Read Online Murder With Reservations by Elaine Viets - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elaine Viets
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery Fiction, Fort Lauderdale (Fla.), Hotels, Hawthorne; Helen (Fictitious Character), Women detectives - Florida - Fort Lauderdale, Hotel Cleaning Personnel
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“He could make real money in construction. If he’s that cute, he could park cars on South Beach for big tips.”
“Maybe he likes it,” Denise said. “His grandma cleaned houses. She taught him well. A man can clean as well as a woman. I’m not prejudiced.”
“Especially against cute guys,” Helen said, but she grinned, and Denise knew she was kidding. “Hey, I’ve nothing against scenic coworkers.”
“You won’t see him until after break today. You’re working the third floor again with Cheryl, until your ex leaves the hotel. We figured you’d be safest up there. Sondra and I will keep an eye out for your ex. Here’s your smock.”
Helen put on her cloak of invisibility, but she was jumpy and distracted all morning. There was no reason for Rob to come upstairs, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
The cleaning did not go well. Some of it was the guests’ fault. The rest of the blame went to Helen. The couple in room 308 left two used condoms on the floor. Room 310 was a checkout, which required a deep cleaning. It didn’t seem especially difficult until Helen opened the nightstand drawer to dust the inside.
“What’s this stuff?” she said. “Looks like mulch.”
“Don’t touch it. Let me see.” Cheryl pulled a red bag out of the trash. “I thought so. Sunflower seeds. The guy spit the hulls into the drawer.”
Helen’s stomach flopped like a fresh-caught fish. “What’s wrong with the waste can?” she said.
“He doesn’t have to use it. He’s not at home,” Cheryl said. “People go to hotel rooms so they can indulge their fantasies. For some it’s sex, drugs or booze. But others enjoy being slobs. Women who have to pick up after their families love to throw towels on the floor. Men whose wives nag them for being sloppy Joes leave nasty surprises like this.”
Cheryl found a shirt cardboard in the trash and scooped the damp sunflower hulls out of the drawer.
“Doesn’t that make you mad?” Helen asked.
“No,” she said. “I just wish they’d tip when they go on a slob bender.”
“Did Mr. Sunflower leave anything besides those hulls?” Helen asked.
“Seventeen cents.”
“Bringing our tip total for today up to a dollar twenty-three,” Helen said.
“I’ve fought to stay off welfare, because I want my daughter to be proud of me,” Cheryl said. “But it’s a struggle. If everybody tipped a dollar a room, my life would be much easier.”
“Twenty rooms. Ten bucks a day for each of us,” Helen said. “If I was making an extra fifty a week, my uninsured root canal wouldn’t have been so painful. A bellman carries the bags thirty feet across the lobby and gets tipped two bucks. We’re up here lifting mattresses and cleaning spit seeds out of drawers, and people won’t tip us.” She flipped the spread off the bed so hard she knocked the lamp shade crooked.
“Helen, don’t waste your energy getting angry over what you can’t change,” Cheryl said. “It will wear you down.” She scraped out the rest of the drawer and sprayed the inside with cleaner.
Suddenly Helen understood why Rhonda refused to clean the whipped-cream Jacuzzi. After years of dirty diapers on the bedspreads and wet towels on the floor, something had snapped. Rhonda was tired of being used and angry at the inhumane expectation that she’d clean up anything, no matter how disgusting. She felt wiped out, invisible. No wonder she ran off with a man who gave her fifty-dollar bills. It beat dollar-twenty-three tips.
Cheryl didn’t seem to be afflicted with that same anger. She serenely vacuumed the carpet. Helen straightened the lamp shade and turned out the lights. They closed the door on another clean room.
“Let’s see what delights 314 has for us,” Cheryl said. She started to open the door when she heard a low feral growl, and slammed it shut.
“Is that a guest?” Helen said. It sounded like the room was rented to a werewolf.
“It’s an illegal dog,” Cheryl said.
“Maybe he likes it,” Denise said. “His grandma cleaned houses. She taught him well. A man can clean as well as a woman. I’m not prejudiced.”
“Especially against cute guys,” Helen said, but she grinned, and Denise knew she was kidding. “Hey, I’ve nothing against scenic coworkers.”
“You won’t see him until after break today. You’re working the third floor again with Cheryl, until your ex leaves the hotel. We figured you’d be safest up there. Sondra and I will keep an eye out for your ex. Here’s your smock.”
Helen put on her cloak of invisibility, but she was jumpy and distracted all morning. There was no reason for Rob to come upstairs, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
The cleaning did not go well. Some of it was the guests’ fault. The rest of the blame went to Helen. The couple in room 308 left two used condoms on the floor. Room 310 was a checkout, which required a deep cleaning. It didn’t seem especially difficult until Helen opened the nightstand drawer to dust the inside.
“What’s this stuff?” she said. “Looks like mulch.”
“Don’t touch it. Let me see.” Cheryl pulled a red bag out of the trash. “I thought so. Sunflower seeds. The guy spit the hulls into the drawer.”
Helen’s stomach flopped like a fresh-caught fish. “What’s wrong with the waste can?” she said.
“He doesn’t have to use it. He’s not at home,” Cheryl said. “People go to hotel rooms so they can indulge their fantasies. For some it’s sex, drugs or booze. But others enjoy being slobs. Women who have to pick up after their families love to throw towels on the floor. Men whose wives nag them for being sloppy Joes leave nasty surprises like this.”
Cheryl found a shirt cardboard in the trash and scooped the damp sunflower hulls out of the drawer.
“Doesn’t that make you mad?” Helen asked.
“No,” she said. “I just wish they’d tip when they go on a slob bender.”
“Did Mr. Sunflower leave anything besides those hulls?” Helen asked.
“Seventeen cents.”
“Bringing our tip total for today up to a dollar twenty-three,” Helen said.
“I’ve fought to stay off welfare, because I want my daughter to be proud of me,” Cheryl said. “But it’s a struggle. If everybody tipped a dollar a room, my life would be much easier.”
“Twenty rooms. Ten bucks a day for each of us,” Helen said. “If I was making an extra fifty a week, my uninsured root canal wouldn’t have been so painful. A bellman carries the bags thirty feet across the lobby and gets tipped two bucks. We’re up here lifting mattresses and cleaning spit seeds out of drawers, and people won’t tip us.” She flipped the spread off the bed so hard she knocked the lamp shade crooked.
“Helen, don’t waste your energy getting angry over what you can’t change,” Cheryl said. “It will wear you down.” She scraped out the rest of the drawer and sprayed the inside with cleaner.
Suddenly Helen understood why Rhonda refused to clean the whipped-cream Jacuzzi. After years of dirty diapers on the bedspreads and wet towels on the floor, something had snapped. Rhonda was tired of being used and angry at the inhumane expectation that she’d clean up anything, no matter how disgusting. She felt wiped out, invisible. No wonder she ran off with a man who gave her fifty-dollar bills. It beat dollar-twenty-three tips.
Cheryl didn’t seem to be afflicted with that same anger. She serenely vacuumed the carpet. Helen straightened the lamp shade and turned out the lights. They closed the door on another clean room.
“Let’s see what delights 314 has for us,” Cheryl said. She started to open the door when she heard a low feral growl, and slammed it shut.
“Is that a guest?” Helen said. It sounded like the room was rented to a werewolf.
“It’s an illegal dog,” Cheryl said.
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