Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (22 page)

I look around the room and say, “This color is an
interesting choice. In contrast to the cold weather, it gives the
room cozy warmth, but during the summer heat I would imagine it
seems like a cool, dark refuge.”

“Exactly.” Hale touches my hand. “You’re a very
observant young woman.”

She turns to Cliff. “Did I hear the doorbell?”

He jumps to attention. “Sorry, I must have missed
it. I’ll be right back.”

When the door shuts, Hale takes a sip, sets the
glass on the table between us, and says in a thready bleat, “So,
you’re leaving us?”

I start at that, then remember that’s how I got the
appointment. “On Saturday. My sister is being married in Chicago
the day after Christmas.”

“Oh, I adore Chicago. Actually, I prefer it to
Manhattan. Sounds a bit disloyal for a native New Yorker, doesn’t
it?”

“I don’t know that much about the city itself. But
every summer when my sister and I were little, our family used to
visit my uncle and his family on the North Shore.”

The front door slams, then there are footsteps on
the stairs. “Open up, I’m loaded.”

I look at Hale who motions toward the front hall.
“Do you mind, my dear? This chair is a little too deep for easy
exit.”

Cliff jams two plain-white pizza-size boxes in my
arms and closes the door. Then he grabs them and hurries down the
hall.

By the time I enter the room he has plunked one box
on the desk and the other on the ottoman between us. “I ordered one
Pupu Platter and the idiot brought two. Lucky I had enough money on
me.”

Cliff opens the lid, hands me a napkin and presents
the assortment.

I take a couple of miniature egg rolls and settle
back to munch, thinking how weird this whole evening has been. Here
I am seated next to a woman who not only controls a large stable of
prostitutes but who is purported to be a major player in a
drug-trafficking operation between Colombia and New Jersey. I don’t
know what I expected but not an overly made-up crone who seems
fairly helpless.

I glance at my watch. Almost seven. In some ways the
time has flown—in others, it’s crept by like lava.

Cliff shoves the box in my direction. “Try the
dumplings before they get cold.”

I scoop three onto my napkin and pop one in my
mouth. It’s warm, tender and delicious. I make a mental note to ask
Cliff the name of the restaurant so I can order some for the final
wrap-up at the safe house on Friday.

When the doorbell rings a second time, Cliff dashes
down the stairs.

I hear muffled voices below followed by the click of
high heels that fades toward the kitchen.

Minutes later, as footsteps hit the stairs, Hale
rises from the easy chair with a small grunt and straightens her
gown.

I take that moment to have another sip of wine. The
cool, luscious liquid has just trickled down my throat when I hear,
“Now then, Miss Armington, will you please move to the desk?”

I look up and gasp. Hale stands above me with a
Luger aimed at my head.

I SET MY HALF-FILLED GLASS on the table and
frantically try to remember what I did with my purse.

Then my heart folds in half.

The purse is sitting on the console at the foot of
the stairs, just where Cliff asked me to leave it.

Hale motions toward the desk. “Move.”

Fear still doesn’t compute. I’m too much in shock to
react. Then I try to stand and the blood leaves my head. “Can you
give me a minute? I feel a little woozy.”

The Luger touches the center of my back. “Don’t try
to be cute. Head for the desk.”

Cliff reenters the room, and I glance his way hoping
against hope he might come to my rescue.

No such luck. He’s busy placing sheets of paper and
envelopes on the desk along with several pens.

He turns to Hale. “She left the manila envelope with
the concierge just as you instructed. Getting the stationery was no
problem.”

I notice the stationery reads HOTEL WELLS. “What’s
this?”

Hale stands to my right, Luger at my head. “Just
tying up a few loose ends. After all, we didn’t think you were
stupid enough to come here without alerting your associates.”

A gloved hand pushes a page in front of me. “You’re
going to write two notes. The first will be to Detective Greene.
Tell him you’ve been unexpectedly called away for a family
emergency, and you will not be returning to New York anytime soon.
Tell him you have left the cell and the transmitter in a manila
envelope with the concierge but that you are taking your Beretta
with you.”

That’s good news. I have the other transmitter on me
and my weapon must still be in the townhouse. If I can locate
that—

Hale’s hand moves to rest on my shoulder and gives
it a slight squeeze as she whispers, “Oh, yes, you might as well
sign it ‘Allie.’ Cliff tends to blab after he’s had a few
nips.”

Panic crams my chest. My cover’s blown and I’m
trapped in a room that has been soundproofed—a room that has a lock
no one from Greene’s team has figured out how to open.

The gun barrel caresses my temple. “Get on with
it.”

I slide the blank page toward me and pick up the
pen. This will be my only chance to alert Greene. Somehow, I have
to leave clues, but they can’t be too obvious, or Hale or Cliff
will pick up on them. Finally, I get myself together and begin.

Dear Greene,

The bride has a bad case of nerves and needs my
support. Besides, it’s only a few days before I was planning to go,
and since nothing but nothing is going on, I took the liberty of
leaving earlier than we planned.

Give my best to your wife, and hug the kid for
me.

Allie

Hale snatches the letter, reads it and is about to
slip it into an envelope when Cliff grabs for it. “Let me see
that.”

She moves the letter out of his reach. “Not
necessary.”

Cliff glances my way and murmurs, “If you want me to
participate in this scheme, I need to see everything.”

When Hale lets out a long sigh and hands it over,
Cliff scans the letter and looks up. “I didn’t know Greene was
married.”

He reads the letter again, then waves it in my face.
“We can sure check that out.”

I take a second to enjoy my good luck. Neither of my
abductors has bothered to investigate the team’s backgrounds.

“Be my guest. Make the call.”

He hesitates, then looks at Hale, who says to me,
“You’re sure Greene’s married?”

“Why would I lie? You’d catch me in it and then
what?”

When neither seems eager to pick up the phone, I
reinforce. “The detective is married to a lovely woman. She was a
receptionist for some mogul at ABC until the baby came.”

Hale grabs the paper out of Cliff ’s hands. “What
good are you?” She jams it into the envelope and slaps it on the
desk. “Address it.”

I look up to see my reflection in those ugly, tinted
pixie glasses. “But, I don’t know the address of the Nineteenth
Precinct.”

Hale shoves the envelope at me. “Never mind. Just
address it to Greene. I’ll find out the rest.”

Once I’ve written Detective Benjamin Greene,
Nineteenth Precinct, Hale places a second sheet of paper before me.
“And now for the letter to your parents.”

My stomach caves. I didn’t expect that.

“In this letter you will apologize for not being
able to stand up for your sister since you will be in Madrid for
the Montoya funeral and are unsure of your return.”

“No way. I would never do that to my sister or my
parents and they know it.”

“Perhaps, but if you refuse to go along with this,
we’ll have to arrange a little chat with some other member of your
family. I don’t think you’d like that, would you?”

When the letter is sealed and added to the one
written to Greene, Hale waves me back to the easy chair. “Pass the
girl some more pupus, Cliff, she’s been working hard.”

Cliff pushes the box my way and mutters, “Do what
she says.”

I take a couple of ribs and drop them into my
napkin. The farthest thing from my mind right now is food.

Hale slumps into the other chair, drains her glass
and raises it in Cliff ’s direction. “I need a refill.”

After Cliff obliges, he tops off my glass and his as
well.

Hale lifts her glass in a mock toast. “I know you
think someone will come for you, but we’ve taken care of that. Half
an hour ago a woman about your height and wearing a wig in your
hair color left the townhouse wearing your all-weather coat and
carrying a bag similar to yours. Cliff transferred only the
important contents to that bag—the transmitter and the cell.”

I stare back, hoping my small smile of triumph isn’t
too noticeable. I’m sure Greene and Platón will check the woman out
and find she’s bogus. Besides, the second transmitter is safely
stashed inside my bra.

At that, Cliff disappears down the hall, returns and
tosses my purse to me as Hale continues. “Your purse still contains
your regular necessities with the exception of your weapon.”

I rummage through the contents. Wallet, lipstick,
comb and my makeup are intact. No Beretta. No room key. But, to my
relief, the safe-deposit key, sheathed in its cardboard case, is
still there.

Satisfied that I seem to be satisfied, Hale
continues. “Our decoy strolled back to The Wells where she will
spend the night in your room and check out before the day clerk
comes on duty.”

I’m aching to tell Hale that Greene and Jaime will
follow the woman. But even if they take her in, I’ll be in the same
spot. There has to be some way to get out of this mess on my own.
Then I give my self-confidence level a little psychic boost. Yes,
I’ll be fine as long as the second transmitter is operational.

Greene won’t get the letter until tomorrow. Nothing
I can do about that. If they nab the imposter, they’ll already know
what’s going on.

I can’t worry about my parents or Angela. By the
time my letter arrives in Lampasas, this situation will be resolved
one way or another. At least I’ll have the night to think it
through.

I take a sip of the wine and lean toward Hale. “Just
what is it you want from me?”

Hale bats her eyelashes. “Ah, the girl minces no
words.” She leans in. “Take a guess.”

“The necklace and earrings.” She nods.

“But they belonged to Kingsley-Smythe’s grandmother.
The one who raised him after his mother died. He had no siblings.”
I pause to let that sink in, then add, “Just how are you
related?”

Hale’s gloved hand flies to her chest and Cliff
comes off the couch like a shot to hover at her side. “Are you all
right?”

She pushes him away. “I’m just revisiting some
painful memories. That poor boy was absolutely desolate over his
mother’s death. That’s why Jason was so attracted to you. You
reminded him of her.”

Hale extends a hand to Cliff, who pulls her to her
feet. She points to the bed. “You’ll be quite comfortable up here.
We’ve furnished the basic supplies.”

I follow them to the bedroom door and watch them
retreat down the hall.

Halfway there Hale turns, “Don’t waste your time
trying to escape or attracting anyone’s attention. This area is
soundproof and quite secure.”

I slowly walk back into the bedroom as the
now-familiar clicks and slides end in a final snap of the bolt.

RECONNAISSANCE IS THE FIRST ORDER of business. I try
the shutters hoping that by moving them up and down I can attract
someone passing by. No such luck. The louvers are metal and seem to
be welded in the closed position.

I hurry down the hall to the door. On close
inspection, I find that it’s not wood at all, but solid metal. And
the area where the locks and bolts once were is now a smooth panel
attached to a frame by a rod at the top and the bottom.

The concept is brilliant. When Hale is in the suite,
the locks face in, when Hale leaves, she rotates the panel to face
out.

I remember Jaime saying there was no actual keyhole;
but some kind of high-tech system he’d never seen before.

When I reenter the bedroom, a glint catches my eye
and I look up. In the corner near the door and placed at the
ceiling line a small lens tracks my moves. I suppress the
hysterical urge to wave. No point in letting on.

I hurry to the bath. No changes there. After a
cursory sweep, I see the room is basically unchanged. No camera
that I can detect. Guess Hale doesn’t like to be seen in the buff
either.

I cross the hall to open the closet door. It’s
one-third the original size. A wall has been added with a padlocked
door.

The remaining section is empty except for a hook
holding a floor-length satin robe trimmed in marabou and a pair of
matching marabou-trimmed bedroom slippers.

I comb the closet for a camera. If there is a
camera, it’s been well concealed. Hoping there isn’t one, I huddle
next to the robe and ease the remaining transmitter from beneath my
sweater into my shoulder bag.

Since it’s just eight thirty, I return to the
bedroom, grab a cold rib and fill my glass with the rest of the
wine.

While I munch and sip, I go over my predicament. I
still have one of the transmitters but no weapon or cell, and I’ve
been locked in for the night with no way to escape. On top of that,
there are several unanswered questions. How was Hale related to
Kingsley-Smythe? How did she know about the necklace and earrings?
And why does she want them? And finally, why has someone been
killing her prostitutes?

I grab another now-gelid dumpling and then another.
I can’t believe it, but I’m famished.

————

Sounds of the door to the outer hall being unlocked
wake me from a dreamless sleep. Then a motor whirrs and the
shutters slowly open to reveal the morning glow.

As footsteps approach, I gather the covers around my
neck.