A knock came at the door. “Room service.”
“Excuse me, please.” Antoine went to answer it.
“Where would you like this, sir?” I could hear a man ask. From where I sat, I couldn’t see the waiter or the door.
“On the desk, over there.”
Antoine walked back into the room first, followed by a waiter who held a tray topped off with a bottle of wine, two glasses, a corkscrew, and napkins.
I could hear the door slowly closing behind them. As the waiter bent to set the table, something heavy banged against the wall. It took a second for me to realize it was Hank Slater rushing into the room.
The big man tackled Antoine, pushing him forward into the waiter, who went flying toward me. I grabbed my bag and jumped out of the way. Glass shattered, the metal tray went flying, and the wine bottle fell with a thud. The three men rolled around on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.
“Stop it!” I shouted, trying to understand what was happening. But no one paid any attention to me.
It was obvious Hank was after Antoine.
The waiter managed to pull himself free after a few seconds. Confused, the young man didn’t know if he should clean up the glass or retrieve the wine. In the end, he decided against both and ran for the door, slamming it shut behind him. I wondered if he’d call the police or just report it to his supervisor as another out-of-control, drunken guest.
Hank pinned Antoine against the floor. “You grimy snitch. I told Jackie you couldn’t be trusted but she wouldn’t believe me. All the time going on about what an elegant man you are, what a refined gentleman. Classy my ass!” Then he looked at me. “And you, poking your nose around, you’re too old for this crap, ain’t ya? No one would have been the wiser if you just butted out and minded your own damn business.”
“She called me,” Antoine said, nodding toward me, “about the ledger.”
I took up the lie. “I did. I called him about Stacey’s notes. I don’t understand what they mean. I thought maybe Mr. Rousseau would know.”
Hank stood up, grabbing Antoine by the wrist and lifting him to a standing position. “You expect me to believe that? I’m not as dumb as you think, lady.”
“And just what were you hoping to do, breaking in here like this?” I asked.
“Shut him up—permanently.” He jerked Antoine’s arm, making the poor man wince in pain. “But since you’re here, it looks like I get a two-fer.”
“Two fer the price of one.”
He seemed to fill the room as he walked toward me, dragging Antoine along. I backed up, pushing myself against the wall.
Hank reached out, grazing my shoulder with his hand. If it hadn’t been for Antoine struggling like he was, Hank would have gotten me on the first try. In spite of his size, he kept being knocked off balance. When Antoine fell to the floor, Hank had to use both hands to pull him up.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, I pulled Nathan’s gun out, tossing the bag out of the way. I wondered how many of these little .22 caliber bullets it would take to stop this massive man.
“You’re both coming with me now.” Yanking Antoine to his feet again, Hank turned back to see me aiming the .22 at his chest.
“We’re not going anywhere,” I said firmly, never looking away from his eyes. “You’re leaving. Get out.”
“You’re a tough lady, ain’t cha?”
He didn’t know the half of it. If I had been convinced that he was the killer, I would have shot him right then and there.
He grabbed for the gun, so sure he had everything under control.
I stepped back out of his reach and said, “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, Hank. Just let Mr. Rousseau go and—”
“—and you’ll call the cops. I know the drill. No, I like my plan better.” He grabbed at me again.
And I fired.
The bullet went into the wall.
It was a reflex action that made his arms jerk up, sending Antoine flying into me, knocking me off balance.
Slowly Hank checked his clothing for a sign he’d been shot. When he realized he was okay, he said, “Watch your back, both of you.” Then he ran toward the door, crunching glass beneath his shoes, grinding it into the carpet. “This ain’t over, Rousseau,” he yelled over his shoulder.
When he was gone, Antoine ran to bolt the door.
“You were magnificent, Mrs. Sullivan.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I clicked the safety back on the gun. “Pack your bags; we have to get you out of here.”
I could see Antoine’s hands shaking as he brushed off his suit. “I am afraid you are correct. I’ve never seen Mr. Slater so angry. What if he should come back or the police have been called?”
He looked frightened at the prospect of being found out and sent to prison. But that was something he’d have to deal with later. I’d come so far with my investigation that I could almost see the finish line. Having Antoine taken in for questioning again would only slow everything down—especially if Bostwick had his way.
“We’ll go to my friend Mr. Walker. He’ll keep you safe.”
“Ahh yes, we met earlier.”
While Antoine packed, I called Nathan.
“I’m bringing Antoine along with me to your office. I’ll explain later. The police are probably on their way, so I can’t talk.”
“Are you okay, Kathy?” he asked.
“And did you find out who killed Stacey?”
“I’ll tell you everything when we get there. But I’m starting to think that Hank Slater is the killer.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ll explain when we get there.”