Thus far, my nose hadn't given us any good leads. Briggs and I headed down to the hospitality kitchen that supplied room service to the hotel guests. Since an unenforceable curfew was placed on the guests, Mr. Sexton, the hotel manager, wisely offered room service for fifty percent off. Because of the discount and people reluctant to leave their rooms, the hospitality workers were too busy to stop and answer questions.
The woman in charge of room service for the night, Ms. Acton, took a few minutes out of her chaotic shift to check the name of the server who delivered the cookies and drinks to Dane's room. Briggs and I worked hard to stay clear of the foot traffic and carts being wheeled in and out of the hospitality kitchen, but it wasn't easy.
We pressed against a wall as yet another cart covered with silver plate domes and baskets of bread rolled past.
"I guess people decided to take advantage of cheap room service," I noted. "I'll bet most of them had dinner long before they were asked to go to their rooms. They just wanted to order something because the bargain was too good to pass up." I looked over at Briggs. "Like when I buy oodles of paper towels because they are half off and then I quickly discover that I have no place to store them. That still doesn't stop me from repeating the bulk buy. Mostly because the bargain is too good to pass up."
A young man with his white coat unbuttoned and the flaps flying behind him like the coat of mad scientist ripped past us with an empty cart. Briggs had to scoot his feet back out of the way or risk getting his toes run over.
"I guess we've begun the really romantic part of our evening out," Briggs said.
"No, that came while we were examining a dead body for evidence." A cart rolled past with three slices of cheesecake. "Yum, that looked good. I'm trying to figure out what I'd order if I was told everything on the menu was half off. I suppose cheesecake would probably be on the list." I laughed as a funny story came to me. "I just remembered when my two friends and I took a weekend trip to a hotel on the beach. My friend, Donna, got the place for free. Her parents had to cancel their trip, so they let us go instead. We were such silly girls. We didn't realize that room service was extra, and the hotel had cleverly, and underhandedly, not listed any prices. So we ordered a brunch fit for three queens. Eggs Benedict, croissants, strawberries and fresh squeezed orange juice." I pressed my arm against my stomach. "I'm hungry just thinking about it. We were such newbies to the adult world of hotel living, we thought a dollar was an appropriate tip for the server. He was not happy. Boy, did we turn green when were checking out, thinking everything was covered, only to be handed a bill for eighty-five dollars. Thought we were going to have to wash dishes or something just to get out of there. Fortunately, Donna's mother gave the clerk her card number. But we had to pay her back. Most expensive eggs I've ever eaten."
"Detective Briggs," a woman's voice called over the clatter of carts and trays and glasses. Ms. Acton, the woman in charge of the servers, came through the maze of carts to where we were standing. She had a piece of paper clutched in her hand. "The server who delivered the cookies and drinks to Room 511 is Nina." Ms. Acton stretched up her neck to look over the heads in the kitchen area. "I don't see her, so she's not back from her last delivery. She is easy to spot." Ms. Acton pulled her top lip down in disapproval. "She showed up to work today with blue streaks in her hair. I told her they had to come out before her next shift, but tonight, those blue streaks should help you spot her." The doors pushed open, and Ms. Acton's eyes rounded. "There she is. She just came back."
Briggs and I turned around. Nina was a tall girl with a short, spiky haircut. Just as Ms. Acton had mentioned, there were blue streaks running through her otherwise blonde hair.
"Nina, Nina," Ms. Acton had to practically yell over the din in the room. Nina spotted her boss and headed over. She had large green eyes that landed directly on Briggs. A pretty smile followed.
"Nina, Detective Briggs would like to talk to you about a delivery you made tonight."
Nina pushed her rolled white coat sleeves up exposing a trail of star tattoos on her wrist. "Which delivery?" she asked and bit her lip with concern as if she was suddenly facing the school principal.
"The cookies and liquor to Room 511." Briggs found he was having to yell. He looked at Ms. Acton. "Is there somewhere quieter we can talk? I'll have my assistant Miss Pinkerton with me, so we won't be alone."
Ms. Acton motioned the three of us to follow her to her office. "It's small, but if I close the door, you should at least be able to hear each other." She waved us inside.
"Thank you," Briggs said and shut the door to lock out the noise.
Nina was pushing nervously at her sleeve again. It seemed odd for her to be worried about just doing her job. Maybe it was knowing she was talking to a detective that made her antsy.
"Nina, right?" Briggs asked. I knew he always liked to use last names but wasn't given one. He hadn't even called me Lacey until we knew each other for several months.
"Yes," she said quietly as if she wasn't sure. "This is because that guy died in that room, isn't it?"
"Yes," Briggs said. I always knew when he was having to work to keep a straight face.
"I didn't have anything to do with it. I didn't even see the guy."
Briggs' face popped up. "But you delivered food to his room. Who answered the door?"
Nina fidgeted with her sleeves again and glanced around as if she was hoping someone would pull her away from the questions. "Uh, I'm not sure who opened the door."
"Can you describe the person?" Briggs asked. "Start with something simple, man or woman?" He was getting tired and maybe a touch cranky. I was feeling the same amount of weary frustration, and I wasn't doing the interview.
"It was a man, I guess," she shrugged and looked out the office window for a rescuer, but her coworkers were far too busy to notice or bother.
Briggs' posture tightened, indicating he was getting fed up. It was rare for him to become irritated with a witness, but it was late and it was entirely possible the strong cup of coffee did more harm than good. Or it might just have been the utter lack of cooperation from Nina.
He tried a different angle by retracing her steps. "So, room service got the call from Mr. Caputo, the guest in Room 511 at eight, and you were sent up to his room with cookies and drinks a few minutes later."
She didn't nod or respond.
"Is that correct or am I getting something wrong?"
Nina sensed the agitation in his voice, which prodded her to open up a little more. "That's what happened only—" She stopped there.
"Only?" Briggs urged her to continue.
Nina fidgeted with her sleeves again. Her hesitation caused Briggs to fidget as well. "Please explain," he said sharply.
"If I tell you, you can't mention anything to Ms. Acton, my boss. I'm already on her hit list, and she'll fire me for sure."
"I'll keep this between us," Briggs promised.
"While I was waiting for my next delivery, a woman, the caterer from the reunion, I think, had come in to ask Ms. Acton something. I think they'd run out of dishes in the caterer's kitchen or something like that. They talked for a few minutes. As the woman walked out, Ms. Acton shouted out my next delivery was for Caputo in Room 511. Mickey, the guy who makes sure the order is ready to go, rolled the cart out. I took it and headed out for delivery just like usual. I got to the service elevator. The caterer was waiting for it to open. We stepped into the elevator. That's when she approached me about delivering the cart up to the room herself."
Briggs and I exchanged perplexed glances. He turned back to Nina. "The caterer asked to deliver the cart to Room 511?" he asked slowly to make sure he was understanding.
A faint blush rose up along her neck. "She paid me ten dollars to let her do it. I took the money. That's why you can't tell my boss. She'd fire me if she knew."
"Did the caterer say why she wanted to pay you to do your job?" Briggs asked.
"Nope, just that she wanted to deliver that cart to Room 511. I offered to let her deliver some of my other room service orders too, but she didn't think that was funny. She was kind of uptight now that I think about it. I know she wasn't doing it to ease my burden, if you know what I mean." Now that the big confession was off her chest, Nina was free with her comments. "I guess she just wanted to meet the guy or something."
"What happened after you took the offer?" Briggs asked. He was reaching for his notebook.
"I handed off the cart. She got off the service elevator at the fifth floor. I tucked the money in with my tips and headed back here for the next order. That's the last I saw of her, the caterer, that is. Caterers who are hired for special events use a different kitchen. It's at the opposite end of this floor, past the meeting rooms. Has its own entrance and everything."
Briggs jotted a few notes down. "Thanks for your help, and I won't say anything about the ten dollars."
Nina flitted off, looking much more relaxed than a few minutes earlier.
"Looks like we need to talk to the caterer," Briggs said as we walked back out of the boisterous kitchen. "I wonder how the caterer is connected to all this."