Ten

I strode across the restaurant, flinging my messenger bag bandolier-style across my chest. The room was mostly empty this late in the afternoon and nobody saw me push open the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. I didn’t recognize any of the kitchen staff, and I hoped they wouldn’t toss me out like wilted lettuce.

“Is Roz here?” I asked, knowing full well she wasn’t.

A server leaned on a stainless steel prep table swiping on her phone. She didn’t look up. “Nope.”

“Do you happen to know if she left the menus for us in her office?” I also hoped this was where Roz’s office was, but you know what happens when you assume.

“Nope.” Again, no eye contact. I could be a crazed murderer carrying an axe, a pipe bomb, and a half-starved Siberian tiger and the server wouldn’t have been able to identify me.

“Do you mind if I go back and look?”

“Whatev.”

I accepted that in the same manner I would an engraved invitation. Hoping I wouldn’t meet any inquisitive kitchen staff, I held my breath past the walk-in freezer, a storage area, and a door identified with only a generic Executive Chef nameplate. I exhaled slowly when I reached a door marked Catering Manager. Slipping into Roz’s office, I pulled the door closed behind me. No lock on the knob. I’d have to work fast. I surveyed the small area. Desk covered with file folders and scattered papers. Credenza stuffed with binders and cookbooks, scraps of paper, and Post-It notes sticking at crazy angles from most of them. Since I had no idea what I was looking for, unlike the border collie, I didn’t know where to start. I only knew that the duffle bag, Jack’s demeanor, and the argument between Roz and Viv made me suspicious.

The desk was closest to me, so I began there. I lost no time shuffling papers, flipping files, rooting through drawers, and moving practically everything I could reach, sure the door would fly open and Roz would catch me. After what seemed like forever, I clasped three items to my bosom.

The first was an unopened letter addressed to Roz from ReTurn a New Leaf, Hanna’s rehab place. Why would Roz have anything to do with Viv’s daughter’s drug rehab? I desperately wanted to open it, but tampering with the mail was a federal offense. Clasping it to my bosom undoubtedly made me some sort of desperado, but if I got caught, maybe I could argue entrapment. It was right there in plain sight and leapt into my arms. Kind of.

The second item was a manila folder stuffed with photos of storefronts and attractive young women in their mid-twenties, like Hanna. Some sort of high-class prostitution ring? Escort service? None of the women were posed suggestively, and all wore proper and modest clothes. It didn’t matter to me what kinky thing Roz was into, unless it might involve this situation with Hanna.

And the final paper I clutched was the original catering contract Roz and Viv had signed for the conference. At the top was scribbled Never again. A threat from Roz? From Viv? It didn’t look like Viv’s handwriting, but I couldn’t be certain.

I found a stack of oversized mailing envelopes and shoved my evidence, or theft, or contraband, or whatever they’d call it when they arrested me, inside one. I shoved the envelope into my bag. I peeked from Roz’s office into the kitchen. The only soul there was still the server playing on her phone. I walked past and neither of us acknowledged the other.

My plan was to march over to Jack’s concierge station and demand information, but my hands started to shake. I veered to the bar and asked for a glass of water. I forced myself to sip the entire thing mindfully, willing myself to calm down.

Sure, I’d stolen stuff from Roz’s office, but it had to be done, right? Roz and Jack were both acting so suspiciously, lying about this and that, and Viv was being completely wacko. I was the only one who could get to the bottom of this fiasco.

Right?

Was I?

I drained my glass, feeling less and less sure of anything.

“Anything else for you?” the bartender asked.

I studied the rows and rows of bottles behind him. “Give me a shot of that.” I pointed to his left, at a squat bottle made of clear glass with a silver stopper that resembled a pineapple. Or maybe a pinecone. The bartender lifted it down by its neck and I saw two silver hands clutching the sides of the bottle. Or maybe they were two silver leaves.

“You’re a tequila gal?”

“I am today.”

After my shot—okay, fine, two shots—I summoned courage to my sticking place—or sticky place, since my shaky hands had spilled a bit of tequila—and marched across the lobby to where Jack worked at his desk.

He saw me coming and retreated to the reception desk in a poorly masked attempt to act busy far away from me. I met him there, leaned toward the desk clerk, and said in the sweetest voice I could muster, “I’m so sorry to drag Giacomo away, but I have a problem only he can help me with.” I held Jack’s upper arm and saw the clerk’s mouth twitch. She got a knowing look on her face and nodded the teensiest bit. “No! Not that,” I said, dropping his arm. “I have some questions only he can answer.”

The clerk’s nod became more emphatic. “I hear you, sister,” she muttered before walking away.

I turned to Jack, both of us fire-engine red and clutching ourselves as if we had been caught naked in math class.

“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” he said.

“It’s not my fault your handsome is right out there for everyone to see.”

Jack used his arm to wipe his brow. “What was it you wanted?” I could tell from his voice he’d rather I didn’t actually tell him.

“I have more questions about Hanna. I need to—”

Cutting me off with a finger in the air, he pulled me away from the reception desk. He dialed his phone and whispered into it, “Meet me downstairs.” He marched to the hallway leading to the meeting rooms and I followed.

Was he taking me to Hanna? Was she hiding in the hotel? Or was he taking me to the kidnappers? I stumbled in front of the Deschutes Room but he only gave me a cursory glance over his shoulder.

When we got to the Clackamas Room, before the hallway made its ninety-degree turn, I stopped. The chances were good not many people were in the other, more distant parts of the hallway. “Where are we going?”

Jack had already turned the corner with his long stride, but stepped backward toward me. “Downstairs.”

“Why?”

“You said you had more questions about Hanna.”

“Why can’t I ask them here? And who did you call?”

“saRAH. Better for her. Lots of people happy to rat us out.”

“For what? Dating? Besides, I told the front desk clerk I had a problem. I’m sure she assumed it was work-related.”

Jack turned the corner. “Are you coming or not?”

Was I? No, I wasn’t. I considered diving into the workroom, and all the tasks waiting to be done. That’s what I should be doing. Not this, whatever “this” was. I took a hesitant step toward the Mount St. Helen’s Room. But what if Hanna was down in the basement? What if she needed help? What if Clementine hadn’t gone down there to question Billy the PI or smoke weed after all? What if that was just a story? What if I could mop up this mystery in the next hour, then get back to putting this stupid conference on?

Courage. Sticking place. Suck it up, Charlee.

I turned the corner and saw Jack gripping the handle of the hidden door.

I looked behind me. I looked at Jack.

Then I followed him through the door.