Read Online Under Suspicion by The Mulgray Twins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: The Mulgray Twins
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throng. ‘Can you see him?’ She teetered, threatening to slop the contents of her glass onto my expensive hired silk outfit.
I put out a supporting hand and steered her towards a currently unoccupied chaise longue. ‘Why don’t you lie in wait over here?’ And she would indeed soon be assuming a horizontal position if her champagne input continued at the same reckless rate. ‘I saw him down by the lake. He’ll be circulating among his guests all evening.’
That had given me an idea. With Mansell circulating for the next couple of hours, I could have a rake around his office – perhaps unearth something of interest. And since I knew the present whereabouts of Prentice and Scott, I could kill three birds with one stone and pay their rooms a visit too. I left Millie Prentice draped tipsily over the chaise longue and headed for the administrative wing.
The cool marbled expanse of the reception areawith its lacy plasterwork was almost deserted, apart from a courting couple in their own small world gazing dreamily into each other’s eyes, a porter loading the luggage of some new arrivals onto a large brass trolley, and an elegantly dressed woman walking towards the elevator. High-stepping behind her on twiggy legs was a tiny poodle, jet-black, pom-pom cut, lollipop tail perkily erect.
‘Cute,’ I thought. ‘Gorgonzola would have him for lunch.’
Gorgonzola… Her drug-detecting talent would be useful if I had her with me when I made that search of Mansell’s office. I was unlikely to get such a good opportunity again. I made some mental calculations. In ten minutes I could nip back to La Caleta, and hopefully there’d not be too much trouble getting her into the hated cat-carrier once I’d buckled on her working collar, training overcoming reluctance.
Gorgonzola had wined and dined, so to speak, and was in cooperative mood. Barely thirty minutes later I was once again walking across the foyer, the carrier half-concealed under a pashmina wrap, draped toga-style loosely over one shoulder and allowed to slide down my arm. The lovers on the enveloping sofa still had eyes only for each other, the porter was nowhere in sight and the staff behind the reception desk were chatting to each other or busy with paperwork and spared me hardly a glance.
I made my way to the ladies’ room beside one ofthe first-floor lounges and released the catch on the carrier. G emerged yawning and, knowing it would annoy me, made a token display of independence by using one of the wooden legs of the two-seater chaise as an upmarket scratching post.
If one lady could lead a prancing poodle around the corridors, another could lead a creative cat. I was counting on the fact that in a five-star hotel, guests’ eccentric little foibles go unremarked. Trusting that Gorgonzola’s collar would look like some fancy pet accessory, I snapped on the lead, stowed the carrier discreetly under the chaise and together we sallied forth ready for action.
G enjoyed duty walks with her collar, and tail erect, tip twitching, she paraded along a corridor designed as an open-sided Moorish cloister. On my left, a wall of arches overlooked the Casablanca courtyard. On my right, electric candle sconces shed a soft light on the terracotta plaster and elongated the shadows of dwarf palms in gleaming brass pots.
In the elevator I pressed the button for floor four so there’d be no tell-tale 5 illuminated down in the foyer. From there, I took the stairs to the administration offices on the floor above. G and I ran lightly up the steps – underhand activity can usually be disguised by bold and confident actions, so no furtive tiptoeing. At the top I paused. The public corridors and the stairs had been comfortably, even brightly, lit, but up here at this time of night, therewas only subdued stand-by lighting separating pools of darkness. No candle sconces, no leafy palms in brass pots, no decorative windows, no windows at all, just a wide corridor lined with
I put out a supporting hand and steered her towards a currently unoccupied chaise longue. ‘Why don’t you lie in wait over here?’ And she would indeed soon be assuming a horizontal position if her champagne input continued at the same reckless rate. ‘I saw him down by the lake. He’ll be circulating among his guests all evening.’
That had given me an idea. With Mansell circulating for the next couple of hours, I could have a rake around his office – perhaps unearth something of interest. And since I knew the present whereabouts of Prentice and Scott, I could kill three birds with one stone and pay their rooms a visit too. I left Millie Prentice draped tipsily over the chaise longue and headed for the administrative wing.
The cool marbled expanse of the reception areawith its lacy plasterwork was almost deserted, apart from a courting couple in their own small world gazing dreamily into each other’s eyes, a porter loading the luggage of some new arrivals onto a large brass trolley, and an elegantly dressed woman walking towards the elevator. High-stepping behind her on twiggy legs was a tiny poodle, jet-black, pom-pom cut, lollipop tail perkily erect.
‘Cute,’ I thought. ‘Gorgonzola would have him for lunch.’
Gorgonzola… Her drug-detecting talent would be useful if I had her with me when I made that search of Mansell’s office. I was unlikely to get such a good opportunity again. I made some mental calculations. In ten minutes I could nip back to La Caleta, and hopefully there’d not be too much trouble getting her into the hated cat-carrier once I’d buckled on her working collar, training overcoming reluctance.
Gorgonzola had wined and dined, so to speak, and was in cooperative mood. Barely thirty minutes later I was once again walking across the foyer, the carrier half-concealed under a pashmina wrap, draped toga-style loosely over one shoulder and allowed to slide down my arm. The lovers on the enveloping sofa still had eyes only for each other, the porter was nowhere in sight and the staff behind the reception desk were chatting to each other or busy with paperwork and spared me hardly a glance.
I made my way to the ladies’ room beside one ofthe first-floor lounges and released the catch on the carrier. G emerged yawning and, knowing it would annoy me, made a token display of independence by using one of the wooden legs of the two-seater chaise as an upmarket scratching post.
If one lady could lead a prancing poodle around the corridors, another could lead a creative cat. I was counting on the fact that in a five-star hotel, guests’ eccentric little foibles go unremarked. Trusting that Gorgonzola’s collar would look like some fancy pet accessory, I snapped on the lead, stowed the carrier discreetly under the chaise and together we sallied forth ready for action.
G enjoyed duty walks with her collar, and tail erect, tip twitching, she paraded along a corridor designed as an open-sided Moorish cloister. On my left, a wall of arches overlooked the Casablanca courtyard. On my right, electric candle sconces shed a soft light on the terracotta plaster and elongated the shadows of dwarf palms in gleaming brass pots.
In the elevator I pressed the button for floor four so there’d be no tell-tale 5 illuminated down in the foyer. From there, I took the stairs to the administration offices on the floor above. G and I ran lightly up the steps – underhand activity can usually be disguised by bold and confident actions, so no furtive tiptoeing. At the top I paused. The public corridors and the stairs had been comfortably, even brightly, lit, but up here at this time of night, therewas only subdued stand-by lighting separating pools of darkness. No candle sconces, no leafy palms in brass pots, no decorative windows, no windows at all, just a wide corridor lined with
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