was gathering the stained bed sheets on the floor glanced up. “Sir, you can’t be here. The police forbade it.”
Marcus brushed the comment aside, his attention glued to the disfigured walls. The insults ranged from crude to cruel. Whore was among the softest. Others made him nauseous. He fought to keep a cool head, to decide if the loathsome display confirmed his suspicions.
Besides himself, and now Deb and the sheriff, he counted the people knowing about Flint on the fingers of one hand: his lawyer, bound to discretion by his profession; his accountant, who happened to be his sister Theo; his other sibling, Ty, and his blushing bride, who both had had their share of public exposure and valued privacy even more than he did. The last one had a room just above his head.
The idea someone he knew could do something like this disgusted him, but he had to face it. There was one more person. Eden had a good motive to scare him away, and she knew exactly how to achieve it. A nameless threat would not impress him, but if he believed Deb could be hurt… If you add the fact that Eden despised her…
Marcus banged the door on his way out.
He saw a pair of bags as soon as he reached the fourth floor.
“Where do you think you’re going, Eden?”
The beautiful blonde exhaled noisily. “Oh, Marcus, it’s you! Dieu ! You scared me. I’m not staying in this cursed place one more minute. First Sybil, now Clare—”
He paled. “You have news about Clare?”
She snorted. “The hotel physician said it was allergies.” He wished Rachel Hunter would make a statement to clarify facts, instead of trying to shepherd attendees as if nothing had happened because she feared the sponsors and for her personal reputation.
“She was poisoned!” Eden wrung her white hands. “Allergies, my butt… Lies. All lies. Je te le dis . This conference is doomed. Cursed. I’m leaving.”
Marcus shoved the suitcases inside and kicked the door. “I don’t think so.”
The blonde hopped gracefully with a shriek. “Those are Louis Vuitton! Be careful!”
“I’m not in the mood for a fashion lecture, or your Belle dramatic act. What the fuck did you do?”
Eden scowled. “There’s no need to be vulgaire .”
“Oh yeah? You were not so clean yourself when you wrote those horrors on Deb’s walls.”
“What horrors? Ah… It’s about your precious Deborah. Again.” The woman spat the name with enough venom to curdle cream. “It’s the same old song, time and again. She shows up, and you become complètement gaga . Irrational. She leads you by the—”
“Who’s vulgar now? Answer my questions!”
She flipped her wrist in dismissal, and started toward her handbag. Marcus yanked her around. “Why did you trash our rooms? Cajoling and gentle persuasion didn’t work, so you decided to add a warning of your own? Are you responsible for that idiotic poem, too? A cheap way to interest people in the conference?”
Eden straightened up in anger, which nearly brought them eye to eye. He released her arm.
Her red mouth twisted in distaste. “Just a minute ago, you reminded me of my insistence about canceling your big announcement. Anyone here will soon learn about your little tour de passe-passe , isn’t it? So why would I want anyone to look at this circus too closely?”
She had him there. Marcus growled, “I’m still not hearing you deny you trashed our rooms.”
“I have more interesting things to do than listen to your absurd accusations. Do you really think I bother about argent de poche ?”
“Fifteen percent of Flint’s income is hardly pocket-change.” He couldn’t believe his ears. Had she just called vandalism a bother ? Marcus struggled to stay calm. She was selfish and greedy. She would use any situation to her own means. However, he didn’t see her shooting someone in the head.
“ Assez! That’s enough. You’re not the police, and I don’t have to hear any of this. I didn’t do anything. Contrary to
Learning to Kill: Stories