Night Secrets by Thomas H. Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

collar, and she kept the collar turned up against her throat despite the warm spring air. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly and bound in a silver clasp behind her head. Her skin was very white, almost glistening in the bright morning sunlight.
    She seemed somewhat thinner than in the photograph, and in some sense more withdrawn, her blue eyes shielded behind a pair of gold-rimmed dark glasses. She moved slowly, with an oddly broken gait, until she reached Fifth Avenue. Then she straightened herself abruptly, in what appeared as a sudden, bold stiffening of the spine, and turned south, walking briskly until she reached the Pierre Hotel at the comer of Sixty-first Street.
    Frank continued behind, waited a moment after she’d disappeared into the hotel, then walked in himself. For a moment, he didn’t see her. Then a quick streak of blond passed through the remotest corner of his peripheral vision, and he saw her dart around a single marble column and disappear again, this time into an elevator with two other women. As the doors closed, he could see that one of the women had begun to talk to Mrs. Phillips casually, as if she knew her.
    Frank watched the lighted numbers of the elevator, wrote in his notebook that it had stopped at the second floor, then walked over to one of the uniformed bellboys and smiled. “Lot of women going up to the second floor,” he said amiably.
    The bellboy nodded.
    â€œWhat is it, some kind of conference?” Frank asked.
    The bellboy nodded.
    â€œOn what?”
    The bellboy shrugged. “Something about the rain forest,” he said dully. “Friends of the Rain Forest.”
    â€œRain forest?”
    â€œThey’re raising money for it or something,” the bellboy said. “They meet every Monday.”
    Frank nodded, then stepped away, took a seat in the lobby and waited. He’d only been in his seat for a few minutes when a shadow passed over him, and he looked up to see a large man in a dark-blue double-breasted suit.
    â€œExcuse me, sir,” the man said. “But are you a registered guest of the hotel?”
    Frank shook his head.
    â€œHere to visit someone?”
    â€œNo.”
    The man’s eyes darkened. “My name’s Mortimer,” he said. He smiled thinly. “Ben Mortimer. Hotel security.”
    Frank stared at him coolly. “You rousting me?”
    â€œWell, we can’t let the lobby …”
    â€œStart to look like a bus terminal?”
    The smile disappeared. “Exactly.”
    Frank pulled himself up slightly, drew out his identification, then handed it to Mortimer.
    Mortimer glanced at the ID, then returned it to Frank. “It’s not the sort of thing we like here at the Pierre,” he said.
    â€œPart of the job,” Frank told him.
    â€œMay I ask …?”
    Frank shook his head. “Sorry.”
    Mortimer nodded. “I understand client privilege and all that, but I hope you can understand my position, too.”
    â€œSure,” Frank said, “but the fact is, I have to keep an eye on somebody, and that person happens to be in the hotel. As long as that’s the case, I have to be here, too.”
    â€œYes, but …”
    â€œAnd I can’t afford a new suit everytime I step into a fancy hotel.”
    Mortimer’s body remained tightly drawn. “I’m not looking for a disturbance,” he said.
    â€œI’m not either,” Rank told him.
    â€œSo, what’s the solution?” Mortimer asked stiffly.
    Frank kept his voice a few degrees below freezing. “Maybe you should have a waiting area for private dicks.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Mortimer said humorlessly. “And I don’t want this to become a common practice. The people at the Pierre …”
    â€œDon’t always trust each other,” Frank interrupted. “That’s why some of them hire me.”
    Mortimer looked at Frank cautiously. “You