IN ROOM 33 (30 page)

His look was dark, unreadable, and after a second or two, he gave her a curt nod. "Message received. Now if it's all the same to you, I'd like to stop by the hospital again, then find something to eat." He gestured back to the posh restaurant. "Unless you want to go back in there."

"I'd rather eat curried maggots."

"Agreed." He paused, rubbed the back of his neck. "And from what your mother said in there, I'm guessing you have questions for me."

"Not even one." She looked determinedly unconcerned, which wasn't easy because her body felt turned inside out. Her mother's words—
better in bed than he used to be
—might be a flashing neon sign in her head, but she'd swallow her tongue before asking Wade for the gritty details. Pride? Maybe, but somewhere down deep was a sense of ruin, a feeling she wouldn't admit or dare expose. All she could hope now was that her plan to make the Phil her work, her home, and a source of financial security for her mother wasn't a useless dream, as feathery and unlikely as the dreams she'd begun to spin around Wade.

"Okay, but let me say this. It's not what you think. I
did not
sleep with your mother and would not if she were the last woman on earth."

"I don't need your sexual history. I thought we'd agreed on that."

He cursed. "Fine. We'll drop it—for now. But leaving things unsaid isn't an option."

"I'd say that depends on the 'things.'"

He gave her a sideways look, half curious, half irritated. "Are you generally this stubborn?"

"Not generally, always."

"Good to know." He smiled slightly. "We'll do a last check on Sinnie, sort out what the hell is going on at the Phil. And when we've both calmed down, had time to think, we'll talk." He took her elbow and started them both down the street toward his car.

"You
generally
so damn bossy?" she asked.

"Always."

A half a block away, they reached his Explorer, neither adding anything more to their aborted conversation.

But Joy couldn't get past it.

Better in bed than he used to be...

He'd denied it, but Joy knew her mother. Knew the power she had over men and how she used it.

Wade was right—they did need to talk, and he wasn't the only one with explaining to do.

She looked out the window. There was the matter of the two million dollars she had in the bank. Money given to her by a man—in exchange for three months of her time.

No one knew about that.

* * *

It was after ten o'clock when Wade and Joy slid into the booth at a diner a few blocks from the Phil.

Wade felt like crap. Sinnie's condition hadn't improved, and Joy had barely said a word to him since they'd left Cristobel's. A glance in her direction told him that wasn't going to change anytime soon. He didn't push it, because he was a goddamn coward and didn't look forward to telling her about his relationship—or whatever the hell it was—with her mother.

For now, he'd settle for the deafening silence.

They both ordered burgers and two glasses of milk. The burgers arrived at the same time Joy's cell phone rang.

"It's Cherry. For you." She handed the phone to Wade. He had a fleeting thought he should get one of the damn things again. He hadn't bothered since prison.

Wade listened for a time, then cursed. "Stay in your room, Cherry. Lock up tight, and don't answer the door to anyone. Not anyone, you understand?" He listened some more. "We'll be back in half an hour—less. Just do what I said, okay?"

Joy's eyes were big when he handed her the phone. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"The only people left in the hotel are Cherry and Gordy, and us. Everyone else is gone."

"Not Lars and Rebecca! They'd never leave."

"Yesterday I'd have agreed with you. Today they're gone." And if Wade would have bet on anyone to hang in there, it was Lars. Whoever the hell was behind this exodus, and it was damn sure someone was, they knew exactly what strings to pull.

"I don't get it." Joy slumped back in the booth, stared at her untouched burger. "It makes no sense. Any of it."

"There's more."

"More?"

"They found Henry's body down the alley from the Phil. Behind a Dumpster. The police came by about an hour ago, to check out his room. Ask questions. But from what Cherry said, they figured he was another aging wino who'd had one too many, got himself in a brawl, and crawled off to rest. Died instead." Wade's gut denied it. Henry's M.O. was to drink alone and fall asleep. Never hurt a soul—except his own.

Joy went stark white.

He gestured to her burger. "You might want to take a bite or two of that. I think we'd better get back there."

She ignored his instruction, kept her eyes fixed on his. "Mike has to be part of this, Wade. Has to be!"

"If he is, he's smart enough to make himself scarce. Right now he's just another missing Phil tenant."
Which leaves no avenue of proof.
Wade picked up his burger. He didn't have much of an appetite left, but he figured it was now or never.

Joy sat back against the booth, food untouched. "The only sure thing is that all this trouble has to do with Stephen leaving me the hotel." She chewed on her bottom lip. "It can't be Sinnie. It can't."

He put down his burger, gave her his full attention. "Sinnie?"

She dug into the bag sitting beside her. "I didn't want to tell you—you were so worried about her and everything. But this"—she held out a red felt pen—"was in Sinnie's hand the morning we found her in my room. I didn't know what it meant, wanted to think about it. But thinking hasn't helped. I'm more confused than ever. But it was Sinnie who wrote the messages on my wall. I'm sure of it."

Wade rolled the big, red pen between his fingers.
Sinnie? Try to scare Joy away?
"It doesn't wash. For one thing, she was too busy matchmaking. The day she set eyes on you, she wanted me to propose. She wanted me to marry you so I could get the Phil back. That's how Sinnie's mind works. Not to scrawling ugly words on someone's wall."

Joy looked shocked. "She wanted you to marry me?"

"Not the worst idea I've ever heard."

"To get the Phil back?"

"That part is Sinnie's concoction. She thinks the hotel should be in Emerson hands."

"Obviously, so do you, considering your offer to buy it."

"The business part of this relationship is separate from the personal part. About as separate as it gets." Although after tonight, he'd have a hard time convincing her of that.

"Still, that pen"—she gestured with her chin to the pen he rolled between his fingers—"was in her hand for a reason. It's possible she knows something we don't."

Wade didn't believe for a second that Sinnie had anything to do with what was going on at the Phil. But Joy was right on the rest; Sinnie knew more about the old place than anyone else alive.

"I think we should check out her room," Joy said.

He took a last bite of his burger, left the other half on his plate, and slid out of the booth. It didn't look as if Joy was going to eat anyway."Why not? We've checked everywhere else. Let's go."

* * *

The night was warm and humid, but the penthouse was sealed tight against any breeze that might make its way in to cool things down.

Christian turned the kitchen light off, which left only his table lamp to battle the gloom in his over-large living room, and shuffled along the hall to his chair. He didn't need light; he knew every step and corner of his home as a blind man would.

He set a glass of cool water on a coaster beside his chair. He approved the use of bottled water—much more sanitary than the tap—and considered himself clever to have adopted the practice of having one of his hotel guests supply him with a case at regular intervals. The water glass centered accurately, he settled back in his chair.

With Lars gone, he'd have to find someone else to handle water delivery on a steady basis. No doubt he'd have an unpleasant period of adjustment until the new guests arrived to take up the various tasks he required. Until then he'd taken the precaution of having Michael bring a case with him when he came tonight. Good insurance. Another successful Plan B.

He glanced out at the terrace, where Michael was doing his final gardening chore, aerating and loosening the soil in the large planter. He worked under a portable work lamp rigged to the eave of the rooftop stairwell entrance. Christian wondered how David would feel, taking up the gardening tasks again. Not that it mattered. David would do what he was told; kill the silly girl, do Christian's gardening, and... take out the garbage.

Mike opened the terrace door—too wide. A gust of fresh air wafted across Christian's face. He had the briefest moment of enjoyment before unseen, dangerous microbes nettled his flesh. "Close the door, Michael. Quickly." He'd wanted to yell but had contained himself. Containment was everything. "Are you all done out there?"

"Yeah."

"Come here, then. We'll say our good-byes, and you can be on your way. I have your money ready." Christian held out the envelope with his left hand.

The hulk of a man took a step closer, until he was directly in front of Rupert's chair. He glanced down at the tarpaulin rustling beneath his feet. "Doin' some painting?" he asked, reaching for his money.

"Yes. A little spatter work." Christian lifted his right hand, the one with the Smith and Wesson, and fired three times. The first two bullets went into Michael's fortunately very large chest, and he crumpled to his knees, wide-eyed. The third shot was to his forehead—slightly off center, Christian noticed, but close enough to finish the job.

Christian set the gun on the table beside him to cool and took a sip of water. He looked at the clock. Perfect. He tucked his carpet slipper-clad feet under the edge of the tarpaulin to lift it, reverse the blood flow.

He watched the blood ooze away from him and frowned. He hadn't expected so much. It was troubling. No matter.

In minutes David would be here to clean up the mess.

Chapter 15

"You're good at that," Joy said, after Wade had closed Cherry's door behind them and they were walking up the hall. Wade had insisted on checking on Cherry and Gordy before heading to Sinnie's room.

"Good at what?" He gave her a puzzled look.

"Calming people down. Saying the right thing."

"Cherry's made of the right stuff."

"Yes, she is, but I think Lars and Rebecca being gone really spooked her," Joy said.

Looking fiercely preoccupied, Wade didn't answer. He pushed the fire door to the stairwell open. She knew he was thinking about Henry, and after Cherry telling them how badly beaten the police said he was, so was she. Together they climbed the dark stairs to the third floor.

"The lights? Didn't you replace all the bulbs yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes, and they were gone this morning."

"What do you think it means?"

"I think someone likes to do his dirty work in the dark."

"Cheery thought." The idea of someone slinking around the Phil's dingy halls made the hair on Joy's nape rise.

In the third floor hall, Wade said, "I'll get the keys." He disappeared briefly into his room, came out sorting through a handful of keys.

They were in the stairwell heading up to Sinnie's place on five when they heard it. Both stopped abruptly. For a moment they only looked at each other.

"Backfire?" Joy asked, not quite able to believe the old stairwell had just nicely magnified the sound of gunshots.

"Not unless there's a road race on the roof."

"The penthouse? Where that poor old man lives?"

He didn't answer her question; he grabbed her hand. "Let's go." He tugged her up the stairs to the seventh floor.

He stopped outside a door in an entrance hall lit only by what Joy guessed was a forty-watt bulb hanging from a cord a foot above their heads. Whoever had been turning out the lights on the Philip hadn't bothered with this one.