The Hotel

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  Greg and I had been here a half dozen times, but each time I couldn’t keep my eyes in their sockets. The expansive front lawn was probably two acres large, all immaculately manicured. Brilliant yellow daffodils combined with white begonias brightened up the landscape. Over to the far side, a gardener was re-shaping a bush into a spiral design.

  My heels stepped out onto cobblestone pavers and, walking past a three-tiered fountain, I made my way to the giant entrance door. As my finger reached for the bell, Molly opened the door.

  “Emily, what on earth brings you to these parts? This isn’t your area of town.”

  Gosh, I’d only just arrived and already she’d made me feel out of place, as if riffraff like me shouldn’t be seen around here. “If you have a moment, I’d really like to talk to you about something.”

  For a brief moment, I thought she looked nervous. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m super busy. What’s this about?”

  “Ava. It’s about Ava. Would you mind if I came in?”

  “Oh,” she breathed out a sigh of relief. “Well, of course. Come on in.”

  She held the door wider for me to enter her marbled entryway. While she closed the door, I admired the grand staircase with its beautiful iron carved handrail. Working my way up, my eyes landed on the expensive crystal chandelier hanging high above my head. Baccarat, Molly had told me on more than one occasion.

  “This way,” she said, steering me into a front parlor and gesturing for me to take a seat on a long creamy couch. It was a Henredon, she’d also mentioned several times, emphasizing that it was luxurious and expensive. She sat opposite me on an identical one, making her Henredon purchase doubly luxurious and twice as expensive. “What’s this about Ava?”

  “Well, uh,” I stammered, unsure of how to begin. “It seems a few months ago, the last time Ava stayed the night with Sarah, something happened. Ever since, she’s made either me or my mother sit with her while she takes a bath. When I questioned her about it, she said she was afraid because she and Sarah watched a scary movie together and someone was murdered in the tub ... or something like that.” I paused and heaved out a deep sigh.

  “Okay, well I’m sorry for Ava, but this is all news to me. I’ll have a talk with Sarah about appropriate movies that she and her friends can watch. It won’t be a future problem, I assure you.”

  “Yes, thank you for that, but there’s more. A few days ago, Sarah told Ava that you and Paul had a disagreement and ... and.”

  “Paul and I are currently separated,” she completed my sentence. “What does this have to do with Ava?”

  She was such an impatient, snippy bitch. “Ava was relieved to hear Paul was no longer in the house. It allowed her to open up about what truly happened. It seems the last time she stayed over, Paul entered Sarah’s washroom while Ava was taking a bath and watched her. She saw a protrusion from his front pants, which she thinks was a banana. Then he insisted on drying her off.” There, I’d unloaded on the snooty bitch. “I won’t be letting my daughter near Paul, ever again. As a courtesy, I came over to let you know that I’ve filed a report about the incident with the police and they’ll probably be questioning you about it. Also, I wanted to tell you, mother-to-mother, you might want to keep an eye on Paul when he’s around Sarah.”

  Much to my surprise, she didn’t look shocked. She maintained every bit of her snobbish poise. When Ava told me about what happened I cried myself to death. Not Molly. She was cool as a cucumber.

  “Well, I appreciate your concern about Sarah, but I’m quite certain I know how to raise my own daughter.” She checked her watch, as if to suggest she didn’t have time for what I considered a crucial conversation. “Anyway, I’m sure Ava will forget all about it in time. But thank you for letting me know.” Her reaction was highly unorthodox. At the very least, I’d expected her to be concerned, if not for Ava, certainly for her own daughter. Even an apology would’ve been nice, though it was Paul that had the problem. “If you don’t mind, Emily, I am rather busy right now. Lots to do.”

  Are you kidding me? She was more interested in shooing me out, than hearing her husband was a pedophile. “Well okay then,” I said watching as she rose from the couch, indicating I should do the same. “Where is Paul staying? The police will be looking for him. I’m sure they’ll want to interview him.”

  She smirked and then began ushering me out. Talking over her shoulder, she said, “Several months ago, unbeknownst to me, Paul purchased an urban condominium in Montgomery Plaza. It was his love nest,” she added, coming to a full stop at the door and turning to look at me. “I kicked Paul out of the house after finding out he had a young honey routinely meeting him there.”

  My brows shot up. “A young honey?” Her one-word description hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “Yes,” she confirmed with a hateful smirk. “Not like Ava. She’s sixteen, I believe. Margaret’s daughter.” She frowned. “Imagine how it felt to learn my husband was sleeping with my best friend’s daughter. It’s so embarrassing.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” In the back of my mind, I was scrambling to recall where I’d heard the name “Margaret” before. Then I remembered the clerk from Twice Blessed had dropped that name. “Would that be Margaret Winslow?”

  She put on a surprised face. “Oh, do you know her? I wouldn’t have thought you ran in her circles.”

  Condescending bitch, I thought. I really didn’t care for Molly and now I hated Paul. “Only by name,” I said shortly. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” I was already at the door and she’d had the gall to open it as soon as she arrived.

  “Well thank you for dropping by with your news,” she said. “Goodbye, Emily.”

  I genuinely wanted to slap her. Instead, I smiled sweetly. “Have a nice day, Molly.”

  ◆◆◆

  All the way down her drive, my thoughts were confused. What kind of a mother wouldn’t take it more seriously when someone told them their husband had done something so inappropriate? And she knew Paul was messing around with a sixteen-year-old. My God. What was going on in that household?!

  Money could buy a lot of stuff, but apparently it counted for nothing when it came to acquiring good sense. It made me wonder as to what Margaret Winslow’s reaction was when she discovered her under-aged daughter was seeing Paul. Did she take it with the same grain of salt? Or was she embarrassed, as poor Molly had been? At least Molly had thrown him out of the house. I supposed there were some consequences.

  Before leaving the main entrance to the elegant subdivision, I remembered the clerk at Twice Blessed mentioned Margaret Winslow living in this same neighborhood, so I called P.I. Liam Marshall.

  “Emily, what can I do for you?” he asked after I announced who I was.

  “I was wondering if you could use your detective skills and tell me where Margaret Winslow resides. I don’t know her husband’s first name though. But it’s my understanding they may have been recently divorced.”

  “You’re in luck. I’ve just arrived back at my office. Let me get on my computer and I’ll see what I can find.” In the background, I could hear him punching around on a keyboard. “Ah yes,” he said after a few moments. “The deed records show the house is still registered in Charles and Margaret Winslow. If they’ve recently divorced, the system may not have had time to make the changes.”

  “Okay, will you text me the address?”

  “Emily, what are you doing? You’re not still trying to investigate your husband’s murder on your own, are you?”

  “No, this is something completely different. It has to do with my daughter and Paul Jensen.”

  “What are you talking about now?” he asked curiously.

  “There’s a complete report filed with the police. But in a nutshell, he watched my eight-year-old daughter bathe and then dried her off, all with an erection.” I caught him up to speed on Molly, Paul and the sixteen-year-old. “I thought I might have a chat with Ms. Winslow and see what she has to say about Paul. If Paul is messing arou
nd with little girls, he needs to pay the price.”

  “You shouldn’t be questioning her alone about something like this. I’ll meet up with you and we can go together.”

  “Well, I was going to keep it casual. What if she clams up if a private detective is with me?”

  “Just say I’m a close acquaintance. We’ll keep things friendly. But if things get out of hand, I don’t want you there alone.”

  “Well okay,” I hesitantly agreed. While I didn’t foresee any danger in questioning a wealthy homeowner in a subdivision blanketed in mansions, I remembered he was keeping an eye on me in that dingy motel. Perhaps he was simply the protective type.

  Liam texted the Winslow’s address, showing they lived only a few blocks over. Liam and I agreed to meet down the street and ride together in my car the rest of the way. He merely flashed a badge to the guard and his entry was allowed. But now I was speaking into an intercom at the private entrance to the Winslow’s mega-mansion.

  “May I help you?” I assumed a hired help asked.

  “My name is Emily Mills. I’m a friend of Molly Jensen’s. Would it be possible to visit for a few moments with Ms. Winslow?”

  “What may I say this in regard to?”

  “It concerns Ms. Winslow’s daughter, my daughter and Paul Jensen. Please, it’s extremely important.”

  “One moment please.”

  Before long, the gates simply parted, and I drove forward. The Winslow estate was even more intimidating than Molly’s. I was so far out of my element. At twice the size in grounds, the yard resembled a lush green golf course spreading out forever. The facade of the exterior made the Jensen’s mansion seem like a small shoebox. Poor Molly was probably insanely jealous. I wondered if Ms. Winslow looked down her nose at Molly’s tiny mansion and suggested it needed remodeling, much like Molly had always brought up with me.

  Liam widened his eyes and whistled. “Holy cow,” he said. “I wish I’d worn a suit.” He was dressed in dark jeans and a white button-up shirt. I thought he looked nice, but what did I know. Thank goodness I was wearing a solid blue designer dress, one my mother had snatched from Twice Blessed, otherwise my normal attire would’ve failed miserably at first impressions. Liam sighed. “Well, shall we?”

  With a deep breath and a straightened spine, I put on a determined face. “Yes, let’s,” I said and dismounted from the driver’s side of the car.

  Bing. Bing. Bong. A deep resonating chime emanated from inside after Liam rang the bell. Several moments later, a chunky woman in a stereotypical black and white maid’s uniform answered the door. “This way,” she beckoned.

  We followed her down an immense marble-floored hallway, through a solarium and outside to a pristine, Olympic-sized sparkling blue pool. “Would you like something to drink?” the maid asked.

  “Yes water, please,” I requested.

  “I’ll take some too,” Liam answered.

  “Coming right up.” She nodded and turned away.

  A young girl swam to the pool’s edge, climbed out and introduced herself. “I’m Felicia. My mother’s not home.” After Liam and I introduced ourselves, she guided us to a shaded area, not bothering with a towel to cover up her teensy-weensy thong bikini, the likes of which I’d never be caught in.

  Following behind me, Liam leaned in close and said, “Thank you so much for calling me. I’m genuinely enjoying the beauty of this vast estate.” I smirked at him and he grinned.

  “Have a seat,” she instructed, donning a pair of designer shades and relaxing herself into a lounger. “Esmeralda said this was about Paul. You can talk to me about him.”

  “Yes, well...” I paused and looked at Liam, then back at her. “Do you have a sister?” I asked although I knew she was around sixteen.

  “Nope, I’m an only child.”

  “Okay, then...” I wasn’t quite sure how to ask her about Paul.

  Her hair had been piled high on her head. She took out a clamp and let it fall, revealing a head full of long, light blonde hair which she shook out into spiraled curls. She looked very sexy doing it and Liam groaned beside me. I shot him a dirty look, because dammit, she was a child.

  “Spit it out,” she prompted when my words had died on my lips.

  “Um...” Again, I looked at Liam.

  “Jesus Christ,” she barked. “Yes, Paul and I are a thing. A very good thing ... until that bitch wife of his somehow found out about us. Bitch,” she repeated. She reached for a tube of body lotion, spurted some in her hand and began to massage it all over her shapely legs.

  Liam groaned again and I elbowed him. “How old are you?” Liam finally piped up and I wondered if he was hoping beyond all hope she was of adult age.

  She rolled her eyes. “Old enough to know what I want.”

  For a moment I thought Liam was going to roll out another groan. “But you’re under eighteen ... right?” Liam pushed.

  “So what if I am? Do I look like a child?”

  She did. She was barely filled out and her face was immature. She may have had some sexy hair moves, some nice legs and a barely clad body. But no, she wouldn’t pass for an eighteen-year-old. Paul wouldn’t have mistaken her for an adult, especially if her parents were friends. Paul knew.

  “It’s against the law,” Liam answered. “And yes, you do look like a child. One who doesn’t know when she’s being taken advantage of. Is that what happened, Felicia? Did Paul convince you he loved you and then persuaded you to have sex with him?”

  Now that Liam had placed his eyes back in his sockets, I was so glad he was with me. He’d come right to the point and I still would’ve probably been back at “um.”

  “Zip it,” she ordered when she saw Esmeralda coming with a tray filled with three tall crystal glasses and a matching pitcher of ice water. Esmeralda placed the tray on a small table, poured up the waters and passed them out. “That’ll be all, Esmeralda,” Felicia said in a commanding tone. Esmeralda nodded and left. Felicia directed an angry glare at us. “Paul loves me. You old people wouldn’t understand.”

  “Excuse me,” I said, taking a sip of the refreshing liquid. “I believe Paul is older than either of us,” I gestured between me and Liam. “And we’re the ones you think are old?”

  She rolled her eyes again. “Maybe I should’ve said, you closed-minded people wouldn’t understand.”

  “Have either of your parents filed charges against Paul?” I asked, wondering if the Winslow’s were going to sweep this matter under the rug.

  “My mother doesn’t know what happened. Neither does my father. Thank God you two came while she was out shopping and Dad’s at work. So, if either one suddenly shows up, you both need to keep your damn mouths shut and mind your own business. What concern of this is yours anyway?!”

  She made it sound as if her parents both still lived together. “Aren’t your parents divorced?”

  She gave me a look like I was stupid. “No, whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Oh, I heard they were recently divorced ... or separated?”

  She was once again rolling her eyes. “You have bad information. You must be confused with Paul and that bitch ... they’re separated.”

  “A clerk from Twice Blessed said you mother was getting rid of all of the old, including her husband, so she could start anew.”

  She gasped and stared hard at me. “My God, I thought that dress looked familiar. You’re wearing my clothes!”

  She narrowed her eyes and fumed at me. For a moment, I thought she might rip it off me. “It was for sale,” I said. “I bought it fair and square.”

  “Fine whatever,” she said, waving an airy hand in the air. “Paul will buy me all new stuff anyway as soon as he’s situated. I knew that bitch wife of his took everything from our condo and took it somewhere. If I would’ve known, maybe I could have saved some of it.”

  Confused, I wondered why Molly would’ve dropped Mrs. Winslow’s name. Why would she lie about the donation, or more aptly, the cleansing of Paul’s
love pad? Was she trying to leave a verbal trail, subtly mentioning “Winslow” in an attempt at implicating her husband and his under-aged lover?

  “How long have you and Paul ... you know?” I asked.

  “About a year now,” she answered calmly.

  “When you were fifteen!” I screamed.

  “Well goodness, don’t get you panties in a wad,” she warned me. “It’s all good. In fact, now that the bitch knows about us, we won’t have to hide anymore. We can come clean. He’ll divorce her and marry me. It’ll all work out in the end.”

  My mouth gaped open and refused to close. “Paul took advantage of my daughter. She’s only eight,” I said to let her know her lover was one sick individual.

  She let out a shocked gasp, then quickly recovered, putting on a stoic face. “I don’t believe you,” she tried to convince herself.

  “I don’t care. Someday you’ll come to realize that Paul has a problem. He’s a pedophile and he doesn’t love you.” I paused for a second, thinking about Roger and Darlene’s daughter, Ellen, and how Paul thought she was hot. “You know what, Paul likes little blonde girls. You’re light blonde with spiral curls. Ellen’s light blonde with spiral curls. My daughter has wavy, sandy blonde hair. Paul has a type. You’re probably only one of many.”

  “You’re wrong,” she snarled, leaning forward in her lounge chair. “Paul loves me. He tells me so all the time.” She might be protesting, but her heart was visibly beating. She rolled the glass over her forehead to soak in the condensation. “Who the hell is Ellen?” she demanded after my comment had processed.

  “Just some other blonde. He told her she was hot. They had dinner together Saturday before last.” It was with Ellen’s whole family, but Felicia didn’t have to know.

  “That can’t be true. You’re lying. You are.”

  “Call him and ask,” I dared.

  “I don’t have to. I know he’s faithful to me,” she roared.

  “You mean, like how faithful he was to his beloved wife?” I posed.