Chapter 10
The Palace: Act II
I headed for the front desk, and my shadows hung back on the fringe. Clearly, they were supposed to watch me, but I wondered if one of the fickle bitches might not have other plans.
As I approached the check-in area, the clerk behind the front desk was quick to step forward.
“May I help you, Sir?” he asked.
“My name is Jonas Watcher, and I am here to see Mrs. Stanton,” I said.
“Is she expecting you?” he asked.
I didn't think someone could snub and look down on you with such a simple phrase.
“If you check, you will see that she is. I am surprised that you don't already know, that,” I replied. Two could play this game, and I was older and bigger.
“Don't stand there gaping; surely you intend to announce me.” Maybe I was rubbing it in a little thick... Nah.
The clerk picked up the phone and called her room, I couldn't quite hear him but apparently, Mrs. Stanton was better at the game than I. The young man was sheepishly apologetic and directed me to the elevators and quietly repeated her suite number to ensure I got it.
“Thank you,” I replied, with a little less ice in my voice than before.
When I entered the elevator, the young man asked me for my floor.
“The clerk at the front desk told me to ask for the penthouse, Mrs. Stanton's suite,” I said.
“You must be Mr. Watcher,” he said.
He didn't wait for anyone else to enter the elevator. He closed the door and turned a key marked with a capital “P”. The ride was a lot smoother than the one in my building. The young man opened the door and pointed to the left.
“Suite A,” he said.
I stepped off the elevator, but he waited. I guess we were going back down. When I arrived at the door, it was opened by a man in formal butler attire.
“Mr. Watcher for Mrs. Stanton,” I said trying not to sound pompous.
“Yes, sir,” he replied “You're expected. Please come in. Madam will be out shortly. If you would, please go into the sitting room.”
This was the first hotel room I ever entered that had an entry. This was not a six-bit room. The sitting room was not huge, but it was bigger than my office. I chose to stand by the window rather than sit. I wasn't sure which was proper, or even if there was a proper.
Mrs. Stanton was prompt as she entered. No butler with her; no Joseph either. While I was concerned about my dress for the occasion, after seeing Mrs. Stanton, I didn't feel overdressed. She was wearing a calf-length fitted number cut to leave something to the imagination both above and at the hem, but the back was slit to let her walk comfortably. While the front of the dress was modest, the back was low enough to cause a man's mind to wander, but not too far.
“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Watcher?” she asked.
“Club soda would be good,” I said. “On duty, so to speak.”
She pouted a little but pushed a button on a table and the butler appeared.
“A Manhattan for me,” she said. “And a club soda for Mr. Watcher.”
“Yes Ma'am,” the butler said.
“Shall we sit?” she said.
She moved to a couple of chairs in a corner by the window and I followed. I held the chair for her and noticed that in the other room Joseph was seated by a bar eating a sandwich. Not far from his employer. As I watched him consuming the sandwich, it became clear to me why he wouldn't do. I sat down next to her and the butler entered with our drinks. I started to speak, but she gestured that I take my drink first.
“A toast,” she said.
The butler left.
“Sorry about that,” she said, “I don't know him. I would just as soon keep my business from being eavesdropped upon.”
I nodded.
“So, Mr. Watcher, just what have you found out?' she asked.
I decided not to tell her I thought her husband was dead; after all, I had no real proof. But I wanted her to believe I was making progress in finding his whereabouts.
“I enlisted the help of a National operative to get some additional information about your husband's movements,” I said.
Her eyes widened for a brief moment: She was afraid of that. I decided to calm any fears she had.
“This was old information on your husband,” I said, “but it might be useful. The operative is more of an accountant than an investigator. Kind of a mousy guy.
“With the information he gave me, I was able to trace your husband to Los Angeles and then up here to San Francisco. I don't have a lock on his current whereabouts, but I have a better track on him then I had before.”
She sipped at her Manhattan while I told her about my interview with Mr. Hart, though it was pretty much all fiction to this point. I watched her tells as I elaborated on my yarn to see if there were any areas where she might have knowledge.
Hart being an accountant was disturbing to her, so I avoided the fact he was a forensic accountant. She was more relaxed when the information he provided to me was more about her husband leaving a financial trail. When I finished, she downed the last of her drink and stood up, so I did too.
“The art function is in the Grand Ballroom. It shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. So if you would escort me, I would be forever in your debt,” she said.
“My pleasure,” I replied.
She went to get a wrap, and I noticed that Joseph had left half of a second sandwich and half a beer on the bar where he was eating. Maybe he was done. I wondered what the Sisters Fate had in store for me now.
Mrs. Stanton returned, we left the apartment and took the elevator down to the Grand Ballroom.
As we entered the lobby I spotted Billie Whitehall and it was clear he wanted to talk to me. I couldn't break from Mrs. Stanton immediately. I acknowledged his signal and continued to escort Mrs. Stanton to the Grand Ballroom. I indicated I would meet him by the barbershop in about ten minutes.
The Grand Ballroom was impressive, with high vaulted ceilings, yet the acoustics were excellent. There was a large crowd of people meandering and talking, yet the din was not intrusive. The one side was separated from the other by brass poles attached with thick velvet ropes.
There was a walkway from the buffet to where the artwork was hung. They didn't want food in the gallery area. At one end was a full bar handing out free drinks. I picked a hell of a time to stay sober.
Mrs. Stanton stopped to talk to a number of people, introducing me as a family friend. It was easy to determine who believed I was a family friend and who believed I was her night's entertainment. It didn't matter which to me and I responded appropriately to whatever comments were made.
The only hiccup occurred when we were confronted by a couple of men who had truly taken too much advantage of the open bar. Even the very rich have their drunks. One insisted that he and Mrs. Stanton were old friends and surely she would join him in a celebratory drink. They must have been cut off at the bar and had hoped to get the hostess to provide them with more liquor.
We were near a couple of chairs and a well-placed foot in the back of a knee allowed me to seat one of the gentlemen. Mrs. Stanton simply raised up on the ball of her foot, turned and brought her heel down on the foot of the second inebriate. He cried out and I escorted him to the other chair.
“Cramp,” I said, to a concerned couple. “An old football injury acting up.”
We continued to move through the crowd. Mrs. Stanton thanked me for handling them with some finesse. As we approached the buffet I pulled her aside.
“I have been contacted by an operative,” I said, “and I need to check in with him. This could mean that there is news.”
“Of course,” she replied, “enough people have seen you arrive with me that I shouldn't be bothered by anyone. Please do return as soon as you can. I will be in the gallery when you get back.”
I made my way quickly to the lobby and headed for the barbershop. Billie Whitehall was waiting by the door. He handed me an envelope. I took it and opened it, there was a folded up piece of paper inside. I opened it up; it was blank.
Quietly he said, “You should be readin’ that while I talk to you. You meetin’ a black man and jawin’, would raise eyebrows, but if I hand you a letter waiting for a reply, that won't turn any heads.”
I continued staring at the blank piece of paper with a slight smirk. He could be overthinking this, but I appreciated his carefulness.
“What have you got?” I asked.
“Not a lot, your two shadows hung around in the lobby, sticking out like a couple of sore thumbs. Whatever they may be, private tecs they are not. I was going to give up on them when they were joined by a third man.”
“Is he still here?” I asked.
“Nope and neither are they. I walked over with a small ashtray and sifted butts out of the sand near them. You are right, I am invisible. Never knew it could be valuable.”
“Don't let it go to your head,” I said. “You're not getting paid enough to risk your neck.”
“This third man was real excited, said something about a heart. Then he said they were to go to some apartment place he would show them and grab something. He also wanted them to toss your office and find some reports about Mrs. Stanton. Anyway when he was done they split, just a little before you came down.”
“This third man, you ever see him before?” I asked.
“Mrs. Stanton's chauffeur,” he said.
“No, he would not do at all!” I said.
“What?” asked Billie.
“I need you to do me two favors,” I said.
I took out the cabbie’s card and handed it to Billie.
“Call his dispatch and tell him that I need him now. It's worth fifty to me.”
“You sure as hell are gonna play havoc with the economy ‘round here. I ain't complaining, mind you.”
“Second, call Lieutenant Sanders,” I gave him Sander's card. “Tell him to meet me at my apartment. Things suddenly got very hot and we may need to avoid another murder.”
“Mm mm mm,” said Billie, “This morning I didn't expect to be involved in all this.”
“You're not,” I replied. “And I want it to stay that way. Invisibility is your value to me. Additionally, that is how you stay safe.”
“Yes, sir, but it makes for a nice story for the Missus. She thinks I live a dull life. I'll get on those calls.”
We parted company, and I headed back to the ballroom. Mrs. Stanton was going to have to cut her social agenda short for the night. Something I said or did and now even Mrs. Stanton might be in danger.
She was on the art show side of the Grand Ballroom talking to a couple dressed to the nines. I approached quietly to confirm they were engaged in small talk and then I interrupted.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Stanton, but I need a moment of your time. There has been a development that needs your attention.”
The couple looked at Mrs. Stanton, exploding with curiosity. They were not in her confidence. She courteously excused herself. Her manner let the couple know this was not to be a subject of further conversation. I guided her to a corner so that I could observe anyone approaching while talking to her in confidence.
“You will need to cut your evening short,” I said. “There has been a disturbing development that indicates that you may be in danger.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” she said. “Why should I be in danger?”
I paused and looked at her for several moments, and decided to lay out the short version for her.
“There is evidence that your husband has been murdered, and you may be on the killer's list”
She stared opened mouthed at me trying to assimilate what I said. The one thing that wasn't in her face was grief. That answered one question for me. The possibility of her husband being dead was news to her. She wasn't involved in his being killed. The other thing her expression confirmed, she was afraid that he might be. I did not have time to explore what all this meant just now. I needed to get to my apartment to keep Hart alive.
I took her up to her apartment, confirmed Joseph wasn't present. I convinced the butler that Mrs. Stanton was in danger, and the source was the chauffeur. That didn't surprise Mrs. Stanton at all. I was missing something. I wasn't sure if Hart had the missing pieces or not, but I needed to get to him now.
As I exited the elevator Billie Whitehall was in the lobby and handed me a note and indicated the cab was here. I hurried out the door and read the brief note. Lieutenant Sanders would meet me in front of my apartment. I stepped into the cab and told Max to go to my apartment and step on it, I would cover any tickets.
This late at night, the streets were lightly traveled by other vehicles, and Max shortened the distance to my place using a few shortcuts that included going down a one-way street the wrong way.
