Private Scandals

ballet-style slippers.
    The only evidence that a man shared the room was the suit hung on the valet.
    “You didn’t mention an appointment book in her purse, Lieutenant.”
    “There wasn’t one.” He glanced around the room like a hound sniffing the air. “Cosmetics, hotel key, cigarettes, lighter, a silk hankie, a roll of Certs, an eelskin wallet with ID, credit cards and better than three hundred cash. But no date book.”
    “Interesting.” Finn nodded toward the champagne flute. “I’d say that was hers, wouldn’t you, sitting there with her perfumes and skin creams.”
    “More than likely.”
    “There’s another out in the parlor, over by the wet bar. Lipstick on that, too. Dark, hot-red lipstick.”
    “Good eye, Mr. Riley. Why don’t we see if room service knows who Angela’s drinking partner was?”
     
    Carla Mendez had never had much excitement in her life. She’d been the oldest of five children born to a shoe salesman and a waitress and had lived a simple, uninspired life. At thirty-three, she had three children and a husband who was slavishly faithful and usually out of work.
    Carla didn’t mind her job as a hotel maid. She didn’t like it particularly, but she did her job well if mechanically and tucked away tiny bottles of shampoo and skin cream as religiously as she tucked away her tips.
    She was a small, sturdy woman, built like a fireplug, with tightly permed black hair and tiny dark eyes that were nearly lost in a network of worry lines. But her eyes were bright now, flitting from cop to reporter.
    She didn’t like cops. If Jenner had approached her alone, she would have closed up like a clam, on principle. But she couldn’t resist Finn Riley. The way his dimples deepened when he smiled at her, the gentlemanly way he’d taken her hand.
    And he wanted to interview her.
    It was, for Carla, the biggest moment of her life.
    Sensing her mood, Jenner hung back and let Finn take the ball.
    “What time did you come into Miss Perkins’s room to turn down the bed, Mrs. Mendez?”
    “Ten o’clock. Usually I’d turn down much earlier, but she told me not to come in, not to disturb her before ten. She had appointments.” Primly, she tugged on the hem of her uniform. “I don’t like to work so late, but she was very nice.” The twenty-dollar tip had been even nicer. “I’ve seen her on TV, too. But she wasn’t stuck-up or anything. She was real polite. Messy, though,” she added. “She and her husband used about six bath towels between them every day. And she had cigarette butts in every single ashtray. Dishes everywhere.” She glanced around the parlor. “Cleaning up after people gives you insight,” she said, and left it at that.
    “I’m sure it does.” Finn gave her an encouraging smile. “Was Miss Perkins with her husband when you were turning down the bed in their suite?”
    “Can’t say. Didn’t see him. Didn’t hear him. But I heard her, and the other one.”
    “The other one?”
    “The other woman. They were scratching at each other like cats.” Carla tugged on her hem again, examined her shoes. “Not that I listened. I mind my own business. I’ve been working in this hotel for seven years. You can’t do that if you poke into people’s private lives. But when I heard how she’d been murdered—Miss Perkins—I said to Gino, that’s my husband, I said to Gino that I’d heard Miss Perkins going at it with this woman in her suite only a couple hours before she was dead. He said I should maybe tell my supervisor, but I thought it might cause trouble.”
    “So you haven’t told anyone about it?” Finn prompted.
    “No. And when you came in and said you wanted to talk to me about the people in 2403, I figured you already knew.” Her eyes flashed back up. “Maybe you didn’t.”
    “What can you tell us about the woman who was with Miss Perkins, Mrs. Mendez?”
    “I didn’t see her, but I heard her all right. Heard both of them. The woman said, ‘I’m sick and tired of playing your games, Angela. And one way or the other they’re going to stop.’ Then Miss Perkins laughed. I knew it was her ’cause like I said, I’ve seen her on TV. And she laughed the way people do when they’re feeling mean. And she said something like, ‘Oh, you’ll keep playing, darling. The stakes . . .’ ” Carla screwed up her nose as she concentrated. “ ‘The stakes are too high,’ she said, ‘for you to do anything else.’ They called each other names