Читать книгу Coming Soon - Jo Leigh - Страница 8

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IT WAS ALMOST FIVE in the afternoon and Bax had had it with actors. There wasn’t a single one who hadn’t tried to manipulate the hell out of him, and he hadn’t even gotten to the big stars.

The worst had been a woman named Nan Collins who acted like an A-lister when, according to the assistant director, she was no more than a glorified extra. She’d said she was insulted that she was being questioned, but it was pathetically clear that the idea of being associated with the real players was her dream come true. She hadn’t given him anything but a headache. Finally, though, he could take a break. There were still so many people to talk to, particularly those with the most to lose, like Weinberg and the two big stars. The thought made his head throb.

He left his temporary office and took his time as he made his way to the lobby, debating whether to go home and get some sleep or continue the interviews. He let his gaze wander as he stepped off the elevator. The hotel’s décor was art deco, the pictures were all nudes of the period and the air felt rarified, as if a bad smell wouldn’t dare.

There were people here, most of them on the young side, the men in expensive suits, the women dressed in designer clothes with impossible heels.

He looked down at his brown jacket, his brown pants, his brown shoes. The only thing not brown about him was his shirt, which was beige. He hadn’t been home to change since yesterday and it showed.

Screw it. It had been one hell of a frustrating day, full of sound and fury, signifying squat. There were so many fingerprints on the scene as to render them useless. Motives had clearly been on sale for a nickel, because everyone he talked to seemed to have more than one. At least he’d managed to keep the basement nightclub a crime scene despite some extraordinary pressure from the producer.

Bax thought about his interview with Geiger’s wife. He’d seen her at five this morning and it had been a real slice. Sheila Geiger had fallen apart when she heard about her husband’s death. The two of them had been married eight years, and according to her, he was a model husband. Sure, he spent about twelve hours a day chasing down any scandal he could find, but she was adamant that he was a good man, and that the stars were all backstabbing liars who needed him more than he needed them.

She wanted action. She wanted arrests. She wanted his camera back.

“Detective Milligan?”

Bax jumped at the voice behind him. Her voice. Mia Traverse’s voice.

He turned to find her in her uniform, a black tuxedo jacket and skirt, white blouse, pink silk tie, and yep, she was just as pretty as he remembered. She came over, reminding him again how small she was. And that she smelled damn good.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked.

“Maybe. I understand the rooms all come with a video recorder.”

She nodded. “Walk with me?”

He did as she headed for the reception area where the concierge services were conducted behind a curved, black lacquered desk. He waited as she went to her station. She checked to make sure there had been no calls, then put on one of those Bluetooth ear deals which always made him think of Uhuru from Star Trek.

“Each room has a small video recorder,” she said, her attention squarely on him, “and each guest is given several blank tape cartridges. It’s all part of the Hush amenities package.”

“It’s actually the tapes I’m interested in.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Those are of a private nature. Meant for couples.”

“I figured. On the other hand, someone might have taped something of a murderous nature.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, it’s possible. But I’m not sure how you’d ever find out.”

“I was thinking that maybe together we could come up with a solution to that little problem.”

“I’d love to help in any way I can, Detective, but those tapes are private. They become the property of the guest the moment they check in.”

“What would a maid do if she found a tape that was open in a room where the guests have checked out?”

“Turn it in to lost and found.”

“Okay. Would you check that out please? If there were any tapes left, I’ll need to see them.”

“I’ll be happy to, but wouldn’t the killer, if he taped himself murdering Geiger, have made a point to take the evidence with him?”

“I doubt very much the killer would have filmed that session. That’s not what I’m after. I think it’s possible that one of the guests might have taped something that could give us a direction.”

“Oh, I see.”

He knew it was a long shot, but he had to try. “What about security cameras?”

“We do have cameras, although not in Exhibit A, or even that hallway.”

“Where are they?”

“I can put you in touch with security. They know a lot more about it than I—” A chirping sound had come from a cell phone on her desk. She flipped it open and brought it to her ear.

“Concierge, Mia speaking. How may I help you?”

Bax watched and listened as Mia talked to her guest. She was calm, pleasant, and as she talked, she also typed, looking something up on the computer. The conversation was evidently about a pharmacy that delivered.

He checked out her work space, which was as tidy as she was. A large Rolodex, telephone books, three-ring binders. Just what he’d expect to see. He paused, however, when he saw what looked like a camera case. Taking a couple of steps to his right to get a better look, he was surprised to see the initials GG in gold script on the top.

When he looked back at Mia, it was clear from her blush she knew what he’d found. Bax sighed. He’d been right about her. Eager, enthusiastic. Nosy. A perfect informant. Ideal. Only, as an informant, he had to be damn careful with her. Not just so he wouldn’t scare her off, either. He had to make sure that she remained a credible witness. Which meant she was completely hands-off. Which should have been no issue at all.

She finished with her phone call. “I was going to tell you about that.”

“When?”

“Don’t be mad. There’s a story with it and—” The phone chirped again. She flicked her earpiece this time instead of picking up the cell and immediately put the caller on hold. “Tell you what,” she said. “I get off work in fifteen minutes. It’ll take me ten to change out of my uniform. Why don’t you go to the bar and relax. I’ll come get you and we can go to dinner. My treat.”

“Twenty-five minutes?”

“And I’ll be all yours.”

He knew exactly what she meant but that didn’t stop a momentary flash of a completely unprofessional nature.

She returned her attention to the guest as he walked toward the bar, wondering if his attraction to her was about hormones or homicide?

SHE HAD THE CAMERA CASE in her purse as they went to Maxwell’s, a coffee shop she and most of the Hush crew frequented. It was no Amuse Bouche, but they had decent food and for Madison Avenue, they were reasonable.

Mia could tell he wanted answers, but he waited patiently as they were seated and placed their orders.

She brought out the bag as soon as the waitress left. “It’s just a lens,” she said. “No film, no camera.”

“But it did belong to Geiger?”

“It did, yes. But that’s not the interesting part.”

The waitress came back with coffee for him, an iced tea for her. When they were alone again, Mia leaned in. “It was found in Peter Eccles’s suite and it was left there the night Geiger was killed.”

The detective’s expression changed. It wasn’t dramatic. In fact, if she hadn’t been watching closely, she’d have missed it. His eyes, a deep dark brown, widened a hair and his nice broad shoulders straightened.

He really was an attractive man. Even in his dull suit there was something about him that appealed to her. Not just his rugged good looks, either. Obviously, she barely knew the man but still she saw an intelligence about him. He might come off all stoic and unflappable, but there was a brain in there. How she knew, she wasn’t sure, but she knew. She’d known from the first.

Over the years her ability to quickly gauge strangers had been developed and nurtured. Part of being a good concierge was to make and trust first impressions.

Even in the stressful situation of finding a body her radar had been active. Other parts of her had been active, too, which surprised her more.

Honestly, his looks weren’t all that remarkable. Not compared to the movie stars and models who frequented the hotel. But he was sexy in his rumpled suit and his mussed hair. She kept finding herself wanting to touch him.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll pay for dinner if you don’t make me beg.”

She realized she’d been staring instead of talking. “The maid found it in Eccles’s room. Along with the remains of his scotch, which room service had delivered the night before.”

“How did you get it?”

“I told you. I know people.”

“Right.”

“Listen, Detective. I shouldn’t have the lens. It was a questionable move meant to help. If it came to light how I got it, good people could get hurt. I won’t let that happen.”

“I could compel you to tell me—”

“You could,” she said, stopping him, “but you’d be cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

“You want to be the go-between, I get it. While that might seem appealing or even exciting, it can also mean you’ll be caught in the middle. We’re talking murder here, Ms. Traverse. Not a game of telephone.”

She’d thought about this since the moment Theresa had told her about the lens. The last thing she wanted to do was to impede the investigation. Hush didn’t need the kind of publicity it was getting and the longer the killer was on the loose, the more it damaged the reputation of the hotel. Mia’s first responsibility, as long as she didn’t actually break the law, was to protect her employer. Second was to protect the staff. She could do both while still helping the detective, but only if he agreed to her terms. “I understand what’s at risk. We all want this murder solved.”

“What if it turns out to be someone from the hotel. Someone not involved with the movie?”

She sat back in the booth. “You think I want a killer working at Hush?”

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes told her he wasn’t completely convinced.

“Look, we have a lot of our staff assigned directly to the VIP guests. They’re all very discreet though. If you try to talk to them, you’ll get a whole lot of nothing. They trust me. They’ll open up to me.”

“There’s a big difference between being discreet and obstructing justice.”

“It’s up to you. Your way, there’s a lot of disruptions and rancor. My way, you catch the killer and everybody wins.”

He laughed. “Confident, are we?”

She sat up straighter and willed herself not to blush. “Yes, I am.”

He drank some more coffee, looked at her as if he was trying to see inside her head, but finally he nodded. “We’ll try it your way. But you don’t tell anyone you’re talking to me, got it? And you don’t hold anything back, even if it’s not good for the hotel.”

She stuck out her hand. “To the best of my ability, you have my word.”

He shook, although the doubt was still in his eyes.

She didn’t really want him to think too much more about their agreement, though. Time to change tactics. “You haven’t been home since last night.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“How come?”

“Part of the job.”

“It must be interesting. What you do.”

The look on his face said it was anything but. “Yeah. It is.”

She sipped her tea, debating for a moment letting it go, but the heck with that. “How long have you hated being a detective?”

Now that got a reaction. Alarm, then what, anger? No, not quite.

“I don’t hate my job.”

“Really,” she said.

“Okay. It’s lost some of its allure.”

“How come?”

His lips pressed together as if to keep his words from slipping out. Mia just waited. Like a good cop, she’d learned a lot over the years about the value of silence.

“The politics,” he said, finally.

She had the feeling he knew exactly what she’d done. That he was throwing her a bone. “What do you mean?”

“Too much paperwork, too much political correctness. It makes it hard to do the real work.”

“I can see that. You must be under terrible scrutiny. Everyone out there with cameras on their cell phones. Everyone ready to sue at the drop of a hat.”

With her commiseration, his defensiveness seemed to mellow. “It was my own fault. I had a romanticized view of what I’d be facing. I was naive to think things would get better when I became a detective.”

“But you solve crimes. You put bad guys away.”

“Not as often as I should.”

“Somehow I doubt it’s your work that’s at fault.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I watched you last night. You were thorough, com manding. You didn’t let anything slide. And here you are. Still at it even though you must be exhausted. Am I right?”

“You make it sound noble. It’s not.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. I’m sure it’s discouraging to jump though all those hoops but I don’t think you hate the heart of the job. It takes a unique individual to face the worst of people day after day, and still want to do the right thing.”

Bax shook his head, almost but not quite dismissing what she’d said. “How did you end up at Hush?”

“Changing the subject, are we?”

“Turnabout’s fair play.”

She grinned. “I wanted the job very badly. Hush is a unique hotel, with unique demands. I was lucky to be chosen.”

“Okay, I have to ask,” he said. “What’s the business about the sex?”

She grinned shyly. “Hush is simply an adult hotel that caters to consenting, discriminating couples.”

“Yeah, I saw that in the brochure. But I still don’t get it.”

“It’s about pleasure, Detective. Unapologetic and sophisticated. Visual, tactile, in fact all the senses are catered to. There’s something for everyone from the massages at the spa to the unbelievable room service—”

“Yeah, about that. I’ve heard that a guest can order more than dinner.”

“They can have massage or beauty services. Even their pets can have room service.”

He wondered if she was being coy or naive. It was hard to tell with her. Damn, though, he wished she hadn’t changed from the black tux. Not that she didn’t look good in her red T-shirt and jeans, but the T was snug and Maxwell’s was chilly.

Of course he was a moron for bringing up this topic. Just hearing her talk about catering to all the senses had made him uncomfortable. Bringing it back to business would help. “Those massage services wouldn’t include special bonuses, would they?”

“Oh, you’re talking about prostitution. No, that’s not at all what Hush is about. Did you know that each room comes with an armoire stocked with sex toys?”

Okay, so Mia wasn’t quite as innocent as her image would suggest. Shit. An armoire stocked with sex toys? He’d like to see those. See her. Touch— Damn it. “How does that work?” he asked, hoping she hadn’t noticed his voice crack.

She unsuccessfully hid a snicker. “That would depend on the guest.”

She was killing him here. On purpose. Because she could. Because she knew he was getting hard at her matter-of-fact voice, at that wicked smile. He cleared his throat. “No, I mean those kinds of amenities really couldn’t be reused, could they?”

“It depends. Anything that has the possibility of contact with bodily fluids is replaced for each guest. But some of the toys are cleaned and reused. It’s a very strict process with no room for error. You should come down sometime and see the operation. You’d be impressed.”

“I’m sure I would,” he said, desperate to change the subject. Thankfully, dinner arrived and Bax threw himself into eating his pastrami on rye. It wasn’t quite as effective as a cold shower, but as long as Mia didn’t talk about sex toys any more, he should be okay.

“A lot of people come to Hush expecting something lurid or tacky, but no one has ever left with that impression. It’s hard, though, because the press is so myopic. Sex sells. The sleazier the better. And when you combine that with Piper Devon’s reputation, which, I must say is totally distorted, then you get tabloid accounts full of insinuation and exaggeration. It’s a shame.”

Think of the sandwich. Not the sex. “But you keep getting the clientele you’re really after.”

“Mostly due to Piper and word of mouth.”

“It doesn’t hurt that the place is incredibly expensive.”

“Our guests are of the belief that you get what you pay for. The higher the price, the more valued the service.”

“Damn, you’re good at this stuff.”

“What stuff?”

He ignored the question as he finished the first half of his sandwich. He was finally settling down, getting some control. But he had to steer the conversation away from the goddamn sex. “Let me ask you something. You’ve clearly had to deal with the paparazzi since you started working there. Do you make deals with them? Give them exclusives in return for favors?”

“Sometimes. Always to the benefit of the hotel, though, and there are lots of paps who aren’t ever considered for special favors.”

“Like Gerry Geiger?”

She shook her head. “Geiger wasn’t always this bad. We used to use him on occasion, but only because he played by the rules.”

“Why do you think he changed?”

“I don’t know. I figured it was about money. It always seems to be about that, though.”

Bax made a mental note to dig deeper into Geiger’s financial situation, although he knew Grunwald was already on top of it. What Bax wondered was if there were some hidden accounts, maybe under Sheila’s name.

“Let me talk to Kit, our public relations manager,” Mia said. “She’ll let me know what the situation was with Geiger.”

Bax nodded. Relaxed. Finally, he felt steady again, at least for the time being. “You went to school to become a concierge?”

“I studied hotel management. But I’ve been around hotels my whole life. Both my parents are concierges. That’s what gave me the edge with Hush.”

“Doesn’t it bother you to have to coddle a bunch of overprivileged snobs?”

“I don’t coddle. I perform a service. I do my best to see that the guests of the hotel have an exceptional experience.”

“But aren’t most of the requests things your guests could do for themselves if they’d only lift a finger or two?”

“Sometimes. But honestly, I don’t see it that way. A lot of them are simply too busy to start checking the phone book or to find out where the closest luggage shop is. I know the city. I can make their stay more pleasant, easier. I have extraordinary connections, so I’m able to help the guests get the things they really need.”

“I’m leaving,” he said, apropos of nothing.

She put her fork down. “Now?”

He shook his head, surprised that he’d brought this up. He hadn’t planned on telling her anything about himself. “In three months. I’m leaving the force.”

She didn’t seem too shocked, which made sense considering their earlier conversation. “Where are you going?”

“Boulder. I’m going back to school.”

“That’s wonderful. Studying law, or—”

“Literature.”

Mia sat back in the booth. Now she seemed shocked. “Literature. Wow.”

Oddly, he felt proud and embarrassed both when he should have felt neither. “I want to write. To teach.”

“I’d very much like to hear that story,” she said.

He tried to hold back a yawn and failed. “Maybe another time.” When he looked at her again it was with a sleepy smile. “I have the feeling you’re a very good concierge.”

“That I am,” she said.

He sat back in the booth as she took her tiny bites of blintzes, thinking that he should leave her to finish dinner alone. He needed to go home and get some sleep. Not that he hadn’t done this a hundred times over the last ten years. Stayed up for twenty-four, thirty-six or more hours. It was part of the gig. What made him wonder about his mental state wasn’t that he was sleepy. It was that all he wanted to do was sit in Maxwell’s diner across from Mia Traverse and watch her eat. Sip her iced tea.

Nope, it didn’t make a damn bit of sense. But there it was.