“Address, Peabody.”
As Peabody rattled it off, Eve hit sirens, lights, and took the corner. Peabody grabbed the chicken stick, white-knuckled it, and said a short but heartfelt prayer.
The Manor looked like just that, something found in the English countryside and once owned by a wealthy earl. The gorgeous old brownstone, obviously recently and lovingly rehabbed, boasted a wide portico entrance, fat urns of trailing flowers, and a liveried doorman Eve expected to give her grief when she pulled her dull-looking DLE into the loading zone.
She braced for it as he hotfooted over in his royal blue and gold uniform and shiny knee boots.
“Listen, pal,” she began before his expression changed from that of a man about to toss out some stinky garbage to warm yet distinguished welcome.
“Lieutenant Dallas. How can we help you today?”
He threw her off stride. She hated that. But it only took her a moment to understand. The Manor belonged to Roarke, and the doorman had gotten the business-wide memo to cooperate fully with the big boss’s wife.
She didn’t really hate that, but it kind of irked.
“I need you to leave my car where I put it, and I need the manager, asap.”
“Absolutely. Diego!” He signaled to a black-suited bellman just rolling out a loaded cart. “See that Lieutenant Dallas’s vehicle remains undisturbed. Let me get the door for you, Lieutenant.” He pulled the tall, heavily carved door open, gestured them inside.
The lobby resembled a large parlor, appointed to Old World perfection. Just Roarke’s style, Eve thought, all the gleaming wood, glossy tile, the heavy bronze lighting and abundance of artfully arranged flowers. Rather than a team manning a front desk, a woman sat at a long table in a high-backed leather chair, the same color as the doorman’s livery. She wore a simple and sleek black suit and her auburn hair in a shining high ponytail.
“Rianna, this is Lieutenant Dallas and … I apologize.”
“Detective Peabody,” Eve said.
“They need to speak with Joleen right away.”
“Of course. Give me one moment. Won’t you please have a seat?”
“We’re fine.”
Still smiling, the woman tapped her earpiece. “Joleen, Rianna at the front. Lieutenant Dallas is in the lobby. I—I will, yes.”
Another tap, another smile. “She’ll be right out. In the meantime, can we offer you any refreshment? We have a lovely menu of teas.”
“All good.” But Eve pulled out her PPC. “Take a look at this guy. He should be registered under Jerald Reinhold. I need his room number, then I—”
“Oh, but Mr. Reinhold checked out, about two hours ago.” Rianna’s smile turned to a look of nearly comic distress. “I’m so sorry.”
“Damn it. Were you on?” she asked the doorman.
“Yes, I was. I loaded his two suitcases into our complimentary airport shuttle. He said he had an early flight to Miami.”
“Lieutenant.” A middle-aged woman in a garnet red suit with a sweep of gilded brown hair clipped across the tiles in sky-high heels, hand extended. “I’m Joleen Mortimer. Welcome to The Manor. How can I help you?”
“I need to see the room Jerald Reinhold was in. I need to know how he paid, what he ordered, if he did so, while in house, who talked to him.”
“Of course. Rianna?”
Already swiping madly at a tablet, Rianna nodded. “I’m bringing it up. Mr. Reinhold stayed in The Squire’s Suite. He booked Friday evening, via e-mail, reserved with a credit card, but paid in cash on arrival Saturday evening. He also paid cash for room service, ordered at twenty-one-five, yesterday at ten-thirty, last night at seventeen hundred, and again this morning at seven. Additional charges incurred by use of the in-suite minibar.”
“What’s the damage?” Eve demanded.
“I’m sorry.”
“How much did he spend?”
“Oh …” Rianna glanced at her manager, got a brisk nod. “Three thousand, six hundred dollars and forty-five cents total on his bill, paid in full. With cash, as I said.”