Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

“The Colony, good afternoon,” a woman’s voice said.

“Paul Bartlett, please.”

She connected him, and the phone rang and rang. Finally she came back on the line. “There’s no answer. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Yes, please. Ask him to …”

“One moment. I’ll connect you with the front desk.” She did so.

“Reception,” a man’s voice said.

“I’d like to leave a message for Paul Bartlett,” Stone said. He’d just arrange to meet the man and put Liz’s proposition to him.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Bartlett checked out just a few minutes ago, and I’m afraid he didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

Stone punched the end button. “Shit,” he said aloud.

31

STONE COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. HE AND DINO GOT DRESSED and into a car and drove to the Colony Hotel; he wanted to question the front desk man. As they pulled into the parking lot, he spotted Detective Riley and Lieutenant Lundquist sitting in an idling car thirty yards away. Stone walked over and rapped on the window, startling them both.

“What are you doing here, Stone?” Lundquist asked. “You’re going to spook the guy.”

“What guy?” Stone asked.

“Bartlett.”

“Bartlett has decamped.”

“What?”

“Come with me.” Stone started for the hotel lobby.

Lundquist caught up and fell into step with Stone. “What do you mean, ‘decamped’?”

“I mean, Bartlett has checked out of the hotel, and he didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I telephoned him half an hour ago, and that’s what the desk clerk told me. I want to find out if it’s true, or if Bartlett simply bought the front desk man, and I want you to flash your badge at him so he’ll talk to me.”

The desk clerk stared blankly at the badge. “You’re a police officer? Where? Your badge doesn’t look familiar.”

“He’s from Minneapolis,” Stone said. “I can have a Palm Beach badge here in thirty seconds, if that will refresh your memory.”

“My memory about what?”

“First of all, has Paul Bartlett really checked out?”

“Yes, I saw him go.”

“What forwarding address did he give?”

“I’ll show you his registration card,” the clerk said, riffling through a stack of them. “Here.” He held it up. The space for a forwarding address was blank.

“Did you check him out of the hotel?”

“In a manner of speaking. He didn’t even wait for his bill, said he had to catch a plane and I should mail it to him.”