Phillip Margolin: Sleeping Beauty

The bellman Claire Rolvag was looking for was standing next to the box with the keys of guests who parked in the hotel garage. She turned into the long, circular driveway, pulled around a cab, and parked her shiny new Lexus in front of him.

“Carlos?” she asked when he walked over to the driver’s window.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Claire. I’m filling in for Barbara Bridger, just for tonight.”

“She told me what you’d be driving,” Carlos said as he opened Claire’s door. Claire grabbed the book that lay on her passenger seat and got out.

“It’ll be over there,” he said, pointing to an area at the end of the driveway.

Claire thanked Carlos and handed him a folded bill, which he slipped into his pocket. He was driving the car to the spot he’d indicated when the doorman welcomed Claire to the Newbury, one of Seattle ’s finest hotels.

There was a convention in town and the Newbury was packed with laughing, chatting people. Claire shouldered through them until she stood in the center of the lobby. She scanned the crowd. He wasn’t there. A bell signaled the arrival of an elevator. Claire cast an anxious glance at her watch, then focused on the group of conventioneers that poured out. For a moment Claire did not see him. Then Miles Van Meter was standing in front of the bank of elevators. His sandy blond hair and blue eyes had been touched up in the color photograph on the back of the book jacket of Sleeping Beauty to hide his gray hairs, and he was a little shorter than Claire had imagined, but he was just as handsome in person as he was on television.

The lawyer-turned-writer was in his forties, five-foot-ten, broad-shouldered, and trim. He had dressed in a tailored gray pinstripe suit, white Oxford cloth shirt, and a tasteful Armani tie. Most escorts would have been surprised by the elegance of Van Meter’s attire. Male authors traditionally wore sports jackets on their tours-if they wore jackets at all-and damn few brought ties with them. You packed light and opted for comfort when you spent weeks of one-nighters, rising before dawn each day to catch another short flight to another strange city. But Miles Van Meter, a corporate attorney with a large firm of business lawyers, was used to traveling first class and dressing expensively.

Van Meter spotted Claire easily because she was holding a copy of his true-crime bestseller. He guessed that the attractive brunette was in her mid-thirties and would be peppy and efficient, as were most of the author escorts who shepherded him through his appearances in the often unfamiliar cities he visited each day of his grueling, six-week book tour.

Miles held up his hands in a mock plea for forgiveness. “Sorry, I know I’m late. My plane from Cleveland was delayed.”

“It’s not a problem,” Claire assured him. “I just got here myself, and the store is only twenty minutes away.”

Miles started to say something. Then he paused and looked at Claire more closely.

“You didn’t take me around last time, did you?”

“You’re thinking of Barbara Bridger. She owns the escort business. I’m just filling in. Her son came down with the flu and Dave-her husband-is out of town on business.”

“Okay. I thought it was someone else. You do this a lot?”

“My first time, actually,” Claire answered as they left the lobby and headed toward her car. “Barb and I are good friends and I told her I’d be willing to help if she ever got in a jam. So…”

As Claire shrugged, Carlos spotted them crossing toward him and ran over to open the passenger door for Miles. He knew the drill. She was hired help. Miles Van Meter was the star.

It was a little before seven at night when Claire pulled into traffic. Rain was falling, so she switched on the wipers.

“You didn’t do Murder for Fun last time, did you?” Claire asked.

“No. I think I hit one of the superstores, Barnes and Noble or Borders. I’m not sure which. After a few days they all blur together.”

“You’ll like this store. It’s small but Jill Lane, the owner, always makes certain that there’s a big crowd.”

“Great,” Miles said, but Claire sensed that the enthusiasm was manufactured. She knew that her author had been on the road for three and a half weeks, which meant that he was probably sleep-deprived and running on fumes.

“Is your room okay?”

“I’m in a suite with a view. Not that I’ll get much use out of it. I’ve got a six forty-five flight to Boston tomorrow morning. Then it’s on to Des Moines, Omaha, and I forget where after that.”

Claire laughed. “You’re doing pretty well. Barb says that after three weeks on the road most of her authors can’t remember where they were the day before.” Claire checked her watch. “There’s a cooler in the back seat with soft drinks and bottled water, if you want any.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Did you get a chance to eat?”

“On the plane.”

Miles closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Claire decided to let him relax in silence for the rest of the ride.

Murder for Fun was a mystery bookstore located in a strip mall on the outskirts of the city. Claire parked around back, next to the service entrance. She’d phoned from the car when they were a few minutes away, and Jill Lane opened the back door after her first knock. Jill was a pleasant, heavyset woman with salt-and-pepper hair. She had on a peasant dress and wore a turquoise-and-silver Native American necklace and matching earrings. Jill had retired after a successful career as a real estate broker. Reading mysteries had been her passion, and she’d jumped at the chance to buy the store when the first owner had to move to Arizona for his health.

“I can’t thank you enough for coming, Mr. Van Meter,” Jill said as she ushered Claire and Miles inside. “And you’re going to be very pleased with the audience. We’ve got a full house. All of the seats have been taken and there are people standing in the aisles between the bookshelves.”

Miles couldn’t help smiling. “That’s very flattering.”

“Oh, the book is great. And Joshua Maxfield’s appeal put the case back on the front pages. Did you know that Maxfield’s two novels have been reissued? They’re back on the bestseller lists.”

Van Meter sobered.

“I’m sorry,” Jill apologized immediately. “That was insensitive of me.”

“No, it’s okay.” Miles shook his head. “It’s just that I can’t help thinking about Casey when I hear Maxfield’s name.”

The back door opened into a storeroom/office. A desk overflowing with paperwork stood next to one wall, and cartons filled with new releases were piled against another. Stacks of books were everywhere. A table stood in the center of the room. On it were several copies of Sleeping Beauty. Jill pointed to them.

“Would you sign these before you leave? We’ve had requests from several people who couldn’t make it tonight and customers who ordered off our Internet site.”

“I’d be glad to.”

Jill peeked through the office door and down the short hall that led to the front of the bookstore. Miles and Claire heard a rumble of conversation.

“Do you need anything?” Jill asked. “I’ve got a bottle of water on the podium and there’s a mike. I think you’ll have to use it.”

Miles smiled. “Let’s do it.”

Jill led the way down the hall. Murder for Fun was dark, dusty, and crammed with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, separated by narrow aisles. The shelves were designated as the homes of “New Arrivals,” “Hard-boiled,” “True Crime,” and other mystery categories by hand-lettered signs, giving the store a homey feel that reflected Jill’s personality. A podium was standing in one corner of the store. Several rows of bridge chairs had been set up in front of it. The chairs all held customers, many of whom held hardcover or paperback copies of Sleeping Beauty that they hoped Miles would sign.