Philadelphia Noir - Carlin Romano [40]
“Surprise.”
He pulled out a platinum American Express card bearing the name Gerald F. Mitchell. Beth’s heart began to race. It was the dead patient’s card.
“How did you get this?”
Alex looked at her. “You’re not worried, are you?”
She knew Leah would walk out. Call the police. But Leah wouldn’t be in this bar with Alex in the middle of the night in the first place, and Beth felt a strange, giddy sense of trust in him. If he’d pulled out a gun and said they were going to ditch the check by shooting their way out, she would have been game. Strong choices, she thought, not sure it applied but feeling too elated to question it. With the fire behind him, Alex seemed to possess a kind of glow, and Beth was enveloped in it.
Alex continued: “I’m sure the widow hasn’t canceled his cards yet. With everything going on, she probably won’t notice extra charges.”
Beth watched him hand over the stolen card, the waiter bring it back, and Alex devise his best Gerald F. Mitchell signature.
“By the way,” Alex said to the waiter, “we’d like a room. Can we book one without going down to the lobby?”
“Of course.”
They spent the next eighteen hours in a suite, sleeping little, moving from the bedroom, with its red drapes, king-size bed, and countless pillows, to an airy off-white living room where light streamed in from the south and west the following afternoon. Beth had called in sick and now gazed out the window.
“We’re in heaven,” she smiled, polishing off what remained of a room service cheese plate.
“We’ll have to die more often,” he said. Then his phone rang. He stared at it and made a face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Chloe. About the apartment debacle, I’d guess.”
“I thought she was in France.”
“Must have just flown in. She can sort out the problem—I just hate to deal with that now.”
His phone stopped, then rang again.
“I should get this. Do you mind? Chloe can get hysterical.”
“Of course,” Beth said. “I’ll try the hot tub.”
When she emerged a half hour later, Alex was beaming.
“I can go home! Not that this hasn’t been a wonderful adventure. Let’s do it again.”
“When?”
“When another patient dies and forgets his wallet,” he winked.
Beth had forgotten they were enjoying this luxury suite on a dead man’s dime and the reminder left her chilled. Alex began gathering papers into his briefcase.
“Do you have a job?” she asked.
“In my family’s business, as a matter of fact. My uncle—the one Chloe just saw overseas—he’s well off and wants me to manage his investments one day. Right now I’m managing other people’s money.”
“Do you have family in England?”
“Some there, some in France. We’re a bit spread over the map.” He motioned for Beth to sit next to him and put his arm around her. “I do legitimate business. I just thought we’d have some fun on Mitchell because even if his widow catches on, she won’t have to pay for it. You can’t object to nipping a bit out of the credit card companies, can you?”
Beth shook her head. “They’re kind of douchebags.”
Alex squeezed her tighter. “You’re not just a pretty face. You’re a potty mouth.”
When Leah called her that night, Beth recounted her activities of the last twenty-four hours, minus the stolen credit card, in a torrent of enthusiasm.
“What about Todd?” Leah asked.
“He’s too boring for me.”
That night she should have been exhausted but felt too energized to sleep. She couldn’t stop making plans. She wanted to prove to Alex that she could contribute her share to the relationship. He’d shown her a magical night. The least she could do was take him to dinner. With someone else’s money.
The next day she went to work with a target in mind: Valerie. Her cranky coworker frequently left her purse under her desk. It wasn’t the best spot—if Valerie came back, she’d be caught—but Beth had issued herself a dare and had to go through with it. She found it surprisingly easy to rifle through the bag, fish out a Visa card, and put everything else back in its place so the theft would remain unnoticed.
Contacting Alex proved more difficult. She called and left