“Should we keep an eye on him?” I asked Evelyn. “Especially with everything that’s going on?”
“He’s fifteen,” she replied. “He does whatever he wants, and I can’t stop him. It’s my mum’s job to keep him alive, not mine.”
Inside, another ugly surprise waited for us. Penelope Delacourt stood at the front desk, throwing a loud fit.
“What do you mean I can’t rent out the penthouse?” she demanded of Janine. “The man who lived there died, didn’t he? That means it’s available.”
“Yes, but the police need to inspect the property,” Janine answered. Her entire body dropped toward the floor. She was in desperate need of a vacation from the Saint Angel and its crazy guests. “I’m not sure when it will be ready to house another guest.”
“I don’t want it now,” Penelope said, sighing gustily. “I want it next week, after the wedding. My son and his wife should have the penthouse for their honeymoon.”
For the second time that day, Evelyn came to Janine’s rescue.
“Penelope,” she said. “Ned and Marie are leaving for their honeymoon right after the wedding. They’re going to Aruba, remember?”
Penelope’s lip curled upward as she regarded Evelyn. “I’ve canceled Ned’s flights. There’s some sort of awful disease going around these foreign countries. I refuse to let him catch it. No, he’s staying right here in Chicago. In the penthouse.” She impatiently tapped the front desk to get Janine’s attention. “Book it. I won’t leave this spot until it’s done.”
“You canceled his flight?” Evelyn asked. “You can’t do that. Marie’s been planning their trip for a year.”
“I don’t care what she’s been planning,” Penelope replied. “I only care that my son is safe and healthy.”
Evelyn’s hands curled into fists. “You’ve fought my sister on every detail of this wedding. I won’t have you ruin her honeymoon.”
Penelope smiled devilishly. “Oh, honey. I can ruin so much more than that. Don’t test me.”
Evelyn shook from head to toe, and I recognized the warning signs of an explosion. Quickly, I steered her away from the front desk and up the steps to the mezzanine.
“I’ll kill her,” Evelyn snarled.
“Deep breaths.” I patted her back, forcing her to calm down. “She’s going to do whatever she wants. You can’t stop her. Marie can, though. Don’t worry.”
“I have to call her,” Evelyn said, taking out her phone. “I’ll be back.”
As Evelyn walked away, I leaned over the railing and observed Penelope. From my vantage point, I watched her bully Janine into booking Jonathan’s vacant suite. Penelope’s annoying shrieking voice traveled far and wide.
“No, the presidential suite will not do!” she said. “Get them the penthouse! My God, what is the matter with you, woman? Can’t you follow simple instructions?”
“Ma’am, I cannot book that room for you,” Janine said firmly. “If you continue to berate me, I’ll have to call hotel security to escort you away.”
“I dare you,” Penelope hissed.
Two police officers emerged from the elevator. As they caught wind of the argument, they exchanged a glance and walked to the front desk.
“Is there a problem here?” the first officer asked.
Penelope stumbled on her high heels in her haste to back away from the officers. She clutched her purse tightly to her side. “No, officers. No problem at all.”
She scurried off, tossing anxious glances over her shoulders at the officers before she disappeared into the hotel bar. The officers leaned over Janine’s desk to make sure she was okay.
A wild hunch brewed in my head. Penelope’s jumpiness around the cops seemed unusual. What reason did she have to fear them?
Evelyn returned, pocketing her phone. “Marie asked Ned about the flights. The trip is still booked. Penelope was bluffing. What an insufferable woman.”
“Insufferable enough to kill?” I wondered.
Evelyn leaned on the railing next to me. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Think about it,” I said. “She insisted on booking the Saint Angel for the wedding. Then a bridesmaid disappears. Now, she wants to keep Marie here for the honeymoon, in the same suite where Jonathan died. It’s weird, right?”
“You’re stretching, Jack.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s what you do when you’re out of leads,” she informed me. “You chase details that don’t matter. Believe me, Penelope Delacourt doesn’t have the stones to kill anyone.”
“She could have hired someone to do it.”
“Let it go, Jack.”
“You didn’t see how jumpy she was around the police,” I said. “I’m going to go talk to her.”
“Jack—” Evelyn began, then sighed and waved a hand. “You know what? Do whatever you want. You’re the investigator, not me. Godspeed.”
She walked away. I considered her warning. Maybe I did have the habit of jumping to conclusions, but most days, it helped me catch a killer. Pushing Evelyn out of my head, I went to the hotel bar.
Penelope sat in a booth by herself, nursing a gin drink and a basket of free bread. She rubbed her eyes, smearing mascara from her lashes. I slid into the seat across from her.
“Dear God, won’t you people leave me alone?” she begged. “Isn’t it enough to lose my son without having to suffer through such insipid interactions with all of his fiancée’s acquaintances?”
I didn’t beat around the bush. “Why did you run from the police, Penelope?”
She lifted her chin. “I did no such thing.”
“I watched you,” I told her. “As soon as they arrived, you clammed up and got out of there. That’s not like you.”
Penelope sipped her drink then kept her lips sealed tightly.
“You can talk to me or you can talk to the police,” I said. “And they’re going to ask you why you wanted to kill Marie Grey.”
She coughed, nearly impaling herself on the plastic sword in her drink. “I beg your pardon? What on earth are you talking about?”
“I have reason to believe you’ve engineered certain events to happen around this hotel,” I fibbed. “Deaths, disappearances. That sort of thing.”
“I’ve done nothing of the sort! How dare you accuse me—”
“Prove it,” I said. “Where were you on the
