HE DIDN’T REALLY WANT TO GO to the hotel. But he couldn’t think of a good reason not to, at least not one that didn’t reek of cowardice. Before looking for Sherman, Oliver made his way to the Business Center cubicle and checked his email. He deleted all the cures for baldness, erectile dysfunction, and credit woes, then scanned a few emails from Barry about upcoming gigs. He nearly deleted the message from Houlihan by accident. As promised, the dope-smoking, witness-protected, government spook from 621 sent pictures. Oliver opened the first one and was not at all surprised to see Chuck sitting on his butt in a familiar hallway, his chubby hand pressed to his recently punched eye and a lollipop stick dangling from his open mouth.
Oliver found Sherman in the security closet, still scouring video footage in search of hotel bandits. He glanced up over the top of his rimless bifocals at Oliver, then back at the screen.
“You’re more than a little late, Mr. Miles.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It was an emergency, one that had to do with hotel security, actually.”
Sherman typed a few keys, frowned, then hit the Delete key a few dozen times.
Oliver said, “I’m afraid you’re wasting your time, sir. Those tapes are bogus.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Educated guess. I’ve watched them all a dozen times, and I’m convinced it’s all the same footage over and over again, probably from the night Chuck allegedly installed the software.”
“And you think you can prove this?”
“I’m not sure I can prove anything, but I’m fairly certain your brother can. Or is Barry your stepbrother? I can’t keep it all straight.” Oliver paused to make sure this sunk in. He was tempted to spill everything he’d learned about the dysfunctional Sherman clan. But there was no point telling Sherman what he already knew. And it wouldn’t change anything. “So anyway, are you going to fire me now?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Okay, I’ll save you the trouble and just quit then.”
“I see.” Sherman said. “You’re calling my bluff?”
“Not really. I should have done this a long time ago.”
“Well, I’ll be honest. I hadn’t really planned for that contingency. And since I don’t really have a backup plan, I’ll just come out and say it—I’d really rather you stay.”
“How about a deal then?” Oliver said.
“I’m listening.”
“I think I can solve your robbery problem.” Oliver paused for effect. “Which might go a long way in getting the Memphis Shermans off your back.”
“And what do I have to do in return?”
“Make sure Mattie stays out of trouble. A glowing letter of recommendation wouldn’t hurt either.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a promise.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I could threaten to blow your cover about planting your own ghost in Room #623?”
Sherman opened his mouth, probably in denial, then thought better of it. “You realize, Mr. Miles, that the ghost mythology is all we really have at the Harrington. We claim to be a four-star property, but Memphis refuses to spend the necessary dollars to make us a bona fide three. When people talk about ghosts, we sell more rooms. It’s as simple as that.”
“Which is why you harp on your employees to not talk about it?”
“Exactly. The stricter I am about it, the more they talk.”
“Anyway, Mr. Miles. I don’t really see where you have any leverage here. Furthermore, I’m not convinced Mattie’s not responsible for the recent rash of robberies.”
“I am,” Oliver said as he unclipped a shiny Rolex from his left wrist and handed it to Sherman.
“What’s this?”
“The watch that was stolen from your brother’s college roommate. I’ll bet my last paycheck the inscription on the band will match his description.”
“And where did you find this?”
“I didn’t. Mattie did. And she found it in Barry’s apartment, along with plenty of other damning evidence.”
“The fact still remains, however, that I just don’t like her very much.”
“Okay, you leave me no choice then. If you can’t promise to help keep Mattie out of trouble, then I can’t promise I won’t post videos on YouTube of you picking your nose.”
• • •
It took Oliver more than two hours to find Lindsey’s phone number. He left several messages for her at work, but could never find anyone there willing to give up her cell number. In the end, it was Joey that came up with her business card.
It was on the fridge, held aloft by a smiley-face magnet. There was no name with the number, just the word Reporter.
Oliver had hung it there after his lunch with her months ago. He’d gotten so used to seeing it hanging there that the sight of it didn’t actually register any longer. Either that or he really needed more sleep. She answered on the first ring.
“Oliver Miles? Did you have a change of heart?”
“Sort of,” he said. “But I think I did finally find your ghost.”
“And you’re going to tell me about it?”
“I am. Plus, I think I have another story—a bigger one—you might want to dig into as well.”
“Perfect. I’ll buy lunch and you can tell me all about it. Flannery’s sound good?”
“Sorry, we’ll have to do this over the phone. I have a pretty huge gig in a few hours and I still don’t have any clue what I’m going to actually say.”
“The Downers benefit thing?”
“You know about that?”
“I am the culture editor for the City. Anyhow, congratulations. That’s big time. But you don’t sound very excited.”
“I’m sleepy,” he said. “And a little terrified.”
“Take a nap; you’ll do fine. Now tell me what you’ve got.”
Oliver told her everything he could think of about Barry and Chuck and their scheme to make General Sherman look bad with a series of petty robberies. It felt a little creepy to narc on his own manager like that. But he kept telling himself he was doing it for Barry’s own good. Oliver realized there were plenty of blanks that needed to be filled in, and that Houlihan’s pictures may not actually prove anything, but she was an investigative reporter. It was her job to dig deeper and fill in the missing parts.
“I have to admit, Oliver, a story about robberies is not nearly as interesting as one about ghosts.”
“I tend to believe it’s the same story. Anyway, his name is Cleve. And I’m pretty sure my boss installed him in Old Man Harrington’s room to perpetuate the myth, just in case.”
“And you have proof?”
“Nope, I thought I’d let you dig it up yourself. Cleve agreed to meet you at Flannery’s at noon today … on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You have to buy. He’s recently unemployed.”
“Will he go on the record?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” Oliver said. “But he does like to talk.”
“Okay, so what’s the other story?”
“Have you ever heard of a retirement community called Shady Grove?”
“Nope.”
“The primary doctor there is a guy named Strahan. Back in the eighties he got in some trouble in Kentucky, something about administering experimental drugs. Allegedly, he was on the payroll of some big pharmaceutical company. He got caught doing some ‘independent testing’—the kind the FDA really frowns upon. He was never officially charged. But I think he might be up to the same tricks in Nashville.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“My mother,” he said, absently bending and unbending the corners of the paperwork Mattie had pilfered from Strahan’s office. Dr. Strahan had apparently become Delores Miles’s legal guardian when she moved from the state facility into Shady Grove. Oliver was still a minor, and his mother not yet married. According to Professor Laramy, Oliver could petition the state for guardianship, but it could take months to sort it all out. The quickest way to get his mother home for good would be to prove that she was indeed legally married to Joey, an idea Oliver still couldn’t quite wrap his sleepy mind around. “She tried to tell me, but unfortunately I didn’t believe her. She’s been a little crazy for the last decade or so.”
“I’m sorry about your mom. But so far, I’m not all that stoked about that story either. One is just a couple of petty thieves and some sibling rivalry. The other just sounds like wild speculation. Both of which have the potential to make me look stupid.”
“I have a friend, a former employee, who can corroborate a few things. This is a first-rate facility with a long waiting list. But—and here’s where it gets a little sketchy—another friend of mine actually broke into the place and dug up some interesting information.”
“How interesting?”
“Nearly half the patients admitted in the last ten years have a particular kind of lymphoma. It’s very aggressive and the survival rate is normally very low.”
“Okay, that is a bit more interesting. And you can get me details on this information your friend acquired?”
“You’ll have it tomorrow. Along with a suspicious bottle of pills and a photo of the guy who’s been robbing the hotel. I’m not sure it’s all admissible in court. But at least you’ll know what to look for.”
“And your friends will be willing to talk? On the record?”
“Again, you’ll have to ask them.”
“Fair enough,” Lindsey said. “But I do have to ask though—if your mom is there, then she must be getting this treatment too. And just because it may be illegal doesn’t mean it won’t work. So, by telling me about it, aren’t you kinda putting your mom at greater risk?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“They should have told me my mother had cancer. I was just hoping the publicity might help get her out of there a little faster. And because I promised I’d get her out of there.”
Lindsey said, “I’ll do what I can, Oliver.”
It didn’t sound like much.