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CHAPTERTEN
In the hallway outside Beatriz’s room, Ben stood with his back resting on the wall and his hands balled up into fists. He would beat Henry to death for pulling this bullshit. Things were going so well with Beatriz, and Henry had to go and fuck it all up by flipping out on everyone. Claudia was in there sobbing her heart out while he was standing in the hallway eating his heart out. And Beatriz was pissed. Pissed enough to bust out the Spanish, and that meant business.
That sealed it. Henry was a dead man.
Ben checked the internet for all the hotels within a twenty-five-mile radius. He’d find Henry, haul him back by the scruff of his neck and throw him at Beatriz and Claudia’s feet. Let her accuse him of the “bros before hoes” mentality then.
Luckily Henry and Claudia had chosen this area of upstate New York for its small town beauty and unspoiled river vistas. That meant he had only ten hotels to comb through in the area on his hunt for Henry. Five were within walking distance. The other five would require getting an Uber or renting a car. He started with the furthest one out that he could reach by foot. No luck at the Umstead. No one claimed to have seen a deranged but roguishly handsome twenty-six-year-old man walking around accusing innocent women of mysterious crimes. Ben flashed everyone at the desk a picture of Henry and Claudia he had on his phone. No dice. The Capital Inn was also a big fail. He also struck out at the Pinehurst and the Washington. He bribed every clerk at every hotel to call him if Henry showed up.
Disappointed and disgusted, Ben returned to the Hotel Essex. The Essex desk clerk helped him round up a rental car, and Ben headed out again to the next town over and the other five hotels he wanted to check out. If he failed there, he didn’t know what he would do. Check the airport maybe? Call the police? Hire a hitman?
Hitman—that sounded about right. “Henry, you asshole,” Ben growled as he turned out of the hotel parking lot. Ben knew he should be seven inches inside Beatriz right at this moment, not out hunting down a runaway groom who’d decided to break up with his fiancée and reality on the same day.
He shoved all thoughts of Beatriz aside. He was a man on a mission—a mission to kill another man. He drove into the next town over and found the first hotel. Then the second. Then the third. After the fourth he stopped and called Henry again. No answer. Ben didn’t find Henry at the fifth and final hotel, either. He hated the thought of returning to the Hotel Essex a failure. He would find and throttle Henry and he would do it for Beatriz. And Claudia. And him. And for Henry, too. And maybe he’d throttle him more just for the fun of it.
So Henry wasn’t at any of the other hotels in town. Where else could the man be staying? Did he get a fake mustache, shave his head, and book himself under a fake identity? No way. Henry had a good heart and great work ethic, but Claudia was the brains of the operation. Ben had checked every hotel within any reasonable driving distance. Nothing to do but go back empty-handed and hope Henry came to his senses.
“Henry, if you cost me Beatriz again so help me…” Ben muttered as he returned the car to the rental office and walked the two blocks back to the Essex. “You’re not smart enough to hide anywhere. Where the hell could you be?”
Once the words came out, Ben knew exactly where Henry was hiding.
He raced to the front desk of the Essex and rang the bell.
“Can you call up to Henry Bard’s room?” he asked the clerk.
The clerk typed something into the computer.
“Which room? He’s got two booked.”
“I knew it.” Ben slapped his hand on the counter. That bastard had booked a second room at the Essex under his own name. It was such a stupid hiding place it was actually smart. “I don’t know. What are the room numbers?”
“I can’t give those out, sir.”
“Fine. Call both of them.”
The clerk rang both hotel rooms. No answer.
“That’s it, I’m killing him.” Ben thanked the clerk for trying and started to wander around the lobby. The Hotel Essex had only six floors. Maybe he could walk the halls and knock on every single door until Henry answered. But then he ran the risk of knocking on the door of Henry’s mom, Claudia and Beatriz’s mom, the maid of honor, wedding guests. Knocking on doors wouldn’t work. He just needed a room number. He’d give anything for a damn room number.
“Can I help you, sir?” came a voice from behind him. Ben spun around and saw a young man in a bellhop’s uniform. His name tag readKEATON.
“Can you be bribed?” Ben asked, deciding to cut through pretense.
“Yes. Yes, I can,” Keaton the bellhop said, giving Ben a jaunty salute.
“Good. Will a Jackson buy me a room number?”
“Tito?”
“Andrew.”
“Janet?”
“Andrew.”
“Fine,” Keaton said. “But a Franklin would buy you five room numbers. And my R-E-S-P-E-C-T.”
“Do you actually work here or are you an escaped mental patient?” Ben asked.
