Edward Lee - The Chosen

Lee laughed too, but only half-heartedly. The old men at the end of the bar continued to stare at them. Ghosts, he thought, looking back into his beer. He didn’t believe in them; the whole thing was silly.

But then he remembered the noises he’d been hearing at night, and he—well—

He couldn’t help but wonder.

««—»»

Vera couldn’t help but wonder. She lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. Too much on my mind. But how much of it was even legitimate? Chief Mulligan’s strange implications, and Feldspar’s even stranger behavior at dinner. Then there was that well-dressed thuggish-looking man who Kyle was checking into a suite close to midnight…

Go to sleep, for God’s sake, she whined at herself. The bedroom’s darkness felt thick with heat. What the hell time does Kyle close room service? she wondered next, noting by her alarm clock that it was now past 3 a.m. She could hear the doors of the RS elevators opening and closing…

thunk-thunk…thunk-thunk…thunk-thunk —

It went on all night now, every night.

Then she heard—

What the… She got out of bed, exasperated. Moonlight tinted the carpet eerily across the room. She padded for the door.

Footsteps, she thought.

Yes, she felt sure this time. She’d heard footsteps out in the hall.

She clicked the bedroom door open, peeked out…

All that lit the hall this late were the little marker lights by the door to each room. She couldn’t see well but well enough:

That maid, she realized.

That chunky woman with bunned hair, the one who never talked. Of course, now that she reminded herself, none of the housekeeping staff ever seemed to utter a word.

Obviously the maid had been coming from the far rooms down the floor. Lee’s room, and Dan B. and Donna’s. Her generic white shoes carried her silently down the hall. What’s she doing up here this late? Vera wondered. Vera’s own little group of rental suites were located at the other end of the wing, and no one had been checked into any of them. Just Kyle’s rooms on the upper floors. So what could this maid be doing here?

Then…

Vera squinted out. As the maid walked on, another figure appeared, just stepping onto the landing. Vera wasn’t sure but—

Donna? Is that … Donna?

The figure passed the maid without a word or so much as a glance. After another few steps, Vera knew her eyes didn’t deceive her.

It is Donna, she recognized.

Another mystery. Donna had gone to bed hours ago. What was she doing coming up from downstairs at this hour? There was no reason for Donna to be downstairs now. And—

What the hell! Vera thought next.

Now she simply couldn’t believe her eyes.

Donna was dressed in nothing but that racy lingerie she’d bought in town the other day…

The darkness swarmed. Even in the feeble light, Donna’s state of attire could not be dismissed as a trick of the eye. The stout breasts shone more than plain in the sheer nippleless lace bra. Even more than plain was the thick plot of pubic hair revealed by the diminutive crotchless panties…

“Donna!’’ Vera whispered. “ Don na!’’

Her friend approached, or at least seemed to—

“Donna, what in God’s name are you doing walking around The Inn dressed in—”

—and then she walked right past Vera without reply or even recognition. Donna’s face, in the grainy dark, looked blank.

Then she went into her bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her.

This is ridiculous! Vera seethed. Sure, she was whispering, but it was a pretty fierce whisper, and there was no way Donna wouldn’t have seen her standing in her own doorway.

Vera stepped out into the hall, approached Donna’s door, and raised her fist to knock…

But at once she felt too embarrassed. What would she say? And surely she’d wake up Dan B. Maybe she has some sleep disorder, she then reluctantly considered. And as her thoughts ticked, standing there before Donna’s door, she… smelled something.

Oh no, she thought.

The smell, just the faintest trace, could not be mistaken, and that made her think at once of the bottle of rail liquor she’d found hidden beside the fireplace…

Downstairs.

Donna, her friend, but the reformed alcoholic nonetheless.

And this was what she smelled in the air at Donna’s door: Scotch.

— | — | —

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Right in there,” she heard Kyle’s voice beyond her office doorway the next morning. Vera looked up from the weekly stock inventories spread across her desk. A man stood there—not a man, she realized at once, but the man she’d seen checking in last night.

The thug, she thought.

“Ms. Abbot?”

“Yes, come in. Can I help you?”

“I’m Terrence Taylor, and I represent an accounting firm,” the man said. He entered casually and sat down. “We’re called Morton-Gibson Ltd.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Taylor,” Vera said, slightly off guard. An accounting firm? This didn’t sound right, not from a man whom just hours ago she suspected of being a Mafioso lieutenant.

Taylor was ruggedly handsome, with dark hair combed straight back. He wore an elegant dark suit, a rich steel-blue, and he seemed fit, like a city yuppie. “Your facility is very nice,” he went on, “very well appointed. And my suite on the second floor was charming.”

Second floor! Vera thought. That’s not one of Kyle’s suites, that’s one of mine! He checked someone in and didn’t even tell me! But before Vera’s mental rage could go on, Taylor added, “A bit noisy, if you don’t mind an objective grievance, but still, a very nice accommodation. Anyway, we heard about your recent opening, so my bosses sent me up here to have a look around and to see if you’d be interested in our services.”

Vera let her previous anger tick down. “Well, uh,” she stammered, “we’re not having any accounting problems to my knowledge, and even if we were, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be the person to talk to about that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was told you were the manager.”

“The restaurant manager,” Vera corrected. “You’d want to talk to Mr. Feldspar.” She immediately regretted saying this; Feldspar obviously wasn’t interested in contracting an accounting firm. “But I’m afraid he’s just left for a business convention, and he won’t be in for several days.”

“He’s in,” Kyle announced, appearing at once in her doorway. The little creep, Vera thought. I’ll bet he’s been standing out there the whole time, eavesdropping. Her phony smile fluttered. “Oh, well in that case, would you please take this gentleman to Mr. Feldspar’s office. He’s an accounting contractor.”

“Sure,” Kyle said. “Right this way, sir.”

“Nice meeting you, Ms. Abbot,” Taylor bid and got up. “Before I leave, I’ll be sure to have dinner at your restaurant.”

“Please do,” Vera said. “Oh, and Kyle? When you’re done showing Mr. Taylor to Mr. Feldspar’s office, could I have a word with you, please?”

“Sure, Ver.”

Sure, Ver, she mimicked. Kyle showed Taylor out, and Vera’s irritation trickled further. The little prick! And what of this Taylor fellow? A mafia thug? He was obviously just an errand boy for an accounting firm, looking for business. Some thug, she thought. Some mob boss.

“What’s up, Ver?” Kyle had returned, loping back into her office. Vera immediately got up, closed the door, and yelled, “Who the hell do you think you are checking a guest into one of my suites without even telling me!”