For Better or Hearse (13 page)

“Who are you?” Leatrice narrowed her eyes and folded her arms in front of her. I tried not to groan aloud.

“I am the general manager of this hotel.” Mr. Elliott looked Leatrice up and down and sneered. His navy suit was perfectly pressed and silver cuff links glinted from his wrists. “Who are you?”

“You're the general manager?” Leatrice looked at me with a glint of recognition. “That's very interesting.”

“What I find interesting is what you are doing snooping around my property. Shall I call Security to get some answers?”

“We aren't snooping,” I said quickly. “Your hotel lost and damaged my car yesterday, and we're here to pick it up.” I returned his sneer. “You should be glad I'm not suing.”

“Oh.” Mr. Elliott's demeanor changed, and I saw his PR smile for the first time. “I'm terribly sorry.”

“You should be,” I snapped, building up steam. “I do
a lot of business in your hotel, and I don't appreciate having my property damaged.”

“Are you one of our frequent guests?” He looked nervous and ran a hand over his perfect hairline. “Perhaps we could make this stay complimentary.”

“I'm not a guest. I'm a party planner and I do a lot of events here,” I admitted, squinting to get a closer look at the precise rows of hair plugs. Did he really think they looked natural?

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows. “What kind of events?”

“She's the best wedding planner in town,” Leatrice chimed in. “She had a wedding in this room last weekend.”

Mr. Elliott studied me more intently. “That was your wedding? I thought you looked familiar.” He returned his gaze to Leatrice. “But who are you?”

“I'm her driver.” Leatrice tossed her scarf across her neck and over her other shoulder.

“I was just telling my…um, driver what a spectacular wedding it was.” I shook my head in feigned disappointment. “Such a shame we didn't get any photos before the unfortunate incident. The hotel didn't happen to take any room shots did they?”

Mr. Elliott gave me a curious look. “The hotel? No, we didn't take any pictures of the room.”

“I thought you might have arranged for a photographer on your own. For publicity purposes, maybe?” I furrowed my brow as if trying to remember. “I thought someone mentioned something about some room shots being taken.”

Mr. Elliott's eyes went cold and hard. “They were mistaken. The hotel had no photos taken. If we had, I'd have known about it.”

“Of course. How silly of me. You probably know everything that goes on in your hotel, right?”

Leatrice put her hands on her hips. “Any idea who killed your two chefs, then?”

His jaw muscles flinched. “I'm afraid I'm keeping you from your car. Allow me to escort you to the lobby.”

“No need.” I breezed by him, waving for Leatrice to follow me. “We have to see Darcy anyway. More business for your hotel.”

Leatrice ran to keep up with my pace as we rushed out of the room and down the hallway toward the elevators. “I didn't like that man,” she said. “I hope he's high up on your suspect list.”

“He is,” I assured her. “It's interesting that he denied knowing anything about photos of the room when he used that as his reason to clear the room before the murder.”

“Are you sure the source who told you that is reliable?”

“Why would Reg lie?” I brushed off the question. “No, Mr. Elliott is the one with something to hide.”

“So there weren't any photos taken?” Leatrice followed me into the open elevator.

“No, but I think he made up the story about having a photographer come in so that everyone would leave the scene of the crime. That would have bought him about five minutes of uninterrupted time during which he could have killed Henri.”

“Really?”

I nodded and pressed the button for the second floor. “Because of the setup involved in events, the room is only ready to photograph about ten or fifteen minutes before the guests are invited in. Sometimes we can't
even squeeze room shots in because of the tight timing. But if the photographer does have time, it's crucial that the room be cleared so he can get shots without any people in them. Once the staff has been cleared out, they usually don't come back for five or ten minutes.”

“So anyone in the event industry would know that?”

“Definitely.” I held the elevator door for Leatrice, and then led the way through the glass doors to the executive offices lobby. Beige chairs clustered around a round mahogany coffee table that held sample wedding albums. I smiled at the receptionist sitting behind a narrow wooden desk. “We're here to see Darcy O'Connell, but we don't have an appointment.”

“Annabelle?” Darcy poked her head around the corner. Her hair hung loose around her face and the bags under her eyes seemed to have gotten bigger. She looked like hell. “I thought I heard your voice.”

“Darcy, how are you doing?” I asked as diplomatically as possible.

“I'm on my way to check on my cakes for this weekend and get a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. Do you want to join me?” She looked at Leatrice. “What happened to Kate?”

“Oh, we split up today to cover more ground. This is Leatrice.”

“I'm her driver.” Leatrice stuck out her hand for Darcy to shake.

Darcy shook Leatrice's hand and looked at me. “A driver? I'm in the wrong job.”

“She's my neighbor,” I explained. “She gave me a ride.”

Darcy managed a weak smile and held open the door that led to the back hotel corridors for us. “Should I ask what you're doing back here?”

“This time it's perfectly innocent.” I followed Darcy down the wide hallway to the elevators. “Leatrice brought me down to pick up my car since the valets lost it yesterday.”

“The valets lost your car?” Darcy looked shocked as she led the way onto an industrial-sized elevator car. “I've heard of them taking a while to bring a car, but not to find it at all?”

“Maybe someone did it on purpose to warn me away from the hotel.”

“Like who?” Darcy held the elevator door open for us once we reached the basement.

“Whoever killed Henri and Gunter might not be too thrilled that I was snooping around.” I noticed Leatrice lagging behind to read some staff memos tacked to a bulletin board, and I reached back and tugged her forward.

“So, are you any closer to finding out who did it?” Darcy wove her way through the labyrinth of hallways, and I followed closely at her heels, wishing I had bread crumbs to drop behind me.

When we reached the pastry kitchen, Darcy appraised the trays of miniature wedding cakes lined up on a metal counter. Jean looked up from piping icing on them and gave her a curt nod.

“Looks like we're on schedule.” Darcy backed out of the narrow entrance to the kitchen.

Leatrice pulled on my sleeve. “Do you mind if I stay behind and watch him work? I've never seen such adorable little cakes.”

“Okay, but don't go anywhere,” I warned her. “I'll be right upstairs in the employee cafeteria, and I'll come get you in a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” she called over her shoulder. “This is better than the Cooking channel.”

I caught up to Darcy, who held the elevator for me. “Sorry. She doesn't get out much.”

“I wish I had her energy,” Darcy sighed. The elevator surged up to the second floor, and we got out as a banquet server passed us with a pile of tablecloths. We passed the dry cleaning counter where all the uniforms were stored and walked into the employee cafeteria.

A few maintenance workers sat at a table in the corner and the TV blared a courtroom drama. Darcy passed the trays of hot food steaming behind glass and made a beeline for the coffee machines. “I don't know how much more of this workload I can take.”

“They haven't brought anyone in to help you?” I took the foam cup she offered me and filled it halfway with coffee.

Darcy shook her head. “If Georgia doesn't come back to work soon, I'm a goner. She didn't take great notes, so trying to piece the information together in her files has been a nightmare.”

“Georgia was never strong on paperwork, that's for sure.” I poured milk into my coffee until it was the color of caramel, then tore open a handful of little blue sweetener packets. “But if everything goes like I hope, Georgia should be released soon.”

“Really?” Darcy poured a cup of black coffee and took a sip. “Have you talked to the police?”

“I gave them the video of the murder yesterday, and it shows that the killer is a dark-haired man in a chef's jacket. That should be enough to clear Georgia or at least get them to reconsider other suspects.”

Darcy shook her head. “Even if she's released from jail, she might not get to come back to work. I've told you that Mr. Elliott has it in for her.”

“That's not fair. He can't fire her because he doesn't
like her. Anyway, I suspect he might have had more to do with the murder than everyone else thinks.”

Darcy's eyes bugged out. “You think our GM is a killer?”

“Why not?” I asked. “Everyone thinks he's too spineless to do it, but I think he's every bit ruthless enough to commit murder. Leatrice and I ran into him before we came to see you, and he got very nervous when we brought up the murders.”

Darcy went pale. “You talked to Mr. Elliott about the murders? You're braver than I thought.”

“Actually, Leatrice brought it up,” I admitted.

“Then she's braver than she looks,” Darcy said. “Most people in this place are scared of him, including me.”

I grinned and glanced at my watch. “Speaking of spunky old ladies, I'd better get her before she drives the pastry chefs crazy.”

Darcy looked at the oversized metal clock on the wall. “And I'd better get back to work. No rest for the weary.”

We parted ways in the hallway and I traced my steps back to the elevators and down to the pastry kitchen. I stuck my head in the door expecting to hear Leatrice chattering away, but the kitchen was empty. The long metal worktables had pans full of individual square cakes decorated with marzipan fruits, but no sign of Leatrice or any chefs.

Great. She'd probably come looking for me and gotten lost in the maze of hallways.

“I told her to stay put,” I grumbled to myself. “Now I'll never find her.”

As I turned to leave, my eye recognized a glint of gold on the floor. It looked like one of the jingle bells
from Leatrice's necklace. I picked it up and my stomach sank as I saw more scattered on the ground a few feet away.

I had a very bad feeling that Leatrice wasn't wandering in the hallways looking for me. She was in danger.

“I never should have left her alone with a killer on the loose,” I scolded myself, sinking against a narrow metal table. “This is all my fault.”

“Talking to ourselves, are we?” The Scottish accent made me jump. “You know that's the first sign of insanity.”

“Ian?” I blinked hard. Despite the fact that his extensive arm tattoos were covered up by a black, long-sleeve shirt, he was still hard to miss. “What are you doing here?”

“I happened to be dropping off one of the band's new demos to the catering office and thought I'd say hi to the old gang.” He winked at me. “Bit of good luck finding you, I might add.”

I sighed with relief that he wasn't stalking me. “Of course. You used to work here.”

“In a different lifetime.” He grinned. “Before the band made it and I could quit my day job. Would you
like to join me for a cup of the world's worst coffee in the employee cafeteria?”

“No.” I gave a quick shake of my head, and then saw his face fall. “I mean, I'd love to, but I have to look for my friend, Leatrice. She's missing.”

“Your funny little neighbor? Let me help you, then.” He pushed up his sleeves to expose part of his tattooed arms. “I know this place inside and out.”

“That would be great.” I returned his smile. “I left her right here watching the pastry chef about twenty minutes ago. When I came back to get her, she was gone, but I found some little bells from her necklace on the floor.”

Ian took the tiny gold bell from my outstretched palm. “These came from a necklace?”

“She likes to wear things that make noise,” I explained.

“I don't blame her.” Ian grinned at me. A jingle bell necklace was tame in comparison to his stage attire. “Let's look around and see if we can find any more. Maybe they'll lead us in the direction she went.”

I dropped down on my hands and knees to get a better view and immediately regretted it. Pastry kitchens weren't known for being spotless. I sat back on my heels and wiped my hands against each other, letting a shower of crumbs fall to the tile floor. At least my black pants hadn't been clean to begin with.

“Any luck?” Ian called from across the room, where he stood next to an industrial ice cream maker.

I sat back up. “Nothing. Maybe she wandered off looking for me.”

Ian came over and held out a hand to pull me up. “She could be lost in the hallways. Odd that neither of us saw her, though.”

I took his hand and let myself be hoisted up. “I have a bad feeling that she's in trouble.”

“Don't worry.” Ian helped me brush off the front of my pants. “How much trouble can you get into in a kitchen?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “How about being electrocuted or impaled?”

“Right. Forget I said that.” He snapped his fingers. “Wait a second. Do you think she could have gotten locked in somewhere accidentally?”

“Like where?” I looked around the room.

Ian pointed at a large metal door by the entrance. “The walk-in freezer. It can be clamped from the outside.”

We both rushed over, and Ian yanked on the metal handle and heaved the massive door open.

Leatrice sat on the floor with her aviator's scarf wrapped around her like a mummy and her jingle bell necklace clutched in her hand. My knees felt wobbly seeing her tiny, shivering figure.

I rushed forward. “Are you okay?”

She looked up and smiled weakly. “There you are, dear. I knew you'd find me. I kept ringing my necklace in case you could hear it through the walls.”

Ian helped me pull Leatrice up and walk her out of the freezer. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, revealing a tight black tank top underneath, then draped the shirt around her shoulders.

Leatrice's eyes grew wide as she stared at him, and a little color seeped back into her cheeks. “Oh my. I remember you.” She nudged me. “They don't make gentlemen like this anymore, do they, Annabelle?”

I tried to avert my eyes from Ian's naked arms and mostly bare chest. “How did you get locked in there, Leatrice?”

She pulled the shirt closed in front of her. “I watched the chef decorating those precious little cakes, and then he got called out by another chef. I looked around the kitchen while I waited for him to come back. They have amazing gadgets in here, by the way. I didn't even know what half of them were supposed to do.”

“The freezer?” I prodded her.

“Right. I was curious about the big metal door, so I opened it and the next thing I knew I was being pushed inside. I tried to resist but I'm afraid I wasn't strong enough. My necklace even got caught on something and it broke in two.”

“We found some of them,” Ian said. “They must have scattered when they fell.”

“Did you see who pushed you?” I asked.

“No. It all happened too fast.” She held up her necklace. “Do you think this can be fixed?”

“I'm sure.” I patted her on the arm. “I've got super glue in my wedding emergency kit. When we get home, I'll fix it for you.”

“You know it's my signature piece,” she said.

Ian pulled me back a few steps. “Do you want me to call Security?”

I shook my head. All I wanted to do was go home. It was bad enough that I had Kate out hunting for clues, but I'd never forgive myself if something happened to Leatrice. “I think we've made enough of a stir already without getting Security involved.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why else would someone push Leatrice into a freezer if not to warn me off?” I whispered. “We bumped into the general manager and he practically ran us out of the hotel. Clearly people in the hotel know I'm here.”

“That Darcy girl knew we were here,” Leatrice said, still shivering. “Maybe you shouldn't be so eager to tell her about the investigation, dear.”

“Darcy was with me, Leatrice. She doesn't have a reason to kill either chef, anyway.” I turned back to Ian. “Someone must have assumed I was here to poke around about the murder, though.”

“Why would they assume that?” Ian furrowed his brow.

I avoided his eyes. “Probably because that's what I've been doing the past two times I was here. I promised Georgia that I'd try to find information to clear her of the murder.”

Ian let out a low whistle. “That explains a lot.”

“But this time I wasn't here to do any investigating,” I explained. “I came down to get my car, which the parking garage lost yesterday, and Leatrice gave me a ride.”

“So this isn't the first mishap you've had here?” Ian asked.

“No, but all I wanted to do was pick up my car. Nobody was even supposed to know I'd been here.”

Ian cast a glance at Leatrice, who busily inspected her bell necklace with her prescription goggles. “This is your idea of keeping a low profile?”

“My other options aren't much better.”

Ian grinned. “You're right. I've met your assistant and caterer friend. It's a bit of a toss-up, isn't it?”

“Shouldn't we get your car?” Leatrice looked back at us through her goggles. “I feel much better now.”

“I don't think you should drive.” I shuddered, thinking about Leatrice's driving. I'd hate to see what it was like when she wasn't in peak form.

“But I have to take my car home.”

“I'll drive your car home for you,” Ian offered.

Leatrice beamed. “Isn't that nice?”

“Are you sure?” I asked. Ian hadn't seen the car yet, and I hesitated to ask if he remembered hand signals.

Ian held out a crooked arm for Leatrice. “It would be my pleasure.”

Leatrice giggled and took his arm, then glanced back at me. “Why don't you follow us? I have a feeling we're going to burn rubber.”

I sighed. Any chance I ever had to be inconspicuous was officially shot to hell.