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“I have an office set up for you on the meeting room level.”
“No, let me talk to her and the other one on their turf. Let’s keep it informal, keep them comfortable.”
“Whatever you prefer. She’s in the domestic employees’ lounge. I’ll show you.”
“Fine. You might as well hang around, too,” Eve said as she walked through the door he opened. “You’ll make her feel protected.”
Less than three minutes into the interview, Eve saw she’d called it right. Sheila was a tall, thin black girl with enormous eyes. More times than Eve could count she looked toward Roarke for reassurance, direction, and comfort.
She had a beautiful accent, like island music, but between it and the muffled tears, Eve began to feel a headache brewing.
“She was so sweet. That girl was so sweet. You never heard a bad word out of her mouth about anybody. Had a sunny disposition. Usually, if a guest got to see her or talk to her when she was cleaning, they’d give her a big tip. ’Cause she made them feel good. Now, I’ll never see her again.”
“I know it’s hard, Sheila, to lose a friend. Could you tell if there was anything on her mind, any worry?”
“Oh no, she was happy. In two days, we have off, and the two of us, we were going shopping for shoes. That girl, she loved to shop for shoes. Right before we went for turndowns we were saying how we’d go early and get ourselves one of those free makeovers at the beauty counter at the Sky Mall.”
Her thin, exotic face crumpled. “Oh, Mr. Roarke, sir!”
At the fresh bout of weeping, he merely took her hand, held it.
Eve picked away for another half hour, and took away scattered pieces that formed an image of a carefree, cheerful young woman who liked to shop, go dancing, and was having her first serious love affair.
She’d had a regular breakfast date with her boyfriend every morning after shift. They ate in the employee lounge, except on payday, when they splurged on a meal in a coffee shop a few blocks away. Routinely, he walked her to her transpo station, waved her off.
But they’d been making tentative noises about getting a small apartment together, maybe in the fall.
She’d said nothing to her best friend, as Sheila claimed to be, about seeing, hearing, or finding anything unusual or concerning. And had wheeled away her cart that last evening with a smile on her face.
The bell captain, who she interviewed in a lounge for the bellstaff, gave her a similarly rosy picture of Barry. Young, eager, cheerful, and starry-eyed over a dark-haired housekeeper named Darlene.
He’d gotten a raise only the month before, and had shown anyone he could collar the little gold heart necklace he’d bought for his girl, for their six-month anniversary.
Eve remembered Darlene had been wearing just such a necklace, playing with it, as she’d waited to enter 4602.
“Peabody, girl question,” she said as she walked between her aide and Roarke across the lobby.
“I’m quite a girl.”
“Right. You have a fight with your boyfriend, or you’re having second thoughts about the whole deal, anything like that, do you wear a present he’s given you?”
“Absolutely not. If it’s a big fight, you toss it back in his face. If you’re considering dumping him, you shed a few tears over it, then stick it in a drawer until you work up to the break off. If it’s a minor spat, you tuck it away until you see how things are going to shake down. You only wear something he’s given you, at least in plain sight, when you want to show him and everybody else that he’s your guy.”
“How do you keep the rules straight? It’s boggling. But that’s sort of what I figured. Hey.”
She slapped at Roarke’s hand as he tugged the chain around her neck and popped the tear-shaped diamond he’d once given her from under her shirt.
“Just checking. Apparently, I’m still your guy.”
“It wasn’t in plain sight,” she said with some satisfaction.
“Close enough.”
And catching the gleam in his eye, she narrowed her own. “You try kissing me out here, and I’m going to knock you down. Let’s go talk to Barry anyway, Peabody,” she said, sliding the pendant under her shirt again. “Close off this angle. You,” she continued, tapping a finger on Roarke’s chest, “I need to talk to sometime later about the whole media business.”
“I’ll be at your disposal. Nothing I like better.”
The smile he gave her faded, his eyes sharpened as he heard a voice softly crooning a verse of an old Irish ballad.
