Margaret Grace - Murder In Miniature

I threw my shoulders back. “I am not a cop, but I know cops, and I thought it would be better to get some answers from Ben before I call my friends on the force.” Talk about flailing around. It was all due to Mike’s ill-tempered attitude. I resolved to be more appreciative of the friendly electricians of Lincoln Point.

Mike stepped toward me and leaned in close. “Look, lady, friend of cops, or whatever. I’m an electrician and I got work to do. You got a fuse blown, I’ll replace it. Your lamp don’t work, I’ll fix it. Anything else, you’re on your own.”

Mike tromped back to wherever Duns Scotus maintenance people lived, and I headed for the elevator. I walked down the short flight of stairs that was part of the pathway through the jungle. I’d learned nothing and been put in my place by an electrician with tobacco breath. I was through with the lobby for the night.

But the lobby wasn’t through with me.

Halfway down the row of potted ferns and ficus, a figure jumped out from the mini-woods and landed in front of me. This was becoming a Duns Scotus pattern. Before I could react, the person, a man I was sure, knocked me into a large planter, grabbed my purse from my shoulder, and ran down the path, off to the left, where there was a stairway to the parking garage.

“Stop,” I called out, as I tried to right myself. I was so startled it took me a moment to react. I thought I heard something comic book-like, “Help, help, police!” but I couldn’t be sure the words made it out of my mouth.

In a flash, he and my purse were across the bridge and through the stairwell door. I struggled to my feet and followed, screaming (I thought) all the way, at a disadvantage with my dress heels instead of tennis shoes, which I’d have bet the thief was wearing. Besides that, my left side hurt where my hip and thigh scraped against the ceramic pot.

Was every Duns Scotus guest asleep? Where was its staff? Where were all those men in red who were eager to help get your bags to your room and collect their tips? Couldn’t Aaron at least hear me from the desk or Mike from his maintenance post? Apparently I was on my own, as Mike had decreed.

I ran down one long flight to the garage, which was full of cars of all types, smelling of fuel of all grades. The man who assaulted me was nowhere in sight. The garage had a hollow sound as my footsteps echoed. I expected at any minute to hear dramatic music and see the muzzle of a gun.

I wanted to be out of there before that happened. I had no business chasing a robber anyway. I should be grateful that he wasn’t interested in injuring me any more than he had. I went back up the stairs, my body smarting in new places. I made my way back down the tile path toward the front desk, where I planned to report the incident, once I caught my breath.

I mentally cataloged everything that was in my purse. The only good news was that I’d been carrying my dressy evening bag and had left my thick wallet with most of my cash, my driver’s license, and all my credit cards in the room. I was ready to relegate the matter to the “no great loss” category. The sorry bandit was about to be treated to a lipstick, a fold-up hairbrush, a package of tissues, and about fifteen dollars in bills.

And the key card to my room.

I felt a wave of nausea. The room where Maddie was sleeping. The key cards didn’t have numbers on them, but it was possible that this was not a random pilferer, that the thief knew which room I was in, and he was headed to it right now. He simply had to board the elevator at the parking level and go up to five.

I looked in panic at the bank of elevators, about thirty feet away to my left, and at the front desk about the same distance on the right. Counting time for waiting and the trip to the fifth floor, my best bet was the desk.

I pushed my way in front of a family of travelers who were at the counter. (Where were they when I needed them?) “Sorry, this is an emergency,” I said, out of breath. “My purse was just stolen, and I’m worried that the thief will head for my room.” Everyone cleared out of my way, and I supposed by now, after sprinting down and up a flight of stairs and across a bridge through a jungle, with a tear in my pants, I looked like the kind of woman you’d make way for.

I faced Aaron, the only one on duty now. I felt like the lady who cried wolf. If Mike had by any chance reported on my real reason for wanting to talk to maintenance, there was no way Aaron was going to believe this story.

I plunged in anyway.

“Aaron, did you hear me? Someone just knocked me over and took my purse. I’m in five sixty-eight. Can you send someone from security up there right now? I’ll meet him there.”

Aaron shuffled some papers on the lower level of the registration desk. “I’ll have to fill out a report.”

I looked at Aaron, this time with true urgency. “Please,” I said. “My little granddaughter is in that room and I think someone may be breaking in right now.”

The man of the family group, who had no reason to doubt me, spoke up. “You know you can just have him change the code from here and then the guy won’t be able to get in.” I shot Aaron a questioning look. “Unless he’s already in the room,” the man added.

Not comforting.

Aaron picked up a phone and punched in a number. “But that means Mrs. Porter won’t be able to get in either, so if the guy is already in…”

“Aaron!” I heard my voice reach an eight on the Richter scale.

“I’m sending someone up there immediately,” he said.

“Thank you, thank you.” I turned and darted back toward the elevators.

“Don’t you think you should wait here for security?” Aaron called out.

No, I did not.

The fifth floor was quiet, except for my clomping down the hallway toward room five sixty-eight. Hotel security must have had its own elevator since, much to Aaron’s credit, a tall, husky man wearing a dark jacket with a patch on his sleeve approached my room from the other end of the corridor. Indistinct radio chatter echoed down the hallway. I pictured guests being awakened from sleep, making their way to the peephole to see what was causing the commotion.

We arrived at the door at the same time.

“Thank you so much for coming. Please open the door. Please.” I heard my voice crack, all composure abandoned.

“Stand back,” the man said. He didn’t draw a gun, and a closer look at his face, with lines of maturity around his eyes, told me he was probably a retired policeman. He was fit enough to take care of himself, I hoped. And Maddie, too.

He inserted his keycard, a passkey I assumed, into the slot and pushed open the door. Against his wise advice, I slipped past him. I’d left the desk lamp on so I saw Maddie immediately, snuggled in her bed. I went over to be sure she was breathing. Then I took a breath myself.

Meanwhile, the security man-I needed to learn his name, to thank him for his speedy response-checked the bathroom and the closet, behind the heavy drapes, and even used his extra-long flashlight (which could double as a weapon, I noticed) to look under the beds.

“All clear,” he said.

“Thank you…?”

“They call me Big Blue,” he said, smiling and extending his hand.

“Now I’m sure you were a cop,” I said.

I slept only fitfully, though Big Blue had promised that the entry code for the room had already been changed and said he’d come around often during the night to be sure all was well. Still, I shoved the desk chair under the door handle, hoping to get to it before Maddie woke up and saw it. I didn’t need to worry her. About every hour I thought I heard the doorknob rattle and reached for the phone, only to determine that it had been a dream, or the door to the next room, or a noise from outside. Or nothing at all.