Her grin returned on her openly cheerful face, meaning, she got it. But still she shook her head. “He asked not to be disturbed by anyone, but you can leave the papers with me. I’ll be sure to give them to him.”
I patted my purse protectively. “I’m afraid I just can’t do that—Sally, is it?” I glanced at her nametag and pretend-squinted. “You have no idea what he’ll do to me if he doesn’t get these. No. Idea,” I emphasized with big, round, pleading eyes. “Could you possibly call up to his room?”
“Couldn’t you call him on your cell?”
I let my shoulders sag in disappointment. “Can you believe I left it back in Seattle?” I used the heel of my hand to tap my forehead. “I can’t believe I was such a knucklehead and forgot it, and if Mr. Von Adams finds out…well, I just hope my dog Belfry doesn’t mind moving into a shelter. It’s the only hope he has of getting that wheelchair he needs for his paralyzed back legs if I lose my job.”
“Talk about going the extra mile,” Win remarked.
Sally cracked a little. I saw it in her deep brown eyes as they melted at the mention of my fictitious dog. “I totally understand. I have three cats and I’d do just about anything for my furbabies. I can’t call him. There are no phones in the rooms, but maybe I could just go up and tap on his door for you?”
I knew there were no phones in the rooms, or I had prayed things hadn’t changed much in ten years, anyway.
“Would you? You’d save my life, and Belfry’s. Wanna see a picture of him? Oh, he’s so cute, all furry and—”
Sally flapped a hand upward and smiled sympathetically. “No need. I’ll go do that. Be back in a jiffy.” As Sally took her leave, heading up the narrow staircase toward the bedrooms, I patted myself on the back.
“A paralyzed dog, Stevie? Are there no lengths to which you won’t go? Have you no shame?” Win asked, but I heard admiration in his whisper. “How did you know she was an animal lover?”
“Cat hair on the arm of her navy-blue shirt. Just so’s ya know, Spy Guy, I’ve been around the block a time or two. I might not have been around Morocco’s block or in some of the priciest art galleries in the world, but I did once stop a meteor from blowing up Boise.”
“Not a lie,” Belfry chirped.
Leaning over the desk, I found the logbook where I hoped it would list which room Hendrick was in and flipped through it. “Bingo!” I whispered as I skimmed the list of five bedrooms and located Hendrick Von Adams.
I looked around the daintily decorated sitting room just to the left of the reception area, in pastel blues and whites, with a crystal chandelier and vases full of dried lavender, and pointed to the archway.
“Now, if I remember correctly, if we go through the kitchen, there’s a back staircase we can go up while Sally comes back down. Hopefully, Chicken Man wasn’t too hard on her. But I promise to make it up to her if he is. A year’s worth of cat food should do it.”
Heading for the archway, I poked my head into the swinging door of the kitchen, making sure all was clear before scooting across the long expanse and raising a fist of triumph when I located the stairs.
Slipping off my shoes to keep my entrance quiet, I slid along the stairs until I reached the top, flattening myself against the wall just as Sally was heading back down the other set of steps toward the reception area.
“Coast is clear,” Win called.
Blowing out a breath, I ran toward the Monet Room and threw my shoes back on then tapped on the door, wincing when it echoed along the wood-floored hallway.
“I thought I told you, I didn’t want to be disturbed again and I have no assistant named Steven Whatever!” a voice bellowed from behind the door just as it popped open.
An angry man in an expensive Burberry polo sweater threw open the door, his hard face nothing short of enraged. He was all angles and chiseled and rock hard like a male model.
And then something clicked as he stood there, aghast someone else had the audacity to disturb him. He was wearing Burberry—just like the trench coat I’d seen at MZ’s before the end of my love affair with Tito.
Wouldn’t a guy like this own a Montblanc, too?
Was I in the presence of a killer? Was this Hendrick Von Adams the man who’d forced MZ to call off the Senior Alert people and then strangled her to death? Over some fried chicken?
“Who are you and what the hell do you want?” he all but howled in my face as he used his elbows to lean on the doorframe, looming over me like some Calvin Klein Gigantor.
“Stevie?” Win queried.
“Hmmm?” I murmured, leaning back away from the door as I fought to put a sentence together in my head.
“Very large, very angry man. Suggest new strategy. Copy?”
“Copy,” I croaked before I turned to make a break for it.
But Hendrick grabbed me and whirled me around, his grip like a steel band on my arm. “What do you want?”