Chapter 9 - The Man at the Hotel
We handed copies of the tapes and Thomas's notes to Detective Carla Bennett, who worked cold cases in the county where he died. She listened without interrupting.
“Some of these recordings may be difficult to authenticate,” she said. “But they're significant enough to investigate.”
“Can you protect Emily?” I asked.
“I can't promise what I haven't verified. Tell me about any current threats.”
I gave her the note and Daniel's waiver. She photographed both.
That weekend the Whitmores held their rehearsal dinner at the Grand Ellery. I attended because staying away would isolate Emily further.
Vivian welcomed me with a kiss in the air beside my cheek.
“How brave,” she said, looking at my bare scalp. “Most women would wear a wig.”
“I left mine at home with my tolerance for nonsense.”
Several guests nearly choked on their drinks.
Daniel appeared within minutes. He offered his arm and guided me toward a quieter hallway.
“Let's keep tonight civil.”
“That depends on you.”
At the far end of the corridor, a hotel elevator opened.
A silver-haired man stepped out.
He wore a black suit and carried an umbrella though the night was clear. When he saw me, his expression flickered.
I knew the scar over his eyebrow from Eleanor's photograph.
“Andrew Mercer,” I said.
He stopped.
Daniel's grip tightened around my elbow.
“Mom,” he called sharply to Vivian, “we have a problem.”
The old man turned back into the elevator.
Before the doors shut, I heard Vivian say something I would remember for the rest of my life.
May you like
“Charles, don't run.”
During dinner I watched hotel employees move silently between tables, fixing problems before guests noticed. A young waiter asked whether I needed a chair. I thanked him and sat, grateful for the ordinary kindness. Illness had taught me to recognize it. In a room full of people with expensive jewelry and polished manners, that small offer was one of the few things that felt honest. I kept my phone faceup beside the plate, waiting for news from Ruth.
