Shirl Henke - Sneak And Rescue

“You can see why I decided the costume wasn’t for me,” Jenny said with a blush. “The skirt fit me like a girdle. I don’t know what I was thinking when that rental clerk talked me into it, but I still thought my sister was coming and Tess would look great in it—just like you do. Harriett Mudd’s pants and shirt worked a lot better for me.”

“Well, at least I can move in it,” Sam conceded. The low boots that came with the outfit had small heels but not enough to bother her if she had to sprint after Farley. I’ll probably catch pneumonia in that air-conditioned hall. But with any luck, she could locate young Winchester and be back in her nurse’s scrubs, transporting her “patient” home by afternoon. All she had to do was give Jenny and her girls the slip.

“How about room service for breakfast?” Jenny asked. The girls immediately chorused agreement.

“Er, I don’t do breakfast. I’ll catch something later,” Sam said.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Tiff parroted like the merit-badge-winning Girl Scout she was.

“You’re right, kiddo, but if I’m gonna stay in this uniform, maybe I’d better skip it just this once. I’ll see you on the floor, okay?”

She left as Tiff insisted she’d have waffles and Mellie demanded French toast. Their mother fecklessly insisted they have yogurt or eggs for protein. Sam knew Jenny’d lose. She always did.

The outrageous Lt. O’Hara costume worked to her advantage. When she slithered up and leaned over the registration counter, the young clerk’s eyeballs bulged out of their sockets and his tongue practically lolled on his keyboard. After flashing Farley’s photo, she had her “cousin’s” suite number in a flash. But when she arrived at the room on the fourteenth floor, which was really the thirteenth, her luck ran in that direction. A maid was already busy making up the beds.

Farley and Elvis had departed for an early start at the con. “What were they dressed like? Could you describe their outfits?” she asked the smiling young woman with the fresh-scrubbed face of a kid working her way through college.

Cyndi, as her name tag identified her, rolled her eyes. “I loved Alien and Lord of the Rings , but these guys are way out there, if you know what I mean—oh, I didn’t intend any offense,” she hastily added, looking at Sam’s skimpy “uniform.” “Er, are they family?” she asked, dubious.

Sam grinned. “Not a chance in hell. One’s a car thief, the other’s a druggie.”

That alarming news oddly seemed to reassure Cyndi. Kid must really need this job bad.

“Well, the shorter one had this icky bulging forehead and a long brown fright wig, big bushy eyebrows and thick, dark makeup. The taller one wore white fur but he didn’t look like the Easter bunny, believe me. Had these antennae sprouting out of his forehead and extra arms—kinda like a big hairy white spider.”

Sam paged through her memory and recalled the photo plates from the reference book she’d brought. “A Klingoff and a Pandorian. Great. Two of the most elaborate costumes. I’ll never recognize them on the floor,” she muttered. “Do they ever come back to the room to chill, have lunch, anything like that?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I work the early shift so I can get to SLU for classes starting at ten. But you might ask Tilda. She’s the floor super and keeps a pretty close eye on what happens with the guests.”

Sam thanked Cyndi and went in search of Tilda, who was as crazed as most of the staff was coping with hordes of people in otherworldly costumes roaming the hallways. All she learned about Farley and Elvis was that they usually returned to their suite and ordered room service around midnight.

Since her odds of locating her target in full Klingoff regalia were less likely than winning the lottery, Sam decided to wait until he and his Pandorian pal returned to their room that night. In the meanwhile, she had escaped Jenny and her girls. They meant well, but this was business and she couldn’t risk having a pair of out of control kids and their noodle-kneed mom get in the way of her earning Roman Numeral’s hefty fee.

With any luck—and heaven knew she was overdue for some—she’d have Farley in custody and be all the way to the Tennessee border by dawn’s early light. Making sure they were gone, Sam used the key they’d given her and slipped into the suite. Her first impulse was to leave the costume behind along with the hasty goodbye note she scrawled on hotel stationary, but she reconsidered.

What if she blew the snatch and had to go back on the floor? No need to stand out. She pulled a wad of cash from her wallet and carefully counted out what she thought was a generous rental deposit. Once she had Farley back in Miami, she’d figure a way to get a receipt from Jenny and add it to Roman Numeral’s bill. Stuffing her personal belongings in her travel bag, she headed back to her van.

Just as she was stashing her gear, her cell rang. Recognizing Matt’s number, she picked up. “Hi sweetie,” she answered brightly.

“How’s St. Louis?”

She looked at the cloudless sky. It was 10:00 a.m. and already the heat was starting to fuse spandex to her skin. At least there wouldn’t be much of it to peel away. “Hot, hot, oh, and did I mention hot?”

“Got a little info on Reicht.” He explained about the illegal prescriptions the doc was peddling. “He’s a supplier for a lot of rich clients, according to my sources.”

“Which we know are always impeccable. The IRS nail him for not reporting illegal income?” she asked. “God forbid they should care about his contacts with drug dealers.”

“She was pretty closemouthed, but I don’t think Kleb knew about the drug thing yet. They started investigating him after stumbling across some large money transfers out of country.”

“He could be a drug dealer,” Sam said, digesting the surprising news. She paused a moment; then a thought occurred to her. “Say, you don’t think he might be blackmailing patients? All kinds of dirty little secrets the rich and crazy in Miami might be spilling to their shrink.” But she reconsidered. “Nah, somehow, I don’t think that fits. Oh, he probably does what your sources said, slipping padded scripts to his patients, but that wouldn’t be enough money to blip the IRS radar.”

“Ah, Samantha, great minds work along the same courses. Guess our meeting was fate.”

“Only if Aunt Claudia is its agent. She paid me to put you on ice, Granger,” she reminded him.

“It was a lot more complicated than that,” he reminded her, then headed off another argument about his aunt’s money by saying, “What’s going on there? Any sightings yet?”

“You ever try to tell one Klingoff from another? They look as much alike as Mary-Kate and Ashley, only with turtle shells glued to their foreheads.”

“That would be tough. An international con like this one must draw thousands. You might have to wait until its over and they’re out of costume,” he said.

“No way. I have their room number. Tonight I’ll be on the road with Farley in the back of the van all safe and secure. But I won’t turn him over to Reicht…or to his loving father right away. The old man doesn’t want the kid anyway. I need a good shrink.”

“I’ve told you that ever since we met, Sam.”

“This from a guy who married his kidnapper. I’ll ask Pat to find me a legit doc to take care of the kid.”

Matt snorted. “I’ve met Patowski. He’ll suggest a state asylum and a lobotomy.”

“Yeah, you have a point,” she admitted grudgingly. “Okay, you find Farley a doc. Deal?”

“Right. Oh, and Sam, don’t do anything crazier than usual. Deal?”