by Joanne Fluke
Chapter Five
Toni was as good as her word, giving Elizabeth the silent treatment whenever they met, which wasn’t actually that often because they were both insanely busy. At the front desk, Toni’s phone rang constantly with demands from the guests for everything from fresh towels to the weather report. When she wasn’t answering the phone, Mr. Kronenberg gave her the task of hand-addressing the Christmas cards Cavendish sent to every guest who had stayed at the hotel in the past year. “It’s these little personal touches that count,” he told her, giving her a box containing one hundred envelopes and telling her there were more in his office when she finished those. “I simply can’t manage to do it all myself this year, not with all that’s going on.”
“I’m happy to help,” said Toni, giving the head concierge a big smile. “If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know.” She lowered her voice. “I think Elizabeth is in a bit over her head. She was complaining to me, saying some of the guests are terribly demanding.”
Kronenberg glanced across the lobby, where Elizabeth had the phone tucked on her shoulder and was scribbling frantically on a notepad. Her hair was mussed and her harassed attitude was a stark contrast to the confident, professional demeanor that Annemarie had always projected. “I’m sure she’s doing her best,” he said. “It’s unfortunate timing that Annemarie got sick just now.”
“Epstein-Barr can last for weeks, too,” Toni said in a sympathetic voice. Then her tone brightened. “I’ll get right to work on those cards—don’t give it another thought.”
Kronenberg’s anxious expression softened. “You’re a trooper, Toni.”
In truth, Elizabeth was frantically scrambling, without a moment to catch her breath, trying to fulfill guests’ special requests while also assisting Layla with the schedule of activities they had planned. Luxury coaches came and went, taking guests on tours of art galleries and museums, shopping expeditions, nature hikes, and golf matches. The golf tournament, in which every foursome included a member of the PGA tour, was a big success. The boy versus girl tennis tournament pitting Simpson against Sharapova became an instant sports legend, and Gruber’s guests would be able to fascinate friends and acquaintances with play-by-play accounts for years.
But the main event, the Blingle Bells Ball, was still to come. Every employee was working overtime, preparing for the gala. There were decorations to put up, tables to set, and food to prepare, and the pace grew more frantic as the time drew closer. The doors to the Grand Ballroom would open at nine Sunday evening, and at eight o’clock Layla invited interested staff members in for a sneak peek.
“You’ve all been working so hard,” she told the hundred or so staff members who had accepted the invitation and gathered in the Grand Ballroom’s service hallway. “This is what you’ve done!” She opened the door and they entered reverently, awestruck, almost as if they were visiting a great cathedral, and paraded single file around the perimeter of the room. Even though they had all been involved in the preparations, only a few workers had seen the room in its final glory, complete with dramatic lighting designed for the event by theatrical lighting expert Stefan Ludwig.
Elizabeth found herself awed by the banks of orchids on every table, the swags of silk suspended from the ceiling, and the hand-painted wallpaper panels that had been installed for the occasion. Every table was covered with sparkling crystal and silver, the specially monogrammed porcelain plates sat on silver chargers, and two gilt thrones would be occupied by Noelle and Jonah.
“Every guest will receive a diamond gift,” Layla said. “The gentlemen will receive gold and diamond money clips and the ladies will all get one-carat pendants.”
“How much are those worth, do you think?” one of the housekeepers, Marketa, whispered, speaking in her lightly accented voice. Elizabeth knew she worked extremely hard, often taking double shifts so she could send money home to her family in Serbia.
“I don’t think you can get a one-carat diamond for less than a couple thousand dollars,” Angela replied. A bookkeeper for the hotel, she had just gotten engaged. “And that doesn’t include the setting. Gold is really high right now.”
“You mean, in addition to a ball for four hundred guests, Gruber is giving each a gift worth two thousand dollars? What does that come out to?” Elizabeth asked. “I can’t do the math—it’s too many zeroes.”
“Eight hundred thousand dollars,” said Angela, who was a whiz with numbers. “Almost a million.”
Elizabeth suddenly felt sick to her stomach. “A million dollars on gifts for people who already have everything they could possibly want.”
“I bet some of these women won’t even appreciate a single-carat diamond,” Marketa sniffed. “It’s nothing to them.”
“You’re right,” Elizabeth said, remembering the way Noelle had tossed forty-seven million dollars worth of jewels on the bed, as if they were little more than a ripped pair of panty hose. “So, Angela, what do you think the total bill for this do is going to be?” she asked.
“Millions and millions,” Angela said. “But Gruber’s got it. I read in the paper that he’s worth something like a billion dollars.”
“You know,” Elizabeth said, “back home in Maine, my mom and her friends have this little charity they call the Hat and Mitten Fund. They have bake sales and beg for contributions so they can give poor kids in our town warm clothes and school supplies. I think their entire budget is maybe a thousand dollars.”
“Imagine what they could do with one of these trinkets,” Marketa said.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking,” Angela said. “But look at it this way. Gruber’s money creates a lot of jobs for folks like us. I heard that Dimitri was considering layoffs because holiday reservations were down. If it wasn’t for Gruber some of us would be having a pretty miserable Christmas.”
“Ho-ho-ho,” said Elizabeth, causing the others to chuckle as they completed their circuit of the glittering ballroom and exited into the dank, fluorescent-lit chill of the concrete-walled service hall.
* * *
An hour later, just before nine, Elizabeth was back at her desk. A few early arrivals were drifting about in the lobby, waiting for the doors to the Grand Ballroom to open. Elizabeth recognized several of them, people she’d dealt with in the past few days. There was Katrina Muldaur, a sweet middle-aged woman whose novel about the Spanish-American War was a surprise best seller; she was clearly thrilled to have been invited and was wearing a black lace dress Elizabeth had seen at Macy’s for a hundred and forty-nine dollars. The lady author was accompanied by a middle-aged man in a badly fitting tux who tugged on his cummerbund from time to time as he paced about impatiently. Elizabeth suspected he was probably wondering why they couldn’t have served dinner at six, which was exactly what her own father would be wondering, if he were here.
Matt Milkweed, the financier, also caught Elizabeth’s eye. He was tapping his foot by the elevator, waiting for someone. That someone turned out to be a tiny Asian woman, whose ruffled red evening gown seemed to swallow her up. She had to hold the ruffle encircling her neck down with one hand just so Milkweed could give her a kiss, then she took his arm and they drifted off in the direction of the bar.
Elizabeth was glancing at the clock over the desk and saw it was just five minutes to nine when the office door opened and Mr. Dimitri appeared carrying the metal-clad jewel case. He gave her a nod as he traversed the distance to the penthouse elevator. Then it was nine o’clock and two hotel waiters dressed as footmen complete with white powdered wigs and knee breeches opened the doors to the ballroom and the rush was on.
The band was playing a familiar tune, light and nice for dancing, and the elevator was arriving regularly and discharging guests. Elizabeth found she was enjoying the show, despite her uneasiness with Gruber’s display of conspicuous consumption. It was better than a fashion show, she decided, watching Howie Storch’s twin dates hobble past in very tight, very low-cut dresses that seemed ready to pop, revealin
g all. Merton Paul was flamboyant as ever, in a ruby red silk tux that contrasted nicely with the emerald green wig he’d chosen for the occasion. Norah, however, was the very picture of elegance, in white satin and silver sequins. Her insistence on a hairdresser with a compatible astrological sign had resulted in a smooth updo that perfectly framed her heart-shaped face.
Elizabeth was wondering what the First Lady would be wearing when she noticed Dan Wrayburn hurrying across the lobby to the elevators with the look of a man who was very worried about something but trying not to show it. He disappeared behind the elevator doors only to return a few minutes later, deep in conversation with Mr. Dimitri and Mr. Kronenberg. After a brief conference, he left to make an announcement on the hotel’s emergency PA system.
“Attention please,” Wrayburn began. “This is an official announcement from the hotel management. The Imperial Parure is missing and the hotel is on lockdown, awaiting the arrival of the police. Mr. and Mrs. Gruber hope that everyone will continue to enjoy the evening, but no one will be able to leave until further notice.”
That set off a shocked buzz, with everyone frantically talking, wondering how such a thing could happen. The band, which had stopped playing for the announcement, resumed, but nobody was dancing. Everyone was uneasy, almost as if they were expecting a mob armed with pitchforks to storm the building.
Then, appearing almost magically, as if she’d simply materialized in the ballroom, Noelle was standing on the bandstand. Leaving her desk and standing by the door, Elizabeth had a clear view of the gorgeous woman. Enola Stitch’s design more than lived up to the anticipatory hype. She had created a long, strapless sheath of hot pink satin that clung to every curve of Noelle’s amazing body, and then gilded the lily by adding a fabulous puffy bustle and train. Every eye in the room was on Noelle, but she unnecessarily tapped the microphone, as if she needed to call the guests to attention.
“I just want to say,” she began, in a whispery, little girl voice, “that I hope you will all cooperate with the police and tell them anything you might have seen or consider suspicious. With your help I’m sure we will get the jewels back, and in the meantime, I hope you’ll all have a wonderful time. So take your seats because dinner will be served in a few minutes and afterward Merton Paul will entertain with his biggest hits.”
She then left the room, clutching Layla Fine’s hand, leaving the two extravagant gilt thrones unoccupied.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Toni asked after joining Elizabeth in the doorway.
“It means the party’s over,” Elizabeth said. The waiters were serving grilled foie gras appetizers but few of the guests appeared to have any appetite. News of the theft had definitely cast a pall over the gala. “They’re all going to be scrutinized by the police and they’ve probably all got something to hide.”
“Not just them,” said Toni. “The police will start with the staff and I bet quite a few of us have something to hide, too. Mark my words, it’s going to be a lot worse for us than it is for them.”
Elizabeth knew she was right. The staff members were good, hardworking people but she knew that many of the lowest-paying jobs were filled by illegal immigrants, who feared deportation if their status was discovered. There were also undoubtedly some who had drug or alcohol problems, or a gambling addiction, and they would automatically be suspected of stealing the jewels to feed their habits. Elizabeth was most worried about the handful of employees who had come to the hotel through a program that found jobs for prisoners upon their release. She expected those workers would also face close scrutiny from investigators, so it was quite a shock when she was one of the first called to Wrayburn’s office
Of course, she thought, making her way down the hall, she was one of the few employees who had actually seen and handled the jewels. That must be the reason why they wanted to talk to her.
Wrayburn seemed pleasant enough when she arrived, pointing out a chair for her to sit in and introducing Detective Michael Tabak of the Palm Beach Police Department. Tabak, she noticed with some unease, was accompanied by two uniformed officers who had stationed themselves by the door, blocking any escape attempt. As if she would even think of it! She was innocent!
“You are Elizabeth Stone,” Tabak began. “Is that right?”
Once she had affirmed her identity she was shocked to hear him deliver the Miranda warning, adding that the entire interview would be recorded by a hidden CCTV camera. “Do you understand?” he asked.
Simply a formality, Elizabeth thought, nodding. They were probably doing this with everyone.
“I would like to show you some video footage taken yesterday,” said Tabak, flicking on a small TV.
Elizabeth studied the grainy footage that showed people coming and going in the lobby. She herself appeared as a small figure in the background, seated at her desk.
“Look here,” said Tabak, pointing out a male figure carrying a large duffel bag. He seemed to be in a hurry, but there was a moment when he looked in her direction and she waved at him. It was Chris Kennedy, she realized, with a shock.
“Who is this man?” Tabak demanded.
“That’s Chris Kennedy,” she said reluctantly. “I had a couple of dates with him.”
“Why the wave?” Tabak asked, fixing his small, dark eyes on her.
“Just a friendly wave,” said Elizabeth. “That’s all.”
“It looks like a signal to me.”
Elizabeth was almost too shocked by this accusation to reply. “That’s ridiculous,” she finally said. “Why would I do that? What would I be signaling?”
“Letting him know the coast was clear,” Tabak said. “That he could get into the office and steal the jewels.”
Elizabeth thought she saw a way out of this nightmare. “But even if he got access to the office, and even if I opened the safe for him, which I definitely did not do, the jewels were still in a locked case.”
“He could easily substitute a matching case, especially since you’d seen the real case and could describe it to him. Then he could take the case with the jewels, hiding it in that bag of his, and open it later,” said Tabak.
Elizabeth felt as if she were in a scene from a very bad movie, but knew it was all really happening. She shook her head. “This is crazy.”
“There’s no sense protecting him,” Wrayburn warned. “We have reason to believe he stole the parure. This is your opportunity to tell everything you know before he has a chance to implicate you. Which he will, believe me.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to think. She’d liked Chris a lot, but then he’d broken their date and lied about the reason. Maybe he’d been lying about everything, like Toni said. Maybe he was a fake, like his Rolex. Maybe he hadn’t been interested in her at all but had just been using her to get information about the hotel and the jewels.
“Listen, I’m not very happy with Chris Kennedy. In fact I’m not even sure he really is named Chris Kennedy. I have no reason to protect him. If I knew he’d stolen the jewels, I’d tell you, but I don’t. I simply don’t have anything to tell you,” Elizabeth protested.
“You’re in serious trouble,” Tabak said, fastening that dark stare on her. “Once we catch him—and believe me, we will—he’ll do everything he can to put the blame on you.”
Elizabeth’s head was spinning. She felt like Alice, falling through the rabbit hole into a completely strange and nonsensical world. “I can’t believe Chris Kennedy stole the jewels, but if he did, I certainly had nothing to do with it.”
“So that’s your story,” Tabak said.
“It’s not a story, it’s the truth.”
Wrayburn sighed. “That’s all for now, Elizabeth.”
“I can leave?”
“Yes, but you need to see Mr. Dimitri first.”
Tabak had something to add. “And don’t leave town.”
Elizabeth stood up, surprised to see that her legs still worked. It was with a sinking feeling, however, that she made her way with he
avy steps to the hotel manager’s office. She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
When she reached the lobby, she found it empty, except for a few uniformed police officers. There was a subdued hum of conversation coming from the Grand Ballroom, and the orchestra had been replaced with a pianist, who was providing dinner music. The party must go on, she thought, even if the bling was missing from the Blingle Bells Ball.
Stepping behind the reception desk, she was surprised when the door to Mr. Dimitri’s office flew open and Toni popped out.
“Hi!” Elizabeth exclaimed, glad to see a friendly face.
Except the face wasn’t all that friendly. “Uh, hi,” Toni muttered, ducking past her and rushing off in the direction of the employee’s locker room.
What on earth was happening? How could Toni even know that she was suspected of involvement in the theft? And if she did know, why wasn’t Toni sticking up for her?
Elizabeth opened the door and saw Mr. Dimitri. He was seated at his desk, looking through a file.
“Elizabeth,” he said, a note of disappointment in his voice. “Sit down.”
Here we go again, she thought, seating herself.
“I am not one to rush to judgment,” he began. “I want you to answer one question, and to tell me the truth.”
“Absolutely,” Elizabeth said, relieved that somebody seemed willing to believe her.
“Did you have anything to do with the theft of the jewels?”
“No, I did not,” she replied.
He sighed. “Are you absolutely sure that the jewels were in the case when you returned it to me after the photo shoot?”
Elizabeth decided it was time to tell the truth. “No, I’m not sure.”
“You’re not?” Mr. Dimitri looked horrified.
“There was some confusion. Noelle had been throwing the jewels around and—”
“That will be enough, Elizabeth,” he said, cutting her off, apparently unable, or unwilling, to hear a Cavendish employee speak ill of a guest. “I’m afraid I’m going to place you on leave pending further developments.”