The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips (Housewife Assassin Series Book 9) (28 page)

Prom day morning is typical of so many days in SoCal: warm, with clear blue skies.

Jack never came home. Did the mission go down last night?

I’ll know by one of two ways. The first is if he shows up in time to escort the rest of the family to the prom.

Or, Ryan will show up at my doorstep, to give me the news in person that Jack didn’t survive the mission.

I’d much prefer the former, having already gone through the latter.

By the time I get to the Savoy, for a rundown on any outstanding details, Margot, the party planner, is already there–with Édouard and Henry. Margot is frowning, which is not a good sign.
 

My first inclination is to wince, but until this party is over and I’m safely ensconced in my palatial suite, I have to plaster a smile on my face and play nice, so I declare, “A beautiful morning, everyone! And I’m sure tonight will be just as wonderful.”

“That depends,” Margot warns, “on whether you’re willing to accept some last-minute changes Mrs. Bing called into Édouard late yesterday.”

“Madam was so insistent that our chef prepped the kitchen all night in order to accommodate her,” Henry sniffs.

I brace myself. “Okay then, what items did she choose?”

“To start, there is the smoked white sturgeon caviar layered with Dungeness crab on yams–”

I purse my lips to keep from groaning. Penelope was fit to be tied when I deleted the caviar before. It makes me wonder if she ordered it to resell on the black market.

“–followed by turnip, radish, dried fish, and seaweed bouillon,” Édouard says proudly. “The next course is live scallops on the half shell, followed by roasted pigeon wrapped in cherry leaves and aged for thirty-two days, which is served with a beet soufflé and bone marrow fritters. And for dessert, Cherries Jubilee!”

On this last item, he whips his hand out with a flurry, practically knocking Henry off his feet.

I can’t believe it! Penelope is so upset about Cheever being tossed over for Jeff that she’s willing to sabotage the dance.

I look at it this way: if I insist on the more kid-friendly menu, the chef will no doubt commit hari-kari with the full set of Heckles knives hanging on the wall in the kitchen, so I must defer.

That’s okay. The success of the event doesn’t hang on the students’ opinion of the food, anyway. They aren’t going to remember anything about it–only what they wore, and who danced with whom, and who kissed whom.

Oh yes, and that Taylor Swift sang at their prom.

I wink at Margot, but not to Édouard. “It sounds wonderful! I appreciate your hard work–all of you.” I squeeze Margot’s hand.
 

She gets it:
let’s just get through this in one piece.

Jeff and I may have won Round One, but Round Two goes to Penelope.

She keeps it up, she’ll feel my knockout punch, and I’m not speaking metaphorically.

Henry notices that I’ve got a roll-case with me, and guesses rightly that I’m dropping my stuff in my suite.

My security card is already in my hand when I reach the doors hiding the penthouse elevator banks. I slide it open, then rush to the elevator for Suite A, and insert my card.

Just as the elevator opens, Henry grabs me around the waist and shoves me against the wall.

Bad move. I knee him in the groin.

He yelps.
 

When he’s able to pull himself upright again, he mutters, “I–was saving you from breaking your neck,” I look to where he’s pointing–into the elevator shaft.
 

He’s right. It’s empty. Had I stepped into it, I would have broken my neck. I didn’t see the sign beside the door, which announces OUT OF ORDER.

“What…how…”

“As you know, the hotel did its soft opening last week,” he reminds me. “To be honest, we’re still working out a few bugs.” He looks down the shaft–at least a twenty-foot drop and shakes his head. “Your next stop would have been the private garage for the penthouse and concierge suites.”

I look up into the dark abyss, which rises another twenty stories above us. A shiver goes up my spine. “Henry, please forgive me! I’m so sorry!”

He nods stoically, then points to the elevator marked C.
 

“Shall we?”

I follow him in. He pushes a button, and up we go.

When the elevator door opens again, we are on the concierge level.

“Now, put your card into the slot, here.” He points to a card slot at eye level.

I do as he asks, and the elevator rises again. This time when it opens, we’re inside the Academy Awards suite.

I look around, confused. “How did this happen?”

“This is also an express elevator,” he explains. “Its first stop is the concierge level, which is right below the penthouse suites. However, it is the only elevator in the center core between all three floors, which also allows it to open into the three penthouses.”

“I don’t get it. How is that possible?”

“Take a look around this elevator. Do you notice something different about it?”

I look closely at its three walls. Suddenly it hits me. “There are no walls to this elevator!”

“Exactly. The elevator’s four-sided metal frame holds just floor and ceiling platforms. That way, when a security card is inserted, the right doors swing open into the desired suite. Otherwise, in case of an emergency, the hotel staff would have no other access into the penthouse suites.”

“Couldn’t you have just moved me to another penthouse suite?”

He shakes his head. “I’m happy to say we’ve booked all of them tonight, as well as the whole concierge level–very last-minute, for a small gathering. In fact, I was offered money for this one as well, but it would have been wrong to renege on my promise to you, especially since you’ve followed through on yours.” He leans in, much too close–

I slam my fist into his nose.

“Ouch!” he screams.

Too bad. I’m taking the offensive. “How dare you!”

Hesitantly, he reaches over slowly–

To brush lint off the shoulder of my dress.
 

“Oh! I’m…so sorry! I thought you were being…you know, inappropriate.”

He raises a brow. “My husband wouldn’t like it. For that matter, neither would I.”

“Oh!” As it dawns on me what he’s implying, I blush. “When you said you’d be turning down my sheets personally, I presumed–”

“I meant it, as a courtesy of the hotel. As manager, I want to make sure everything is done right, especially during opening week. Our maid staff is still too new to be trusted with our VIP guests.”

I wince. “I guess I got the wrong impression…from…”

“Let me guess–Mrs. Bing.” He sighs. “The woman has an active imagination, not to mention roaming hands.”

“I’m so sorry you’ve had to put up with her.”
 

“You’ve been a wonderful buffer, not to mention a joy to work with.”

“Well, thank you, Henry.” His compliment brings a smile to my face.

Seeing it, he smiles too. “Mrs. Stone, rest assured, despite Mrs. Bing’s meddling, everything is under control. By the way, just to give you a heads-up, she had several bottles of your vodka order delivered to her room. Otherwise, as I promised, the rest of the wine and spirits has been boxed, and is in a closet next to the ballroom.”
 

I join him in a chuckle, but only because it beats crying.

At Henry’s suggestion, I spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing.

First, I run a nice soothing bath with the hotel’s signature orange rosemary bath salts. They do their magic. I almost fall asleep in the tub.

After my bath, I wrap the hotel’s sheer chiffon kimono around me and I move to the bed in order to take a nap. The mattress feels like a cloud. Still, I toss and turn whenever my mind wanders to thoughts about Jack.

When I awaken, it’s to the sound of my own voice, praying for his safety.

I look at the clock. Aunt Phyllis and the children aren’t due to arrive for another hour, so I go out on the balcony to catch the last rays of the sun. It’s warm enough to sunbathe, so why not? I open the robe as I lay down on one of the terrace’s many chaises.

Except for the traffic noises wafting up from the Avenue of the Stars some thirty floors below me, I hear nothing. But for some reason, I don’t feel alone. I look around. The hotel towers over every other building in Beverly Hills. And as Henry pointed out, I can’t look into the penthouse immediately adjacent to mine.
 

Sighing, I adjust the back of the chaise so that it reclines. When I lay back, I see him: a man, on the balcony of Penthouse G, which also faces the ocean.

His terrace juts out far enough that when he looks back, he can look down onto me.

He smiles at what he sees.

He’s gray-haired and over fifty. His face is tan, but his eyes are light.

“Walther, darling! Hurry, dearest, we don’t have much time.” The woman’s purr is loud enough for me to hear.

My new friend, Walther, shrugs. Our staring contest is over. Still, he shows his appreciation with a bow and a tilt of the hand before sauntering back inside.
 

Thanks for the mammaries
? I think not.

So much for quote-unquote affording your guests complete privacy.

Angrily, I whip my kimono around me and walk back inside. I barely push the sliding glass door and still, it slams behind me.

I guess I don’t know my own strength.

He may not want to, either.

Chapter 18

Keeping out the Riff-Raff

Realizing the importance of your upcoming fete in the hierarchy of your social set’s must-attend events, it is wise that you devise a plan to keep out the riff-raff while your celebrated guests trod the red carpet to your abode. To ensure their security, consider the following:

1: Electric Fencing. Ideally, it will go all the way around the perimeter of your estate. That being said, anyone whose hair is standing on end, glows when the lights dim, or shocks you when shaking your hand is a possible interloper and should be shown the door immediately.

2: Retinal Scan: Installing a retinal scanning device at your front doorstep will not be as off-putting as it may sound! In fact, those who like to feel exclusive at all times will love it, I promise! That is, unless you install the wrong machine–say, an excimer laser, which is used for refractive eye surgery. In that case, expect a malpractice suit.

3: Code Words. Much simpler than a retinal scan! By embedding a code word in each invitation with strict instructions to use it upon entry to the party, you’ll be able to determine if someone is a legitimate guest.
 

Important Tip: Do not–I repeat, do not–make it the same as your S&M safety word, because not all of your guests will appreciate a lash across the back with a cat-o-nine-tails. (That being said, you’ll be surprised at those who do.)