I patted his shoulder, hoping to soothe him. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Do you know what time you saw Megan last? When did she give you the scarf?”
“I don’t have a watch,” he said. “But I got a pretty good sense of time. I’d guess it was around two in the morning?”
“And what’s your name?”
“Kane,” he replied. He took the scarf from the dog. “Do you need this? As evidence or whatever?”
“No. Keep her warm.”
On my way inside, Pearl Godfrey pushed past me, knocking into my shoulder as she stepped into the revolving door. Without apologizing, she exited the hotel, even though I’d helped her get into the penthouse earlier.
“Long day?” I asked Janine as she packed up and got ready to end her shift.
“Unbearably so.” Her gaze lingered on the dark circles beneath my eyes. “You too, huh?”
I smiled weakly. “Here’s hoping tomorrow cuts us some slack.”
“I’d drink to that.”
As Janine headed to the employee exit, I pushed the call button and waited for the elevator. Jordan—Janine’s night time replacement—nodded a greeting to me as he took up his station behind the front desk.
When the elevator arrived, something stopped me from getting in. Right on the edge, where the outer doors had hidden it, lay the keycard Janine had programmed for the penthouse earlier. Pearl must have dropped it in her haste to leave the building.
I made sure Jordan wasn’t watching then swooped down to pick up the card. Swiftly, I hid it in my pocket then pushed the button for the fourteenth floor.
Now I was getting somewhere.
13
I lay awake for most of the night, plotting and listening to Evelyn’s deep breaths. I wanted to wake her, to brew a cup of tea and talk until morning. I wanted to forget about the deaths in and around the Saint Angel and stop dreaming about blood on pavement. As I twisted around in the sheets, I wondered if this private investigator thing wasn’t all it was cracked to be. All it did was give me more nightmares, but without it, who was I? Did I matter at all?
I tried timing my breaths to match Evelyn’s, but she was deep in REM sleep. I couldn’t ease myself into the length of her inhalations. My chest rose and fell in time with my rapid thoughts. I waited as long as possible, trying to rest even if I couldn’t sleep, then finally rolled out of bed shortly before dawn.
Quickly, quietly, I got dressed and eased out of the room, hoping not to wake Evelyn. Downstairs, I grabbed a coffee from the only open cafe, then made my way to the second floor and took up a position on the mezzanine. I scooted a lounge chair closer to the railing, so my view of the lobby was unimpeded. As I sipped my coffee, I watched the Saint Angel go through its morning routine.
Luis mopped the marble of the lobby floor until it shined. The maids wiped down the front desk, emptied trash cans, and dusted. Janine arrived at seven o’clock, taking over for Jordan. They hardly spoke to each other, giving bleary nods instead. I had never seen anyone else work at the front desk beside the two of them. Perhaps the Saint Angel could no longer afford to hire additional help.
At around eight o’clock, I saw what I wanted to see: Wolf Godfrey leaving the hotel. He came in a wheelchair from his secret elevator, accompanied by a burly aid who pushed him along. On the street, a black van with a wheelchair lift pulled up. I waited until they loaded Wolf into the van and drove off. Then I stood.
I got in the elevator, swiped the keycard for the penthouse, and pushed the button for the top floor. Like butter, the elevator raised me to the heavens and dropped me off in the back hallway with two doors.
Since Jonathan was dead and Wolf was gone, I didn’t have to worry about running into anyone in either suite. I flashed the keycard at Jonathan’s door and slipped inside.
It smelled like spicy cinnamon. Someone had knocked over a can of Altoids and spilled them all over the floor. My brow furrowed. I’d never seen Jonathan eat a single Altoid or smelled it on his breath.
Yesterday’s crime scene had been wiped clean. Jonathan was probably at the coroner’s by now, getting poked and prodded to determine the cause of death. Everything else appeared normal, as if Jonathan might return at any time.
Jonathan’s side of the penthouse varied greatly from his father’s. Instead of blinding white walls and furniture, he’d opted for a lovely shade of dark green for the walls and dark brown leather for the sofa and chaise. Father and son shared a love of art though; a painting of a woman’s bare body hung above the fireplace. The outline certainly did not match Pearl Godfrey’s lumpy figure. When I moved closer, I noticed the initials “JG” signed at the bottom corner of the painting. Jonathan had done it himself.
I performed a clean sweep of the suite. I sifted through Jonathan’s clothes, perused his bathroom supplies, and checked every nook and cranny for possible clues. Other than a small vial of marijuana, nothing of suspicion came to light.
I flopped onto the sofa and stared at the spot where Jonathan had taken his last breath. No blood, no vomit, nothing to indicate that he had done something to hurt himself. It was as if he’d laid down and let the darkness take him. How could someone with so much want to end his own life?
“Money really can’t buy happiness,” I muttered to myself.
Behind the enormous television, as if Jonathan had been trying to hide it, was the door to Wolf’s adjoining suite… and it was open.
I lifted myself from the couch and crept over. As I inched through the doorway, a chill ran down my spine. The wall between the suites was
