Read Online Frenzy by John Lutz - Free Book Online Page B

it.
    There was a thought to cheer you down.
    On the descending elevator, Harold said, “Time not to have a drink.”
    Knowing Harold code, Sal understood what he meant. It was time to drop in at the hotel bar and talk to Bonnie the Barista.

13
    E arly as it was, there were only a few people in the Fairchild Hotel’s bar. Four solitary male drinkers were spaced about the place as if trying to be as far apart from each other as possible. Two women sat at a small round table. One very attractive woman was perched on a stool at the end of the bar.
    Sal and Harold took stools at the opposite end of the bar from where the woman sat nursing some kind of drink that looked like a bloody Mary. Yep, there was a stalk of celery on the napkin where the glass rested. The woman picked up the celery, dipped it in the drink, then took a bite of it that could be heard around the bar. She pursed her lips and chewed. Harold had never thought of eating celery as sexy, but now he did.
    A tall woman about fifty, in a white shirt and red vest, came over, and Sal ordered seltzer water, Harold an espresso. Sal flashed his shield, given to Q&A detectives while they worked for hire for the NYPD. The barista looked at it briefly and then went and got their drinks. She set them on cork coasters in front of the two detectives. A small plastic nameplate pinned to her vest identified her as Bonnie. She had one of those round, perpetually almost-smiling faces that made her hard to read. An all-purpose expression.
    â€œYou here about what happened upstairs?” she asked.
    â€œYeah, I heard about it,” Harold said.
    Bonnie looked confused. “No, I mean—”
    â€œHe knows what you mean,” Sal said. “He’s being a smart ass.”
    Bonnie smiled all the way. It was like the sun coming out. “Like half the people who come in here,” she said.
    Sal didn’t doubt it. He asked, “You know something, Bonnie?”
    â€œNo, I’m listening.”
    â€œNo,” Sal said. “I mean do you know something we should know?”
    â€œI know none of those murdered women was in here while I was on duty. The girls were too young, and their chaperone stayed dry to set a good example. They were an up-an’-up bunch. It’s tragic, what happened.”
    â€œNobody even came in the bar for a latte?” Harold asked.
    â€œNope. You gotta remember, they were only here one night.” She shrugged, smiling at about half amperage. “Sorry to be a dry fountain of knowledge.”
    â€œA fella who kind of interests us did come in, though. Said he did, anyway. One of the paint convention people.”
    â€œPlenty of them were in here,” Bonnie said.
    â€œHow about at guy named Craig Duke. Middle-aged, thinning brown hair, mighta had on a gray blazer, white shirt, pink tie.”
    Something changed in Bonnie’s eyes, and she smiled. “Yeah, I know Mr. Duke. From the Midwest. Some kinda paint salesman. With the Glow View people.”
    â€œWas he down here yesterday evening?”
    â€œSure. About six o’clock on.”
    â€œOn what?” Harold asked, not surprised that Bonnie’s account of last night was going to differ from Craig Duke’s. “Does that mean he was here till closing time?”
    â€œNo, no. I mean he just stayed here for a while.” Bonnie looked uneasy and her gaze shifted to the woman at the other end of the bar. What was going on here? She knew she’d better play straight with these two. And it wasn’t like she had something to hide. “He left around six thirty,” Bonnie said. “But he came back later.”
    â€œAlone?”
    Sighing, Bonnie said, “You probably oughta talk to Wanda Woman.” She motioned with her eyes, ever so slightly, toward the woman down the bar.
    Sal added up the conversation and looked at Bonnie. “You’re kidding me? Wonder Woman?”
    â€œ Wanda. And it’s a