Thursday morning a white-jacketed driver helped me into the carriage for the ride up to the Hokes Bluff Inn from the parking lot. I breathed deeply of the sweet mountain air as we rode through the forest. Near the end of the lane, the trees thinned, and I caught my first glimpse of the stately manor.
Beautiful landscaping wrapped the hotel in flowering shrubs, lush lawns, and stately trees, providing long stretches of shade in contrast to the late-morning sunshine. After the driver helped me exit the carriage, I crossed to the wide and inviting front steps. Once the uniformed attendant opened the doors to the interior of the hotel, I truly felt like I had stepped back in time.
My jaw dropped at the opulence in the lobby. What a breathtaking masterpiece John Hokes had planned. Early morning light streamed through glass sections of the vaulted ceilings, and live trees grew from holes in the marble floor.
While I waited for Rita to join me, I strolled around the room, looking at expensive paintings adorning silk-paneled walls. I wasn’t an art expert by any stretch of the imagination, but many were replicas of originals by well-known artists, although Monet was the only one I could identify without standing on the ornate furniture to get a closer look at the signatures.
Huge pieces of furniture placed carefully around the large room, unmistakably expensive antiques, looked like they belonged in a museum. Exotically patterned Oriental carpets graced the hardwood floors. Above my head hung a chandelier that must have weighed several hundred pounds, and highly polished brass wall sconces held electric lights to supplement the magnificent light from above. Although my khaki slacks were crisply pressed and my heather-blue polo complemented my blue eyes, I felt dowdy compared to the sheer elegance of the room.
I jumped as Rita tapped me on the shoulder from behind. “Gee whiz! Don’t scare me like that. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Rita’s period costume was as elegant as the surroundings. The silvery blue of the day dress set off her upswept red hair. The high neckline, puffed upper sleeves, and tiny waistline gave way to a skirt that belled out below the knees like a morning glory, with a small train behind. “Sorry. I’m dying to know what you’ve managed to scrape up on that nasty Mr. Childers. He’s not exactly our most appreciated patron. Quite a few of us would love to see his stupid story debunked. And I’m one of them.”
“I can only imagine.” I grinned.
We had discussed Norman over dinner the evening before, and I’d called to let her know I was coming today, armed with new information.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me last night about this secret dirt you’ve got on Norman.” Rita tried unsuccessfully to pout, as a tickled grin kept her from pulling her mouth down into a frown.
“I only found out this morning when my dad called back. They needed to verify a few facts before I could talk about it. And I’m not telling you what it is until I can tell that weasel. I want to see the look on his face when I prove he’s lying through his teeth.” I’d savored the prospect of that very moment all morning. Okay, so it wasn’t my Perry Mason moment, but it would still satisfy my growing need to finally stick it to someone who was screwing me over, this time Norman Childers.
“Then let’s get at it.” Rita practically dragged me across the elegant lobby in the direction of the bank of elevators at the far end.
“Elevators?” I looked around, surprised something so out of place would be here. “I thought this was supposed to be period-accurate to the turn of the twentieth century.”
Rita shifted to tour-guide mode. “Elevators were first used in the early 1800s. By the early 1900s, they weren’t that uncommon and had become electric rather than steam or hydraulic driven.”
“Hey, you’re good at this.” I followed behind her, finally arriving at the elevators at the far end of the vast lobby.
She’d told the bellhop to hold one of the three elevators, explaining we had bad news for the patron in suite 412.
“I hope it’s bad enough to send him packing,” said the bellboy, who obviously didn’t like Norman any more than anyone else who’d met him. “He’s a lousy tipper, and he treats us bellboys like we’re gunk to be scraped off the bottom of his shoe or something.” The doors opened on the fourth floor, and as we stepped out, the bellboy added, “Good luck. I hope you get the sucker.”
I almost bounced as I walked, internally doing the Snoopy happy dance as I followed Rita’s silent footsteps, her elegant dress whispering as she walked. Finally at Norman’s door, I took a deep breath and reveled in the moment one last time before banging loudly, a goofy grin plastered on my face.
“Norman, you jerk, I know you’re in there!” I yelled through the door when it didn’t open after the first few knocks. I pounded harder. “Come out and face me like a man, you weasel. I know the truth.”
I almost jumped out of my shoes when the door was yanked open not by Norman but by Detective Frank Sutter. “I’m so sorry, we must have the wrong room,” I stammered. “I was looking for suite four-twelve and Norman Childers.” I grabbed Rita’s arm and turned to go.
“You found the right room, Miss Quinn. But Norman can’t come to the door right now.”
I stopped in my tracks and turned, frustrated to be blocked by this irritating detective. This hadn’t been part of my dream scenario. “Oh? And why not?”
“Because he’s dead.”