First Mason, now this guy.
Judging from the reaction of the two lobby-dwellers, this new man was a wildcard. Probably here for her.
I am Prom Queen, today.
Shee walked toward the front door, pausing just past the entrance to the sitting room, where the visitor couldn’t see her. Bracco stared at her from his post, trapped in doorman’s purgatory.
Shee looked at Croix, who shrugged with her right shoulder ever so slightly. The man could see her from his vantage point. Apparently, she had no information.
Okay. Let’s see what’s up.
Shee took another step toward the door so Bracco could act. He opened the portal and she said “Thank you” loud enough for the man in the sitting room to hear. Without leaving, she sat on a dark wood Bahamian-style bench against the wall and motioned for Bracco to let the door shut. He did.
Shee caught Croix’s attention and then bounced her gaze in the direction of the sitting room and back.
Croix nodded as if she had a tune in her head and busied herself at the desk.
We have his attention.
Shee smiled. It felt good to make a tiny motion and have people understand her meaning. It reminded her of the shorthand she’d shared with her father during their working years.
As she waited, a list of bullet points gathered in her brain, rolling out like a yellowed copy of the Constitution.
Why doesn’t he have a drink? Wouldn’t a relaxed person who likes to enjoy his paper have some coffee?
And why is he reading a newspaper? He’s Croix’s age. If I asked Croix if she reads physical newspapers, she’d laugh for a week.
He’s trying to hide his face. Maybe he’s watched too many old detective movies with private dicks hiding behind newspapers. Maybe so many movies that they inspired him to become a detective...
Shee heard the paper wrinkle, followed by footsteps on the wooden floorboards leading away from the entrance to the room.
He’s looking out the front window. Looking for me.
A moment later, the young man hustled around the corner. He hadn’t seen her at her car, panicked, and rushed out to find her.
His stride suffered a hiccup as he spotted her waiting on the bench. If his bouncing pupils were any indication, his brain was spinning, struggling to make a decision. Should he keep walking forward with this sense of purpose? Stop? Return to the sitting room?
Let’s let him off the hook.
Shee sprang to her feet and cut in front of him before he could reach her. She pushed on the door and Bracco jerked it open.
“Jerrytail.”
“Thank you,” she said, wondering what the connection might be between ‘Jerrytail’ and game of cat and—
Mouse. Jerry? Tom and Jerry?
Shee tripped, her own brain so distracted by the puzzle of Bracco’s mind she forgot to pick up her feet. Catching herself on the railing post, she continued to her car and sat inside.
Okay, Young Sherlock, let’s see—
She felt the sweat ooze from the pores in her forehead.
Oh for crying out loud. Not again. I can’t get another shower...
She started the car, turned up the air and sat. In her rearview mirror, she watched the young man get into his car, a later-model Toyota sedan.
He, too, sat.
He didn’t start the car. That would be weird, right? To sit in a car, idling? But isn’t it weirder to sit in a car melting like griddle butter?
Shee sniggered. Poor kid. She needed to stop messing with him and find out why he was following her.
Give him a minute more?
Thirty seconds ticked by. The young man’s car rumbled.
There it is. Air conditioning.
But he didn’t pull out.
He’s waiting for me. I’m sure of it now.
Shee turned off her car, got out and bolted back into the hotel. Not oh I forgot something bolted, more like I’m being chased by wolves bolted.
Bracco held the door open.
“What’s going on?” asked Croix.
“Quick, I’ve only got a second. What do you know about that kid?”
“Kid? He was like twenty-seven.”
“Everyone under thirty-five’s a kid when you’re my age. Quick. Is he checked in?”
“No. He said he was waiting for a friend.”
“Did he say who?”
“No.”
“Okay. When he comes in here, keep him busy. Don’t let him know we’re on to him.”
Croix scowled. “How—nevermind. I got it.”
“I’m going out the back and around. Don’t let him get back to his car too fast.”
“Got it.”
Shee ran out the back of the hotel and around the side. She peeked around the corner in time to see the young man get out of his car and stride toward the hotel.
He seemed agitated.
As soon as he entered, she crept into the parking lot.
His car was still idling.
Yay.
She scooted to the Toyota and opened the passenger door.
Clean. Rental. Ah, Bingo.
The man’s wallet sat propped against the emergency brake. She didn’t find that odd. Men didn’t like to drive with their wallets in their back pockets. The lump threw their spines out of alignment and made their backs hurt.
Shee grabbed the wallet and shuffled through it. Nothing unusual. Driver’s license, Florida-issued. Logan Sandoval. The name didn’t ring any bells.
A flash of motion caught her eye and Shee ducked down. The kid was on the porch looking around. He saw her car hadn’t moved and re-entered the hotel.
He’ll probably go look out back now.
Shee replaced the wallet, sans license. She slid out of the car, gingerly closed the door and—
...and there he is again. Crap.
The young man appeared on the porch looking flustered. He tried very hard not to look at her as she approached. Pretending to scratch her leg,
