Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [38]
Finally I found my room in one of the far-flung wings, carried my bag inside, and went straight to the phone. Alicia Ferris, Renshaw’s friend who had acted as Hy’s local contact, was at home and expecting my call. When I asked about her conversations with Hy, she said they’d spoken only the one time, around nine on Sunday evening.
“Can you repeat what he said—the exact words, if possible?” I asked.
“Well, it was something like ‘This is Ripinsky. Tell Renshaw it’s a go for eleven. I’ll be in touch afterward.’ And then he thanked me and hung up.”
“How did he sound? Tense? Anxious?”
“Neither. I’d say controlled. He had a job to do, and that was it.”
I sighed. Not much to go on.
“Ms. McCone,” Ferris said, “you should give me your room number there at the motel, in case I need to reach you.”
“One thirty-three.” I glanced at the key that lay next to the phone for confirmation.
“Good. Feel free to call me if you need anything at all.”
As I hung up, I contemplated Ferris’s request for the room number. It was possible she was simply trying to be helpful, but she wouldn’t need the number to reach me by phone. Perhaps Renshaw was using her in his surveillance, was planning to have his people search my room when I went out. For all I knew, Ferris was one of their operatives. But why ask such an obvious question that might tip me? Why not just get the room number from the desk clerk? Of course, the clerk might mention to me that someone had asked—
Whoa, I told myself. I was starting to think in as fully paranoid a fashion as anyone at RKI. Then I reminded myself that paranoia has its uses. Even though I hadn’t spotted anyone maintaining surveillance on me at any point during my journey, I had that feeling of being covertly watched.
I took the motel map from my bag and familiarized myself with its layout. Then I dredged up my memories of the place next door, where Joey had worked. The bar stretched between the lobby and swimming-pool area, with an entrance at either end, and as I recalled, the ladies’ room ran beside it, also with two entrances. Beyond the pool enclosure was a maze of paths leading through the gardens, among which the wings of guest rooms were set. Dark gardens, spreading from the main building to the cliff face, with parking lots on either side …
It might work.
I removed the phone book from the nightstand drawer and looked up the number for Reliable Cab Company—a firm whose reputation fit its name, if my mother, who dislikes driving and does as little as possible, was to be believed. I reached for the receiver, then pulled my hand away. Paranoia striking again. It wasn’t possible RKI could have bugged the line in the minutes since I’d given Alicia Ferris the room number, but how could I be certain that their operatives didn’t have an in with someone on the staff? Ferris’s question could be a smoke screen; they might have known for hours what room was assigned me. When dealing with people like them, it was better to err on the side of extreme caution.
I copied the cab company’s number down and put the slip of paper in my pocket. Then I got started on the room. Opened my travel bag and hung some things in the closet. Draped a robe over a chair and scattered toiletries on the bathroom vanity. Then I added a rolled-up T-shirt and some extra underwear to the oversized purse, gave the room a final once-over, and headed back to the main lobby.
A man in western wear sat reading a newspaper in one of the rattan chairs, and two women in shorts were studying brochures in front of the tourist information rack. All three looked at me as I crossed to the reception desk, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything; there was little enough to look at here at eleven-thirty on a sultry Tuesday evening.
Mr. Perkins, the night manager, was barely out of his teens, and the sight of my I.D. made him nervous. He withdrew to his office to call his daytime counterpart about their policy on opening guest records to investigators. While he was in there, I placed ten