The Hammett Hex (18 page)

I would have liked to join her, but I had stuff to do.

I slid William's recliner over to the vast bed and leaned forward. I said, “That was awesome oatmeal this morning. I'd never had anything like it.” I didn't mention the Froot Loops or Count Chocula I grew up with. Gram beamed at me.

I said, “You might not be smiling when this is over, but I need to ask you some questions that may be uncomfortable and even unfair.”

“I'm a tough old bird,” she said with a chuckle. “What's that they say nowadays? Bring it on?”

I brought it on. “I need to know about your will.”

She blinked and the telltale family flush started at her neck and rose higher.

“I realize that it's rude to ask, and I'm sorry, but we need to figure out what is going on with people breaking into your house and threatening you.” I left out the missing dog, Zoya's injuries and everything that had happened to us.

“I'm sure it has nothing to do with my financial affairs,” she said as the blush spread.

“Maybe not, but let's rule it out then. They do say, ‘Follow the money.'”

She looked at me shrewdly. “Fine. What do you need to know?”

“Exactly who stands to benefit.”

“Oh. Well, Tyler, of course. He's always been my heir, since my husband died.”

“I had assumed that.”

“I've never really discussed it with him. Perhaps I should.”

“Who else? His parents?”

Her lips pursed. “No way. Most of what I have, and I'm very comfortable, is because William, my second husband, built a successful business. I helped by investing the rather small amount my first husband left me. He made it work for both of us and we never looked back. Tyler's parents cut me off and, worse, cut me off from Tyler, so, no, they won't be getting a cent.”

“Right,” I said.

“And if you're thinking my first husband should have left some money to his only son, you're right. He should have and he did. My son couldn't stand that I'd use what was rightfully mine and move on with my life.”

“Okay then. So not Tyler's parents. Good.”

“Why good?”

“Because the more we eliminate, the more likely we are to figure out who is behind these attacks.”

“Fair enough.”

“What about Zoya?”

“Zoya! Surely you don't think—”

From the door, I heard, “Zoya vat?”

We both whirled. I said, “Surely Zoya will have found out something about this morning.”

She squinted suspiciously and waved her arms. “No Asta. Novere. Should call police.”

That was bad news. We all wanted Asta back.

Gram rolled her eyes. “By all means, Zoya. See where you get with the police, although they haven't been much help sorting anything else out.”

Zoya stomped away and down the stairs. Gram exhaled.
“Yes. She will get a certain amount. Enough to get by on. But she'll lose her home and her meals and everything she has here. She'd definitely need to get another job soon. It might not be as good as this one.” Gram glanced at me and pursed her lips.

“I understand her situation,” I said. After all, it was much like mine, except that my work was more interesting and my boss was not as nice.

Gram sighed. “I think I am going to have to revise that will to make sure Zoya's looked after better. I'm all she has in the world.”

“You might want to wait until we figure out what's going on first.”

Gram's blue eyes flashed just a bit. “I'll make that decision.”

“Oh course, but before I go, by any chance is there anything for Gus or the boys?”

“In my will?”

“Yes.”

“Of course there isn't. Why would there be?”

I used “police talk.” “Just eliminating suspects.”

“Suspects? Really, my dear. Gus is not a suspect. He's as honest as anyone I've ever met, and his boys are big chips off the little block.”

“Well, that's good news, isn't it? There couldn't be any issue with an unpaid bill or something he feels entitled to?”

“There is no issue!”

“Have there ever been any valuables missing from the house?”

“Are you accusing—”

“No. Just eliminating people, as I said.”

“Well, except for Gus, you haven't eliminated anyone.”

That was true. “What about relatives on your second husband's side? I think you mentioned cousins.”

She took a breath. “There are some. I'd been hoping that
Tyler could meet his cousins one of these days, although they're really step-cousins.”

“So exactly who are these cousins?”

“First of all, the real relatives are my late husband's nieces, Clara and Janet. They all live in New York State. We weren't close, in any way. Janet has a daughter and Clara has a son. Unless it's the other way around. I did make some small provisions—money and heirlooms—for all four, just as my husband had in his will.”

“But they might be upset about the will favoring Tyler?”

“They probably would be, but how would they know? I didn't tell them. As I said, we're not all that close. We're in touch maybe once a year. Nothing's changed. Tyler was always the one. And if something were ever to alter that, the money I'd be leaving to him will go to a foundation to maintain parks. I don't remember the name right off.”

“Would they know that?”

“They wouldn't know anything, unless one of them is a mind reader. Now, I think I need to close my eyes. This has been quite upsetting.” I noticed she didn't call me “my dear.”

“I'm sorry. I had to ask, but that should be the end of it.”

I felt like a creep as I tiptoed away. Tyler appeared in his doorway suddenly, stretching. “Nothing like a full hour's sleep to get a guy going.”

“Are you staying up?” I asked.

“I think so.”

In the middle of our conversation, a text came in, just a bit of silliness from Lance. But after it, I spotted a text I must have missed from Farley Tso:
Jordan, I have your item.
I felt like dancing. Must have been just a lookalike on the news. Although I'd only met him once, my knees felt weak with relief. Farley was alive and I could collect
Red Harvest
for Vera. “I'll go to the hotel. I'd like to get my clothes and check on everything there.”

“I don't like the idea of you going by yourself.”

“Well, you're better to defend this place than I am.”

“Still, who could you take with you?”

Officer Martinez was long gone. Gus and the boys were hammering away doing something good at least. Zoya was in no shape to do anything. Gram was out of the question.

“I'll be fine. And I'll stay in touch by phone or text.”

“Better take a cab and be really careful.”

*   *   *

I USED MY
phone to book an Uber. There were several drivers in the area and I chose the closest one. Soon I was zooming along in a white Prius with my driver, Steve. Steve was in his late twenties and good-looking in that “short-haired with a large but well-trimmed mustache and suspenders” way. Also he was polite and just friendly enough. I couldn't help noticing that he had a copy of
On the Road
in the passenger seat. I felt a kinship toward him as another reader of classic books. He didn't insist on chatting. That was another point in his favor. We drove down the long hills past elegant row houses. I felt that vacation feeling for a brief moment.

My shoulders sagged thinking about it. San Francisco was so beautiful and charming and scenic, and yet behind the walls of these stately residences and down these whimsical back streets lurked duplicity and danger. We had no idea who was being duplicitous and where the danger was coming from. It was as dark and deadly as a scene from Hammett's own mind. Not the fun-filled Nick and Nora type of adventure, but a Sam Spade or Continental Op in which maybe no one would get out alive. As we neared the area of Farley's Finest, I had a vision of Vera's face. I was awfully glad I wouldn't be going home without
Red Harvest
. Whoever was making this the holiday from hell was not going to give Vera the ammunition to make me miserable at home. As we hurled along the busy streets, I reached into
my satchel and fished out the antique handkerchief box that Farley had given me. I'd been too busy staying alive to think much about it. I opened it up. It had a hint of cedar and one crisp white hanky inside. Obviously the hanky was not original, just a sweet touch. I pulled it out to dab the sweat off my lip, elicited by thoughts of Vera. The corner remained in the little box, wedged in a gap along the base. With a slight tug, up came a false bottom. Sitting underneath was a gorgeous Art Deco rhinestone necklace. This was too much! Farley had hidden yet another gift inside and I hadn't even noticed until now. However, considering all that had happened in two days, I suppose I could be excused. I held the necklace up to the light; it was a stunner. Just amazing quality and a nice weight to it. Even as costume jewelry this must have been worth over a thousand dollars. And now that I was considering it, perhaps Mr. Tso had not intended to give me this gift, even if he was a “friend” of Mick's. As gorgeous as it was, and as much as I would have loved to, I decided I would not keep it. It was either a mistake or far too generous a present.

As we approached our destination, I leaned forward and asked Steve, “Can you stop there and wait for me? I just need to pick something up.”

“No worries,” Steve said.

I settled back and relaxed a bit. The windows were open a bit and I enjoyed the soft touch of the wind on my face. It felt so normal. A touch of normal life would do me good, clear my mind to work on the problem we were facing. Not that Farley's was normal in any way.

When we reached the Dali Mural, Steve found a nearby place to park. “I don't think you can park here.”

He said, “No worries,” again. A mantra perhaps. “Just message me if I'm not here when you come out and I'll swing back soon as I can.” He settled back with his copy of
On the Road
, Kerouac still being pretty good company after all these years.

“I shouldn't be long,” I said, slipping out of the car. He gave me a businesslike smile, undermined slightly by his suspenders and mustache, and returned to his reading.

On this afternoon there was much less hustle and flow than previously. There was no intoxicating smell of churro nor was there a puppet lady, and when I reached the alley, I was saddened to see that the men on stools were not there either. I put on my “don't mess with me” stride and clicked my heels toward Farley's. The daylight from the street wasn't strong enough to reach the depths of the alley, and steam poured from a low vent.

Well,
that
was totally going to wreck my hair.

Around the corner was a dank empty alcove. Goose bumps pricked my neck and arms. I stepped into the small space; on the ground were a torn business card and a trampled peacock feather. There were scuff marks on the pavement where things had clearly been dragged.

“Farley?” I knocked at the wall. “Mr. Tso?” My voice echoing through the steam was making a creepy situation even creepier. What had happened here? Where did everyone and everything go? There was no door, no “Back in five minutes” sign. You would never have known that a shop bursting with a million curiosities had been here just the day before. This town was starting to give me the creeps.

I took a quick pic of the feather and card on the ground and tried to text it to Uncle Mick. Seeing as he and Farley were friends, on some level, maybe he could shed some light on this weirdness.

Angry voices echoed from behind a doorway, and I thought I heard footsteps slapping the damp cement. My phone chirped about lack of signal and a voice in the back of my head said,
Maybe you should get the heck out of the
dark alley where things seem to disappear.
Soon my inner voice was drowned out by the sounds of my boots hitting the pavement as I hightailed it toward the street. I almost dropped my satchel, and wasn't even sure if I would have gone back for it.

When I burst back onto the street, my hair frazzled from steam and impromptu jogging, I could see Steve parked across the way. He seemed to have put down his book and picked up some knitting. Relieved to be back in the sunlight, and to have a signal, I made sure to send the picture of the naked alcove to Uncle Mick, emphasizing that I was counting on his contact to get Vera's item and could he get back to me ASAP, adding that I had given Farley Tso six hundred dollars of Vera's money. I had been hoping to get some shopping done in a few of the amazing vintage stores San Francisco has in droves. And I was also looking forward to taking some pix in Delores Park. Cheesy as it was, I wanted a shot of the Painted Ladies to send to Lance and Tiff, because, let's face it, all us people of “a certain age” watched
Full House
. Don't judge us, there was little else on. Looked like the shopping and photo-snapping items on my bucket list would have to wait for another time. Farley Tso was possibly dead. The shop was gone and so was the cash. It made me really sad and it meant I needed to put some distance between me and this place.

Although I didn't want to involve myself in whatever happened to Farley, I took time in the cab to enter Officer Martinez's information into my phone. Because you just never know.

Look up and sideways, but never look down.

—The Kelly Rules

T
HE SCHOOLGIRLS WERE
heading out from the hotel, and the Tilley hat ladies seemed to have arrived just when I did. The ladies waved extravagantly. I waved back and grinned. The beautifully exotic students didn't take their eyes off their screens. The bickering couple had just left in a taxi.

I stepped out of the cab, walked across the street and took a picture of the hotel with my phone. For fun, I captured the Tilley hat ladies fussing with a map and what looked like a guidebook. I'd find a way to send them the pix afterward. The students were still there, both fascinated by their phones. Click. For good measure, I took a photo of the doorman and one of Steve the Uber guy with his book. I could send that to him later. The doorman seemed to have an issue with Steve. Steve in turn pointed to me. I waved and hurried back over. “He's helping me and I asked him to wait.”

With all these cabs and unexpected activities, I was going to have to dip into Vera's cash. I'd be replacing that along
with the chunk of change that had vanished with Farley Tso. Poor little college fund would take another blow.

I swept through the lobby, phone to my ear, pausing to take discreet photos as I waited for the elevator. I got the registration desk, the bellman, the concierge, and just as the elevator opened, I thought that I should really get a shot of the manager. I pivoted and made my way to the front desk. I spoke to the nice young man and asked to see the manager.

If asked, I would have had to classify the look on his face as furtive.

I smiled and waited.

“Um, he's not here.” He was looking a bit paler by the minute.

“Oh. When will he be back?”

He glanced around nervously. “I don't think he's coming back.” He blurted out, “Apparently there was a serious mistake made.”

“Is there someone in charge?”

“Um, yes, she's in the office.”

“Can you tell her I'd like to speak to her?”

“We have orders not to disturb her, at least for now.”

“Well then, I'll try later.”

He leaned forward. “It's just that you weren't supposed to have that upgrade. He wasn't authorized to give you that suite or do anything that he did.”

I said, “But what will that mean for us?”

He shrugged. “Don't quote me, but I think they'll have to honor his commitment. But he's out of a job.”

*   *   *

I HEADED UP
to the suite and slipped through the doors, I flicked the safety latch. This time there had not been a mauling of the contents and our possessions. But there were subtle signs that someone had been there. My raincoat was
not quite where I had left it. A small writing pad had been moved from the desk.

I took out my phone to call Smiley. This wasn't quite as straightforward a visit as I'd thought. Should I take the video devices with me? Should I call him? I should really decide what to do before calling him and having him make the decision. Not my style.

I changed into skinny jeans and a clean tee while I decided. The best thing would be to take the device from the living room and at least find out who'd been there. At least it would still be recording if there were more “visitors.”

I was reaching for the phone to tell Smiley all was well when I thought I heard voices from the hallway. A knock on the door followed, then a man's voice. “Miss Bingham? This is”—a muffled name—“the manager. I need to speak to you.”

“One moment.” The manager? But I'd just been told the manager was a woman and this was definitely a man's voice. I scrambled to pick up my camera and stuffed it in my deep orange satchel. “Just need to get changed. Can you give me a bit of time?”

“I'm afraid I need to speak to you now. You are not authorized to be in this suite and we need you to vacate it now.”

“No problem with that,” I shouted. “But how do I know you are who you say you are? I'm calling the police.” I put a little shake in my voice. I tiptoed to the door and held my phone up to the peephole in the door. I was able to see a distorted image of two large men in the hall. Even though they were wearing suits, I doubted that they were hotel officials. The former manager was a small man and this definitely wasn't him. I snapped a couple of shots and stepped back. From their heights and builds, there was a good chance they were the two who had terrorized us at Gram's house. They weren't wearing masks now, probably because that
would be highly suspicious in a hotel corridor. I was relieved that I'd been able to get pictures of them. Maybe they'd be good enough to identify despite the distortion of the peephole. I tried not to add in the thought “if my body was found.” My hands were shaking as I sent the photos to Smiley and for good measure to Lance and Uncle Mick. I couldn't really think of anyone else until I remembered Officer Martinez. My hands were shaking as I sent them to her as well, with the note:

I think these are the intruders. Now on ninth floor of La Perla Hotel.

“You have two minutes,” the voice said.

“Perfect,” I trilled. “That's all I need. Oh, maybe make it three, please. I need to use the bathroom.”

I grabbed the portable telephone receiver and dashed toward the bedroom and the balcony door. Out on the balcony, I closed the door firmly behind me. I told myself not to think about the fact it was the ninth floor. Of course, that instruction had the opposite effect. I didn't know for sure the two guys in the hall were our home invaders, but it seemed like a pretty good bet. And they were at least as scary as the drop from the balcony. With my orange bag slung by its strap around my neck, I climbed over to the adjoining balcony. The noise from the seagulls was drowned out by the pounding of my heart. I landed with a thud on the cement floor. I jumped to my feet and tried the door to the next room. Ours had been the corner suite. My guesstimate told me that this one should be a standard room.

The door was locked.

With my breath still ragged, I prayed that my room phone would work from that distance. I called the front desk. It did. “There are men with guns on the ninth floor. Please send security and call 911.”

“Is that you, Miss Bingham?”

“Please, they're trying to break down my door. You know I've been attacked before. Security and 911. Now, or it's on you.”

Time to take my life in my hands again. I probably had seconds left before they realized that I had escaped through the balcony door and followed. If they caught up with me out here, it would be a long way down. I went over to the next balcony. At least there was one of those large square concrete planters to hide behind. If this door didn't open, I would have to keep going. The good news was because of the stories about Uncle Seamus's exploits, I knew it could be done. The bad news was that after this, there was only one more balcony before a blank wall projected. Behind me I could hear shouting and footsteps. Unless I was going to try an Uncle Seamus and go down, I had to get in this door.

By a miracle, it opened. Who besides me worries about locking the door on the ninth floor?

I saw a shadow move behind me and barely stifled a scream. A woman stood in the bathroom door, her mouth open in an “O.” She wore a towel and a look of terror. And she wanted to scream too.

I put my fingers to my lips first and then whispered, “Help me until security gets here.” I turned and locked the balcony door.

“What—”

“It's the second time I've been attacked in this hotel. I climbed over the balconies. I need to hide. Don't let anyone in. Call the desk and say you hear sounds of a violent struggle. I need to hide.”

Her hands shook as she called. Her voice warbled with fear. She was good. No doubt the desk clerk believed
her
.

I began to pull the cord to close the blinds. My new roommate's eyes opened wide and she turned toward the balcony and screamed, long and loud. She was a world-class
screamer. She wasn't faking it. I was frantically searching for something that could be used as a weapon. Somehow the floor lamp wasn't going to do the trick.

“Is it a big man in a suit?” I whispered.

She nodded and went back to screaming. She stopped as suddenly as she'd started and said, “He kept going.”

“Did he see you?” My knees felt like melting wax. I struggled to fake being calm.

She swiveled, horror written on her face. “Oh. My. God.”

“No no, it's good. He knows what I look like and he knows you're not me. They want me. I don't know why.”

She said in her shaky voice, “He tried the balcony door. I don't know why he didn't come in.”

“It was open when I got here, but I locked it behind me.”

“He could have shot at it and shattered the glass,” she said practically.

“Let's just be glad he didn't. He's looking for me. I'm sure he doesn't want to kill half the hotel.”

“But what does he want with you?”

“Wouldn't I like to know that.”

This conversation was conducted in the lowest of whispers. We both knew they were out there. One was on the balconies. What if the other one was in the corridor? They'd probably ruled out this room as my refuge as there was a hysterical woman who was clearly not me in it.

I thought I heard the splintering of a glass in the room next to us. They'd be in there searching for me. If help didn't arrive soon, they'd invade the room on the other side and then they'd be back. They'd know I couldn't get far. Security should be here any minute, if they weren't in on the whole thing. The police would still need a couple of minutes. As long as the desk had really called the police.

I could tell that the woman whose life I had crashed in on had the same reaction. We didn't have much time and we had a lot to lose.

Sure enough, there was a bang at the door. “Let's go,” I whispered, grabbing another towel. She clutched hers closer and shook her head.

I took her hand. “No choice.” We hurried to the balcony door, opened it, closed it behind us. Even with the door closed, we could still hear the sounds of the door being battered in. What were they using?

“Don't look down,” I said. “Look ahead to safety.” We climbed over to the balcony on the right and then into the room next to our suite, the one they'd already checked. Unlike me, they didn't lock doors behind them. They'd ripped the shower curtain and the bedspreads off looking for me. Tossed over the chair and broken the television, just for fun, I suppose. Or maybe it was as an outlet for their frustration.

I figured they'd go through them all and then check again because they knew about the balconies as an escape route. Most likely they would return to this one once they found my new friend's room empty. I peered into the hallway. It was now or never. “We have to run for it. It's just a few feet until the turn in the corridor.” And run we did. We raced around the corner and along to the staircase exit. She was sobbing behind me as we clattered down the stairs and onto the eighth floor. Would we be safe there? Who knew? A siren shrieked nearby and then we heard a few whoops. Police, at last.

A maid looked startled at our panicked appearance, especially my nameless, weeping friend in her not-roomy-enough towel. Uncle Seamus always spoke highly of hotel staff. I recognized her as the friendly person who'd delivered our towels, back when I thought the suite was a luxurious and happy solution. “Don't scream,” I said, “there's a man with a gun. Let us into a room and you stay too. Put your housekeeping cart in with us. We'll all be safe there.”

“I could lose my job. We don't put the carts in the rooms.”

“You could lose your life if they find us. Please, let's go.”

We scurried into the closest room on the opposite side from where our rooms had been, the street side. I made my way to the window—no balconies on this side—and looked down. A trio of police cars were parked randomly in front of the building. My new friend sat on the bed and burst into tears.

I said, “I'm pretty sure we'll be safe here on this floor. We just have to wait it out.”

The maid said, “And hope that the people do not come back while we are here.” That would be the worst thing.

My towel friend gasped. “We'll be arrested. I'll go to the police station in a towel. I can't think of anything worse than that.”

I thought that being shot or taken away by the men who were trashing the ninth floor in search of me would be considerably worse, but I knew better than to say so. My companions were already pretty stressed out. That got worse when we heard banging and shouting in the hallway.

“Police!” I motioned the others to hide in the closet. I put my eye to the door again and spotted two armed police officers. I decided that my pursuers didn't have uniforms or they would have pulled the stunt before.