Decaffeinated Corpse

“She’s still sitting in that Town Car,” said Madame.

I nodded. “I think she’s paying the driver.”

We’d tailed Ellie’s car from Brooklyn, racing through the Battery Tunnel, and up Manhattan’s West Side Highway. After exiting on Canal, we drove north, snaked around some cross streets and came down Varick (the name for Seventh Avenue just south of the Village). Now we were sitting in my Honda, idling next to a curb in Soho. Ellie’s hired car had parked in front of a hotel half a block away.

“There she goes,” Madame said.

Showing a substantial amount of white leg, Ellie exited the parked Town Car. Her high-heeled sandals clicked their way into V. This chic Soho hotel was one my ex-husband had favored before his mother had offered him the rent free use of the duplex above the Blend.

“V’s a lot like W on Union Square,” Matt used to say, “only it’s a different letter.”

The V Hotel’s front lobby was on the ground floor. Its enormous plate glass windows easily allowed us to watch Ellie’s movements. After striding to the front desk, she began a conversation with one of the clerks.

“Is she checking in, do you think?” Madame asked.

“I doubt it. She has no luggage with her, and why would she change clothes in her van before coming here?”

Ellie tossed her head of layered strawberry blond hair. Then she turned from the hotel counter, and moved into the large lobby. She settled herself into one of the many plush couches and crossed her long, bare legs. Her pink skirt was short enough to turn a passing gentleman’s head.

“She must be waiting for someone,” I said.

“I hear the V’s Mediterranean Grill is quite good. I’ll bet she’s meeting someone for lunch.”

“But she already ate an entire Cornish hen with me, back at the Garden’s cafe.”

Madame waved her hand. “Then she’ll just order salad, or coffee and dessert. Eating two lunches for business reasons is not uncommon.”

I glanced in my rear view mirror. Taxis were pulling up behind me, and a sign nearby warned that this lane was for V Hotel drop off and pick up only.

“If I stand here much longer, I could get a ticket,” I said.

“Then you’d better park.”

“But we don’t want to lose sight of Ellie. You’d better get out and keep an eye on her.”

“Yes, of course.” With glee, Madame popped the door. “I’m on it!”

“Wait!” I cried.

“What?”

“Ellie hasn’t seen you in years, but she might remember you, so be careful. Sneak in and hide behind something.”

“Sneak in?” Madame frowned. “How?”

“I don’t know.... Maybe—”

Madame patted my arm. “Don’t worry, dear. Just park and join me—and be careful coming in yourself.” She exited the car, then bent down. “Come to think of it, your friend will recognize you if she spots you coming in, so you’d better watch what I do...”

Madame shut the car door and walked behind the car toward the corner. She dug into the pocket of her burgundy wrap coat and fed coins to a New York Times vending machine. After retrieving a paper, she pretended to read it, keeping it to the side of her face as she passed V’s picture windows.

At the hotel’s front doors, she stopped and loitered for about a minute. When a group of trendy looking office workers ventured inside, Madame inserted herself among them. Holding the paper up again, to shield her face, she slipped into the front door, then quickly darted off to a far corner of the lobby and sat.

I shook my head, astonished. “Who needs Mike Hammer when you’ve got a nosey mother-in-law?”

I revved my Honda, pulled away from the curb, and circled the block twice. There was legal parking on the side streets, but all of the spots were taken—of course! I was just about to bite the bullet and start searching for an underground parking garage when I noticed an SUV (yes, another one, this time blue), pulling out of a legal space.

“Bingo!”

I parallel parked, cut the engine, locked the doors, then jogged to the corner. Mimicking Madame, I bought another Times, and snuck into V amid a newly arriving group of Yupsters. Shielding my face, I slunk across the lobby.

The large, high-ceilinged space was done in muted tones of buff and clay. Glass tables, slender black gooseneck floor lamps, and exotic, somewhat frightening-looking plants gave the entire decor a sleek, modern, rather disturbing feel.

“Did I miss anything?” I whispered, sinking into the corner couch’s goose down cushions.

“No,” Madame replied beside me. “She’s just been reading magazines and checking her watch.”

I didn’t want to take any chances, so I kept the newspaper in front of my face. Peeking around the headlines, I could see that Ellie was sitting far away, with her Pretty in Pink back to us.

“Has she talked to anyone else besides the front desk clerk?” I asked.

“No,” said Madame. “She tried to make a cell call, but it was so quick that I suspect she just left the other party a message.”

We sat for a few more minutes, and I started glancing around the entire lobby. We weren’t far from the Village, and I was a little worried about someone recognizing me.

I saw two young women talking in a corner, and an African-American man typing on his laptop. I didn’t recognize any of them. One other man was sitting at the far end of the room in a large leather armchair. But he was holding his magazine so high, I couldn’t see his face.

I tapped Madame’s shoulder.

“What?” she whispered.

“Look over there. See that man in the corner, reading a magazine?”

Madame peeked around her newsprint. “Yes.”

“Do you see what magazine it is?”

“Girl... It’s hard to read the title from here. Girl... ?”

“Girl Talk. Joy used to subscribe to it when she was a teenager. It’s filled with celebrity gossip—boy bands and young actresses, fashion, and sweet sixteen advice on dating.”

“What’s a grown man doing reading Girl Talk?”

“He’s either in the young adult magazine business or he’s not reading it and just picked up the first magazine he saw on one of these lobby coffee tables.”

“So?”

“So I need you to walk over there and get a look at the man.”

“In heaven’s name, why? Ellie might see me.”

“I need you to risk it. I want to make sure that guy’s not the middle-aged man we saw following Ellie.”

“Oh, Clare, you’re being paranoid. We lost that man before we entered the tunnel. The man over there isn’t even dressed like the one we saw.”

Madame was right about that. From this angle, I couldn’t see more than the man’s upper torso, but there was no sign of a silver-blue track suit. This man was wearing a tweedy brown sports jacket over a white T- shirt.

“I just think something’s not right,” I whispered. “Look! He’s peeking around the magazine.”

“I can’t see his face very clearly,” Madame said. “He’s got that Mets cap pulled too low.”

“Well, I can’t walk up to him because, if he is that Asian guy, then he saw me talking to Ellie. But he didn’t see you.”

“All right,” Madame said. “I’m going.”

She rose slowly and took a leisurely spin of the room, moving around the perimeter. When she got to the man, she said a few words. He looked at his watch and, I assumed, told her the time. Then she moved casually back to me.

I was careful to keep the newspaper up. “What did you see?”