“I assume she’s over at the Civic. Let’s see. It’s almost one. I think she was supposed to chair a panel that started at twelve-thirty. It runs until three. After that, the convention’s done. She should be packed and over here by five.”

  If it could only be that simple. “You didn’t by any chance see her last night.”

  After a pause he said, “No, she was having a drink with a friend.”

  “Right. At a bar in northeast Minneapolis. But she called me around eleven. Seems she had some car trouble and needed a way home.”

  “Really. That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “She called you at your parents’ house, but you weren’t there.”

  “No, I… wasn’t.”

  Interesting, thought Sophie. Why the hesitation? She wanted to ask him where he was, but since he wasn’t being particularly forthcoming, she thought it might seem too intrusive. “Have you talked to her this morning?”

  “Actually, no. I left her a couple of messages, but she hasn’t called me back yet. I figured she’d be pretty busy on the last morning of the convention.” He paused. “Is something wrong? You sound worried.”

  There was no point in keeping secrets. “Lavinia and I were supposed to meet for brunch around ten. She never came. So I had someone let me into her suite and —” She stopped herself. Why hadn’t she anticipated how difficult it would be to tell him her fears?

  “And what?” he prompted.

  “Well, the place was trashed.”

  Silence.

  “Everything was upturned, tossed around.”

  “But… I don’t understand. Who did it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did Lavinia say? She must have some idea.”

  “That’s just it. I … don’t know where she is. I was hoping she was with you.”

  More silence. “She’s not.”

  “Look, Peter, I think it was probably a pretty straightforward burglary attempt. Except that —”

  “Except what?”

  “Whoever got into the room must have had a key.”

  “What the hell’s going on over there?” Suddenly he sounded angry.

  “But the police said there was no evidence of a struggle,” she reassured him, feeling more clumsy with each passing second. She was saying all the wrong things in all the wrong ways. She glanced over at Bram for moral support. “But maybe Lavinia was called away early and forgot about our brunch. While she was gone someone must have gotten into the room. Except —”

  ‘Tell me!” he said, his voice rising in frustration.

  “Well, her bed doesn’t look like it was slept in.”

  “This is ridiculous. I’m coming back there right now.”

  “Sure, but —”

  There was no goodbye. Only the click of a broken connection.

  “Pretty upset, huh?” said Bram, watching her drop die receiver back on its hook. He eyed her with concern.

  “Yes,” she conceded. “He was.”

  “You did your best to put a positive spin on it.”

  “Did I?” She was thoroughly disgusted with herself. She’d acted without thinking. She should have spent a few moments figuring out how to break the news to him, but instead, she’d blithered her way through the entire conversation, making everything worse.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” said Bram, giving her hand a squeeze.

  His attempt at kindness only made her feel worse. She shouldn’t be let off the hook that easily. She was angry. At herself, at her friends for not being there when she needed to talk to them, and at Lavinia. “I’ve got to get to the bottom of this,” she said, feeling incredibly awake, plugged in, ready for action. Yet there was nothing to do .

  The buzzer sounded.

  “Maybe that’s Elvis,” she said, hurrying over to the door. Sure enough, when she swung it open, the bellboy stood outside.

  “Hi, Ms. Greenway.” He flashed her a friendly smile. “Mr. Baldric.” He nodded to Bram.

  “Come in.” Sophie held the door for him while he entered.

  “Actually, I should get back to my station,” he said apologetically. “But I did check out the convention, just like you asked.”

  “And?”

  “She’s not there. Or at least, nobody’s seen her. One of the women at the information booth said she was supposed to be in charge of some panel, but she never showed up. I guess another woman had to fill in for her. People were really upset.”

  Sophie could feel her heart beat faster. This was not good news.

  “But,” continued Elvis, “on my way up here I ran into my supervisor. We got to talking in the elevator and he said he was pretty sure he saw Ms. Fiore leave the hotel sometime around eleven.”

  “Pretty sure?” repeated Sophie.

  Elvis shrugged. “That’s what he said. He’s seen her a few times in the hotel lobby, so I assume he knows what he’s talking about.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “Yup. She got off the elevator and walked straight out the front door.”

  Sophie felt the muscles in her back relax. At last, something positive. “Thanks, Elvis. I really appreciate your help.”

  “No problem. Well, I gotta go.” He tipped his cap and made a speedy exit.

  “So,” said Bram, watching her. “That’s good news, right? Lavinia must be around somewhere.”

  Sophie shut the door and then leaned against it, mulling it over. “If it actually was Lavinia.”

  “Who else could it be?”

  “Think about it for a minute, Bram. Lavinia and Cindy still look a lot alike, especially when Lavinia has her hair up. If you didn’t know them all that well, you could easily get them mixed up.”

  “Oh.”

  “And, if she left around eleven, why didn’t she make it to the convention for her panel?”

  “That’s a good question. So, what do we do next?’ Wasn’t that the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question? “Come on,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Where are we going?”

  “Back down to Lavinia’s suite. Who knows? Maybe I missed something the first time. We’ll never know unless we give it one last shot.”

  19

  “You were right,” said Bram, entering Lavinia’s suite a few minutes later. “This really is a mess. I’m glad your mom and dad aren’t here to see it. It would have sent your dad’s blood pressure right through the roof.”

  Sophie stepped over to the far wall and drew back the dark brown curtains. Bright afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windows, making the room look even worse.

  “Are we allowed to touch?’ asked Bram, moving cautiously over to the bar. “Or did the police suggest we leave it alone until Lavinia gets back?’

  “As far as I know, the police just wanted her to look through her belongings to make sure nothing was missing.”

  Bram leaned his elbow on the polished marble counter. As he gazed at the once beautiful interior he lapsed into a kind of depressed reverie.

  Sophie flipped on the light in the bedroom and opened the blinds. She needed tight before she could begin any kind of examination. She had no idea what she was searching for, she was merely proceeding on the assumption that there might be a clue she’d missed, one that might tell her where Lavinia had gone. If the police hadn’t viewed this mess as anything more dastardly than a simple hotel burglary, why should she?

  She paused in the doorway and glanced at her husband, who was now down on his hands and knees searching through the contents of one of the larger suitcases. She was glad he was here, even if he didn’t bring any more answers to the table than she did. “Honey?”

  “Um?”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask the question that had been gnawing at her for the last hour. “How long does someone have to be gone before the police consider them a ‘missing person’?”

  Bram looked up. “I think it’s a little too soon to hit the panic button, Soph. Let’s give it some more time.”

  “But… what if she doesn’t come back by tonight?”

  “Then —” He sat back on his heels. “We’ll notify the police.”

  “But what if she’s in trouble now ?”<

  “Sophie, you’re going to drive yourself nuts if you keep asking all these questions. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Not a good enough answer, thought Sophie, yet it was the only one they had. As she sat down on the only part of the sofa still intact, she noticed a paper plate sticking out from underneath a section of the morning newspaper right next to her foot. Curious what Lavinia had been eating, she kicked the paper aside. “What’s this?” she said under her breath. She bent down and picked up the plate, uncovering several small lumps of what looked like her once famous bite-sized cream cheese balls.

  “What is it?” asked Bram. He stopped his own search to see what she’d found.

  “Remember those cheese balls I used to make?”

  “You mean your old college recipe?”

  She nodded, then pointed to the lumps. “When I served them the other night at the reunion, everyone said they hadn’t eaten them in years.”

  “Maybe Lavinia took some with her.”

  “Nope. We ate them all.” She poked one of the lumps.

  Bram came over to take a closer look. “So what’s it mean?”

  “It means,” said Sophie, tapping a finger against the side of her face, “that someone made a batch yesterday.”

  “You mean Lavinia?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Why not probably? They’re in her room. Unless she made them herself, where else would she get them?”

  Sophie shrugged. “Bunny, or Cindy. Even Adelle. They all had the recipe. I Xeroxed each of them a copy of my old cookbook. If you could make them in a dorm room, you could certainly make them in a hotel. Maybe someone decided to whip up a batch and share them around. You know, just to be friendly.”

  Bram leaned close to the floor and sniffed the lumps. “Whew, they stink.”

  She took her own sniff. She had to admit, they didn’t smell quite right.

  “What was that?” Bram’s head shot up.

  “Someone’s at the door,” said Sophie. Right now neither one of them had nerves of steel. “Come in,” she called, getting up. “It’s open.”

  Frances Lester, the housekeeping supervisor, popped her head inside the room. “I finally found a key for the closet door. Thought I’d bring it up.” She dangled it off the end of her finger.

  “Thanks,” said Sophie, slipping it into her pocket.

  “Have you heard anything from Ms. Fiore?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m sure you will soon. If you ask me, whoever burgled her stuff should be boiled in oil.” She gave the room a nasty glance. “Well, if you don’t need me anymore, I’ve got some work to do in the south wing.”

  “I’ll let you know what happens,” said Sophie. “And thanks again for the key.”

  After she was gone, Bram asked, “The closet door is locked? You mean, no one’s checked to see what’s inside?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But… doesn’t that strike you as funny?”

  “Doesn’t what strike me as funny?” She hurried into the bedroom.

  Bram followed. “I know these old locks. Any guy with a modicum of strength could snap it open in a flash. How come the burglar didn’t do it? There might have been valuables inside just ripe for the picking.”

  “That’s a good question,” said Sophie. One neither she nor the police had considered. “Maybe the burglar was a woman and the lock was too strong for her.”

  “A sexist comment if I ever heard one.”

  Sophie pushed the key into the lock, twisted it, and opened the door. Inside, everything was jumbled together on the floor. Dresses. Shoes. Coats. Hats. Nothing was where it should be.

  “Hmm,” said Bram, staring at the mess. “I guess we were both wrong. The burglar did get in.” He kicked some of the clothes aside, revealing a corner of the bedspread.

  “Hey,” said Sophie. “I wondered where that went. But… what’s it doing in here?”

  Bram leaned down and tried to yank it free. It wouldn’t budge. He pulled several coats and sweaters off the top to get a better grip.

  Sophie took some of the clothes and placed them carefully on the bed. Lavinia would just be sick when she saw how wrinkled everything was.

  “What the —” He was on his hands and knees now.

  “What is it?” asked Sophie, moving back to the closet.

  As Bram looked up she could see that his face had lost some of its color. “We’ve got to call the police,” he said, scrambling to his feet “Why?”

  “It’s Lavinia.” He gripped her shoulders and looked her square in the eye. “Sweetheart, she’s … dead.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, her knees nearly buckled. “You’re … sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Anybody home?” called Peter, pocketing his key as he breezed through the door and entered the suite.

  Sophie seized Bram’s arm. This was the worst possible timing.

  “What are you two doing in here?” he demanded, seeing them emerge from the bedroom. His blond hair was windblown. As he stood glaring at them he tried to rake it back into place.

  “I’m afraid —” began Bram, but Peter cut him off.

  “You’re afraid what? What the hell’s going on here?” He surveyed the room in one long, defiant glance. “I want some answers.”

  “It’s Lavinia,” continued Bram.

  “What about her?”

  “We … found her in the closet. I’m sorry, Peter.”

  He bumped past them into the bedroom. In an instant he was by her side, checking her pulse, his fingers gently smoothing back her hair. “Get somebody! Call someone! There’s got to be something we can do!”

  Bram squeezed Sophie’s hand. There was no way to make this easier for him.

  And no way on earth to change what had happened.

  20

  As Sophie walked into the bar, she looked around for a dark booth where she could sit unnoticed and alone. Fourteen stories above her, a homicide detective had taken over Lavinia’s suite and was interrogating Peter. Since she and Bram had discovered the body, they’d spoken with the officer first, giving their statements as clearly and concisely as possible.

  Unfortunately, Bram had scheduled a six o’clock taped interview with a state senator over at WTWN and couldn’t get out of it, not even to stay and help Sophie come to terms with the loss of an old friend. They would spend some time together later, back at their own home, attempting to make sense of what, on the face of it, seemed an utterly senseless murder.

  For now, Sophie was on her own. She didn’t want to leave die Maxfield until she’d made an attempt to contact the other members of her old group. So, instead of hiding in her parents’ apartment, she decided to go downstairs and use the bar phone. That way she felt more connected to what was happening, and ultimately, less isolated by her own thoughts.

  The convention had ended hours ago. By now, Bunny and Cindy should have returned to the hotel. The odd thing was, when she’d checked her parents’ voice mail a few minutes ago, there were still no messages.

  Easing onto a stool, Sophie caught the bartender’s eye.

  “Hey, Ms. Greenway,” called Sherman. He was pouring a drink at the other end of the bar. “Be right with you.”

  Sherman Watts was an institution around the Maxfield. He’d been the main bartender at Scotties for almost thirty years. Perhaps he might find this an unflattering observation, but Sophie’d always thought he looked like a jockey — small, tough, wiry. All that was missing were the silks and the horse.

  She waited for him to finish, absently popping several peanuts into her mouth. They tasted like sawdust Pushing the bowl away, she folded her hands on the table and gazed at her own reflection in the etched mirror that ran the length of the back counter. She looked every bit as depressed as she felt “Can I get you something?” asked Sherman, running a damp cloth over the counter as he approached.

  “Why not?” said Sophie. “Make it a whiskey sour.” She watched his experienced fingers prepare the cocktail. “And I need to use the bar phone.”

  “No problem.” He set the drink on a napkin in front of her and then reached under the counter and grabbed a small cell phone.

  “Thanks.” She was about to move over to a booth with it when she had a thought. “Say, Sherm? I was wondering. Do the hotel security guards spend a lot of time in here? Drinking? Shooting the breeze? Eating peanuts?”

  “Well, not drinking alcohol,” he said somewhat sheepishly. “But yeah, they drink a lot of Coke.”

  “I thought so,” said Sophie. She hesitated. “Did my father know about it?”

  He shook his head. “When they saw him coming, they always took off out the back.”

  “And you didn’t want to rat on fellow employees by informing my dad that they were worthless deadbeats.”

  “Something like that, Ms. Greenway. Being a management mole isn’t part of my job description.” He said the words soberly, yet she could see a certain twinkle in his eye.

  “Thanks, Sherm.”

  “No problem.” He picked up a glass and began polishing it “Oh, by the way, die security boys were in here a little while ago, but they left before you came in. They must have radar.”

  “No, actually, we had an … incident upstairs. That’s where they are now.”

  “Same thing as yesterday?”

  “What happened yesterday?”

  “That man who was stalking one of the guests. The police took him into custody yesterday afternoon.”

  “Oh, right No, that guy’s in jail, thank God.”

  Sherman stopped polishing. “No, he’s not.”

  “Of course he is. The police arrested him.”

  “Not according to what one of the security guards told me just a few minutes ago.”

  Sophie stared at him. “Explain.”

  “Well.” He leaned across the bar and spoke more confidentially. “The police took him in and questioned him, but they didn’t have evidence to make an actual arrest.”