Grand Passion

chairs.
    She sat alone in the shadows, gazing pensively out into the rain-soaked darkness. Cleopatra contemplating the fate of Egypt.
    The throbbing sense of urgency that still swirled deep within Max flared back into life once more. Instinctively he brushed his hand across the pocket that contained the length of red satin.
    “Hello,” Max said quietly. “I take it you couldn't sleep either?”
    Cleo's head came around very swiftly. She blinked at Max's backlit figure, as if trying to make out who had invaded her private realm. He could see that the soft, dark cloud of her hair had worked its way free of the clip that was supposed to keep it in place. She was wearing her usual uniform of snug, faded jeans and an oxford cloth button-down shirt. Her gold sneakers gleamed in the shadows.
    The faint hall light revealed Cleo's wary, shuttered expression. An emotion other than desire stirred inside of Max. He recognized it vaguely as concern. He had not seen that particular look on Cleo's face before, not even when they had discussed the significance of the red ribbon on her pillow.
    “I had an unpleasant dream,” Cleo said quietly. “I get them sometimes. I thought I'd come down here for a few minutes to get rid of the cobwebs. What are you doing up?”
    Max wondered what sort of dreams it took to awaken Cleo and cause her to seek refuge in the solarium.
    He walked into the darkened room and sat down in the wicker chair across from her. For a moment he said nothing. He could hear the burbling of the water in the shallow, tiled fountain that was the centerpiece of the room.
    “I had nothing better to do, so I decided I'd come down and see how easy it was to get hold of a master key or the key to your room,” Max improvised carefully.
    “The key to my room?” Cleo looked briefly startled.
    “Someone must have used one or the other to open your door earlier tonight.”
    “Oh, I see.” Her fingers clenched around the arms of the wicker chair. “It wouldn't have been that hard to get hold of a key, I'm afraid. I suppose you saw George?”
    “He's asleep.”
    Cleo wrinkled her nose. “He usually is. The thing is, we've never had much of a security problem here at the inn.”
    “I noticed that the front desk is frequently unattended for several minutes at a time during the day, too,” Max pointed out.
    “Yes. We're always a little short of staff. Everyone pitches in when we're full. Sometimes that means whoever is at the front desk has to help out in the kitchen or check on a problem in one of the rooms.”
    Max gingerly stretched out his leg and absently massaged his aching thigh. “The bottom line here is that almost anyone could have entered the inn sometime today, swiped a key for a few minutes, used it to unlock your door, and left the ribbon on your pillow.”
    “Yes.” Cleo's brows drew together. “Believe me, from here on out, we'll make certain we keep a much closer eye on the keys.”
    “I think that would be a good idea,” Max said dryly. “For openers, the keys should be kept inside the office at all times, not left on the hooks behind the front desk. No one but members of your staff should be allowed into the office, and the door should be locked if the front desk is unattended, even for five minutes.”
    “I'd already figured that out for myself,” Cleo muttered.
    “Tomorrow morning you can get me a complete list of everyone who is staying at the inn this weekend,” Max continued.
    Cleo leaned back in her chair, rested her elbows on the arms, and steepled her fingers. She gazed at him, brooding. “You're serious about having your friend O'Reilly check out my guests, aren't you?”
    He was surprised by the question. “Did you get the impression that I wasn't serious about it?”
    “Not exactly. You look like the type who takes most things seriously.”
    “In my experience it's the things which don't get taken seriously that cause the most problems,” he said.
    “So you take everything seriously,” Cleo concluded. “Sounds like a rather grim way to go through life.”
    “It's the way I am.”
    “I'll bet you're a real fun date.”
    The flash of humor in her eyes disconcerted him. Max forgot about his aching leg for a moment as it struck him that she was laughing at him. It was an odd experience. People reacted to him in a variety of ways, but virtually no one found him amusing. “I've never had anyone comment on that.”
    “You're a strange man.” The amusement faded from