Room for Murder - Tim Myers [54]
She said, “No you don’t. You dragged me into this, and now I don’t see any way around it.”
He nodded, started to hand it to her, then thought better of it and opened the paper himself. Elise was startled by the letterhead from The Tattle Tale as she read over his shoulder, but both of them nearly yelped when they saw the body of the message. It said:
“Okay, if you can’t get a picture of the room, fake something. We need “The Murder Inn” story by Friday, and I want art to go with it. Here’s my authorization; bribe the maid if you can’t steal the key again, but I want a picture of that room to go along with the story, or don’t bother coming back.”
It was signed, “Jasper Hayes, Editor-in-Chief, The Tattle Tale.”
“So that’s what happened to our keys,” Elise said, fuming. “I want them gone, Alex. We don’t need their money that badly.”
A sudden idea struck him. “If they go now, they’ll just write the story anyway. Maybe there’s a way to kill it altogether.”
“How are we going to do that?” she asked.
“I’ve got an idea, but I’m going to need help from you.”
She smiled grimly. “Count me in.”
And suddenly, the two of them were joined in a conspiracy of their own.
Alex’s alarm screamed at 2:00 a.m. He reached groggily for the snooze button, then remembered why he’d set it for such a miserable hour.
It was time to put all their hard work into play. Dressing quickly in black sweatpants and a navy blue sweatshirt, Alex pulled a ski mask over his face and headed out into the lobby.
Elise was waiting for him by the front desk.
“You look like you’re going to rob a bank,” she said with a smile.
Alex pulled off the mask and asked, “Are you ready?”
Elise said, “I don’t know about this, Alex. I’m having second thoughts. It feels so juvenile.”
“Come on, they deserve it If you don’t want to be a part of it, I understand, but I’m going through with my end of it.”
Elise said, “Then I’m not going to let you have all the fun.”
Alex looked at his watch. “Okay, give me five minutes to get set up, then start the tape.”
She said, “I’m glad you got these walkie-talkies from Mor. I can’t wait to hear what they say.”
Mor had loaned Alex three walkie-talkies he’d repaired for a trio of brothers who used them during hunting season. Earlier that day, Alex had slipped one into the newlyweds’ room behind the dresser. It would let them eavesdrop on the effects of their work.
Alex said, “Here goes nothing.”
He went up to the second floor and used the attic scuttle in the maid’s closet to get into the attic. Alex had traded in his normal high-powered flashlight for one of considerably less intensity. It was enough light to let him see by, but not enough to broadcast his presence to the world in case someone happened to glance up at the single window in the attic space.
Grabbing a bamboo pole he used to knock hornets’ nests down in the autumn, Alex climbed out onto the roof until he was even with the reporters’ suite. Leaning outward near the gutter, Alex was ready to begin.
A quick glance at his watch showed that it was nearly time.
With a soft, delicate touch, Alex lowered the pole and tapped it gently on the second-floor window. He pulled the pole up, waited ten breaths, then tapped again, this time with more vigor than before. Jerking the pole back toward him, Alex almost lost his balance and fell.
How would he explain what had happened if he slipped from his perch? The best he could hope for from a fall at that height would be a broken bone or two, and he didn’t even want to think about the worst possibility.
Alex hit the broadcast button and signaled to Elise. The system was sophisticated enough to allow them to monitor the broadcasts from each other while only receiving from the third set, so their conversations wouldn’t be sent at an inopportune time to the room they were trying to haunt.
Alex asked, “Any reaction at all?”
“They heard you, they’ve been fighting about it. The light’s been on for five minutes. Hang on. Okay, they just turned it out again. Give it a few minutes, then hit it again.