Chapter 37

 

The thought of more travel, of going all the way to Europe, felt simply overwhelming in their present, jet-lagged state.

“Let’s go to his hotel,” Gracie suggested. “Maybe we can ask some questions there, find some kind of clue where he was going next, learn whether London is his destination or if it’s Switzerland.”

Or somewhere beyond, Pen thought. Once a person got to Europe it was a simple matter to use the train system and be in another country within a few hours, and relatively anonymously. She decided not to voice that thought—everyone was discouraged already.

Gracie pulled out her phone, where she’d noted the name and address of Frank Morrell’s hotel. At the curb she flagged a taxi.

“The Grand Cayman Regent, please,” she told the driver.

“Once we get there, what then?” Sandy whispered, once the cab was rolling.

“I have an idea,” Pen said. She leaned back in her seat for the short ride to the hotel.

When the taxi stopped under the hotel’s shady portico, Pen turned to the others. “If you ladies will see to the luggage, I will obtain a room key.” She raised her eyebrows coquettishly.

“What are you up to?” Sandy said with a little grin.

Pen fluffed her hair and applied fresh lipstick. “Here, take my purse and carry-on bag. I need to appear as if I’ve been here all along. I’ll meet you at the far end of the lobby or near the elevators, somewhere out of sight of the front desk.”

She hopped out of the taxi and practically sprinted to the sidewalk, where she adjusted her posture and put a jaunty bounce in her step. With an air of confidence she stepped through the wide entry doors. It still wasn’t quite eight in the morning and she hoped the morning desk clerks were not fully alert just yet.

Two clerks stood by, the younger female sipping from a coffee cup. She chose that one.

“Terribly sorry,” she said, “I went off for my walk and forgot my room key, and my nephew is out. Would you be able to print me another?”

As hoped, the girl set down her mug a little reluctantly. “Room number?” Her tone was satisfyingly bored.

Luckily, Pen had checked before leaving the cab. “Five-oh-one.”

She glanced around the lobby, trying not to appear the least bit concerned as the girl tapped a few keys at her computer terminal.

“Name?”

“Coddington. Woodsworth Coddington.”

Two more clicks. A moment later a gold plastic card was handed over.

“Hm, there’s some sort of note here about …” the clerk began.

But Pen had already turned away with a thank-you and a brisk step. Gracie and Sandy were standing near the elevators.

“That one,” Pen said, indicating the button for the upper floors.

The door slid open without a sound. Inside, they saw that three penthouse suites occupied the entire fifth floor. When they arrived moments later they found Suite 501 to their right. The new key worked perfectly. A collective sigh as they wheeled their bags inside.

“Whoa!” Gracie said.

They took in the huge living-dining room, grand piano and all. Cushions on the plump chairs and couches were somewhat smashed down, and the coffee table held empty drink glasses. A bowl of mixed nuts was nearly empty. The bar beside the widescreen TV was open, with bottles of Scotch and vodka sitting out.

“There are three bedrooms and four baths!” Sandy exclaimed after a quick foray through the place. “Only the king bed in the master looks as if it was used.”

“Are there three beds between the others?” Pen asked. “A few hours sleep is all I’m interested in right now.”

“You think we should stay here?”

“I don’t see why not. The brute paid for all this with my money, after all.”

“Um, I’m not sure he did,” Gracie said, reading a sheet of paper she’d picked up from the marble floor. She held it out to Pen.

The bill was for over twenty thousand dollars, including several lavish restaurant meals and items from the hotel gift shops. A handwritten note across the front said, A little matter with your credit card, sir. Please contact the manager at your earliest convenience.

“Well, we know that won’t happen, now that ‘Coddington’ is Frank Morrell again and is on his way to Europe,” Sandy said.

“I’m certainly not under obligation to pay the man’s bill, not after he stole more than a million dollars from me,” Pen said, gritting her teeth. “But I’m too tired at the moment to think how to handle it. Put out the Privacy notice, lock the bolts on that door and find beds for yourselves. We’ll discuss this when we’re fresher.”

Sandy pointed the way toward the two unused bedrooms, each furnished with two queen beds. She and Gracie said Pen should take a room to herself and they would share the other.

“Once we have our wits about us again, we’ll search the bedroom he used and see what clues we might find.”

Pen slept soundly for a few hours. When she looked at the bedside clock it showed 11:49. With the dark curtains closed, she felt momentarily confused whether it was morning or night. But, since she was wide awake, she got up and pulled the hotel’s complimentary robe over her nightgown. Opening the drapes revealed it was, indeed, midday. Beyond the sliding glass door lay a small terrace and a grove of palm trees, with the vivid Caribbean sea beyond. But Pen had no time to enjoy the fact that she was in the tropics. Frank Morrell’s actions still grated at her and she wanted answers.