Coming out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, still toweling my hair, I spotted Diesel in the middle of my bed. His head was cocked to the side, as if he were asking me a question.
“Yes, I’m going out, and yes, you’re going with me.” I frowned. I talked to Diesel a lot, I realized. Some people might find that odd, but it didn’t really matter. So I talked to my cat.
I was about to tie my tie when the phone rang. It might be Sean, my son. He sometimes called around this hour.
“Hello.”
Melba’s excited voice boomed out at me. “You won’t believe this. The party’s canceled.”
EIGHT
“Canceled?” I was stunned. “But why?”
“I heard Godfrey called the president’s office about half an hour ago and told them he was too ill to come. Peter just called me, and I called you right away.”
“Thanks for letting me know. But Godfrey seemed perfectly fine earlier.”
“It sure is strange,” Melba said, and I agreed.
“Look, Melba, I’ve got to go. Diesel’s demanding his dinner.” I knew that was the easiest way to get her off the phone. “See you tomorrow. Bye.”
I hung up and looked down at Diesel, lying half-asleep on my bed. He turned his head to look up at me, then blinked and yawned.
What had happened to Godfrey?
He reveled in attention, so there had to be a serious reason he’d canceled on a party in his honor.
Did it involve Justin in some way?
On that thought, I left my bedroom and proceeded back upstairs to the boy’s room. I might as well check in case he had come home while I was in the shower. Diesel passed me and scooted up the stairs well ahead of me. He was sitting in front of Justin’s door when I reached the third floor.
I knocked, but there was no answer. I opened the door, and there was still no sign of Justin.
“Come on, boy,” I said to Diesel as I shut the door. “He’s not here.”
Diesel bounded down the stairs before me. I headed for the kitchen, thinking vaguely about having something to eat. But by the time I reached the kitchen, my uneasiness over Justin’s absence had become more urgent.
I couldn’t help feeling that something was wrong. Why had Godfrey skipped out on his own party? Where was Justin?
Even if it turned out to be a waste of time and there was some simple explanation for all this, I decided not to sit home and wait.
So much for my not getting emotionally involved in this mess. But my paternal instincts were kicking in, I guess.
Diesel followed me to the back door, but I told him he couldn’t come with me this time. He assumed a long-suffering expression, as if I were always abandoning him.
“I won’t be gone too long,” I said, adding, “I hope,” under my breath.
Farrington House, Athena’s ritziest hotel, was my destination. Godfrey had to be staying there, probably in their best suite. The hotel occupied half a block on the town square, about ten minutes’ drive from my house. It was dark outside now, and I switched on my headlights as I backed the car out of the garage.
I hoped Justin was safe with Godfrey, probably in the hotel still talking and getting to know his biological father.
There were no empty parking spaces in front of the hotel. I had to settle for one across the street, facing the square. As I turned off my lights, preparing to get out of the car, I observed someone sitting in the shadows of an old gazebo about ten yards in front of me.
He moved, and I recognized him as Justin. He watched me, obviously nervous, as I approached. The night was cool, and Justin was in short sleeves. He shivered a bit, his face turned away from me as I sat down next to him. The stone bench chilled me even through the wool of my pants.
“What are you doing sitting out here?” I asked in a mild tone. “Aren’t you getting cold?”
“A little, I guess.” Justin’s teeth chattered. “I, um, I can’t go back in there.”
“The hotel? Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
The desperation in Justin’s voice alarmed me. I put a hand on his shoulder to try to calm him a bit.
“What’s wrong? You can tell me.” I spoke in my most benign, fatherly manner.
“No, it’s horrible.” The boy shuddered, whether from the cold or something else, I wasn’t sure.
“Is something wrong with Godfrey?” I tried to keep my voice even.
Justin nodded. He still wouldn’t look at me.
“Does he need a doctor?” I stood. “We’d better go and check on him then.”
“It won’t do any good,” Justin said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Why not?”
“It just won’t.”
I was getting a really bad feeling about this. “Did you call nine-one-one?”
Justin shook his head. He still seemed too dazed to do anything.
I pulled out my phone and punched in the emergency number. I reported a possibly injured man.
“What’s the room number?” I asked Justin.
He shrugged. “The Lee Room, I think.”
I gave the operator the information and hung up before she tried to keep me on the line.
“Come on.” I grasped the boy gently by the arm and pulled him up. “Maybe there’s something we can do.” I was afraid Godfrey was beyond help at this point, but I had to try.
I expected resistance, but for whatever reason Justin came docilely enough. Though I peppered him with questions on the way, he wasn’t saying anything more.
In the bright light of the lobby, I could see that Justin was pale and in obvious distress. I felt an even stronger sense of urgency. Had Godfrey had a heart attack?
“He gave me a key,” Justin said when I veered toward the front desk.
“Fine.” I headed for the elevator, my hand still firmly on Justin’s arm. Inside, Justin punched the button for the fourth floor.
There were five large suites on this, the top floor. All were named for Confederate generals. Justin headed for the grandest of the five, the Robert E. Lee (of course), and paused in front of the door.
I took the card from Justin and inserted it in the lock. I opened the door and stepped aside. If anything, Justin’s face was paler now than it had been before. He leaned against the wall.
I caught a whiff of mingled scents through the open door, and my sense of unease grew. After I took two steps inside, I knew by some instinct that this was a crime scene. I had to move with care and not disturb anything. But I still had to check on Godfrey.
Overhead lights illuminated the room, the reception area of the suite. The smells were stronger now, and I approached one of the two couches with dread, certain of what I would find.
Three steps more and I could look down over the back of the sofa.
Godfrey sprawled prostrate on the floor. The back of his head was a bloody mess.
The coppery tang of blood had mingled with the unpleasant scent of Godfrey’s bowels, loosened in death.
I heard a faint roaring in my head. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Godfrey’s corpse. He had to be dead with a wound like that.
But in the faint hope that he was still alive, I steeled myself to walk around the couch and approach Godfrey’s body. I bent down and grasped his left wrist, lifting the arm just enough to get my fingers in the right spot. I detected no pulse, though I held the wrist for what seemed an eternity.
As I put the arm gently back against the carpet, I caught a glimpse of something sticking out from under Godfrey’s waist. My brain didn’t register it for a moment. I was going to throw up if I didn’t put some distance between me and that horror on the floor.
Out in the corridor again, I drew a deep breath of clear air. I closed my eyes for a moment, but all I could see was Godfrey, his head bashed in.
And Justin’s cell phone by the body.
It had to be his. The phone in that room was purple, and Justin had a purple phone.