was physically impossible—but a shadow crossed her features and her lips tightened. She refolded the letter.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened. Dustin was one of those people who got other people to do his dirty work for him. Ginger knew the type.

Ginger cupped her hand over Tiffany’s. “I appreciate that you tried.”

Tiffany stared at Ginger for a long moment, batting her blue eyelashes. “Most people don’t—”

“Don’t what, dear?” Ginger had been fooled by Dustin Clydell’s smooth demeanor for maybe two minutes. People like him were usually on infomercials pushing the latest lose-one-pound-a-day program while pretending to be your best friend.

“Most people take his side.” Tiffany smiled, and new light came into her eyes. “This is not right. I’ll get you out on that display floor somehow.” She slipped the letter into her sequined purse. Ginger had assumed that the paper must be the people on the waiting list. But why would Tiffany put something like that in her purse?

“Do we lose the room too?”

“No, I can still get you in there.” Tiffany clicked the keyboard.

“That Dustin guy called you Elise.” Kindra pressed her shoulder against Ginger’s, her way of offering support, emotional and physical.

“Tiffany Rose is my stage name. Who would be interested in seeing a dancer who was billed as Elise Rosemond?” She snorted. “It sounds like a librarian’s name.” Her voice had ratcheted back up to full volume. The old Tiffany was back. She looked at the computer screen. Her eyes grew round. “No. No. No.” She tapped the keys, increasing speed and glancing from the keyboard to the screen. “No, please. Don’t.” She pounded the counter by the computer. Tiffany offered them a smile that was more like a muscle spasm. “It’s going to be just a second. The system is down again.”

The final thing, the possibility of sleep, tumbled down the mountain along with all of her and Earl’s dreams. Ginger swayed backward. Kindra’s arm wrapped around her, propping her up.

Tiffany patted the top of the monitor with feverish intensity. “What did I tell you?
Titanic.
”

Ginger squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, quit talking about that boat.”

“Oh sorry, hon.” Tiffany slammed her fingers against her lips, as if to keep more sinking-ship metaphors from escaping. “If you want, Mrs. Salinski, you can have a seat in the lobby until the system is back up. I’ve sent one of the bellboys down to the Wal-Mart to get some fans. The AC should be working in the rooms … once you get to yours. They’re on a separate system.”

Kindra kept her arm around Ginger’s shoulders, obviously thinking she was still in need of propping. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Tiffany glanced at the clock. “Oh no, I have to be in the chorus line in five minutes.” She bent down behind the counter and produced a pair of shoes with heels that would increase her height enough to put her in the running for a basketball scholarship. “It’s a short number. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” With that pronouncement, she disappeared through some swinging frosted-glass doors.

Kindra guided Ginger toward the lobby couches. “Something doesn’t make sense here. If Tiffany hates Dustin so much, why is she working for him?”

The gears inside Ginger’s head squealed to a halt. It was rather curious, but she couldn’t even formulate a theory as to why Tiffany would be employed by her ex-husband. The way he had manipulated her was disturbing.

Kindra placed her hands on Ginger’s cheeks. A gesture that Ginger usually did to Kindra when she was sad about something. It seemed they had exchanged roles. Now Ginger had become the kid in need of comforting. “I’m going to find us some espresso. We didn’t come all this way for nothing. Tiffany said she would help us get out on that floor.” Kindra managed a very brief, very plastic smile. “We still got the outlet stores and the buffets.”

Her attempt at cheerfulness was admirable. “Thanks for trying, kiddo. I just really need to sit down.” Ginger wrapped her fingers around the handle of her carry-on-turned-cat-carrier and dragged herself past a row of slot machines occupied by people with pale skin and glazed eyes. She collapsed into a chair. Phoebe peeked out of the suitcase. The poor thing’s real cat carrier had been run over at the airport. Fortunately, Ginger had been holding Phoebe at the time. Just one more item on the list of things that can go wrong on vacation.

Kindra made her way across the lobby and out the door.

Phoebe emitted a pathetic meow from a small unzipped opening in the suitcase. “You got it even worse than me, don’t you, baby? Can’t take that fur coat off.” She had tried to leave Phoebe at home. She’d done a dry run with a cat-sitter. After the poor woman threatened a lawsuit over the number of scratches she had, it just seemed easier to bring the monster cat.

Ginger tilted her head. The ceiling was a checkerboard too.

She stared down at her palm. She’d promised God she would live her life with an open hand, that she would let Him have control of the money. They’d taken out a second mortgage to manufacture the invention and pay for this trip. She had trusted God, and now He seemed to be taking away even more, pushing her to an even scarier place. If Earl’s invention didn’t take off, they could lose the house. She closed her hand into a fist.

A woman walked by with a placard that invited people to see Binky the water-skiing squirrel tomorrow at 2 p.m. at the dock. How had they had managed to make the squirrel in the photograph look like he was smiling?

An inset picture showed a skinny man with kinky hair holding Binky.

A man dressed in a white contamination suit with an Expo pass around his neck raced past Ginger’s field of vision. She absorbed the strange scene as if she were watching a ballet performed by duckbill platypuses.

Phoebe meowed again, and feeling sorry for the feline, Ginger unzipped the carry-on and pulled her out, just as a man in a gray bear suit sat down beside her.

The bear nodded at her, crossed his legs, and picked up a newspaper.

Ginger gathered Phoebe into her arms and leaned close to her furry ear. “Phoebe, I don’t think we’re in Montana anymore.”

A shrill alarm shattered the quiet hum of the hotel lobby. Phoebe dug her claws into Ginger’s forearm. Her body tensed, preparing for another calamity in Calamity.

For a brief moment
, Ginger closed her eyes and enjoyed the refreshingly cool spray of water on her face and body.

A muffled voice said something about fire, and she was forced to her feet when she was lifted up at the elbows. People squeezed in all around her. The crowd moved as a single unit toward the open doors of the Wind-Up, sweeping her along with it. She was pushed and shoved, sucked forward and back. She pressed Phoebe closer to her chest.

The terrain changed from tile to pavement. Heat enveloped her. Her eyes narrowed to block out the suns glare. People spilled out of the open doors onto the sidewalk and out into the street.

Wrapping both arms around Phoebe, Ginger stepped back and tilted her head, looking for signs of fire in the ten-story structure. Poor Phoebe was so panicked she was shedding wet fur by the pound.

“I don’t see anything, do you?”

The bear stood beside her. Only he had taken his head off. Even with his dark, nearly black hair matted from sweat, he was a good-looking kid, about Kindra’s age. Small silver hoops adorned both ears. He had high cheekbones and caramel-colored skin.

Ginger glanced up at the chrome and glass structure. Two signs hung above the doors of the Wind-Up. The doors were the same color scheme as Bazooka bubblegum wrappers. The larger sign read I
NVENTORS
E
XPO
. Made perfect sense. In ornate swirling letters the smaller sign read W
ELCOME
S
QUIRREL
L
OVERS
. Ginger squinted and leaned toward the doors. They weren’t swirling letters. Cartoon drawings of squirrels formed the words.

“I don’t see any signs of fire.” The hotel design included two vertical cylinders with a rectangular entrance in the middle. The brochures had boasted that each of the cylinders housed huge convention floors and rooms that provided views of those convention floors.

Heat hung in wavelike shimmers around the Wind-Up Hotel, which was next to another hotel that looked like a multistory Italian villa. The ten stories of the Wind-Up dwarfed the discount bait shop on the other side of it. A huge lake accented with emaciated vegetation glistened behind the hotels. A neon sign advertised gondola rides at the Little Italy Hotel.

“Fire could be in the basement or the convention halls,” the bear said. “Or on the side that faces the lake.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Ginger nodded. People jostled around them. The conversation had an odd feel to it. So casual. Like they were having a tea party in the middle of the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

The young man tapped his furry chest. “You’re wondering, aren’t you?”

Ginger readjusted Phoebe in her arms. Poor thing looked half her normal size with her wet fur. The animal was more fluff than flesh. “Well, I—”

“It’s for a PR stunt. I’m a Steiff bear, the kind antique dealers collect.” He pointed to a label on the ear of his bear head. “The whole hotel is done in a classic-toys theme, right?”

Ginger nodded.

“Anyway, tonight, right before the first full day of the convention closes, I’m supposed to dance through it, me and a bunch of other toys. Then Dustin, he’s the hotels owner, comes down in the glass elevator and gives a welcome speech to the conventioneers.”

Ginger managed an “Oh.” She was swaying again, and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls.

The kid shook his head. “I trained as a Shakespearan actor, did some off Broadway, got a degree in theater. I just never thought my life would get to this low point so soon.” His face hardened. “Dustin Clydell makes lots of promises he doesn’t keep.”

The bear had misinterpreted her exhaustion as somehow being a judgment of his current acting job. “I’m sorry to hear Mr. Clydell was deceptive.” Sorry, but not surprised. She patted his furry shoulder. “I understand about things not going the way you planned. Boy, do I understand … and I have met Mr. Clydell.”

The young mans expression warmed, and then he held out a paw. “I’m Xabier Knight.”

Seemed the fastest way to make friends around here was to acknowledge the truth about Dustin.

“Ginger Salinski.” Phoebe was feeling heavier by the moment. “Xabier, that’s an unusual name.”

“It’s Basque. I’m originally from northern Nevada. My great-great grandfather came over from Europe to herd sheep.”

Ginger shifted the soggy Phoebe to the arm that hadn’t fallen asleep.

“You here for the convention?” His smile showed perfect and blindingly white teeth. “You don’t look like a squirrel lover.”

“Well, I was … My husband and I—” She sighed and closed her eyes. “It’s a long story. And it’ll make me cry if I tell it. That Dustin fellow gave our booth away even though we made it by the deadline.”

“Don’t feel bad. Dustin makes lots of people cry.” His jaw tightened and venom flowed through his words. “Sometimes I think I would kill the guy if I got a chance, but I would probably have to take a number.”

“He seems to irritate some people and have the complete adoration of others.”

Xabier shifted the bear head from one hand to the other. “I—I was just kidding … about the killing thing.”

They had a moment of awkward silence when they looked up at the hotel for signs of fire. Xabier smiled at the cat in her arms and patted Phoebe’s head.

“I think this is a false alarm.” He tugged at some loose fur on the bear ear. “Wouldn’t be the first thing that has malfunctioned in this million-dollar dive.”

“He’s got to be making money. He charges a hundred dollars a night and doesn’t offer any discounts.”

“If you ask me, I think he cut corners on the functional stuff to pay for the glitz and glamour. All that licensing and special manufacturing had to have cost him a pretty penny. It’s not like you can trot down to Home Depot and get a hot tub shaped like a Frisbee.”

The initial panic of the crowd had subsided. People spread out along the sidewalk chatting. Some had crossed the street to the parking lot. Kindra’s voice rose above the mumble of the groups.

“Lattes coming through.”

Xabier lifted his head and scanned the crowd. “Ah, the international distress signal for people in need of an energy boost.”

“That’s my friend’s voice.” Ginger searched the sea of faces for Kindra. She wouldn’t be hard to spot, one dry person among the soggy masses. Her gaze gravitated toward two plastic cups moving above a sea of bobbing heads. Ginger waved to get her friends attention. Kindra came into view.

“Cute blonde.”

“She needs to finish college first, Xabier.” Ginger’s reprimand came with a smile.

The actor raised a protesting paw. “I just said she was cute.”

Kindra sidled up beside Ginger. “Triple-shot twenty ouncers, iced, can you believe it? Things are looking up already.”

Ginger shifted Phoebe, who was doing her sack-of-potatoes routine, to rest inside the crook of her elbow before she took a cup the size of a small barrel.

Kindra pointed at Xabier with her straw. “Who’s the bear?”

“I’m Xabier Knight, bear extraordinaire.” An electric sparkle passed between them. “And your friend has informed me that you need to finish college first.”

Kindra rolled her eyes, then rested her head on Ginger’s shoulder. “She looks out for me.”

Ginger wasn’t so old and hadn’t been married so long that she’d forgotten what that little electric charge during eye contact meant. She took a sip of coffee. She had never tasted battery acid, but she was pretty sure this coffee had a similar flavor. All the sugar couldn’t mask the bitter intensity of the caffeine kick.

Kindra elbowed Ginger and held out a hand to Xabier. “I’m Kindra Hall, physics major and bargain hunter extraordinaire, and I only have two more years college of left.”

Xabier touched his matted hair. “I look a lot nicer when I haven’t been rehearsing in this suit.” He tugged the fur on his chest. “It makes me sweat.”

“You don’t look bad to me.” Kindra chewed on her straw. “Not bad at all.”

The doors of a balcony on the second floor of the hotel opened. Fanfare music spilled out.

All three lifted their heads and stepped toward the street to see better.

Dustin Clydell stepped out onto the balcony and waved.

“Give me a break,” said Xabier. “He’s so over the top.”

The man standing next to them commented, “Who does he think he is, the queen of England?”

Dustin ran a palm over his perfect hair and lifted his chin. “Ladies and gentlemen, please accept my apologies.” Despite the distance, his voice was loud and clear.

“He must be miked.” Xabier rubbed his neck.

Dustin continued. “It seems we had a glitch in our alarm system. There is no fire. You may return to your rooms. Remember, you want to wind up at the Wind-Up.”

Somebody in the crowd yelled, “Hey, what about the AC?”

“Not to worry. Not to worry. We’ll have that working soon enough. In the meantime, enjoy the many amenities that our hotel offers. Don’t forget about the underground outlet shopping and the upcoming Worlds Largest Garage Sale.” He raised his arms even higher. “And welcome, inventors and squirrel lovers!”

“He is some piece of work. I bet he had makeup on too. Everything is an opportunity to grandstand.” Xabier continued to shake his head. “That looks like about the second floor. He must be in Victoria Stones suite.”

Kindra shaded her eyes. “Who’s Victoria Stone?”

“You know, Little Vicky. She was a child actress.”

Ginger shook her head.

“I guess she wasn’t that big a star. She had a hit song. Someone told me her manager made good investments for her.” He glanced up. “Most of the second floor is hers. I tried to get in to talk to her to see if she could give me some pointers about acting, but she had lots of servants, lots of security.”

Dustin continued to wave and smile for a moment before backing through the French doors. People meandered back into the hotel.

Xabier mentioned something about a rehearsal and excused himself.

Ginger took a sip of her coffee. Waking herself up via caffeine was probably a bad idea. She would just be exhausted once it wore off. “Maybe they have our room ready, huh?”

Kindra nodded. “Suzanne and Arleta called me. I told them about Earl’s losing his booth … temporarily. They had to park like a million miles away and walk back to the hotel. The close lots are sectioned off for the vendors to set up for the Worlds Largest Garage Sale.”

“I wonder how Earl is doing. I’ll have to call him and tell him the bad news.”

Kindra gripped Ginger’s wrist. “Don’t do that just yet. Maybe we can find a way to get him out on that floor. He never has to know this happened. Tiffany said she would help.”

Phoebe had fallen asleep in Ginger’s arms. “I got to get her some food and water.” Once again, they made their way back into the hotel.

The clerk, who wasn’t Tiffany, checked them in by filling out forms by hand after Ginger showed him her Internet reservation confirmation and the credit card bill with the room deposit on it. No one was going to accuse her of not having her paperwork in order.

“There is only one room available at this point,” said the clerk.

“But there are five of us … and a cat. We reserved two rooms.”

The clerk, a college-aged man in a white T-shirt and jeans, shrugged. “Right now, one room is open. You can try another hotel if you want.”

Ginger closed her eyes. “We’ll take the room you have. I want the deposit back on the other room.”

“The good news is the room next door belongs to Binky, the water-skiing squirrel.” He pressed the stapler against the papers. “Who would have thought you’d have such a brush with fame.” He wiggled his thick eyebrows.

The clerk’s sarcasm was not lost on Ginger. She spoke through tight teeth. “Little Vicky and Binky the Squirrel. This place is just crawling with celebrities.”

The clerk pointed to the poster on an easel. “And don’t forget Fiona Truman from the Shopping Channel.