Lethal Bayou Beauty (20 page)

I’m not much of a luxury-living person, but I have to admit, the hotel lobby was nice with its fancy furniture and huge plants. A middle-aged, uptight-looking woman with her hair pulled up in a bun narrowed her eyes at me as I approached the front desk. Clearly, she’d already decided I had no business in the hotel.
 

“Got a package for Dr. Ryan,” I said, pasting on a bored expression.

“I can take that,” she said and reached across the counter.

“Gotta have a signature,” I said and popped my gum.

She moved her hands back and winced, then reached for the phone. “Let me see if I can reach him.”

I backed against the counter and chomped on my gum, catching sight of Gertie as she slipped into the hotel and headed for the elevators. Ida Belle followed a couple of seconds later and hovered near the entrance, waiting for my signal.
 

A couple of seconds later, the desk clerk spoke. “Dr. Ryan. There’s a package delivery for you at the front desk.”
 

She put her hand over the phone and looked at me, still frowning. “He’s not expecting a delivery.”

I pointed to the label. “Says Dr. Ryan at the Ritz-Carlton right here. Do you have two Dr. Ryans staying here?”

“No, but—”

“Then he’s the one.”

“Perhaps if you could tell me who the package is from…”

“No can do. They just hand me the packages and I deliver ’em. I don’t care who they’re from as long as I get paid.”

She gave me a scathing look and removed her hand from the phone. “I’m sorry, Dr. Ryan, but the delivery service doesn’t know the origin of the package. I would accept it for you, but they’re requiring your signature.”

A couple of seconds later, she hung up the phone. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Cool.” I pushed off the front desk, touched the brim of my hat to signal Ida Belle, and strolled across the lobby, stopping to finger a plant. “Hey, are these real?” I yelled back at the desk clerk.

I swear, I could feel her sphincter tighten. “Yes, please don’t touch the plants. You could damage them.”

“Whatever you say, lady.” I let go of the plant and walked a little farther across the lobby and closer to the exit. The front desk clerk seemed relieved the farther away I got. So far, the plan was working.

Ida Belle strolled across the lobby and stopped a couple of feet from the front desk. The desk clerk looked over at her, the same putrid expression on her face. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“I’m waiting for my friend.”

“I can call her room if you’d like and tell her you’re here.”

“She hasn’t checked in yet. Damned woman’s always late.”

The desk clerk looked uncertain. “We have some comfortable seating in the middle of the lobby,” she said and waved a hand in the direction of some furniture that looked as uptight as the desk clerk and not even remotely comfortable.

“I got the hemorrhoids and didn’t bring that doughnut thing that lets ’em hang,” Ida Belle said. “I’ll just stand here unless you got a problem with that.”

The desk clerk blanched. “No, ma’am,” she said, clearly resigned to an afternoon of dealing with crazy people.

I looked over at the elevators, where Gertie was positioned behind a giant banana plant. Thank God her dark green dress blended in with the leaves, because it was a suspicious place to hang out. The desk clerk’s gaze began to wander in that direction. I looked over at Ida Belle, hoping she’d notice the clerk’s wandering eye and Gertie’s stalkerish hiding choice and come up with a distraction, but she was busy reading something on her cell phone.

I was just about to head over to the desk myself, when an older couple came through the front entrance, a valet following them with a cart that contained so much luggage I wondered if they were moving into the hotel. The woman started ordering the clerk around before she even got to the desk, waving her hands in the air as if conducting a symphony. Every finger on her hands sported a very large and extremely tacky piece of jewelry, and I would have bet anything it was all real, just like the strip of fur hanging around her neck—in June.

Something large and white flickered at the edge of my vision range and I turned to the left to see a man shuffling across the lobby wearing a fluffy white spa robe and matching slippers. When my eyes ventured up from the wardrobe and to his face, I knew we were in trouble.
 

It was Dr. Ryan.

I started to bolt out the front door, but somehow that didn’t seem fair as Ida Belle and Gertie hadn’t even noticed that our plan had gone awry. As he walked toward Gertie’s hiding place, she peered out from behind the banana plant and even from across the lobby I could see her eyes widen in panic.
 

I started a mental prayer that she didn’t do anything stupid, but I didn’t make it past “Please” before she’d made the point moot.
 

I wasn’t sure if she tried to signal us that he was in the lobby or slow him down long enough for me to escape, but she managed to accomplish both. She bolted out from behind the banana plant—at least, she attempted to. Her ever-present, incredibly large handbag got caught on an edge of the planter, which normally would have stopped her in her tracks, but since she’d launched out as if she were on fire, she managed to pull the entire plant over as she bolted.
 

The plant and Gertie crashed to the ground in a sea of flying leaves, dirt, and some random cursing, coming to a stop at Dr. Ryan’s feet. I should have taken that opportunity to flee, but I stood frozen, clutching the empty box. One glance at Ida Belle, who was stiff as a post, told me no ideas were racing to her mind, either. The clerk stared for several seconds, then hurried from behind the desk.

Immediately, Dr. Ryan bent over to help up Gertie, who was flailing, scattering the mass of leaves and potting soil like a cartoon character. Her eyes were clenched shut, probably full of dirt. As the doctor bent over, Gertie, who was grasping for anything solid, caught on to the sash of his robe and attempted to pull herself up. Unfortunately, the sash loops on the robe weren’t designed to bear the weight of panicking seniors with forty-pound handbags, and they tore completely off the robe, exposing much more of Dr. Ryan than we’d come to see.

The desk clerk emitted a strangled cry and the older woman at the front desk, who’d turned around to see what all the commotion was about, screamed and fell onto the marble floor in a dead faint.

Ida Belle and I broke out of our trances at the same time and ran across the lobby to help up Gertie, who now had the bottom of the doctor’s robe in a death grip and refused to release it. Clearly panicked, Dr. Ryan pulled on the robe, desperately trying to cover himself, yelling at Gertie to let go. When I reached down for her, she blinked several times and opened her eyes on the way up. Unfortunately, the way up was straight up Dr. Ryan’s full frontal and she followed the desk clerk’s example and let out a startled cry.

Finally free of Gertie, Dr. Ryan pulled the robe around himself and sprinted for the elevators. The desk clerk recovered some of her composure and glared at Gertie. “I ought to call the police,” she said.

“And I ought to sue,” Gertie countered. “That’s a horrible place for a plant. I could have broken a hip.”

Ida Belle stepped over to Gertie. “Are you all right? I didn’t know you’d checked in already.”

Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not staying in a hotel that allows attack plants and naked men in the lobby. Take me to a Hilton.”

Ida Belle nodded and pulled Gertie, whose vision still appeared to be off, across the lobby and out the entrance. The desk clerk looked over at me, her frustration and disgust clear.

“I’ll just come back later,” I said. “Naked men aren’t part of my job description. I may file a sexual harassment complaint over this.”

I gave one final glance at the front desk, where the older man was trying to help Mrs. Liberace up from the floor, then hustled out of the hotel before the desk clerk made good on her word and called the police.

Outside the hotel, I immediately crossed the street away from Ida Belle and Gertie, just in case anyone from the hotel was watching, and hurried between the buildings until I was a block over. Then I walked the rest of the block and doubled back to the parking garage. Because I’d taken the long route, Ida Belle and Gertie had beat me to the car, where Gertie was blowing through an entire container of baby wipes, trying to get the dirt off her face. She’d started with her eyes and now looked like a raccoon with a reverse mask. At least Ida Belle had insisted on driving.
 

“Let’s get the hell out of here before someone sees us,” I said.

Ida Belle put the car in gear and punched it, tires squealing as we exited the parking garage. I sank down in the backseat so that no one could see me until we merged onto the highway. Between the potting soil and the baby wipes, Gertie’s face was now so streaked with mud she looked like she’d been on a three-day jungle tour.

“Well, it didn’t exactly go as planned, but at least we know that the good Dr. Ryan could have strangled Pansy. His hands were big enough and in a rage, his strength would have been doubled or tripled.”

“I didn’t see his hands,” Gertie said, “but he had small feet. I don’t even have to tell you what they say about small feet.”

“No, you don’t have to tell us,” Ida Belle agreed. “We saw that firsthand.”

“I guess that’s something even plastic surgery can’t fix,” Gertie said.
 

Ida Belle nodded. “But on the upside, at least that was one thing that wasn’t in your grasp.”

Gertie fanned herself with her hand. “Lord, just the thought makes me blush! It’s bad enough I got a full-face view of the thing. Even with dirt in my eyes, it was quite startling.”

My eyes widened. Given my profession, I was hardly up for a sexual prowess award, but given the number of years Gertie had on me, I couldn’t imagine something so unimpressive being startling.
 

“But, ah….surely,” I said, “you’ve…um, seen one before?”

Gertie shot me an indignant look. “I’ve seen plenty in my day, but it’s been a number of years since I’ve had one so close to my face. You’ve been around Sinful long enough to see the male population selection.”

I smiled. It was a valid point.

“All discussion of full-face frontals aside,” Ida Belle said, “we have a problem.”

My smile vanished. “Yeah. We have to make sure Carter gets this information, and preferably before Dr. Ryan and his big hands leave town.”

Gertie’s eyes widened. “You’re going to tell him about today?”

“No!” I couldn’t even imagine the horror. “If there’s a God, only the three of us, Dr. Ryan, the desk clerk—who is quite possibly scarred for life—and that woman who passed out and her husband will ever know about today.”

“The whole thing was almost worth it,” Ida Belle said, “just to see that old bitty hit the floor. But you’re right. Carter needs to know about the journal and about Dr. Ryan’s suspicious proximity.”

“We could leave the journal in his truck or mailbox with a note,” Gertie suggested.

I sighed. “It’s not that simple. In order for the journal to be introduced into evidence at a trial, someone has to testify as to how they obtained it and from where. In this case, Ally would have to admit to knowing about the hiding place and taking the journal.”

Gertie raised her eyebrows. “You really have been watching a lot of television.”

“I wish that were the case, but unfortunately, that little bit of legal requirement has prevented the Justice Department from pursuing certain cases, especially when people like me gathered the evidence.”

“Certainly you’re allowed to testify, right?” Ida Belle asked.

“No. The agency can’t afford to lose capable agents every time we run across evidence of a crime, especially when it’s usually not pertaining to the mission I’m on. We turn over what we have, hoping they can find another way to prove it, but there’s not much more we can do.”

“That blows,” Gertie said.

“And it puts Ally in a position I didn’t want her in.” I sighed. “I guess I didn’t think this through very well.”

“Don’t you worry,” Gertie said. “We’ll figure something out.”

I nodded, but I knew that the only way for Dr. Ryan to show up on Carter’s radar was if Ally confessed to petty theft.

Not exactly the kind of thing great friendships were made of.

###

About five miles outside of Sinful, Ida Belle pulled over to the side of the road and I assumed my reentry position—in the trunk. Not wanting to risk someone seeing me leaving town, we’d agreed that on the way out of town and back in, it would be best for me to hide in the trunk. It was only seven miles or so, which you’d think wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, especially for someone in my shape. Unfortunately, Gertie’s ancient Cadillac had more battle wounds than a Roman gladiator, and presented some unique challenges.

For starters, half of the trunk bottom was rusted out, and I had to stay on one side of the car or risk falling through onto the street. Then there was the small matter of the trunk lid…which wouldn’t stay closed. At first, Gertie held it down by securing it to the bumper with a bungee cord. But sometime between the squirrel incident that took out the front bumper and this morning, something had transpired that had eliminated the back bumper completely.