by Becki Willis
Had she kept the picture, or had she tossed it away? Madison frantically tried to recall what had become of the note. She remembered stuffing it into her pocket.
She patted at her pockets now, feeling nothing. She still wore the same sweater. The sweater that had crinkled with the sound of paper, only yesterday. The sweater whose pockets were now empty, save for her room key. She must have dropped the note, or inadvertently thrown it away.
“I’m going to run up to the room,” she whispered to her grandmother as she slipped silently from her chair. With any luck, housekeeping hadn’t cleaned their room yet and she might find it there, crumpled on the floor or in the trashcan.
Madison slipped from the room, ignoring glares from the television team. For the sake of discretion, she used the front staircase, furthest from the filming. As she crossed the catwalk overlooking the great room, trying not to make any noise that would carry down below, she noticed movement out on the back deck. From here, she had an excellent view of the man making his way around the side of the hotel, wearing a familiar black jacket. His face was familiar, too.
Beady Eyes.
That meant he was here at the hotel. The man from the airport—the one who followed them from the museum to the old cotton mill, the one who watched her at the restaurant yet avoided meeting her eyes, the same man who most likely had taken the wrong suitcase by mistake—was definitely here at Peralynna.
Always question coincidence.
Madison hurried down the hall and into the library. As she started up the final staircase, she glanced up, praying that Beady Eyes/Black Jacket hadn’t somehow beaten her to the third floor. Once again, her eyes were drawn to the shadows thrown onto the ceiling by the chandelier. Was it her imagination, or did those loops mimic the loops of her doodling, the same ones repeated in the book, and in the note?
“Come on, Maddy,” she chided herself aloud, “you’re letting your imagination run wild. Those are shadows, not smoke signals. Not secret spy codes. This isn’t a spy house, and no one’s chasing you. There has to be a perfectly good explanation for what’s going on.”
She let herself into the suite and rushed to the wall of windows, desperate to prove herself wrong. From here, she could see not only the great room, but through each of its windows.
“See?” she smirked. “Beady Eyes/Black Jacket isn’t even out there. The deck is empty.”
She allowed her eyes to make their way upward, to the corner window that offered a bird’s eye view of the second-floor balcony. She saw a man disappear from sight. He was only visible from the waist down, but there was no denying he wore a black jacket.
“He’s on his way up,” she realized.
Her phone binged with a message. Per studio demands, she left her cell phone here in the suite while watching the competition. She retrieved it from the fireplace mantel and saw three missed calls, all from an unknown number.
Tension moved into her chest.
The phone vibrated as a message came through, startling her so badly that she dropped the phone. Scooping it up, she saw the one-word message.
Trade?
A picture of her suitcase followed. She knew it was hers, because the arm of her gown hung limply from one side. Something about the staged photograph was distinctly threatening, bringing to mind a headless body. Madison gulped.
She jumped again, as she heard the handle rattle on the suite’s front door. She held her breath, waiting for housekeeping to identify themselves. No one called out, merely another rattle of the handle. As quietly as she could, Madison tiptoed toward the door and sidled up to the peephole. She bit back a gasp when she recognized Barton, Granny Bert’s poker buddy. He jiggled the handle again.
Madison watched in amazement as he stepped back, lowered a beefy shoulder, and rushed forward. She jerked back just in time, feeling the air quiver with reverberation. The door moved but held.
Madison grabbed the nearest thing she could find, a narrow sideboard that looked antique. It was heavy, but she gave it a mighty shove, sliding it in front of the double doors. She kept it an inch or so away, hoping not to give away her presence in the room.
She had to think. If Barton was at the front door, and Black Jacket came up the fire escape to the back entrance, they had her trapped. Her only choice was to go up. She stuffed her phone in her pocket, thinking she could call for help along the way.
Something colorful caught her eye as she headed for the hallway. It was the note from the little girl, crumpled on the floor near the fireplace. It must have fallen from her sweater when she pulled her phone from her pocket. Maddy swooped down to retrieve it as she eased open the side door, afraid Black Jacket had somehow gotten in from the back deck.
The coast was clear. He had to wind his way across the different decks, zigzagging up the stylish fire escapes, before making it to the third floor. It bought her some time. She darted into the hall leading to the back exit. The deck chairs were stored indoors for the winter, so she wedged one of them beneath the door handle before scampering up the narrow staircase to the attic bedroom.
She paused by the windows at the top of the landing. She had a good view of two levels of decking. It would be a long fall, but she could jump to the second-floor deck, directly below her. But she still didn’t see Black Jacket, which meant he was most likely between the two levels. She would fall directly into his path.
She nixed the idea and moved forward, further into the loft. Her phone binged as she entered the fourth level sitting area.
I’m losing patience.
Madison moved to the windows, peering down to the great room below. Filming was still in progress. She could still see the mirror above the staircase, and the reflection of a man’s legs as he stepped off the bottom step. Moving on to scan the decks outside, she didn’t see Black Jacket or Barton, meaning they were probably still on the third level, trying to enter the suite. Would she hear them if they did?
Just as she wondered where Maury was during all this, she glanced back at her grandmother and saw the answer. Granny Bert smiled up at her poker buddy as he took the seat she had recently vacated. At this distance, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought he tilted his head up, probably scanning the wall of windows below her, wondering if his friends made it into the suite. Maddy ducked away, afraid he might see her, one tier up.
She dialed her grandmother’s phone, belatedly remembering phones were prohibited during filming. By now, panic had addled her brain. She never thought to pull up the hotel’s website, locate their number, and call for help. All she could think of was that she couldn’t call 911, not yet.
Calling 911 would create quite the scene. Despite having starred on a television reality show, Maddy hated being the center of attention. Calling for emergency help—particularly during filming of a live broadcast—would bring unwanted attention. It would disrupt the competition and quite possibly stir a panic. Worse, it might reflect badly on the hotel. And it would most definitely ruin Genny’s fun and her return among her peers.
Calling 911 would be her last resort, she firmly determined.
So now what?
She looked around, trying to find somewhere to hide. Rumor had it that the suite featured hidden spaces and a secret staircase or two. If this was spy headquarters in the original safe house, Maddy had no doubt there were built-in escape routes, but she hardly had time to search for them. By the time she found them, the men would have already found her. She had to think of something else, and she had to think fast.
She looked up, seeing the overhead cupola. Even if she could get up to the top, what then? Okay, so she saw a ladder there in the corner, and the windows appeared to open, but they opened onto the roof, at least five floors above the ground. She had done some crazy things in the past, including getting stuck on the flat roof of a building back home, but not even she was crazy enough to brave the many gables of the hotel!
Madison glanced back out the plate-glass window, to the great room four stories below. Maury
, the rotten scoundrel, still sat with her grandmother. He’d better not touch a hair on her head, or he’ll have me to deal with ME.
“These aren’t plate-glass windows,” Madison murmured in surprise. They were sliding doors. “I guess that’s the reason for the half wall on the other side. What did they do?” she speculated aloud. “Dangle spies over the edge until they spilled their secrets?”
She thought she heard a clatter downstairs in the main suite. It could have just been the clatter of her heart, but Madison wasn’t taking any chances. Making a hasty decision, she slid the window open just wide enough to squeeze through and hoped the narrow bit of floor beneath her feet was sturdy enough to hold her weight. She closed the window behind her, prayed the drapes fell back in place, and crouched low behind the half wall, the only thing that separated her from a deadly fall. The windows were the only thing that separated her from anyone inside the loft.
There were only a few inches of space between the two, but Maddy managed to turn around and lie on the cold strip of floor. Even if someone came into the upper room and gazed out the window to the great room below, they would have to peer down at their feet to notice her there. She prayed it didn’t come to that.
Perched precariously on the narrow ledge—protected, yet still in grave danger—she could hear the competition as it unfolded below her. The sounds of life stirring below worked to calm her nerves. In time, she even thought to use the cell phone in her pocket. She didn’t dare talk, lest she give away her position, but she could text. She found Sophie’s phone number and sent a message to the innkeeper, saying that she had a delicate situation and needed Security in her suite, ASAP. She trusted the innkeeper would treat the situation with discretion, saving them all from an embarrassing ordeal.
Chapter 17
It seemed to take forever, but she finally heard the security guard down below, calling her name. Still afraid someone might be in the loft, she kept still and sent another text, directing the guard to the loft.
Another several minutes, and she heard him come into the sitting area, cautiously calling her name. Only then did she struggle to her feet and work the window open.
“Ma’am, guests are forbidden on the ledges,” the man began, his face set in a scowl.
“I certainly didn’t do it for fun!” Madison cried, only halfway through the portal. “Could you give me a hand?”
Back on solid ground, she swiped the dust and grime from her clothes. So much for her pretty new blouse.
“Why were you out on the ledge, ma’am? This is highly irregular. I’m afraid I’ll have to report this to management.”
“Fine, you do that. I want to report someone breaking into my room.”
The security guard went on full alert. “Someone broke into your room?”
Only then did Madison hesitate. Had they? Or had they given up after a few useless tries?
“Ah, could we go back down to discuss this?” Madison hedged.
“I suppose,” he agreed, but with clear reluctance. “By the way, miss, why was your room barricaded? I had trouble getting in. That, you know, is a violation of fire safety code.”
The back door leading to the deck was still barricaded, a fact that did not escape the man’s attention. Maddy knew she was steadily racking up the violations. She wouldn’t be surprised if Sophie didn’t ask them to leave.
If neither of the doors had been tampered with, then obviously no one had broken in.
“I—I must have been mistaken,” she said, turning to the guard with her apology. “Someone was trying to get in. He rattled the door several times and tried to break it down. I put the sideboard there to deter him and—” She realized how crazy she must sound, even before she saw the look upon his face.
To her surprise, he offered her a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, ma’am. This isn’t the first time this has happened.”
“It isn’t?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head. “People come here, read stories about the spies and secret spaces, hear some of the history behind the house, and they let their imaginations get the better of them. This is the first time someone has ever crawled out on the ledge, mind you, but it’s not the first time someone thought they were being followed. I suspect it won’t be the last, either.”
“But you don’t understand. There really was a man trying to get into our room.”
“That happens, too, I’m afraid. Guests don’t mean any harm; they just want to see what the other rooms look like, especially this room. Some are searching for the hidden staircases or hoping to find a secret panel.” He shook his head in wonder, apparently recalling some of the crazier stunts he had witnessed.
Madison decided not to press the issue. She knew there was more to it than her overactive imagination, but she had no proof. The men hadn’t managed to get inside the room, so technically, no harm—and certainly no crime—had been committed. She thought it best to let the situation go.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” she said with a contrite expression.
“No problem, miss. I’ll let Sophie know it was a false alarm. And if you’ll promise to stay off the ledges, and to keep your exits clear, I won’t mention the violations.”
“I promise. Thank you.”
“No problem, ma’am.” He stopped to push the sideboard back into its proper place. “Let’s leave this here, shall we? I hope the rest of your stay is less stressful. Enjoy your day.” The guard tipped his hat and was gone.
After making certain the door clicked shut behind him, Madison sank onto the couch. She took a few moments to gather her wits, knowing Maury was still with her grandmother. She went to the bathroom and splashed cool water on her face. On a whim, she checked the closet to make certain the suitcase was still there and secure.
Her efforts were useless.
The suitcase was gone.
By the time she reached the great room, filming was over and Granny Bert once again chatted with the celebrity chef. Her poker friend was nowhere in sight.
Her grandmother took one look at her and propped her hands onto her hips. “What happened to you? You look like something the cat dragged up.”
Madison glanced down at her dirty shirt, realizing she had forgotten to change. “Minor mishap. Granny, can I talk to you for a second?”
“We were just about to exchange recipes,” the older woman huffed, clearly displeased with the interruption.
“I understand, Bertha, dear,” the chef said, patting her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. “I have matters I must attend to myself, but I have your number. I’ll call you later this evening. If you’re free, perhaps we could have a nightcap.”
“You call me,” she agreed, without committing. She accepted the kiss he dropped onto her cheek, a giggle escaping her lips.
“Why, Granny,” Madison teased, gently tugging on her grandmother’s arm and pulling her away. “I do believe you’re blushing.”
“I’ve long been a fan of that man,” she said, her gaze following him. “He’s even more charismatic in person.” Irritation moved into her face. “What was so all-fired important that you had to drag me away like that, anyway?”
“I saw Maury down here with you earlier. Do you know where he went?”
“How should I know? He got a phone call and said he had to go. He apologized and said he couldn’t make our poker game, either. They were filming, so we weren’t able to talk.”
“He wasn’t supposed to have his phone on him,” Madison murmured, her tone somewhat reprimanding.
Her grandmother held up her own cell. “Well, neither was I, but here it is. You’re probably the only person in the room who followed the rules.”
Judging from all the selfies and pictures being snapped around the room, her grandmother was probably right. “Never mind. It’s just as well that he canceled the game. I don’t want you around that man again.”
“I was going to question him about the luggage.”
“It doesn’t ma
tter anymore. It’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Your friend Barton broke into our room and took it.”
Her grandmother looked at her in alarm. “Did you tell the hotel?”
“Yes. Well, no, not that it was taken.” She pushed out a weary sigh. “Long story. Let’s find Genny, and I’ll tell you both at one time.”
“Can we do it over lunch? All those desserts were mighty tasty, but I’m coming down from a sugar rush and need something solid in my stomach.”
“Don’t worry. I can’t wait to get out of here for a while.”
They stayed out most of the afternoon. After a leisurely lunch, they did some sightseeing and visited a couple of local attractions. With the suitcase now out of their possession, they unanimously voted to forget the whole sordid incident. They would enjoy what was left of their trip and head home to Texas on Saturday morning.
“It’s been fun, but I miss Brash and the twins,” Madison admitted as they climbed the stairs back to their room. “And Megan.”
“Cutter sounded so lonely when I talked to him this afternoon. He’s been working some sort of new arson investigation, and I think it’s really getting to him.”
“Brash didn’t go into details, but he mentioned something about it. Sounds like it’s a bad situation.”
“What about you, Granny Bert? Have you talked to Sticker since we’ve been gone?”
“Who?” Her manner was deliberately obtuse.
“Sticker. You know, the man who calls you his Belle. The man who took you to Vegas as his special guest when he won that lifetime achievement honor at the National Finals Rodeo. The one that follows you around like a lovesick hound dog. That man.”
“Would that be the same man who was seen over at Wanda Shanks’ house yesterday afternoon?” she asked coolly.
Genny laughed. “Cutter told me about that. Apparently, she left the door open when she was cleaning its cage, and Derron’s parrot got loose. She couldn’t get it back in and Derron was too busy to come home, so she called the fire department.”