Swimming to Catalina (Stone Barrington 4)

She caught his sleeve. “Are you nuts?”

“I’m just going to the men’s room; I’ll be back in a minute.” He walked into the rear hallway, looking to the right and left. He passed the kitchen and came to the men’s room door, looked inside, found it empty, and continued down the hall, where he found a door marked STAFF ONLY. He looked over his shoulder, then walked in.

It was a good-sized storeroom, with refrigerators lining one wall and steel shelving lining the other. In the middle of the floor were empty crates with the remnants of vegetables stuck to them. Stone walked to the rear of the room and found a toilet and, across from that, a small office.

“Hey!” a deep voice yelled.

Stone spun around. A large man in kitchen whites was standing a few feet behind him. “I was looking for the men’s room,” he said, and he caught sight of something familiar on the floor between him and the man.

“You walked right past it,” the man said. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He turned and walked toward the door.

Quickly, Stone stooped and picked up the small object, tucking it into a pocket.

“It’s right here,” the man said.

“Thanks, sorry for the trouble,” Stone replied, turning into the men’s room.

“No trouble.”

Stone opened the men’s room door and found another of Ippolito’s party standing at one of the two urinals; he took his position at the other one. The man ignored him, in the way of strangers standing at urinals. Stone washed his hands and went back to his table.

“So?”

“I got caught in a storeroom,” he said.

“Drink your coffee, and let’s get out of here,” Betty said under her breath.

Stone sipped his espresso, then dug into his jacket pocket. “I found something, though.” He held it up her to see.

“A matchbook? Congratulations, you’ve won the California lottery.”

“But look where it’s from.”

She didn’t look. “Tell me.”

“It’s a matchbook from Elaine’s,” he said.

“Can we get out of here now?”

They were driving back to the Bel-Air with the top down, enjoying the desert air.

“Elaine’s in New York?” she asked.

“Right. Arrington and I spent a lot of time there; she used to steal matches by the handful.”

“I guess finding one at Grimaldi’s is a little too much of a coincidence, then?”

“Yes, especially since we know that Arrington called from the restaurant.”

“No, we don’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Did you speak to her?”

“Well, no.”

“Did she tell the hotel operator who she was?”