“Oh, is that all?” He seemed vaguely disappointed. “For a minute there I thought someone was being murdered.”
Rupert laughed. It sounded genuine. “I imagine murders take place more quietly and quickly.” He didn’t have to imagine; O’Donnell had died almost instantly, and without a word or cry of pain. “Sorry to inconvenience you.”
“Oh, that’s all right. We don’t get much excitement around here. I like a bit of it now and then. Keeps a person young.”
“I never thought of it in that way.” Rupert picked up the dog with one hand, keeping the other on his companion’s wrist. There was less resistance from her than from the dog, who hated to be carried. “Well, I guess we’ll be on our way. Come along, my dear. I think we’ve caused enough commotion for one night.”
The man led the way back to the parking lot, shining his flashlight on the ground. “The wind’s shifting.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Rupert said.
“Not many people do. But with me, it’s my business to check the wind. From the way it feels now, the fog’ll be rolling in pretty soon. Fog, that’s our problem in these parts. When the fog comes in I might as well shut up shop and go to bed. You heading for L.A.?”
“Yes.”
“If I was you, I’d cut inland as soon as I could. You can’t fight fog. The best you can do is run away from it.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll bear it in mind.” Rupert thought, there are lots of things beside fog that you can’t fight, that you have to run away from. “Good night. Perhaps we’ll be seeing you again.”
“I’ll be here. Got all my money tied up in the place, can’t afford to go away.” He laughed sourly, as if he’d played a bad joke on himself. “Well, good night, folks.”
When he had gone, Rupert said, “Get in the car.”
“I don’t want...”
“And hurry up. You’ve already delayed us half an hour with your histrionics. Do you realize how far news can travel in half an hour?”
“The police will be looking for you, not me.”
“Whichever one of us they’re looking for, if they find us they’ll find us both together. Understand that? Together. Till death do us part.”
19.
Señor Escamillo yanked open the door of the broom closet and found Consuela with one ear pressed against her listening wall.
“Aha!” he cried, pointing a fat little forefinger at her. “So, Consuela Gonzales is up to her old tricks again.”
“No, señor. I swear on my mother’s body...”
“You could swear on your father’s horns and I do not believe you. If I were not so desperate for experienced help I would never have begged you to come back.” He thought briefly of the real reason he’d asked her to come back; perhaps he’d been a fool to lend his services to such a wild, American scheme. He consulted his big, gold pocket watch, which didn’t keep good time but served as a useful prop to hold his staff in line. “It is now seven o’clock. Why are you not placing fresh towels in the rooms and turning down the beds?”
“I have already attended to most of the rooms.”
“And why not all of them, pray? Are the towels so heavy, such a burden, that you must stop to rest every five minutes?”
“No, señor.”
“I wait for the explanation,” Escamillo said, with cold dignity.
Consuela looked down at her feet, wide and flat in their straw espadrilles. Clothes, she thought, it’s clothes that make the difference. Here I am dressed like a peasant, so he treats me like a peasant. If I had on my high heels and my black dress and my necklaces, he would be polite and call me senorita, he wouldn’t dare to say my father had horns.
“I wait, Consuela Gonzales.”
“I have attended to all the rooms except 404. I was prepared to do that one too, but when I stopped at the door I heard noises from inside.”
“Noises? How so?”
“People were arguing. I thought it would be wiser if I didn’t disturb them, if I waited until they went out for the evening.”
“People were arguing in 404?”
“Yes. Americans. Two American ladies.”
“You swear it on your mother’s body?”
“I do, señor.”
“Oh, what a liar you are, Consuela Gonzales.” Escamillo put his hand over his heart to show how much the situation pained him. “Or else you have lost your judgment.”
“I heard them, I tell you.”
“You tell me, yes. Now I tell you. The suite 404 is empty. It has been empty for nearly a week.”
“That can’t be. I heard, with my own ears...”
“Then you need new ears. Four hundred four is empty. I am the manager of this establishment. Who would know better than I which rooms are occupied and which are not?”
“Perhaps, while you were away from the desk for a few minutes, someone checked in, two American ladies.”
“Impossible.”
“I know what I hear.” Consuela’s cheeks were the color of red wine as if the blood in her veins had fermented with fury.
“This is bad,” Escamillo said, “to hear things other people do not.”
“You haven’t tried. If you would place your ear here, at the wall...”
“Very well. The ear is here. And now?”
“Listen.”
“I am listening.”
“They are moving around,” Consuela said. “One of them is wearing many bracelets, you can hear them clanking. There. Now they are talking. Do you hear voices?”
“Certainly I hear voices.” Escamillo stepped briskly out of the broom closet, brushing lint off the sleeves and lapels of his suit. “I hear your voice and my voice. From an empty room I hear nothing, praise Jesus.”
“The room is not empty, I tell you.”
“And I tell you once again, stop this nonsense, Consuela Gonzales. I think you have not been saying your beads often enough lately and God is angry with you, making noises that you alone can hear.”
“I have done nothing to make Him angry with me.”
“We are all sinners.” But Escamillo’s tone implied strongly that Consuela Gonzales was the worst of the lot and she was to expect only a minimum of mercy, if any. “You had better go down to the bar and ask Emilio for one of those new American pills that ease the mind.”
“There is nothing the matter with my mind.”
“Is there not? Well, I am too busy to argue.”
She leaned against the door of the broom closet and watched Escamillo disappear into the elevator. Globules of sweat and oil stood out on her forehead and upper lip. She brushed them off with a corner of her apron, thinking, he is trying to frighten me, embarrass me, make me out a fool. I will not be made out a fool. It is easy to prove the room is occupied. I have a key. I will unlock the door, very quietly, and open it, very suddenly, and there they will be, arguing, moving around. Two ladies. Americans.
Her ring of keys, suspended from a rope belt around her waist, struck her thigh and tinkled like coins as she moved toward 404. She hesitated at the door, hearing nothing now but the traffic from the avenida below and the quick rhythmical drumming of her own heart.
Only a month ago, two American ladies had occupied this very room. They too had argued. One of them wore many bracelets and a red silk suit, and painted her eyelids gold. And the other...
But I must not think of those two. One is dead, the other is far away. I am alive and here.
From her key ring she chose the key labeled apartamientos and inserted it quietly into the lock. A quick turn of the key to the left and of the doorknob to the right and the door would open to reveal the occupants of the room and Escamillo would be proved the cowardly liar that he was.