"Real strange. Did he ask you about Stormy?"
"No. We mostly talked about how the weather was better than it was up north. I told him about the Elvis Pilgrimage, but I might as well have been talking about my favorite brand of shampoo. He couldn't have been less interested."
"And this evening?"
"He said he was real surprised to see me, that his company had sent him over to Memphis for the weekend and he'd just happened to come down to The Luck of the Draw to relax for a couple of hours. Considering how many casinos there are, it's pretty funny, isn't it?" She shoved a handful of curls across one eye. "Unless it's destiny, of course. My horoscope said I might encounter someone from my past. I guess the middle of last week counts as the past."
Estelle managed a nod. "Fate can't be ignored. What else did he have to say?"
"He was real curious about what we'd done in Tupelo and if we might have stopped somewhere other than the museum and birthplace. When I told him how Baggins had allowed us all of half an hour before heading the van toward this place, he told me that if I ever got back to Memphis, he'd take me over there so I could poke around to my heart's content. I thought that was a mighty kind gesture on his part. He ain't the handsomest man I've ever seen, but he has nice manners."
"That's all you know about him? He came to the place where you work, and then popped up here today?"
Cherri Lucinda leaned toward the mirror. "You got it. Now maybe I don't have what you'd call prominent cheekbones, but my chin doesn't pooch and these little lines around my eyes are on account of exhaustion. I mean, I haven't had a decent night's sleep since before I can remember. I may be puffy, but I don't see how you can say my face is plump. I feel like I've been accused of looking like a piece of fruit."
Estelle tried not to let her eyeballs roll back. "Your face is not plump. All I said was-"
"I distinctly recall the word 'plump.'"
"Pleasingly plump," said Estelle, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub and trying to think.
"Okay," I said to Mackenzie, who was hardly the most scintillating company I'd kept lately, "look at it this way. The men whom we shall call Brown and Bald determined that Stormy ended up with a kilo of cocaine and a lot of money. She couldn't go back to her apartment or so much as set foot in the bus station or airport. She decided to join the tour and jump ship in Memphis. You with me thus far?"
Mackenzie continued to scratch on a piece of paper. He was making a very faint sound that might have involved the grinding of teeth, but I opted to ignore it, since he was clearly under duress.
As were we all.
I recrossed my legs, leaned back in the chair, and let my head fall back. "So Stormy got on the C'mon Tour van with every expectation of slipping away into the night in Memphis. However, Brown and Bald showed up at the Starbright Motel and made it clear they were watching her, and the neighborhood was so dangerous that she could hardly duck down alleys. She had Estelle restyle her hair, but B &B were at Graceland the next morning, still after her. Once the schedule changed, she must have thought she'd be safe here for the night-especially since she'd stashed her bag in a safe place."
Mackenzie glanced up at me. "Perhaps you could play solitaire until the head of food services calls?"
"Only the lonely play solitaire," I said. "So Stormy went down to the casino and shoveled coins into the slots for a few hours. Eventually, she got bored and went to bed."
"You are about to put me to sleep with this story," Mackenzie said. "If I give you a hundred dollars' worth of chips, will you promise to go fritter them away in the casino? How about a dinner voucher for the restaurant? A ticket for the floor show? We were unable to book El Vez this weekend, but we have a fantastic total-sensory presentation called 'Elvisaromatica.'"
"You jest," I said, crunching my heels down on his thickening pile of yellow papers. "What we need to think about is the fact that B &B were under the impression that the tour group would be in Tupelo last night. Baggins, who does not strike me as a morally upright individual, no doubt told them what he himself had been told about where the tour group would be staying."
To say his sigh was long-suffering would be an insult to his prodigious effort, which might have been an attempt to blow me out of his office. "So what, Miss Hanks? Based on your reasoning, neither of these insidious 'B' men was in the hotel when Stormy was pushed off the balcony. We know who pushed her. Is there anything short of calling armed guards to make you go away?"
"Try room service."
"They're busy, but as soon as someone has a moment to look at the records…" He picked up the receiver and hit a button as if it were a pustule. "Cutting. I want the name now. I don't care if Bill and Hillary are awaiting dinner in the Presidential Suite." After a moment, he shook his head and put down the receiver. "The problem is they can't find an order to the east wing at any time between midnight and eight. This doesn't mean there wasn't one. Computers screw up, as we both know. Why don't you go on to bed, and I'll call you in the morning when I have the waiter's name?"
"Jim Bob saw a tray when he went into the room to get Cherri Lucinda's bag. When was it ordered?"
"He was drunk. Doesn't it seem likely that Stormy decided to have dinner in the room before she went down to the casino? I cannot keep badgering the staff. At this hour, as many as a hundred orders are backed up."
I shuffled the cards. "How about blackjack? You'll have to run through the rules for me. Does a straight beat a flush?"
His composure seemed to be cracking around the edges. He took a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket, blotted his forehead, and then reached for the telephone. "I solemnly swear this will be my final call, Raoul. Last night someone delivered a tray to room number eight-thirteen. I need to know the exact time, and I suppose the name of the waiter." He took another swipe with the handkerchief as he waited. "Are you quite sure? No orders from that room yesterday or today? No, no, there hasn't been a complaint. Thanks, Raoul. I will not call again."
I stood up. "I need your gun."
"What you need, Miss Hanks, is a therapist to help you work through your persistent paranoia." The telephone rang. "Raoul must have found it. If the employee is not on duty, I'll give you his home address. I'm sure he and his family will welcome an unexpected guest with a long list of questions." Smirking, he picked up the receiver. "I hope this hasn't disrupted-"
He listened for a long moment, his mouth tight with irritation. "I think, Miss Oppers, that you share Miss Hanks's affinity for fantasies. Jim Bob Buchanon must have left his coat on the balcony for some reason. The wind blew it into a corner. Or maybe someone with an immature sense of humor dropped a bag of garbage from a higher floor. However, if it will ease your mind, I'll get a key and have a look."
"What?" I said as he hung up.
"According to Miss Oppers and other members of this wretched tour, there is a body on the balcony of room eight-fifteen. She acknowledges that it's dark, but she's adamant that they can see the outline of a human form. The adjoining door is locked, so they're unable to investigate. This is too much, Miss Hanks. I will personally make sure that C'Mon Tours is not allowed to enter the state of Mississippi ever again."
"Let's go, Mackenzie," I said, "and for pity's sake, bring your gun."
Not even Muzak could have enlivened our elevator ride to the eighth floor. As we went down the hall, Mrs. Jim Bob came out of the room she was sharing with Estelle. She stared at Mackenzie, no doubt thinking I'd lapsed into the ultimate moral depravity and would end up with a two-toned infant, then said, "There you are, Arly. The doctor at the hospital called and wants you to call him back. Also, Harvey Dorfer called, but didn't leave a message. It's been impossible for me to so much as close my eyes."