Читать книгу Without You - Mary Baxter Lynn - Страница 6

The wheels on the cleaning carts squeaked as they lumbered along the otherwise silent hallway. Once the carts touched noses, the two housekeepers grinned at each other.

“How many more rooms you got to clean today?” Myrtle Tittle, short and plump, reached up and straightened her askew blond wig.

Clara Means, equally plump but taller in stature to Myrtle, pursed her thin lips, deepening the Howdy Doody lines around her mouth. “A lot. How ’bout you?”

“I’m in the same boat.”

“Me and my old man are supposed to go dancing tonight,” Clara said, “but it don’t look like that’s gonna happen. After today, I’ll be ready to drop. I’d sure like to know where all these folks come from.”

Myrtle scratched under the wig. “Me, too. This hotel ain’t ever been this crowded. Something going on we don’t know about?”

“Probably something to do with Elvis and that great big old house of his.” Clara gritted her teeth. “I just wish they’d let him rest in peace.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Myrtle replied with a sigh. “The poor man’s been dug up and replanted so many times, he’ll never get no peace.”

“Good thing it’s not our problem. Guess we’d best get to work before we get caught visiting. You know how Connie hates for us to stop and talk.”

“Maybe if she had a man, she wouldn’t be so uptight.”

Clara chuckled, then sobered. “She can have mine. He’ll whip her into shape real quick-like.”

“So would mine. Look, I’ll check you later.”

Clara nodded, then shoved her cart on down the hallway. “See ya,” she threw back over her shoulder.

The blonde turned and knocked on the door, then called out, “Housekeeping.”

No answer. She pecked again. When another silence greeted her, Myrtle breathed a sigh of relief. There was no Do Not Disturb sign visible, so at least she wouldn’t have to return. Not only was the hotel full, but the visitors were plumb lazy.

Once she had propped the door open and walked inside, she pulled up short, her feathers wilting. The woman occupant was sitting at the table with the side of her face resting on the top. Must’ve tied one on last night, the maid thought to herself, disgust charging through her.

“Ma’am,” she said in a soft tone. When she received no answer, Myrtle upped her volume.

Not only didn’t the woman answer, but she didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. The maid stepped closer. “Ma’am, it’s housekeeping.”

Still no reaction. Frowning, Myrtle did something she’d never done to a guest. She touched her on the arm, then watched in horror as the woman slid off the chair onto the floor.

Stumbling backward, Myrtle muttered, “Oh sweet Lord.” Then turning, she ran back out into the hall. “Help! Someone help!”