As I pedaled back through town, thoughts blew through me in gusts that churned my insides.
The little table lying on its side with the spilled coffee cup.
The lonesome guitar.
Sing and do not cry.
Tell her Maria Her—I couldn’t remember the rest of the princess’s name—says she can stay with her!
There was something else too—something way down deep—but my insides were a hurricane, so I couldn’t concentrate.
When I came to a statue of a bear standing on its hind legs, I skidded to a stop. I studied its claws and fangs. I looked at that stone building reaching up behind it. I’d been there a ton when Whitney was my friend. We’d sat on fluffy white towels by its pool and eaten popsicles or ice cream. Just looking at that hotel made me super uncomfortable. But right now Perla needed a true friend, which meant being a detective.
Checking the traffic in both directions, I waited for a car and a loud trash truck to pass, then pedaled across the street. I rode along the sidewalk that followed the hotel’s front, turned along its side, and parked the Stingray. My insides were a mess, but I copied the proud way Whitney always strode to the front doors of her dad’s hotel.
The parking guy recognized me. “Good afternoon!” A big black SUV pulled up. He hustled to it and opened its passenger door.
Ducking inside, I strode past a table with a humongous vase of flowers. The lady working behind the front desk was busy checking in a mom and dad with two squirmy boys. The boys tore across the fancy lobby and dove onto a leather couch. “Get over here!” the mom scolded as a luggage guy piled their suitcases onto a cart. I turned down a short hallway to the elevators and pressed the up button.
I had only one clue about where to find the maids: When I’d stayed in hotels before, they’d moved through the halls, pushing carts full of mini soaps and shampoos, clean glasses, coffee packs, toilet paper, and fresh towels for refilling the rooms.
One of the elevators pinged. The light above its silver doors showed it was stopped at the third floor. The other elevator was at the fourth floor and going up.
“Hurry!” I thought out loud.
The luggage guy got there with his cart full of the family’s stuff. He nodded to me. I nodded back.
The silver doors of one elevator opened. I walked in, trying to seem casual. The luggage guy rolled the big cart into the middle and squeezed beside the control buttons. “What floor?” he asked.
I peeked around all those suitcases and saw he’d pressed the fifth-floor button. “Third, please.”
The elevator surged up, then made that little sinking motion that I used to love but hated now because it reminded me of the bouncing when I sat in a raft. I was coated in nervous sweat. The elevator pinged. The doors opened. I stepped out.
“Have a great day!” the guy said.
I waved.
The doors closed.
If Mom could’ve seen me just then, she’d have scolded, This is not practical! Joyce would’ve said, What’s a fingerling like you doing in a place like this? Eddy would’ve called me a dork or a baby. Gus would’ve said, Now, this is an adventure!
Stepping from the little room with the elevators into the hallway, I looked left, then right. Way down at the end of the hall stood a maid’s cart.