The Hotel Whodunit

by Lilliam Rivera

  “Ahhhhh!” I scream as someone places a hand on my shoulder.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just me.”

  Walt bends down to join me.

  “Next time give me a sign. I almost had a heart attack.”

  “What you got there?” he asks.

  “Not sure yet. Probably nothing. Just one of our matchbooks,” I say and pocket it.

  “So, how’s it going in there?”

  “Well, it was great until I got kicked out,” I say. “Apparently, Mr. Davenport is not a fan of anyone speaking their mind.”

  Walt smacks his forehead. “Weren’t you in my office with him? The only thing that man understands is his way. What made you think you can do differently?”

  “I don’t know. Hope?” I say. “There’s a time to be quiet and a time to speak up. I might have mistaken which time it was.”

  Walt pats my shoulder. “We’ve both been working hard on this one. It’s been a challenge managing detective duties over at the hotel while coordinating with Mike and the Mermaid Club to make sure everything is still running smoothly,” he says. “I came over as soon as I heard about the blackout. Mr. Maple wanted me to make sure our good friend from Baldwin Studios, aka Mr. Davenport, was okay. I guess the answer is no.”

  “He’s still barking at people, so I’d say he’s more than fine.”

  “You’re doing a great job, Goldie,” Walt says. “Don’t let this one hiccup get you down.”

  He’s right. “Thanks, Walt! I was planning to go around the club, make sure the blackout was a blown fuse and not some other strange coincidence.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he says. “Exactly what a true detective would do in such circumstances.”

  Walt and I both walk toward the front entrance of the club. At least Walt appreciates the work I’m doing. It means a lot to me. Mr. Davenport may not appreciate me, but Walt does, and Mom and Delphine!

  All of a sudden, I hear a rustling sound. I stop and hold Walt’s arm to stop him from continuing.

  “Did you hear that?” I ask. Walt shakes his head.

  There is definitely something going on. Walt doesn’t hear it, but I can, and it’s as clear as day. It’s not a sound of an animal, or at least I don’t think it is.

  I hear the rustling noise again, but this time it’s joined with a banging sound. Is Scoops back trying to get inside the club? He’d better not be! This time Walt hears it, too.

  “It sounds like it’s coming from where we just left,” he says. I follow him as we walk quietly toward the back.

  With Mom by her side, Delphine Lucerne storms out of the back entrance of the Mermaid Club. They both wear robes and both seem determined to make it out of there. We can hear Mr. Davenport screaming somewhere behind them.

  “I’m done. Let’s go,” Delphine says. “Your mother mentioned there are still leftovers from her casserole. I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”

  Walt looks petrified. This isn’t exactly what he had in mind. I think he would have preferred to find Scoops or another tabloid photographer. I didn’t expect this, either. I offer him a shrug.

  “My car is just around the corner,” Mom says.

  Instead of following us, Walt heads inside the club. “I better take care of the volcano that’s about to erupt. I’ll check in with you later,” he says. Then he leans forward to whisper: “And, Goldie, make sure she returns to the set in one hour or less. Preferably less. I guess I’ll go deal with this and make sure the diamond swimming cap is safe.”

  And just like that, I’m on the job! What a day. I can’t wait to see what else is in store for me. Delphine sits in the back of Mom’s car while I take the front seat. I can’t believe my eyes. Delphine is about to come to our house, and I don’t know what to think.

  “What will happen to Mr. Davenport and the film?” I say. “Won’t he be angry?”

  “There is no movie without the star,” she says. “Besides, I think we all deserve a break, don’t you?”

  “Well, you are more than welcome to take a break over by us,” Mom says. “We don’t have much, but what we do have we freely offer.”

  “The adventure continues,” I declare.

  As we drive up Lime Street, I point to the various stores and the owners. I make sure to add priceless tidbits of information about each thing or person we pass. I’m Delphine’s very own tour guide.

  “This is the spot where Miss Dupart says she was serenaded by Nat King Cole,” I say. “And this is where I was able to locate a missing bike. It was taken by a ten-year-old neighborhood boy who wanted to impress a girl. Unfortunately, he didn’t impress the girl when he tried to do a bike trick and kissed the dirt instead, destroying the bike in the process.”

  “I remember that,” Mom says. “He ended up getting a job at Crossed Palms to pay off the debt. Didn’t he?”

  “Yup. I got him the job. And now he’s a bellhop.”

  “You must be so proud of your daughter,” Delphine says. “She always seems to be leading with her heart, helping those around her. You’ve raised her right.”

  “Goldie has always been that way,” Mom says. “She loves to be in the center of the action, and she loves a good mystery. Even as a baby, she would never sit still for long. Always trying to see what was happening in the rooms next door. And when they moved to Crossed Palms, her inventiveness just flourished.”

  “They? Crossed Palms? Do you mean Goldie lives in the Crossed Palms?”

  “Oh yes! Crossed Palms is my home,” I say. “I live part of the time with my dad. He’s the manager of Crossed Palms. We have our own little cottage on the grounds. The other part I stay with Mom in her downtown apartment.”

  Delphine looks wistfully out the window. She seems deep in thought.

  “I spend so much of my time in hotels all over the world,” she says. She tugs her damp hair behind her ears. Her makeup is still intact even after being in the water. “I can’t say it ever feels like home. There’s just something so transitory and cold about hotels.”

  “Oh no. You shouldn’t think of them that way at all,” I say. “The best way to make any hotel feel like home is by bringing a little something with you. What’s the one thing you miss the most? Whatever the item is, bring a little piece of it with you wherever you go.”

  “I’ll remember that for the next time,” she says.

  I bet fans are always offering a big movie star like Delphine all types of gifts. Fancy new clothes and cars and the like. But sometimes the best gifts are the quieter ones. They may not be worth much, but they hold such special meaning.

  After a short pause, I continue the tour.

  “And that’s Wax Lips, where the coolest girl in all of St. Pascal works.” I can’t help letting out a long sigh.

  Mom smiles. She’s heard this before.

  “I thought for sure you were the coolest girl in St. Pascal,” Delphine says.

  I vehemently shake my head.

  “No way. I can’t compare. Diane not only works at the record shop, but she also is really tall and has a killer short haircut and—”

  I’m rambling, but Delphine doesn’t seem to mind. And yet, I’m feeling a little bit self-conscious about it. Maybe I’ve said too much.

  “Anyway, she’s great.”

  “Why don’t we invite her over for dinner?” Mom says.

  “Yes, why not?” Delphine says. “The more the merrier.”

  I know what Mom is doing. She’s nudging me to do something I’m afraid to do: ask Diane out. I don’t think I’m ready. Sure, I’ll confront Mr. Davenport and his loud mouth any day, but asking Diane out? I can’t do it. Not yet anyway.

  “She’s very busy,” I say. “Maybe next time.”

  “I get nervous every time I step in front of the camera. Every single time,” Delphine says. “Do you know what my trick is to overcome nerves? I remind myself no one is perfect. I can only give my very best. People will see that and appreciate it.”

  I chew a little on
Delphine’s words. She might be onto something.

  “You shouldn’t let fear stop you from doing what you want,” Mom says. She’s said that exact phrase many times before, but it never hurts to be reminded. One of these days I’ll find the courage to ask Diane out. I will.

  “Home, sweet home.”

  We finally arrive.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say as I grab the phone and give Cheryl a ring at the hotel.

  “Cheryl, code ocean blue.”

  “Code ocean blue? What’s code ocean blue?” she asks, totally confused.

  “Delphine left the set and is sitting at my kitchen table right now, and my mom is serving her a cup of coffee,” I say. “Call me if we need to vacate the premises or something.”

  “On it,” she says. Cheryl agrees to be my eyes and ears at the hotel. You just never know when or how your boss might get wind of the drama… and then what will he do? Knowing Cheryl is on watch, I head back to the kitchen and make sure our guest is enjoying herself.

  Before Delphine made herself at home at our kitchen table, she walked around the small apartment picking up trinkets and such. Delphine picked up a picture of me taking a dip in the Crossed Palms hotel pool. I must have been seven years old. She holds it up and studies it while she sips her coffee.

  “Goldie, you haven’t changed a bit,” she says.

  “Of course I have. I no longer wear my hair like that,” I say. “Do you ever get tired of the water, especially with Mr. Davenport screaming at you?”

  “Oh, Cecil. Here’s a little tidbit for you: I actually taught Mr. Davenport how to swim when we were both eight years old, about the same age as you are in this picture. He had a deathly fear of the water. One summer we spent hours in the nearby pool until he overcame his fear,” she says. “We’ve known each other since we were little kids, running around barefoot in Youngstown, Ohio. Don’t be fooled by him. He’s mostly bark and not much bite.”

  No way. I can’t even picture Mr. Davenport as a little kid. In my mind he was born in a suit with a cigar dangling from his mouth.

  Mom serves us the casserole while I make sure to pour us each a glass of water. Delphine sits down, but still asks if she can help. Mom and I both immediately refuse. She’s our guest after all. Finally, Mom and I sit, and we all share a meal.

  “What about the whole story of you being discovered while working at a five-and-dime shop?” I ask.

  “I was never really ‘discovered’ by a talent scout while working at the store,” she says. “I left town to pursue my dreams of being an actress. Swimming came naturally to me, so I tried to combine both talents. When I left, Cecil soon followed. In Hollywood, rumors and speculation are way better than the actual facts.”

  I guess it’s true what they say; everyone has a story to tell. I wonder what Mr. Davenport’s story is.… Has he always been so angry?

  We keep eating as Delphine shares stories of her early days in Hollywood. How she auditioned for any and every type of role. She even had to dress like an apple and sing the importance of an apple a day to keep the doctor away. She said the lyrics didn’t make any sense but that she still sang it with gusto. Mom and I can’t stop laughing.

  The phone unexpectedly rings. Cheryl is on the other end.

  “Code ocean blue,” she says. “Mr. Maple just stormed across the lobby and I heard your name being mentioned. I think you’d better get Delphine back to the set.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  As much as I love having Delphine in my house and discovering the real deal with her and Mr. Davenport, I don’t want to incur the wrath of my boss. “We better get you back to the Mermaid Club,” I say. “The show must go on. Right?”

  “It always does,” Delphine says. “Thanks for the lovely detour. St. Pascal continues to delight.”

  “You are always welcome. You and Cecil,” I say. “I mean, Mr. Davenport.”

  Delphine smiles. “I’ll let him know, but I can’t imagine Mr. Davenport ever taking a detour. He did at one time when he was young. Funny how people change, right?”

  Chapter Nine

  “THANK YOU BOTH FOR BEING SUCH GRACIOUS HOSTS,” Delphine says. Within seconds, she is whisked away for more makeup and a wardrobe change. Unfortunately, I am not taken backstage. Instead, I am marched right up to Mr. Davenport. Walt stands behind him with a worried look on his face.

  “Goldie, Mr. Davenport thinks it’s best for everyone that you stick outside for the remainder of filming,” Walt says. Uh-oh. Mr. Davenport must have been so angry when Delphine left.

  “What about Mom?”

  “She can join the others.” Mr. Davenport points to the left side of the tank. Most of the extras have been sent home, leaving only Miss Dupart and the one other dancer. Mom walks over to them, and a makeup artist starts touching up her face.

  Before I leave, I decide to try a different approach with Mr. Davenport.

  “Mr. Davenport, do you prefer the butterfly stroke or do you like the front crawl?”

  Mr. Davenport stares at me, looking extremely irritated by my question.

  “What?” he says. He clutches his unlit cigar. I wonder if you can judge his mood by whether or not his cigar is lit.

  “Butterfly stroke or front crawl? Ms. Lucerne said you were quite the swimmer back in Youngstown, Ohio,” I say. His face transforms. He doesn’t explode like a volcano. Instead he seems to disappear into his thoughts. Maybe he’s remembering his life back then. Being a little boy, jumping into the pool with Delphine by his side. But his pensive reaction doesn’t last very long. I do take note of what appears to be a softer side.

  “Uh. Um. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He bristles.

  “You better get going,” Walt says.

  Oh well, I tried. I guess Hollywood can do that to a person—make them deny or forget their past.

  There’s only one more scene to shoot at the club, and then the whole crew will move to the beach for an extravagant battle scene between the sea creatures and the mermaids. To be honest, I can’t really follow the plot of the movie. I understand Delphine is some type of reluctant Queen of the Mermaids and the sea monsters are out to get them. But like in every movie, the queen falls in love with one of the sea creatures. Hence the struggle. Will she protect her mermaid people, or will she follow her heart?

  It’s the perfect popcorn-eating film to watch at the drive-in. I’ll be waiting in line to see the film five hundred million times. Maybe even more. Action. A love story. Costumes. And Delphine right in the center of it all.

  I lean against the streetlamp and listen to the night. St. Pascal is settling in. A few couples stroll by holding hands. Families round up their children to head inside. I wave to a few of my friends. I wonder what Cheryl and Rob are doing. Did Cheryl take Rob up on his offer to meet at the Deep End? That seems like ages ago. I patrol around the back of the club. Everything seems pretty calm.

  A familiar face appears from in between two cars. Scoops Malone!

  “Hey, kid—I think you better come over quick. I thought I heard someone over there,” he says. “In fact, you should be thanking me. I’m practically doing your job.”

  Scoops thumbs to the direction of a type of shed, off to the side of the club. “I’ve been tailing this guy because he was acting pretty suspicious, and now I’m positive he is up to no good. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw him trying to climb up on a tree to peek into the club through the roof. When I saw him do that, I knew he was trouble and came straightaway looking for you.”

  “In there?” I say.

  “That’s right. You think I’m bad? Well, he’s not even a reporter. He’s just a random crazed fan. You don’t want him to get inside the club. Do you?”

  No way. I remember when the Tigers were out here. Fans practically ripped their clothes off. I don’t want something like that happening to Delphine.

  “I’ll check it out,” I say.

  “Good thinking,” Scoops says. “And if there’s a st
ory to tell, I’ll make sure you’re the hero. How do you spell your name again, kid? Is it Goldie with an i or a y? I know how to spell Vance.”

  I spell my name for Scoops, and then I cautiously tiptoe toward the shed. It’s hard to hear anything so I creep in closer. Scoops follows close behind. The door is slightly ajar. I look over to Scoops and give him a nod. I’m going in.

  Using the element of surprise, I bust open the door, but there’s absolutely no one in there. I quickly search up and down and side to side, but it’s empty except for brooms and tools and a large tarp covering things. The normal items you would find in any old shed.

  Wham!

  Before I can scream Harry Belafonte, Scoops slams the door shut in my face. And that’s when I realize I’m locked in! He’s locked me in!

  “Open this door!”

  “Sorry, kid,” Scoops says. “I’ve got a job to do and you’re in my way.”

  Scoops may be a conniving liar, but he’s no match for me. I pull out my flashlight and shine the beam inside the small shed.

  A quick drop and I’m off. I’ve got to get to Scoops before he gets to Delphine or the movie set and starts causing trouble. I stumble into the entrance of the club and once again find myself in complete darkness. How and why are the lights out again? This time it feels doubly dark. At least no one is screaming. I follow the voices toward the set, using my flashlight as my guide.

  “Turn the lights back on!” Mr. Davenport’s booming voice fills the room. At least I can always count on Mr. Davenport to bestow his loud bark on the masses. I need to hurry up. I can’t have Scoops roaming around. Too much at risk.

  “Everyone!” I say. “There’s a reporter on the loose somewhere inside. Scoops, show your face.”

  I realize, a second too late, that Scoops can’t actually show his face because there are no lights. Oh well, I can’t take back my words now. I just have to go with the flow.