by Joanne Fluke
“And how do I explain your presence?”
“I won’t go in unless the suite is empty,” Miss Tilley said. “I’ll wait here. If anybody comes I’ll just pretend I’m one of those foolish old people who go wandering off and get themselves lost.”
“Okey-dokey,” Elizabeth muttered, tapping on the door and getting no response. “What exactly is the penalty if you’re convicted of breaking and entering?” she asked, slipping her key card into the slot.
“In Florida? Probably death by lethal injection.”
“Not funny,” Elizabeth growled, stepping inside the suite and closing the door behind her. A moment later she came back and admitted Miss Tilley.
It was clear at a glance that the Grubers were still in residence, at least Noelle was, judging from the numerous bags and boxes bearing the logos of exclusive shops that were strewn about the expansive living area with ocean views. The floor was dotted with shoes, and the furniture was piled with heaps of clothing: mountains of white satin and clouds of frothy tulle. The white fur coat was balled up in a heap on the floor outside the bedroom door.
Miss Tilley merely shook her head, clearly horrified at the mess. “Not a very ladylike way to live,” she finally said.
Elizabeth was amused at Miss Tilley’s old-fashioned word choice. “My women’s studies professor insisted that the concept of ladylike behavior is a form of bondage that kept women from expressing their true selves.”
Miss Tilley waved an arm at the mess. “Perhaps it’s an old-fashioned term, but the concept remains valid, even today. There are still standards of decent behavior,” she said, “and this is not any way to live.”
Elizabeth was about to agree when she heard voices outside the door and the beep that signaled the door had been unlocked by a key card. “Quick!” she hissed, grabbing Miss Tilley and shoving her into the bedroom. Once inside she glanced around frantically, but the only place to hide was either under the bed or in the roomy closet. There was no way Miss Tilley was going to crawl under the bed, so Elizabeth chose the closet. “Quick, in here,” she said, opening the louvered door.
Chapter Nine
As closets went, it was really top of the line, Elizabeth noted. It was huge, for one thing, amply ventilated and well lit, thanks to the louvered doors that admitted plenty of air and light. Noticing there was a bench to sit on to put on shoes, Elizabeth helped Miss Tilley lower herself onto it. It was really quite a comfortable hiding place, except for the fact that it didn’t offer much in the way of concealment. There were only a few pieces of clothing hanging from the rod, probably put there when the maid unpacked. Noelle certainly didn’t bother to hang up her clothes after she wore them; she simply pulled them off and dropped them wherever she happened to be when she undressed.
If anyone opened the door, which made the light turn on automatically, Elizabeth and Miss Tilley would be immediately discovered. But what were the chances of that? There was no need for Noelle to open the closet since the larger part of her wardrobe was scattered about the suite, tossed on the furniture and floor. The few garments left in the closet seemed to Elizabeth to be rejects: a simple gray tweed suit, a tan pantsuit, and a couple of conservative knit dresses in muted, solid colors. Not at all the sort of clingy, revealing thing that Noelle usually wore.
Feeling somewhat relieved, she concentrated on listening to what the two women were saying. The closet was located just inside the master bedroom door, only feet away from the wet bar in the living room.
“Jonah is furious with me,” Noelle said, plunking some ice into a glass and following with a few splashes of liquid. “He thinks I was careless with the jewels.”
He’d be right, Elizabeth thought, remembering the way Noelle ripped off the necklace and tiara after the photo shoot and tossed them on the bed. Elizabeth had actually needed to crawl around on the floor to recover the emerald ring. How could people be so careless? she wondered. Noelle seemed completely oblivious to the jewels’ incredible value, didn’t have any respect for the money they represented, or the talent and effort that enabled her husband to afford them. Gruber, as everyone knew, was a college dropout from an average, middle-class family who had built his fortune from the bottom up by developing a computer program that spotted developing market trends, which he then applied to build his astonishing fortune.
“What’s the big deal?” Layla asked. Her voice was fainter than Noelle’s, so Elizabeth figured she must be standing by the door to the terrace. Good idea, she thought, concentrating hard and willing the two women to step outside. If they went out to the terrace, it might give her and Miss Tilley an opportunity to make a quick escape. But no—now Layla’s voice was louder, which meant she was coming closer. “They’re insured, aren’t they?”
“You don’t understand,” Noelle replied. Elizabeth heard the slight sucking sound that meant the fridge was being opened, and there was more clinking of ice, which undoubtedly meant Noelle was fixing herself another drink. Elizabeth thought it must be alcohol of some kind that she was splashing into the glass.
“So tell me, what don’t I understand?” Layla asked. “And since you’re pouring, I’ll have a Scotch, too, while there’s still some left in the bottle.”
“Oh, sorry. It’s just I’m so distracted,” Noelle said. “Jonah’s been so mean to me lately. We haven’t had sex for two whole days and now he’s gone off to Seattle, leaving me to cope with the cops and everything. I know it’s because he blames me.”
“I still don’t get it,” Layla said. “If they’re insured, what’s the big deal? He’ll get the money and he can buy more jewels.”
“But not those jewels,” Noelle said. There was the sound of a glass being set down on a table and Elizabeth winced, thinking of the flawless French polish finish, laboriously applied by hand to all the furniture in the suite. “He was batty about them. Like they made him some sort of emperor. An Internet emperor! He did all this research, and he’d go on and on about the empress, who was Napoleon’s second wife. Did you know he divorced Josephine? I thought they were big lovers, like Cleopatra and that Roman guy, or Liz Taylor and Richard Burton.”
“They got divorced, too,” Layla pointed out.
“You’re right!” There was more clinking of ice, and this time the glugging from the bottle went on longer than before; Noelle was pouring herself a generous drink. “You know, Richard Burton gave Liz a lot of jewels. Do you think that jewels are unlucky? Bad for relationships, I mean?”
“Well, things certainly didn’t work out for them, or for Napoleon,” Layla said.
“Really? What happened?”
Elizabeth glanced at Miss Tilley, whose wide eyes and pursed lips seemed to express both disbelief and disapproval. She knew how the former librarian detested misinformation.
“He was killed at the Battle of Waterloo,” Layla said.
Elizabeth made eye contact with Miss Tilley, who she knew was dying to rush out and correct this false statement. “No, no,” she mouthed, and Miss Tilley rolled her eyes and expelled a long sigh.
“That’s just tragic,” Noelle said. “And he invented champagne, too.”
“I don’t think that’s right,” Layla said. Her voice was growing louder, which Elizabeth figured meant she was coming closer to the closet. “I think it was a monk.”
“A monk!” Noelle exclaimed, also sounding closer. “That’s crazy.”
Elizabeth found herself tensing, crossing her fingers and willing the two women to go in the other direction, back to the terrace or the bar. Anywhere except the closet.
“So,” Layla asked, “what are you going to wear for dinner tonight?”
When she heard Noelle’s reply Elizabeth thought her heart would stop. She instinctively stepped closer to Miss Tilley.
“Jonah wants me to wear that ugly green dress, the one he chose because it set off the jewels. He said I need to watch my image, that I need to appear more conservative now that I’m the focus of so much attention. But if you ask me, I think
he’s punishing me.”
Elizabeth and Miss Tilley both turned to stare at the demure green sheath suspended from a padded satin hanger. It was long-sleeved and high-necked, with a slight gathering of fabric that emphasized the waist.
“So where is it?” Layla asked. “I don’t see it anywhere.”
“I guess it’s in the closet.” Noelle’s voice rose, as if she’d had a sudden inspiration. “I’m tempted not to wear it. He’s not here after all.”
Good idea, Elizabeth thought. You don’t like it, wear something else. Like those skinny black pants you left on the sofa, and that silky halter top that was draped across a lamp shade.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Layla advised. “There’s bound to be a photo of you on Page Six and he’s already pretty pissed at you. Why make it worse?”
“Oh, all right.” Noelle sounded exasperated.
Darn. This was it, Elizabeth thought, her heart thudding in her chest. The game was up. Miss Tilley stood up and Elizabeth took her hand, as if they were facing a firing squad.
“I’ll get it for you,” Layla said, opening the door.
You had to hand it to Layla. She was cool as a cucumber when she spotted Elizabeth and Miss Tilley. It was Noelle who was shrieking her head off.
“What are you doing here?” Layla demanded.
“Checking towels?” Elizabeth said. “Just making sure you had enough.”
“Very funny,” Layla said. “And who’s your little wrinkled friend? The towel elf?”
Noelle had quieted down and was staring at Elizabeth. “She’s the one who stole the jewels!” she declared, snatching the wig off her head. “I’d recognize you anywhere,” she snarled. “I saw you on the video.”
“That’s utter nonsense,” Miss Tilley said. “Elizabeth is completely innocent and, for your information, Napoleon did not die at Waterloo. He died in exile on the island of Saint Helena. The cause is in dispute; some historians believe he was poisoned.”
“Big deal,” Layla said. “I’m calling security.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Lois,” Miss Tilley warned, seating herself primly on the foot of the bed. Elizabeth remained standing protectively by her side.
“Lois?” Noelle demanded in a know-it-all voice. “There’s no Lois here. You think you’re so smart but you haven’t even got Layla’s name right.”
“Oh, I think I have.” Miss Tilley turned to Layla. “You’re actually Lois Feinstein, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Layla declared. “I don’t know where you got an idea like that. Everybody knows me, I’m famous. I’m the party planner everybody wants. You can read about me in the New York Times, in Vogue, even Vanity Fair.” She laughed. “And I’m pretty sure you can’t afford me.”
“Journalism simply isn’t what it used to be,” Miss Tilley said. “Whatever happened to investigative reporting? It only took me a few clicks of the mouse to discover your true identity.” She opened her large purse with a click and extracted a printout of a mug shot picturing a younger but clearly recognizable version of Layla. The name beneath the sullen face was Lois Feinstein. “You were convicted of drunk driving and vehicular manslaughter, for running down three club-goers in Long Island in 2003. One died, one remains in a coma, and the third is confined to a wheelchair.”
“Is this true?” Noelle demanded.
“Everybody has a bad day now and then,” Layla/Lois said. “It was a long time ago and I’ve paid my debt to society. I went to jail for five years, and when I came out I started my business and it took off like gangbusters. I think I deserve some credit for making a new start.”
“New start!” Miss Tilley scoffed. “Is that what you call stealing your client’s jewels?”
“You didn’t!” Noelle hissed.
“Of course I didn’t,” Lois insisted, picking up the Birkin bag she’d left on a chair. “She’s all wrong. I didn’t have anything to do with the theft.”
“I think you did,” Elizabeth said, remembering the confusion after the photo shoot. “You pretended to lose the key to the case—that’s when the jewels were taken, when we were all scrambling around, looking for the key.”
“That’s enough!” Lois said, reaching into her bag and producing a small pink handgun. “All of you, get out on the terrace.”
“Not me!” Noelle protested.
“You, too,” Lois snarled.
“But I thought we were friends,” Noelle whined.
“Friends? Is this what you call being a friend? Nattering on endlessly about your problems, about how Jonah doesn’t love you? Do you have any idea how self-centered you are? Do you?”
Noelle’s face crumpled. “You’re the rat! You’re the one who stole my jewels!”
“Shut up! Now, out, all of you.” She waved the gun, and Noelle darted across the room and out onto the terrace. Elizabeth followed, more slowly, helping Miss Tilley. Once they were outside, Lois slammed the door shut and locked it, leaving them to face the elements.
“We can call for help,” Noelle suggested, leaning over the edge. “Yoo-hoo,” she screamed. “Help!”
“Save your breath,” Miss Tilley advised. “We’re too high up, and it’s too breezy.”
In fact, Elizabeth noted with dismay, the sky had clouded over and the wind was kicking up, signs that a tropical downpour was coming. She was looking for a means of escape, looking for a way to cross the gap to the neighboring terrace, when she heard a shriek from inside the suite. Peering inside, she recognized Dan Wrayburn and—could it be?—Chris Kennedy.
Noelle immediately began banging on the glass and yelling, to get their attention. Wrayburn busied himself cuffing Lois and Chris unlocked the door.
“What are you doing here?” Elizabeth asked, confronting him.
“Yeah!” Lois exclaimed, pointing at Chris. “He’s the thief! And they’re his accomplices,” she added, swinging around to indicate Elizabeth and Miss Tilley. “You’ve got this all wrong. They broke into the suite! They’re the thieves, not me.”
Noelle’s face was a cold mask of fury. “I’m a thief? I don’t think so. This is my suite. You took advantage of me, of my friendship, and you locked me out. Locked me out of my own room, left me to rot on that terrace.” She started to move toward Lois, but Chris intervened.
“It’s over. The jewels have been recovered,” he said. “Your partner in crime, Sammie Wong, was arrested at Teterboro this morning, about to leave for Dubai.”
“Sammie had the jewels?” Noelle asked.
“Most of them were hidden in his camera cases, but the Star of Bethlehem was concealed in a jar of Crème de la Mer.”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “I got that for him,” she said. “Maybe I am a conspirator after all.”
Chapter Ten
Suddenly the suite was filled with uniformed cops. Jonah Gruber had heard the news at the airport just as he was about to board and had returned to embrace a tearful Noelle. Chris Kennedy was explaining the situation to a police detective and Dan Wrayburn was talking on his cell phone, reporting to the hotel manager. Lois, handcuffed and sullen, was seated in a corner of a huge couch; her pink handgun was tagged and bagged and lay on the wet bar’s polished pink granite counter.
“I don’t think we need to linger,” Miss Tilley said. “We’re not needed here.”
Wasn’t that the truth, Elizabeth thought. Chris Kennedy hadn’t given her a glance. It was obvious he didn’t care a fig for her. He was some sort of investigator and he’d used her to get inside information. And besides, she wasn’t eager to explain her presence in a Cavendish maid’s uniform to Wrayburn. “Let’s go,” she whispered. “I’ve got to get out of this uniform and return this pass before they figure out I shouldn’t have it.”
The two women worked their way through the crowded room to the open door, unnoticed in the confusion. The elevator was waiting for them and they descended without incident and made their way to the locker room where Elizabeth slipped the pass into locker thirt
y-four. They were making their way down the hallway and had almost reached the exit when Mr. Dimitri hailed Elizabeth.
“You know they caught the thieves!” he exclaimed.
“I heard,” she said. “It’s wonderful news.” She stood awkwardly, unreasonably hoping he wouldn’t notice the maid’s uniform.
“Dan Wrayburn tells me you were instrumental in solving the case,” he continued, speaking excitedly. “He said you went undercover, that the maid’s uniform was a brilliant disguise and you will be able to testify against that awful party planner the Grubers hired.” He shook his head and shuddered. “He said she is a convicted criminal and I don’t doubt it. Those absolutely awful fake white Christmas trees were a crime! Talk about tacky.”
Elizabeth found herself unable to speak, but Miss Tilley was only too happy to fill the void. “I’m proud to be Elizabeth’s friend,” she said. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Miss Julia Tilley, from Tinker’s Cove, Maine.”
Elizabeth blushed in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I should have introduced you. This is Mr. Dimitri, the hotel manager.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Miss Tilley extended a knobby hand and Mr. Dimitri took it in both of his, then bent down and kissed it. “My goodness,” she said. “No one has ever kissed my hand before!”
“It was my privilege,” Mr. Dimitri said, oozing the charm he was known for. “And, Elizabeth, I hope you will return to work tomorrow?” His eyes twinkled. “In your green blazer at the concierge desk?”
Elizabeth was suddenly aware that quite a group of employees had gathered around them and were listening to every word. She recognized the faces of Kieran, Ada, Marketa, and so many others who had become her friends.
“Of course,” Elizabeth replied.
“I’m not sure that’s wise, dear,” Miss Tilley said, patting her hand. She turned to Mr. Dimitri. “Elizabeth has been through a great deal lately and she needs some time to recover. Let’s say she takes her scheduled vacation and starts her new position on January third.”