Dead Suite

by Wendy Roberts

  “I remember getting a message from someone to meet for a private party. . . .” May shook her head. “I was getting out.” May walked closer and sat back down on the hotel bed, but her shape hovered over it instead of sinking into the cushiony duvet. “I wanted to be an actress, you know. I even had a part a few years ago. I was a dancing toilet brush in a commercial for a toilet-bowl cleaner.” She giggled at the memory and then hung her head. “I know that sounds lame.”

  “No it doesn’t,” Sadie said, even though it really did. “Look, we all make mistakes and bad choices.”

  “Yeah, but you’re still alive so you at least get a chance to fix your mistakes,” May protested.

  There really was no arguing with that.

  “So how come I’m still here, if I’m dead?” she asked. “Is it because I wasn’t good enough for heaven?”

  “I don’t know exactly how these things work.” Wearily Sadie plopped herself down onto the chair next to the bed and folded her gloved hands on her lap. “But usually if someone doesn’t go right over to the hereafter once they’re gone, it seems to mean that they have something they need to deal with in the here and now. Some kind of message, or final request they want to have delivered. That’s where I come in. I can try to help you with that. You got family?”

  “Somewhere. I haven’t kept in touch. Last I heard they’d moved somewhere in Texas.”

  May’s eyes filled with tears and she ran her hot-pink fingernails through her hair. For the first time Sadie noticed the index finger on May’s right hand was missing. That was a little something that hadn’t made the papers. Obviously Detective Petrovich was keeping that tidbit to himself as part of his investigation.

  “I was saving up to get out of this business. Had nearly a thousand put away already. Plus some jewelry a couple regulars gave me worth maybe a thousand more. What happens to that money?”

  “Without a will . . .” Sadie shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “I worked hard for that money. I want to see something good come of it. There’s a charity that helps women called WATS,” May said. “It stands for Women Against the Streets. They were really good to me. When I needed medical help once, when a john got rough, they took care of me. Just a bunch of Good Samaritan volunteers, but they really cared, you know? They also helped me into my low-income apartment and got me into some free acting classes.” She got to her feet and stood with new determination. “I want WATS to have my money and jewelry. Maybe they can use it to help other girls.”

  “That’s really nice of you.”

  “So you’ll take care of that for me? Make sure WATS gets my money? It’s in a shoe box on the top shelf of my bedroom closet.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Sadie said. “Your apartment will be taped off by police. I can’t just barge in there and take something.”

  “But I’m giving you permission!”

  “Somehow I don’t think the cops will believe me when I tell them your ghost said it was okay for me to take your cash.”

  She giggled softly. “Okay, well, it’s not like you even have to tell them.”

  “Breaking in isn’t a specialty of mine either,” I said.

  “You don’t have to break in. My apartment is in the basement of a house. There’s a large rock with painted yellow daisies in the flower bed next to the door and I keep a spare key under there. Twice I had my purse stolen on the streets. After that, the second time, I learned not to keep cash or keys on me.” She rattled off the address of her place and Sadie got a pen and paper from the desk in the corner of the room and took down the information.

  “Okay, I can’t promise anything,” Sadie said. “But I’ll do my best to make sure this happens for you.”

  Then Sadie got to her feet and approached May.

  “It’s time for you to move on.” And time for me to get back to work. “I want you to close your eyes and think about the most beautiful thing in the world. Think back to a time of peace and tranquility in your life and imagine a loving soul ready to embrace you. Let go of this place and all the ugliness and pain in this world,” Sadie told her gently.

  May did as she was told and exhaled a long, slow sigh before her body began to glow brightly. A shimmer appeared around the edges of her shape and then, after a few more moments, she’d vanished entirely.

  Sadie smiled and her heart beat excitedly in her chest. This part never got old. The shimmer meant that May had moved on and wouldn’t return. If they simply disappeared without a shimmer, it meant they were still here, just not visible. As much as Sadie could do without the drama of being a ghost whisperer, she had to confess she felt a small thrill at helping make someone’s final wishes come to fruition. She figured she was somewhat like the Easter bunny or tooth fairy except she delivered messages from the great beyond instead of chocolate or cash.

  At the end of the cleanup she notified the front desk so that they could discretely go to the safe room with linen carts and use them to haul all her stuff down through the freight elevators. They would deliver the bins and equipment to the back alley delivery entrance where Sadie’s Scene-2-Clean company van was parked.

  Sadie snagged all the little shampoos and soaps from the bathroom and then re-dressed into her blouse and skirt before she made her way downstairs to chat with the manager of the Eminence.

  She knocked on Herbert Sylvane’s office door and he called her to come in. The office wasn’t as plush as the hotel itself. A large black desk monopolized the room, while bookshelves held a few hard covers but mostly knickknacks. The desk was tidy with a few papers stacked in an inbox at one end and a small statue of the Virgin Mary at the other. Herbert Sylvane walked and talked stiffly like he had a stick where the sun don’t shine. His skin was pale and his hair was dark. Aside from the fact that he dressed like he’d just stepped out of a GQ cover, he had a down-home warm smile that immediately put Sadie at ease.

  Ever the gentleman, he got up from behind his desk and remained standing until she took a seat across from him.

  “Cleaned up the mess already?” he asked her.

  “Yes, basically it’s done. I know you wanted everything finished by today but, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to let the ozone generator run for a couple more days, just to be absolutely certain there’s no smell.”

  “Absolutely.” He steepled his manicured hands beneath his chin and smiled. “That’s a great idea and I appreciate your thoroughness. Nothing says five-star elegance like the smell of rotting flesh.”

  He winked at Sadie and it triggered a memory.

  “Have we met before?”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Maybe . . . have you stayed here in the past? Thankfully, I haven’t had reason to call a trauma cleaner before.” He continued. “So everything went as expected? No surprises that caused you any delay?”

  Sadie thought briefly of May Lathrop, then shook her head. “I’ve been doing this for a few years, so these kinds of messes no longer surprise me,” she said.

  “One of the housekeeping staff swore they heard noises coming from that room the night after the murder. Of course the room was sealed by police and nobody had been in or out until you.”

  Sadie said nothing and then Herbert laughingly continued. “This is how rumors get started. Don’t want word getting out we’re haunted, or anything, right?”

  “That wouldn’t be good,” Sadie agreed. “I’m sure being in the news like this was difficult for the hotel, but you handled it well. With the amount of clientele I see in the lobby, I don’t think business has suffered at all.”

  “There have been only a few cancellations,” Herbert admitted. He lifted a carafe on his desk. “Coffee?”

  “No thanks, I’ve already had my fill.” She got to her feet. “Thank you for calling my company to handle the cleanup. I’ll e-m
ail the hotel insurance company my invoice in the next day or two and I’ll send you a copy.”

  He walked her to his office door.

  “Good. I appreciate your speed on this. I hope that I see you again as a guest of the hotel.” He stuck out his hand and shook hers heartily. “I’ll be sure to give you a discount on our very best suites anytime.”

  Sadie chuckled and thought to herself that if she were going to spend a few hundred dollars in one night, it wouldn’t be for a place to sleep. Instead she was more likely to spend it on a good pizza, a great movie, and a few bottles of local beer enjoyed, hopefully, with Zack. Either that or a night of pub crawling and debauchery with good friends.

  Sadie walked across the expansive lobby and then ducked out a side door of the hotel and headed toward the alley and her company van. She paused before opening the vehicle door to check e-mails on her phone. She was hoping for an e-mail from a prospective client because she needed the money. She lucked out when, among the offers to enlarge her penis, there was a job-related e-mail from a man named Hugh Pacheo that read, Your company came recommended to me. I require cleanup of my son’s garage after he took his own life. The house is located in the Bellevue area. Please contact me when you have a moment to discuss this further. Sincerely, Hugh Pacheo. He left a contact phone number beneath his name.

  Sadie was about to dial the man’s number, but her phone rang in her hand with a call from Detective Petrovich. She recognized his number immediately.

  “Hi, Dean, how’s it going?”

  “It’s going,” he replied.

  Dean was a serious cop of few words. He never called unless he had a specific reason, so Sadie started up her van and waited. He heard the vehicle turn on and barked, “Hope you’re not going to talk on the phone while driving.”

  “Thanks, mom, I’m putting in my earpiece.” Sadie rolled her eyes as she dug out the Bluetooth and plugged it into her ear before pulling away from the curb.

  Sadie allowed Petrovich to mother hen a little. They’d met a few years ago when he attended the scene of Sadie’s brother’s suicide. The detective had been kind and generous with his time, going above and beyond his own duties to check up on Sadie in a fatherly way. He made sure Sadie got counseling, even drove her a few times to a group offering support to families affected by suicide. It had been a lifeline. After cleaning up Brian’s suicide, Sadie had vowed to make sure no other family would have to be traumatized a second time by cleaning up after a loved one had passed. She left her career as a primary school teacher to wash up blood and guts instead of wiping chalkboards. Some days it was a toss-up whether or not she’d made the right choice.

  “I’m calling to check if you found anything at the hotel,” he said.

  Sadie frowned as she steered the large cube van down a crowded downtown street. “Like what?” She stifled a yawn.

  “Like something that should be attached to a person,” he replied cryptically.

  Sadie recalled ghost May running her fingers through her hair and being a digit short. “You’re talking a finger, right?”

  “So you found it?” he asked excitedly.

  “Well, no, I didn’t.”

  “Then how did you know that’s what I’m—” He stopped himself. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  Even though Petrovich had gone against his own sense of cop reason and acumen a few months ago and hired Sadie to deal with a ghost situation at a crime scene, it didn’t mean he was ready to fully accept her paranormal talent. As a cop and a friend, the detective would gladly refer grieving families to Scene-2-Clean for professional reasons that had nothing to do with specters and spirits. He knew that trauma cleaning provided a valuable service for families, but the psychic stuff freaked him out. Mostly he liked to pretend that that part of her didn’t exist.

  “You think the murderer took the finger with him?” Sadie asked as she yawned loudly into the earpiece. “Sorry, I pulled an all-nighter and I’m heading home to bed.” She rubbed her eyes and added, “I don’t know where else the finger could be. A finger is small, but not so small that I’d miss it. I took that room apart.”

  “Yeah, I know you’re thorough. That’s why I asked. Our evidence-collection team went through every inch of the place, so I’m sure if it had been there they would’ve snatched it up. Still, sometimes you get luckier than we do so I figured I’d ask.”

  Sadie didn’t know how “lucky” she’d feel locating an amputated finger.

  “Guess he took it,” Sadie said.

  They were silent for a minute, each searching their own minds and coming to the same conclusion.

  If the killer took the finger, it was probably as a trophy.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sadie asked the detective.

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Say what?” Sadie asked.

  “Don’t say anything that’s going to jinx my case.”

  “I was only going to point out the obvious,” Sadie said. “The perpetrator pilfered the prostitute’s pointer.”

  Chapter 2

  It turned out that Detective Petrovich was not a big fan of alliteration. Also, he was grumpier than usual and cursed at Sadie’s attempt at a joke. She usually didn’t play around when talking to Petrovich, but lack of sleep had made her punchy. Sadie figured Petrovich was tense because they both knew that if the killer took a trophy there was a chance this wasn’t a onetime thing. Even though one dead hooker does not a killing spree make, Sadie had an uneasy feeling in her gut.

  Petrovich was on edge and not wanting to jinx the case by hinting, or even implying, the S word. And in this case, S stood for serial killer and not for spirits, as it usually did for Sadie. Although, truthfully, Petrovich didn’t appreciate the discussion of spirits either. They ended the call as Sadie steered the van onto her street.

  When she walked into her house Sadie was greeted by the clickety-clack of bunny toenails on her laminate floor. Her pet rabbit, Hairy, greeted her enthusiastically. Well, maybe enthusiastically was too strong a word. He twitched his nose and hopped toward the kitchen to his food bowl to hope for his favorite yogurt yummy treats. Hairy twitched his nose expectantly and Sadie fed her pet while she called the man who’d e-mailed her earlier.

  Hugh Pacheo sounded like a man in his early sixties, and he had a forlorn undertone in his voice that caused Sadie to immediately empathize. Suicide was murder on all those left behind. His story was very brief: His son had hanged himself in his garage and now that the police were done, he needed someone to clean the place so that he could list the property for sale. Sadie agreed to meet Mr. Pacheo at his son’s house.

  “If you don’t mind,” he said, “we can discuss things in the driveway and I’ll give you the key for the garage. I’d rather not go inside.”

  “That’s fine,” Sadie said gently. She was all about trying to lessen the trauma for her clientele, and she understood too well how it could be difficult for loved ones to visit the scene.

  “I should tell you up front that my son had no insurance, so I’ll be paying this out of pocket.” He cleared his throat. “I . . . I may not be able to pay you immediately but my pension check arrives in a couple weeks. I hope you don’t mind waiting. . . .” He sounded proud and slightly embarrassed.

  “No problem,” Sadie said quickly. “If it ran through an insurance company there’d also be a few weeks’ delay. I’ll invoice you.”

  Sadie agreed to meet him in an hour. Although her body craved sleep, she figured she’d nap after she met up with Mr. Pacheo. Then she’d still have time later that afternoon to visit May Lathrop’s basement suite. Before changing her clothes and heading out to meet up with Mr. Pacheo, Sadie went to her home office and glanced through her e-mails on her computer and then checked the company answering machine. There were no frantic messag
es requesting immediate trauma-clean services. Seattle’s mayor was over the moon about the drop in violent crime in the city. Sadie not so much.

  After loading some basic supplies into the trunk, Sadie got behind the wheel of her older Toyota Corolla, which was parked in her garage next to the Scene-2-Clean van. When meeting with a grieving family, she usually left the van at home. It was a half-hour drive to the quiet tree-lined residential street, and at first she drove right past the house where she was meeting Hugh Pacheo. The cedar hedge was so high on either side of the driveway it blocked the view of the house numbers. Sadie reversed her car and then spotted an older pickup truck in the driveway of the small ranch house with a single attached garage.

  She parked alongside Mr. Pacheo and they both climbed out of their vehicles and met in the driveway in front of their cars. He reached out and shook her hand and thanked her for coming. Sadie noticed his hands were soft, and his nails buffed and nicely manicured. Hugh Pacheo had a round, soft face with doughy features and gentle eyes. He looked vaguely familiar, possibly because he had the kind of face that could pass for just about anyone’s grandfather. He wore brown dress pants that shone with wear and a thin white dress shirt with one button missing. He explained once again in a quietly emotional voice that his son had hanged himself in the garage of his home.

  “I need to sell the house but the real estate agent suggested I get a professional like yourself in to have it cleaned first. I couldn’t . . . just couldn’t do it myself.” He looked down at his feet.

  “Of course, Mr. Pacheo,” Sadie said, placing a hand on his arm. “This is exactly what I do. Don’t worry about it.”

  He looked grateful as he handed over a key to the side entrance of the garage. Sadie told him that she would look through the premises today and probably return tomorrow to get the job done.

  “I have something for you,” he said, and there was an odd mischievous look in his eye.