Heather led Steve to where the assistant manager stood overseeing the cleanup. “Mr. Lamonte, Mr. Smiley and I will need adjoining rooms for the next two nights on the tenth floor. They must be as close as possible to the rooms on this list.” She showed him the names and room numbers Leo had handed her. She then produced a platinum credit card and placed her business card on top of it. A pair of hundred dollar bills joined the stack. “We require a white board in one of our rooms. We’ll also need erasable markers, blank paper, note cards and tape. Please see to it.”
After examining the card and pocketing the cash, Mr. Lamonte asked, “Is it my understanding you’ll be assisting the police in their investigation?”
Heather sharpened her gaze. She chose to wear heels and a tailored dark suit overlaying a silk blouse. “It’s our intention to investigate discreetly, and I emphasize the word discreetly. My promise to you is this: anyone who was not in the hotel at the time of Mr. Yancy’s demise will in no way be inconvenienced.” She added a footnote. “The police can be rather heavy handed at times. We don’t operate that way.”
A bow of his head telegraphed he understood what she’d said and implied.
Steve added, “Mr. LaMonte, Ms. McBlythe will need your card and a number she can reach you any time, day or night. You will be generously compensated for your assistance.”
A deeper bow accompanied his words. “Of course. It will be my pleasure to serve you.”
“Excellent,” said Steve. “Would you check to see if room service served Mrs. Yancy breakfast this morning? If not, order a selection of breakfast dishes and a card that reads, ‘Will be by to offer condolences this morning.’”
“How would you like the card signed?”
“No signature.”
Heather turned to Steve. “Latch on to my arm. I’m going to take you to a bistro we passed on the way in. I’ll get our computers from the car, pick up our room keys, and we’ll have an hour to research the people on the list Leo handed me.”
A woman with red-rimmed eyes opened the door of the Presidential Suite. Heather extended a hand and gave their names. Tabby Yancy, the widow, wore black leggings, white socks and an oversized sweatshirt that had seen much better days. It took Heather one look to conclude Tabby could wear a nun’s habit made of burlap and still have a pack of men trailing her.
“We’re friends and associates of Detective Leo Vega. May we come in?” asked Heather.
The woman took a step back and nodded. She appeared to be about thirty at first glance. Heather looked again and estimated her to be a couple years younger. Recent tears and lack of sleep revealed tiny lines in otherwise porcelain-smooth skin. Her hair, somewhere between blond and white, cascaded over her shoulders, thick and wavy. Even without makeup she possessed the looks and manner of a movie star. In fact, that’s what the five-year-old bio found on the internet labeled Tabby to be. It went on to say her star hadn’t shone exceptionally bright. The movies she’d appeared in had been thin on plots and downright anorexic when it came to dialogue. The bio also said she’d been swept from Hollywood and taken off the market by a Silicon Valley tech hero. The arrival of twin boys ended her career in the public’s eye, except for a few commercials. Even dressed like a gym rat, the curvaceous woman leading the way into the living room dazzled.
“Did you say you’re with the police?” asked Mrs. Yancy.
Steve answered as Heather directed him to a chair facing a tan leather couch. “Detective Vega used to be my partner. He called us in as consultants. We’re both licensed private detectives.”
The Presidential Suite lived up to its name. It boasted three bedrooms, full kitchen, and a dining table for eight. In addition, the suite opened into an expansive living room, complete with gas fireplace. The balcony, which could be accessed from both the living room and master bedroom, quadrupled the balconies of all other rooms in depth and width.
Steve stopped as he passed the kitchen. “Mrs. Yancy, I couldn’t help but smell coffee. Would you like Heather to pour us each a cup?”
“That’s a good idea. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep last night.”
Heather pretended to be surprised as she noticed three carts loaded with plates crowned by metal lids. “Have you eaten breakfast, Mrs. Yancy?”
“I couldn’t bear to look at the food. I didn’t even order it.”
“It would be best if you ate something,” said Steve.
“I don’t think I can look at food today.” replied Mrs. Yancy.
Steve placed his cane on the floor. “I know food doesn’t sound good to you Mrs. Yancy, but whenever a person goes through a traumatic event they have large amounts of adrenaline dumped into their system. Their bodies tell them not to eat and then when you come down from the adrenaline rush, your blood sugar is out of balance. By eating something, you’re telling your body the crisis is over.”
“I see. All right, I’ll have a small plate.”
“Heather will get us each a plate. Is that okay?”
“Certainly. No carbs, please.”
The open floor plan allowed Heather to hear from the kitchen. Steve eased into conversation. “Mrs. Yancy,” he began.
“Please, call me Tabby. My name’s Tabatha, but I prefer Tabby.”
“Of course, Tabby. Let me begin by telling you how sorry we are for your loss. I know it must have been a terrible shock.”
Heather looked to see Tabby’s reaction. Even from a distance, the shrug of the woman’s shoulders didn’t seem right. She delivered coffee and asked, “Did your husband’s death come as a shock?”
“I thought I’d prepared myself for some sort of bad news, but I had no idea something like this would happen.”
Heather raised an eyebrow.
Instead of following up on the odd answer, Steve let it pass. He settled back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. Everything in Heather wanted to conduct a thorough cross-examination, but Steve knew his business. He lowered his cup and asked, “Can I tell you a very short story?”
“Please do.”
“Two years ago, my wife and I were attacked in a parking lot. Maggie died and I lost my sight. I’m telling you this to let you know you don’t have to face this alone. I know what it’s like to lose your spouse and have your world turned upside down. I bottled my pain for a long time and came close to losing my mind. The best thing you can do is talk. It doesn’t have to be with us, but we’ll be glad to listen.”
Tabby rose, moved to Steve and knelt. She placed a hand on his knee and asked, “Would you allow me to pray for you?”
“Uh…If you’d like.”
Heather realized her mouth had hinged open. She busied herself filling plates as Tabby gave voice to what sounded like a sincere prayer. The new widow made a passing remark about her husband Victor. Steve received most of the attention of her prayer. Why did she make this about Steve’s loss and not her own?
Steve croaked out a simple, “Thank you.”
Heather took her cue from the “Amen” to serve breakfast. Conversation remained light. Tabby spoke of her twin boys, Randall and Richard, but made scant references to her husband.
Heather took in every word. The absence of grief rankled her more and more.
Steve spoke as Tabby returned to her seat after insisting she clear the dishes. “We need to ask you some questions. Before we do, I want to make sure you understand why we’re here. Like I said, we’re private investigators. We have reason to believe your husband’s death wasn’t an accident. The police are unsure at this time, and they’ll want to question you more thoroughly than they did last night. You were the last person to see your husband alive. Is that correct?”
“I don’t think that’s accurate. He left to visit one of his high school friends.”
“Do you know which one?”
“I think he said Cassie New.”
Steve waited an uncomfortable number of seconds. “Did you have prior knowledge of, or have anything to do with, the death of your husband?”
“No, but I believed something evil would happen.”
Steve’s tone remained calm, despite the unusual answer Tabby had given. “You’ve mentioned that twice. What do you mean?”
Tabby gave a soft smile to each of them and said, “Both of you are good people. I can tell. This may sound odd, but I believe the Lord started preparing me for bad news a month ago.”
Heather draped one leg over the other. Is she for real or some sort of religious nut?
Tabby looked at Heather with a soft smile. “I can tell you don’t believe me. I understand. Vic didn’t believe God speaks to me either. If you’d like, I’ll give you my journal where I chart my daily Bible reading and what I sense the Lord is saying to me. You’ll see. God prepared me for his death ahead of time.”
Steve sat with fingers clasped in his lap, his voice low and sincere. “Have you always been a strong believer?”
“Oh, no. Only in the last couple of years. Before I got pregnant, I measured my personal worth by how people reacted to my beauty. The twins left me an emotional and physical wreck. I went from glitz and glamor to changing diapers and no sleep. I thought post-partum depression wasn’t real until it took me under. If it hadn’t been for a group of ladies from church I’d still be thinking my life wasn’t worth living.”
“What did your husband think about your newfound faith?”
“At first he hated everything about it.”
Tabby appeared calm while Heather struggled to discern fact from fantasy. Was Tabby delusional? Did she possess better acting skills than the critics had given her credit for? Could she be a true believer?
“You have to understand,” said Tabby. “Vic lived his life as a scientist and an inventor. He’d been taught to believe in what can be measured and quantified. Belief in things unseen and unmeasurable didn’t compute in that computer brain of his.” She hung her head. “He and I had that in common when we met and married.” She shifted her gaze to Steve and back to Heather. Her head tilted a few degrees and she asked, “Why do you think I went after him? Simple. I wanted his money. He wasn’t voted most handsome in high school, but he had the one thing I wanted most. I knew my career in acting wouldn’t last, and I had to hook a rich man before my looks faded.” She gave a strained smile. “Twins made a wreck out of my body. You wouldn’t believe how hard I’ve worked to get my figure back. It’s no wonder Vic wanted to ditch me.”
Heather winced. Why had Tabby been so forthcoming? Most people, especially murderers, go out of their way not to incriminate themselves. Tabby reeled off motives, one after another, for wanting her husband dead. Why?
“It sounds like you and your husband weren’t getting along,” said Steve. “Why did you come to the reunion together?”
“We didn’t. Vic wanted to come by himself.” She paused and tucked her feet under her, looking far too comfortable. “I read too many scripts of high school reunions when I was living in L.A. It goes without saying they revolved around living out the fantasy of rekindling an old romance.” She waved a hand at the opulent room. “I think that’s why Vic rented the Presidential Suite and paid for his physics buddies to come a day early. All three people who worked with him on the high school project are women. I suspect he had the hots for one, two, or all of them.”
“Are you saying you came to act as his chaperone?” asked Steve.
She gave no outward expression that the question offended her. “No. I came to save our marriage. I took the boys to my parents in L.A. on Wednesday and hopped on an early flight yesterday. I’d already checked in when Vic arrived.”
“How did he react when he found you here?” asked Steve.
“Angry at first. I’d popped his bubble. He had dreams involving women he hadn’t seen in twenty years. I imagine he pictured them as they were in high school. He calmed down after a while, and we had a good laugh.”
Steve leaned forward. “He went from mad to laughing?”
“Mr. Smiley, please remember my background. I grew up in the Hollywood film industry. My education didn’t include many boundaries. Vic didn’t marry me because I could cook a mean pot roast. In the past two years I’ve done a lot of Bible study and soul searching. I don’t believe in divorce. I also came to the conclusion that there was no contradiction between my beliefs and keeping my husband well-fed, if you know what I mean.”
Heather didn’t think it possible, but a glow of pink rose from Steve’s collar.
Tabby allowed a couple of heartbeats to pass before she looked at Heather. “From what Mr. Smiley has indicated, I may need an attorney. Do you know of one I can call?”