Shell call back. She always does. Cher grabbed his arm, pulled him from the chair, and began to hustle him toward the door.
Jack turned. About your car
Oh, yeah, sure, you can use it tomorrow. Ive still got my brothers car. I can take that to class. She grabbed her keys from the table and all but threw them at him. Then she opened the door and gave him a shove.
Jack stubbornly resisted. Hey, what gives? If I didnt know better, Id think youre trying to get rid of me.
Its late, thats all, and Im tired
Behind her, the answering machine picked up and Chers recorded greetinga really bad rendition of Ive Got You Babebegan to play.
Jack wanted to wait around to hear the message, but Cher was having none of that. With a quick Good night, she slammed the door in his face, and he was left standing in the hall, wondering why that phone call had flustered her so much.
* * *
CHER CAST AN uneasy glance toward the door as she lowered her voice. I told you Id be in touch when I have something.
She listened for a moment, her hand clutching the phone as the callers tone grew more belligerent. Calm down. I know ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. I know we have a deal. Im trying to hold up my end, but youve got to give me some time.
Another pause, then Cher said shakily, Look, theres no call for threats
But the line had gone dead, and as Cher hung up the phone, she felt the first tremor of fear at what shed done.
* * *
CASSIE COULDNT SLEEP. She couldnt get her mind off the man shed seen looking up at her balcony. She knew him. Knew his face, but she couldnt place him. It was maddening, that glimmer of recognition, then nothing more.
Was he the same man shed seen earlier in the alley?
Was he the killer?
But according to the news, the murder had taken place hours ago. Why would the killer still be lurking in the area? Wouldnt he want to put distance between himself and the crime scene?
Unless he was afraid of being spotted on the street. Or unlesshe lived nearby.
Finally, Cassie had worked herself up into such a state that shed put back on the scarf and dark glasses, left the hotel, and gone across the street to use the pay phone shed spotted earlier. When the operator had answered, shed asked to speak to the detective in charge of the murder investigation, and to her surprise, shed been put right through.
But the officer shed spoken to sounded too young to be a detective, and rather than heading up a homicide investigation, Cassie suspected hed been assigned the unenviable task of fielding all the crank calls that had undoubtedly come pouring in after the news broadcast.
He had politely taken down all her information, but he hadnt seemed to attach much significance to what shed seen. Maybe it was because theyd already apprehended a suspect, Cassie thought hopefully. Or maybe eyewitnesses at the scene had given an entirely different description of the killer. Whatever the cause for the officers cavalier attitude, Cassie was just glad shed done her civic duty. Now she could go to bed with a clear conscience and get a good nights sleep.
But now, in addition to worrying about whether or not shed come face-to-face with a killer, she had to wonder if the police would be able to somehow trace that call back to her. She hadnt given her name, or Celestes, but her voice had undoubtedly been taped. What if they came around the hotel asking questions? Should she continue to pretend to be Celeste, or should she come clean and give them her real name?
And if she did come clean, what would Celeste say?
And more important, what would Margo Fleming do if she found out what Celeste was up to?
Not your problem, a little voice reminded her. If Celeste had taken up again with her married lover, that was her business, but a tawdry affair couldnt be allowed to take priority over a murder investigation.
Perhaps the best thing Cassie could do to truly get the matter off her conscience was to go down to the police station the following morning and tell them everything
What was that?
Cassie bolted upright in bed, trying to identify the sound. A dog barked just outside her window, and then she heard a womans voice. She relaxed at the sound. She knew who it was. Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard, the guest in Suite 3C, was taking her Maltese, Chablis, for a late evening stroll.
Across the room, Mr. Bogart got up from his bed and trotted to the window to peer out into the darkness. He turned to Cassie and began to whimper.
The power of suggestion, huh? Cassie fluffed her pillow. Well, too bad, buddy. Youll just have to wait until morning.
The dog pawed frantically at the glass, then turned and raced into the living room where she could hear him scratch at the door.
Im not taking you out, she called.
He began to yelp, then howl, and after a moment, Cassie heard a series of soft thuds that sounded as if he might be throwing himself against the door.
Oh, all right already, Cassie grumbled as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Dressing quickly in jeans and a T-shirt, she pulled a baseball cap over her hair and clipped Mr. Bogarts leash to his collar. Then off they went.
They took the elevator down to the lobby, and Cassie kept her face averted as she nodded briefly to the night clerk behind the desk. Outside, she wanted to go right, but Mr. Bogart insisted on going left. Rolling her eyes, Cassie let him take the lead, but when they came to the alley, she balked.
Uh-uh. Not no way, no how, she told the Chihuahua. Dont you remember what happened the last time we went down that road? You got a boot up your little
Mr. Bogart jerked on the leash with such ferocity that Cassie was caught off guard. The leash slipped through her fingers, and the little dog took off like a shot.
Why do you keep doing that? she shouted behind him. This time, she wasnt going to follow him. She didnt care what Celeste said. That alley was teeming with perverts.
A moment later, Mr. Bogart came trotting out of the alley with a little white mop in tow. The rhinestone leash dragging behind the Maltese glittered in the light from the street, and Cassie stared at the dog in surprise. Chablis? Is that you?
Ignoring Cassie, the Maltese sat down and panted delicately in the heat as she watched Mr. Bogart spin in circles, chasing his tail and yapping in doggie-speak, Look what I can do!
Youre hot, Chabliss rapturous gaze seemed to imply.
Sorry to interrupt this love fest, Cassie said dryly, But wheres your mommy, Chablis?
Just then, Cassie heard something that sounded like a groan coming from the alley. Her pulse quickened as she peered into the shadows. Whos there?
The groan came again, louder this time, and then a womans shaky voice called, Help! Please, someone help me
The two dogs turned and raced back into the alley with Cassie close on their heels. Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard lay just beyond the overhang of Cassies balcony. Shed propped herself against the wall of the hotel as she massaged her left ankle. When she saw Cassie, she let out a cry of relief. Oh, thank God! I was afraid I might have to lie here until morning.
Cassie rushed over and knelt beside her. What happened?
Cassie rushed over and knelt beside her. What happened?
Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard was a tiny, wiry woman with a smooth cap of red hair, intrepid blue eyes and an imperious demeanor that could be, Cassie suspected, a bit terrifying at times. She was probably in her late fifties, but her face had been so carefully nipped and tucked that only the slightest tilt of her eyes gave away the work and her age.
He came at me like a crazed animal! she exclaimed, but Cassie couldnt tell if the womans shrillness was due to fright or outrage. I thought he was going to kill me! She gazed around frantically. Chablis! Wheres my baby?
Shes right here, Cassie assured her. But who attacked you, Mrs. AmbrosePritchard? She trailed off awkwardly, uncertain how to address the woman. Did you get a look at him?
No, not really. The tiny woman shuddered. And Im thankful for that, or else I know I would have seen that face in my sleep tonight. I only caught a glimpse of him over there, just beneath your balcony. When I called outhe rushed toward me. Came at me so quickly I didnt know what to do. He could have had a knife or a gun
Youre safe now, Cassie murmured. What did he do to you? she tried to ask tactfully.
He shoved me so hard I fell down, and then he fled that way Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard pointed toward the rear of the hotel.
How badly are you hurt?
Its my ankle. I dont think I can walk, and like a fool, I left my cell phone in my suite. Thank God you came along when you did or else he might have She broke off with a gasp, and her eyes widened as her gaze lifted to a point beyond Cassies shoulder.
It was only then that Cassie saw the shadow looming on the wall above the injured woman.
Someone had come up behind them.
CHAPTER THREE
THE DIMINUTIVE WOMAN let out a scream that was so ear-splitting Cassie froze for a moment. Her last coherent thought before she braced herself for the attack was that every small animal within a five-mile radius had probably keeled over at that sound. Including poor Mr. Bogart and little Chablis.
But, no. The two infatuated canines were still very much conscious and gazing up at the newcomer with nothing more than idle curiosity.
All this went through Cassies mind in the blink of an eye as she whirled and prepared to defend herself. Then the man said in a rush, Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard! What on earth
Lyle? Is that you skulking about over there? You scared me half to death! the older woman scolded.
Im so sorry, he said contritely. Butwhat happened? Why are you on the ground?
Why do you think? Ive had a bad fall. In the space of a heartbeat, Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchards tone had gone from fearful to caustic, and the newcomer seemed to be the source of her irritation.
Cassie glanced at the woman in surprise. Then, her heart still racing, she transferred her gaze to the man hovering over them. He was youngish, somewhere around thirty, with a slim build, brown hair styled in the latest shag, and even in the dark, Cassie could tell that his clothingblack on blackhad a European flair.
She didnt know why, but when he returned her scrutiny, she found herself shrinking away from him.
Miss Fortune? Im sorry. I didnt recognize you at first.
Cassie frowned. Do I know you?
Im Lyle. Lyle Lester. The night manager? We havent formally met, but Ima big admirer of yours.
That was a first. Celeste was still a relatively unknown actress, or at least, she had been until the scandal with Owen Fleming broke. Cassie hadnt considered the possibility that she might actually come face-to-face with some of her cousins fans. She was at a loss as to how she should respond. Thatsnice.
Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard said impatiently, Lyle, if you could stop salivating for half a minute, perhaps you could give me a hand.
Yes, of course, butyou say you fell? I do hope nothing is broken. His tone implied that a fractured hip might not be out of the realm of possibility for someone of Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchards advanced age. Evidently, the hostility went both ways, and Cassie couldnt help wondering about the pairs history.
Actually, she was attacked, Cassie said.
He glanced up in alarm. Attacked? By whom?
I didnt ask his name, the older woman snapped. Nor did I get a good look at him. It all happened too quickly.
Oh, dear, are you sure youre all right? Perhaps we should call an ambulance. After all, one cant be too careful At your age.
No need for that. Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchards tone was positively frigid by now. Im not the frail old lady you seem to think I am. If you would just help me up
But, in spite of her bravado, it soon became obvious that she needed a good deal more than a hand up. She couldnt put any weight on her ankle, nor was she able to balance herself using Lyle as a crutch. Allow me, he said with a little half bow, then, despite his thin stature, swept the woman into his arms with no effort whatsoever. He was much stronger than he looked, and he walked with the kind of grace and agility that made Cassie think of a dancer.
She expected the older woman to protest, but instead Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard peered over Lyles shoulder into the shadows. Wheres my Chablis? she demanded. I cant leave her out here. Shes probably frightened half to death, poor baby. I doubt either one of us will get a wink of sleep tonight.
Ill bring her along, Cassie said, reaching for the Maltese, who did not look in the least distressed by the evenings events. If anything, she appeared thoroughly besotted as she gazed at Mr. Bogart with doe-eyed intensity. When Cassie had finally corralled the dogs, the pair happily cavorted side by side back to the hotel.
The whole party took the elevator to the third floor, and after Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard handed Cassie her key card, she unlocked the door and held it open while Lyle carried the injured woman inside and placed her gently on a green silk divan.
Are you sure you wont go to the emergency room? he asked anxiously.
Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard gave him a scornful glance. You can stop all that fussing. I dont intend to sue. Im not the litigious sort.
Lyle assumed a wounded air. A lawsuit was the furthest thing from my mind. My only concern is for you.
How sweet. She made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in her tone. Youll be happy to know, then, that I have a friend in town whose husband is an orthopedic surgeon. Rest assured if the ankle isnt better by morning, Ill give him a call. Now be a good boy and run along. She shooed him off with the back of her hand. I dont need a thing more from you tonight.
In that case, he said huffily, I should get back to my desk.
Wait a second. Both of you, just hold on a minute, Cassie said.
They examined her with surprise, as if theyd forgotten all about her presence.
Dont you think we should call the police? she asked.
The police? they repeated in unison.
Cassie frowned. Yes, the police. You were attacked, Mrs. Ambrose. I mean, Mrs. PritchardMrs. Ambrose-Pritchard
Oh, for heavens sake, just call me Evelyn.