IT WAS AFTER five-thirty in the afternoon when Danielle swept into the lobby like a movie star arriving at her world premiere. And the swarm of alums still meeting and greeting among the potted palms, chalky columns and oversize ultramodern furnishings treated the French femme fatale as such. As soon as they spotted her—and in those cranberry-red leather formfitting pants, she was hard to miss—hordes of “fans” swarmed over to her, cooing, fawning, pecking air kisses in the vicinity of each cheek, giving the celebrity her due.
“Danielle, you look incredible.”
“Danielle, how do you keep so trim?”
“I love your hair that way, Dani.”
“Those slacks. My God, I couldn’t wear leather slacks like that if I worked out five hours a day. And that color is divine.”
Judd, who’d made his way through the crowd, eyed the red leather pants.
“Size four?” he queried dryly when he was an arm’s length away from the star attraction.
Danielle couldn’t hear him for all the compliments bombarding her. But she did see him. And the instant she did, she pulled him closer, throwing her arms around him. “Judd, there you are, darling.”
As Danielle’s gushing fan club watched this amorous greeting between the beauty and the beast, they were stunned into silence. A number of mouths literally gaped open. Judd laughed inwardly. This was the only speck of enjoyment he was likely to be getting out of Danielle Brunaud’s Oscar-winning performance.
So he decided to milk it.
“Dani, you’re late. I hate to be kept waiting,” he scolded lightly, giving her Brazilian red-leather-clad butt an overzealous pinch.
She emitted a squeal of pain, but she wasn’t about to be thrown off her performance. “I’m sorry, darling. But, truly, it couldn’t be helped.”
He bit back an acid remark. “Truly?”
She stroked his cheek. “I’m here now, darling. Shall we go?”
He caught a few more alums’ mouths fall open.
But there was one person, standing apart from the others, whose mouth was shut tight.
Judd’s fleeting speck of enjoyment flew the coop as he watched Lucy turn her back on him and stride purposefully into the cocktail lounge.
“A MARGARITA.”
Derek leaned across the bar. “Didn’t you tell me earlier today that you’re allergic to tequila?”
“What if I did?” Lucy snapped.
“A margarita is made with tequila.”
“Make it a double.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “One of those days, huh?”
“Oh, no. I’ve never had another day remotely like this one.”
“Well, then, are you sure you wouldn’t rather have that tequila straight up? It’ll fix what ails you a lot faster than a margarita.”
She sighed. How could she get fixed when she couldn’t even grasp what was wrong with her?
Derek set a shot glass, a bottle of tequila, a salt shaker and a few wedges of lemon on the copper bar in front of her. He poured her the first shot. She skipped the ritual of a lemon squeeze and salt, and downed the shot in one gulp. She gave a little shiver as it went down, then poured herself a second.
“You aren’t planning to drive anywhere, are you?” he asked.
The second shot went down easier than the first. “I don’t plan to move from this stool for the rest of the day. Or night. Or…whatever.”
“Aren’t you one of the alums? There’s a gala bash being held for you guys in the Palm Room tonight. And a cocktail hour’s going on on the terrace as we speak. That’s why this place has been empty all weekend. Just about everybody staying at the hotel is down here for the reunion festivities.”
“I’m not feeling…very sociable.” She twisted her tongue around the word sociable, and she spilled a few drops pouring herself a third shot.
“You might want to slow down just a wee bit, Lucy.”
“I might.” She chugalugged the third shot. “But I don’t.”
Derek removed the bottle from the bar and replaced it with a dish of nuts. “Munch on some of these and tell me your troubles. I’m a real good listener.”
She absently scooped up a few cashews and popped them into her mouth.
After munching for a couple of minutes, she squinted at the bartender. “Remember that couple that was in here yesterday? The pair that wanted to buy me—” she hiccuped “—a drink.”
He nodded. “Dynamite-looking twosome.”
“One of who…whom…” She giggled. “Whom…is…my fiancé.”
“Oh, so that’s why you’re bummed out. Hey, I wouldn’t worry if I were you—”
But before he could finish, she said, “I kissed a man in my shower. Yesterday.”
Derek cocked his head. “I take it this man wasn’t—”
“My fiancé? Nope. Nope, he wasn’t. And he’s fat.”
He looked as if he didn’t know what to say. “Well, looks aren’t…everything.”
“But he doesn’t kiss like a fat man.” She went to lean her elbows on the bar, but missed the mark. “Oops.”
“You doing okay?”
“Great. Where’s the tequila?”
Derek seemed to think that distracting her was the best response. “So tell me some more about this fat guy, Lucy.”
She looked conspiratorially around the lounge. It was still empty. “He doesn’t really wear braces.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “This can’t go any further.”
He smiled, holding up his right hand. “Scout’s honor.”
“He actually has exceptionally nice teeth.”
“Well, there you go.”
“And those glasses?”
His smile broadened. “He doesn’t really wear—”
“Shh.”
“Sorry.”
“He’s really a very good kisser.”
“So, you like him.”
“No. No, no, no, no.”
“That many nos. Hmm.”
“Was it that many?” Lucy popped a few more nuts into her mouth, then leaned closer to the bartender.
“He’s in some kind of trouble. And I want to help him. But will he let me?”
“No?”
“Nooo.”
“Well, maybe he’s just trying to keep you out of trouble.”
She gave Derek a lopsided smile. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. He’s not a bad guy. He’s a…”
“Fat guy?”
She giggled again. “No. A good guy. He’s a good guy. I know it. I am a very good judge of people.” She poked her own chest, losing her balance and almost slipping off the stool. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“I say neither of us should worry about a thing.”
“You know what I’ve decided, Derek?”
“I hope it’s that you’ve had enough to drink.”
She stepped down from the bar stool, gripping the edge until she got her sea legs. “I’m going to help him whether he likes it or not. Because…because that’s what people do. They help each other.”
“I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I didn’t say that.” She swayed slightly. “Did I?”
Derek smiled. “Maybe I just didn’t hear you right.”
“I need a favor. A really big favor.”
“Sure, Lucy. What can I do for you?”
“Could you help me up to my room? I’m not feeling…too well.”
“Um, sure. Let me get someone to cover the bar and I’ll zip you up there.”
A minute later, a substitute at the bar, Derek guided her out of the cocktail lounge, through the lobby and into the elevator. “What floor?”
“Fourteen. I’m in 1405.”
When they arrived at the door, Lucy stuck her hands into the pockets of her shift. “Darn it. Where did I put my key?” She slumped against the door. “Ooh, I really need to…lie down.”
He patted her back. “Hold on for just a sec. I’ll find one of the maids on the floor and get her to let you in.”
“That is so sweet of you, Derek. You are definitely one of the good guys. If you ever need any help—”
He patted her shoulder, then took off down the hall. With a faint nod of satisfaction, she watched him go. In no time at all he was back with one of the hotel maids, who unlocked the door to Judd Turner’s room and even offered to come inside with her to turn down her bed.
“That won’t be necessary. I really appreciate your help. Both of you.” Lucy slipped some bills out of her pocket. The maid took a twenty, but Derek refused to take a dime.
Lucy smiled to herself as she stepped into Judd’s room and shut the door firmly. Her drunk trick, which she’d used on a few previous occasions when she was tracking down a story and needed access to someplace she wasn’t supposed to have access to, had once again worked like a charm.
Not that it had been entirely an act. The three shots of booze had left her feeling a bit light-headed. But she was sober enough to search Judd’s room and, hopefully, dig up some clues that would help her figure out just how much trouble he was in.
RICO MORALES, wearing white trunks, sunglasses and nothing else, was stretched out on a lounge chair on the enormous terrace of his penthouse apartment. The view of the ocean was breathtaking, but neither Morales nor his two associates, as they were introduced to Judd, seemed to be paying any attention to the spectacular sight. Morales appeared to have his eyes closed beneath the sunglasses and his associates had their eyes glued on Judd. Tweedledee and Tweedledum were big, brawny and, Judd guessed by the bulges beneath their jackets—packing. Despite the fact that it was almost six o’clock in the afternoon, the temperature was still in the eighties and the infamous Florida humidity had to have hit the one-hundred percent mark. The two thugs were not exactly dressed for the weather. They were all in black. Black suits, black shirts, black ties, spit-shined black-tasseled loafers. Two more men, also in uniform, remained inside the lavish living room, which was done up in gilt and leather and wall-to-wall mirrors. Judd noticed that one of the curved leather sofas nearly matched the color of Danielle’s pants. She blended in perfectly.
Morales, a small, slender man with a pockmarked complexion and jet-black hair slicked back from his narrow face, was sipping a frozen cocktail through one of those flexible kid’s straws. He didn’t offer either his girlfriend or his visitor a drink. He didn’t even invite them to sit down.
“So, Dani tells me you’re in the laundry business.” Morales, who spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent, didn’t so much as turn his head in Judd’s direction.
“Well…yes,” he said, after a quick sideways glance at Danielle. “I do have a number of…Laundromats. Started with a couple. Right in my home town of Cincinnati—”
“You know Gus Santorelli?”
“Um…no. Is he a friend of yours?”
Morales’s lips curved in more of a smirk than a smile. “Not anymore, he ain’t.”
The two goons mirrored their boss’s smirk.
Judd glanced at Danielle again. She was trying her best to smile brightly, but was starting to perspire. He guessed that it was more than the weather that was getting to her.
“Mind if I go inside and get myself a drink, Rico?” Danielle’s French accent did not conceal the placating note in her voice. She shifted from one spiked heel to the other, but she didn’t make a move. It was clear to Judd she was waiting for permission to leave. She didn’t get it. She didn’t get so much as a nod.
She stayed put, fabricating another smile for Judd. But this smile looked about as legit as the last one. Plus, she was perspiring some more.
Judd was perspiring plenty, as well. And while the thick wad of terry towels he was using for bulk was soaking up some of his sweat, it was making the improvised padding soggy and lumpy. It was no understatement to say he was feeling the heat. Not to mention the tension. He deliberately let it show. Even if Morales didn’t appear to be looking his way, he was certain the mobster was taking everything in.
The foursome stood around as Morales finished his drink, making slurping sounds with the straw as he got to the bottom of the glass. It was the only sound on the terrace. When he was done, the mobster stuck his hand out, and Tweedledee quickly took the glass from his boss. The goon held the glass up in the direction of the living room. In less than a minute, Judd caught sight of a svelte brunette, dressed in a skimpy maid’s uniform that could have doubled as a stripper’s stage costume, come bustling across the vast living room and out the sliding door onto the terrace. She was expertly balancing a second frozen cocktail on a gilt tray. Another flexible straw was sticking out of the drink.
Tweedledum removed the new drink from the tray and handed it to Morales. The two goons clearly each had their own assignments.
Judd observed Danielle eyeing the chilled drink longingly as Morales put the straw between his thin lips. He also caught the mobster’s sadistic smile. Morales was taking everything in, all right.
“I told Dani I got enough business acquaintances, but she seems to think you might be hungry. Is she right?”
Judd knew he was being tested. If he came off sounding either too dumb or too smart, it would make Morales suspicious. “I guess you’re not talking food here.” Judd chuckled at his own joke. No one else so much as cracked a smile. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I suppose I’m as hungry as the next guy.”
“Which next guy is that?” Morales asked. Now this line got chuckles from both the goons and Danielle. Judd let a couple of beats pass and then he joined in.
“So?” The instant Morales spoke, his audience stopped laughing. Judd made sure he was the last to stop. Too bad, he thought, no one there could appreciate his performance. Then again, if any of them did appreciate it, he was well aware it would be too bad for him.
He cleared his throat. “The guy with the BMW and a cool pad overlooking the ocean.”
Danielle beamed at him, then at her mobster boyfriend. This time there was no question that the smile was authentic. “See, Rico,” she cooed. “Didn’t I tell you?”
A GASP OF ALARM ESCAPED Lucy’s lips. Then she edged a little closer to what had, at first sight, appeared to be a dead animal in the corner of Judd’s bathroom floor. On closer inspection, she saw that the object was neither deceased nor animate.
There, in a heap, lay a damp pillowlike thing fitted with Velcro straps. And beneath that was an equally wet foam cushion that looked markedly like—
It didn’t take long for her to go from revulsion to bewilderment to a sharp awareness. Her gaze fell on his leather shaving kit. She snapped it open. Inside, along with all his shaving gear, she unearthed a small container holding a pair of contact lenses.
Returning to the bedroom, she checked out his bureau drawers and closet. His entire wardrobe, save for the crumpled outfit he’d worn when she’d caught him in her shower yesterday, and was now hanging over the shower curtain in his bathroom, still bore price tags. What was even more illuminating was the name of the store on the tags. Karlins. Karlins was a chain of department stores. But the chain was strictly a Florida operation. There were no Karlins Department Stores anywhere in the vicinity of Cincinnati, Ohio.
She sat down on the edge of his bed. No wonder he’d been acting strangely. He wasn’t fat. He didn’t wear glasses anymore. Or braces. And it was exceedingly unlikely he lived in Cincinnati. A short while earlier, her suspicions already mounting, Lucy had put a call through to Cincinnati Information. The operator had no phone listing for any Judd Turners. She’d wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, telling herself he simply had an unlisted number. But all her doubts were now used up.
She sighed. Okay, so now she’d confirmed what she’d already suspected. Judd was carrying out an elaborate charade. Far more elaborate than she’d surmised. What she still didn’t have the answer to was, why?
She rose from the bed, crossed the room and checked out his desk again. There’d been no clues there when she’d gone through it a few minutes earlier, and no new clues magically materialized on second inspection. She glanced once more down at the chrome wastebasket beneath the desk. Empty. She kicked it in frustration. It tipped over and rolled a few inches. That was when she spotted a crumpled piece of paper that had inadvertently missed its designated target.
She knelt and snatched up the paper. As she was about to smooth it out, she heard a clicking sound. Her eyes shot to the door, and she caught the handle turning. Any second now, Judd was going to walk in there and catch her.
She raced across the room and dove under the bed just as the door opened. She held her breath as she lifted the bed skirt a fraction of an inch and saw a pair of men’s cordovan boat shoes crossing the room.
A disturbing sensation hit her. She lifted the cloth a bit higher. Now she could see the bottom few inches of a pair of trousers. They were pale gray.
When Judd had left the hotel with Danielle, the trousers he’d been wearing were white. And Lucy remembered the three shoe boxes in his closet. One was a Nike box, the newly purchased sneakers it’d previously contained now drying out on the bathroom floor. A second box held a pair of shiny black patent-leather dress shoes that he was, no doubt, planning to wear with the recently purchased tacky pale blue tux. The third box, empty like the first, was another Nike box. It didn’t take a detective or a reporter to figure out he was wearing those sneakers now.
So who belonged to the boat shoes and the pale gray slacks? She knew one man who owned both. Her fiancé, Kyle Warner.
How had he managed to gain entry to Judd’s room? The answer was forthcoming. So were a second pair of shoes. Sensible, low-heeled black pumps.
“Thanks so much…Is it Betsy?” Kyle asked, putting on his Cary Grant accent.
“That’s right, Mr. Turner. Betsy Riley. Head Housekeeper.”
“Please, call me Judd.”
Lucy scowled. Why that sneaky little devil. Kyle was pulling almost the same con she’d just pulled. And all he’d had to do was turn on that Warner charm.
“Well, Judd, happy to oblige. You’re not the first guest to leave his key in his room.” Betsy hesitated. “By the way, I’m off duty at midnight.”
“I’ll definitely make a note of that, Betsy.”
“You do that.”
Lucy saw the pumps pivot and disappear from the room. Kyle’s shoes remained put. The door shut.
Okay, so now she knew how he’d gained entry into Judd’s room. Next came a more puzzling question. Why? She doubted she’d get the answer to that one as easily as she had to the first.
She felt a tickle in her throat. There was dust under the bed; the maid service left something to be desired.
Lucy was allergic to dust mites. She kept swallowing fitfully, trying to keep herself from breaking into a coughing attack. If Kyle discovered her under Judd’s bed, he’d certainly want to know why as much as she wanted to know what Kyle was doing there. But her desire not to be discovered outweighed her curiosity.
Kyle’s feet were no longer in view, but she could hear drawers opening followed by riffling sounds, then drawers slamming shut. His shoes came into view again when he headed for Judd’s closet. He, too, examined the garments and the shoe boxes.
He made for the desk next, giving it a thorough search. She clutched the crumpled slip of paper in her hand. For all she knew, it was blank or there was some innocuous note scribbled on it. But, somehow, she thought it might be important. Again the big why?
He was crossing the room, heading for the bathroom. Lucy held her breath. Any moment now, he’d discover the damp heap on the bathroom floor. He’d put two and two together.
And then what?
The mounting tension made the tickle in her throat worse. She didn’t think she could swallow down her urge to cough much longer.
She heard Kyle start to open the bathroom door. Oh, no…
Then she heard voices coming from right outside the hotel room door. One of the voices had a French accent. The other voice was male.
Lucy saw the boat shoes dash back across the bedroom. Now Kyle was trapped. For a terrifying moment, she was afraid her fiancé was going to hide under the bed, too. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him head for the closet.
The closet door shut, the door to the hotel room opened, and Lucy coughed all at the same time. Each sound managed to mask the others.
“I’m bushed, Danielle—”
“Dani. Now that we’re going to be more than friends, Judd—”
Lucy’s lips compressed. She told herself she couldn’t care less if Judd and Danielle were becoming an item. In fact, she should be thrilled. If Danielle were otherwise occupied, she’d keep her fangs off Kyle.
So why wasn’t she thrilled?
“I don’t know, Danielle…Dani. Are you sure your boyfriend’s scheme is—?”
Lucy’s brows knit together. Finally, some answers.
But, instead there was silence. Well, not quite silence. She risked a peek. All she could see were two pair of shoes. Spiked heels and Nike sneakers. Facing each other. Tips touching.
“See, I’m living dangerously,” Danielle cooed.
“Well, I guess Rico wouldn’t be too happy if he caught you kissing me,” Judd muttered.
Danielle laughed. “I wasn’t referring to Rico, silly. I meant your braces. When do they come off, by the way?”
“Oh…oh, well…”
“Never mind, darling. Listen, I’m parched. Let’s catch the last few minutes of the alum cocktail party before we change for the banquet.”
“No, I really don’t think—”
“I agree. Who cares about the dumb reunion. I say we skip the whole affair and…have one of our own right here.”
Lucy saw the spiked heels turn gracefully and head over to the bed. Then she felt the mattress sag above her. “Do you want to call room service or shall I?”
“On second thought, I wouldn’t mind touching base with some old friends,” Judd blurted. “Besides, I’d really love to see a few more eyes pop out when I walk in there with the most beautiful alum to have ever graced Florida State on my arm.”
Lucy groaned. Then realizing with alarm that the sound might be overheard, she clamped her hand over her mouth. Luckily, the creaking of the springs as Danielle rose from the bed kept the groan from giving her away.
She was about to expel a sigh of relief when Judd and Danielle exited the room. Then she remembered that she still wasn’t alone.
Not for long, though.
She heard the closet door open, and Kyle’s feet scampered over to the front door. She heard him crack it open, pause there for several protracted seconds—no doubt checking for an all clear—before he hurriedly slipped out of the room.
Her relief at her fiancé’s departure was accompanied by a coughing fit as she crawled out from under the bed. Rising to her feet, she felt a wave of dizziness. Those three shots of tequila, combined with the stress of the past few minutes, had finally gotten to her. She sat back down on the edge of the bed, dropping her head in her hands.