she was in costume.
“I don’t know who took that picture, Detective.”
“They let a bunch of paps into those nightclubs, do they?”
“For all I know, the bartender had a camera in his cell phone.”
“Right.”
“You think I want the world to see me like that?”
“You’re on the cover.”
“You’re a cynical man, Milligan.”
“I’m a peach. It’s the job that makes me cynical.”
Bobbi smiled. “You know what? I believe you. I wish I could be of more help. I don’t remember much from that night.”
“What night would that be?”
“Four nights ago? Five? It’s hard to recall.”
“I’ll bet. You remember a woman standing behind you? Tall redhead? Name of Nan Collins?”
She shook her head. “If she was there, I didn’t notice.”
“Was Danny partying with you that night?”
“Danny? We don’t tend to hang out after work. You know how that is.”
He could see he wasn’t going to get anything useful from her. He’d do better waiting to talk to Mia. Maybe that pet concierge was available. Or maybe he should get on the horn with the tabloids, not that they’d tell him anything without being compelled by the courts.
“Detective?”
He got up, looked around for Austen or the director. Neither one was on the street. But shit, were there ever crowds. Tons of people held back by the barricades. Lots of off-duty cops getting some sweet moonlighting money. “Yeah?”
“I do remember someone who was partying with me that night.”
“Oh?”
“Our dear director. And I don’t think he was having a very good time.”
Bax nodded. It was probably a misdirection, probably nothing. But because she’d said it, he’d do his damnedest to get to the truth. Which was funny, considering. “Have a good day, Ms. Tamony.”
“You, too, Bax.”
YOLANDA WAS GETTING Oscar Weinberg’s suite ready, which wasn’t a simple thing to do. Mia had no business interrupting. No business being there at all. But did that stop her?
“Yolanda?”
“Hello Miss Mia.”
“How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. Just getting this room ready.”
“I came to check on a few things, if you don’t mind.”
Yolanda, who was an excellent maid and a very nice person, stepped away from the door. “No problem, Miss Mia. You do what you need to. Let me know if I can help.”
Mia nodded as she walked inside. Oh, man, she was stepping close to the line here. Okay, over the line. Yes, she was going to check to make sure Mr. Weinberg’s pillows were perfect, but mostly she was going to snoop.
Yolanda had disappeared into the master bedroom, so Mia had the living room to herself. First thing she did was go to the to the big closet. There were clothes in there, and two suitcases. With her heart racing, Mia checked both cases. Empty. She felt for pockets on the jackets and came up with nothing there, either.
Okay, second bedroom. As she hurried, the theme music from Mission Impossible played in her head even as she told herself this was not a game. If she was caught here, she could lose her job. On the other hand, she was probably already on the cut list, so what the hell.
The second bedroom looked pristine and had already been turned down. Mia had no idea if Weinberg ever used the second bed, but it was ready if he wanted to.
The closet in there was empty and Mia was just about to shut the door when she realized that there was a mirror on the side wall. She’d been in every suite in the hotel, but she couldn’t remember seeing a mirror like this one.
She stepped inside the closet. The mirror had a wooden frame, very polished. It was maybe two feet long and four feet wide. The more she thought about it, the more sure she became that this mirror wasn’t standard.
She looked out to make sure she was alone, then peered at the side of the mirror. It was at least two inches in depth, which made her think that perhaps it wasn’t for looking in so much as it was for hiding things.
With held breath, she pulled on the left side, then the right. Nothing budged. She let her fingers trail around the entire frame. She felt a break in the upper right corner. Tugging did nothing, so instead, she pushed. Something gave, although it didn’t open.
The push gave her hope, though. She had a friend in Toronto who built secret-compartment boxes, and with her love of puzzles, Mia had found them endlessly fascinating. The important part of puzzle boxes was that at least two mechanisms had to be manipulated concurrently to release a catch.
Mia stood on tiptoe to study the break in the frame. She tugged, pushed and lifted in every way she could think of when the frame popped open.
Her sigh was loud in the little closet and she’d already stayed too long, so she swung the mirror out, expecting jewelry or drugs or both.
What she got were memory cards. The kind that went inside digital cameras. Lots and lots of memory cards.
She picked one up and saw that it was 256K. She turned the little electronic gizmo over and whoa, there it was. Initials written in a very small hand. BT.
She put that card back and picked up another, this one from a different stack. The initials on this one, PE.
In the next few minutes, she found many initials she couldn’t decipher. And many she could.
DA for Danny Austen.
GG for Gerry Geiger.
SG as in Sheila Geiger?
PD which might or might not be Piper Devon.
Mia’s already racing pulse went zooming out of control. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d found, but she knew, just knew, it was something important. She couldn’t even conceive of how many pictures were stored here. Thousands upon thousands.
Did one of these cards hold the key to Geiger’s murder? Was the killer none other than Oscar Weinberg?
She thought about taking the card with GG on the back, but she just couldn’t. There was no way she could justify stealing so blatantly. God forbid Weinberg kept an inventory and discovered the theft. Where would his finger point? Right at Yolanda, that’s where.
No, she and Bax would have to come up with another way to get these memory cards into evidence.
“Miss Mia?”
Mia jumped what felt like ten feet, then slammed the mirror closed. Thankfully, Yolanda was still in the other room. “Yes, Yolanda?”
“I finished the bedroom. You want to come check?”
“Thanks. I’ll be right there.”
THE PET FACILITIES WERE on the 20th floor, adjacent to the elaborate and expansive spa. Bax had to admit he was curious about the pet concierge. Dog walking? Puppy sitting? He’d never been to a hotel that had pet facilities, unless you count lawns. Of course, it had been years since he’d had a dog. That was one of his first priorities when he got to Boulder. He’d grown up with pets and he missed that. The companionship, the exercise. He’d be able to hike to his heart’s content in Boulder, a trusty mutt beside him.
He pushed the door open and walked into a world that was as outside his own reality as a movie set.
PetQuarters