Chapter Eight
“I think he still loves Troy,” Perry said after Nick locked the door behind Horace and returned to bed.
“If you want to call that love.” Nick was brusque. He didn’t want Perry growing melancholy over Horace’s tragic past. Most of the tragedy had been brought on by Horace’s poor life choices.
Perry tipped his head, thinking. What Nick always thought of as his Christopher Robin look. “I don’t see how Troy could be behind all this, though. He can’t be sneaking into the hotel every year, let alone living here in disguise. It was forty years ago. He might not even be alive.”
“Agreed,” Nick said.
“I mean, I can see why Horace would make the connection, and Troy could be sending the letters, though it’s weird he would wait so long—and what would be the point? The creepy skeleton costumes do kind of tie in with the occultist theme, but…”
“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “The whole thing is very unlikely.” He met Perry’s troubled gaze, and made a face. “I promise to find out what happened to Troy Cavendish aka Tom Ciesielski. Okay? Word of honor. In the meantime, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted…”
Nick jerked awake.
It said a lot about how much his life had changed over the last year that he was less alarmed by screams in the middle of the night than he was the sound of Perry starting to wheeze.
Between the dust and damp, the ghosts and goofballs, the miracle was Perry hadn’t had an asthma attack before now.
He sat up. One part of his brain was calculating where the screams were coming from. Downstairs. West wing. The other part of his brain was focused on what was happening with Perry. He felt around the bedding, finding the sheets warm where Perry had lain. “You okay?”
A dumb question because he could hear Perry knocking things off the bed stand as he scrabbled for his rescue inhaler.
Nick reached for the lamp on his side of the mattress, but when he pulled the chain, the light did not come on.
He yanked again. Nothing. The room stayed shrouded in darkness. “What the hell?”
Meanwhile, someone was still screaming in the nether regions of the house.
“Go,” Perry gulped between the quick plastic clicks of his inhaler. “Go.”
“Fuck.”
The last thing he wanted to do was leave Perry in distress, but something sure as hell was happening outside this room.
He crawled over the tangle of sheets and blankets, finding Perry, who was sitting on the edge of the mattress. He gripped his bony shoulder hard, in what he hoped was reassurance. “Can you hang on a couple of minutes? I’ll be right back.”
He felt Perry’s hurried nods.
“Slow, deep breaths, all right? Just stay calm, and—”
Perry exhaled sharply and wheezed, “Will…you…go?”
Nick rolled off the bed, landing on his feet, and grabbed his pistol. He felt his way across the floor and out into the drafty hallway.
The screams had stopped, but he could hear agitated voices drifting up the elevator shaft from downstairs. He ran down the hallway, pausing to thump on Horace’s door.
Horace must have been listening to the shrieks from below too because his door opened a crack. Nick could see a pale blur—Horace—peering anxiously out. He quaked, “What is it? What’s happening? Is he here?”
“I don’t know. Lock this door and don’t open it until I come back. Do you understand?”
In answer, Horace slammed shut the door and locked it.
And locked it.
And locked it again.
Nick heard a slide bolt, a dead bolt, and a turn bolt all shoot home in quick succession.
Assuming no one kicked in the door, he should be safe enough in there.
Nick raced down the hall, past the hooded monk, jumped in the elevator, and banged on the button. The metal cage lurched down a couple of floors, landing with a teeth-rattling bounce on the ground floor. Raised voices reached him from down the hall, but it sounded as though the crisis was over.
Nick shoved his pistol in the back of his waistband, scraped back the gate, and loped down the moonlit hallway.
Halfway down the drafty corridor he spotted a huddle of bathrobes and housecoats illuminated in the silvery light pouring through the Palladian windows.
“…probably forgot to pay the electric bill again,” Sissy was saying as Nick joined the edge of the group. She was wearing a long shiny robe that made her look like she was encased in metal tubing. “Well, you took your time,” she said, spotting Nick. “Lucky it wasn’t a real emergency.”
“What the hell’s going on down here?” Nick demanded.
“It was W-W-Wally,” Ami said between chattering teeth. She pointed in the direction of her room, but it was too dark to see whatever she was indicating. “He tried to get in again.”
“He’s got a crush on you,” Nick said. He was unamused, though. Maybe there was a funny side to this, but it was a dangerous situation, no mistake.
Ami gave a laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“This can’t go on,” Duke said. Even in the dark, it was clear he had a serious case of bed beard going on. “What if that monster had got in?”
“Where’s Enzo?”
“Where’s Horace? That’s the real question,” Jonah said.
Nick said, “Mr. Daly is locked in his rooms upstairs.”
“Enzo’s taking Wally back to his pen,” Duke said. “For all the good it’s going to do, since he’s figured out how to unlock the gate.”
That afternoon Nick had taken a good hard look at the gate leading to the old pool yard. There was no way in hell that alligator had figured out how to work a padlock. Either Enzo had once again left the yard unlocked, or someone had deliberately, knowingly, let that lizard loose.
A little mischief-making on the part of their friendly, neighborhood skeleton men? Or something else?
“How did it get in here?” Nick surveyed the segmented arched doorway leading to the terrace. As far as he could tell, the door did not appear to be damaged. Nor were any of the windows broken. So how the hell was that gator getting inside the building?
No one answered.
“Isn’t this door kept locked?”
“Yes. Of course,” Sissy said. “Someone would have to open it. Someone crazy.”
“Did anyone go out tonight?”
Once again no one spoke.
The glass door suddenly rattled, and alarm rippled through the group.
Ami’s shadow sagged. “Enzo,” she said in relief.
The bulky square of Enzo’s shadow entered on a blast of night-scented air. “It’s all right,” he announced. “He’s locked in again. I don’t know how he got out.”
“You left the gate unlocked is how he got out,” Duke said.
“The hell I did! Not after this morning.”
“For God’s sake, let’s worry about it in the morning,” Wynne Winthrop drawled. She was wearing what appeared to be silk men’s pajamas. “Sleep tight, everyone. Don’t let the alligator bite.”
Her tall silhouette sauntered down the hallway before seeming to dematerialize. The others began murmuring their good nights and departing to their rooms.
Enzo turned to Nick. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t forget. Not this time.”
“I believe you,” Nick said. And he did.
Horace began unlocking the door as soon as Nick knocked.
“All clear,” Nick said as the door swung open. “It was the gator again. Also, the power seems to be out in places.”
“I paid the bill!”
“Yeah, it’s not that. It could be electrical problems.”
Horace groaned.
“And you’re going to have to do something about that reptile because it nearly took down the girl’s front door this time.”
“That’s impossible! How would it get in? The pen is padlocked. The hotel doors are kept locked at night.”
Nick was in a fever of impatience to get back to Perry. “No idea. But I saw Savitri’s door. That thing wanted in. Another couple of minutes and it would have been in.”
He left Horace huffing and puffing and insisting that it could not have been the alligator—what did he imagine, giant rats? Not that Nick would have been surprised to find the hotel was home to giant rats—and returned to his own room.
At first glance it looked like the bed was empty and a crowd of people were standing motionless by the windows. The hair rose on his scalp. Then Nick remembered the coven of mannequins. One of the figures moved.
“Is everything okay?” Perry asked. He had opened one of the windows and was standing in front of it, outlined in moonlight.
Nick went to him. “What are you doing? You’re going to freeze.” He wrapped his arms around him. Perry’s skin was cold. Even his hair felt chilly.
“I’m okay.” Perry’s voice was hoarse. “I had to have some fresh air. What’s happening downstairs?”
“False alarm.”
“What was it?”
“The swingin’ alligator of the pool yard went to visit the Savitri girl again.”
“Again?” Perry turned his head to try to read Nick’s face. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. The door held. They built to last in the ’20s.”
“But why? Is she keeping a meat locker in her rooms? Why’s that alligator want in there so much?”
“I’m guessing she’s the only resident doing any real cooking in her apartment.”
“How did it get in the hotel?”
“That’s the question for the ages.” Nick guided Perry back to bed, crawling in beside him and dragging the bedclothes over their shoulders. “How are you doing, kiddo? Are you warm enough?” He gulped as Perry’s icy feet brushed his, then manfully folded Perry’s feet between his own.
Perry huffed at the “kiddo” comment. Nick meant it affectionately. He loved and respected Perry. But there was no use pretending that decade between them wasn’t real. It was.
“Fine.”
Nick’s lips twitched at that glum comment. His concerns about Perry spending the night in this rathole had been confirmed, but saying I told you so wasn’t going to make things better. He slid an arm beneath Perry’s shoulders, drawing him closer still and settling his head more comfortably.
“Why are the lights not working?” Perry asked, a frown in his voice.
“I don’t know. God knows what the wiring is like in this mausoleum. The elevator is working, so it isn’t that Horace forgot to pay the utilities.”
Perry was silent for a minute or two. Nick hoped he was falling asleep, but he said suddenly, “Why would someone let that alligator inside?”
“We don’t know that they did.”
Perry said grimly, “Don’t we?”
Surprise held Nick silent. Perry was right. There was no possible way for that alligator to have accidentally gotten out of a locked pen and into a locked hotel, so why was he still trying to come up with plausible scenarios? There were none. The only real question was the one Perry had just posed. Why?
Well, and who?
Perry sighed. “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t think it would be this…”
“Bad?”
Perry groaned, and Nick laughed.
“It’s okay. I’ve slept in worse places—and with a lot worse company.” He kissed Perry’s forehead and then the middle of his nose and then his upper lip. Perry chuckled, kissed him back, but his laugh was tired, subdued.
“Let’s grab whatever sleep we can,” Nick said, and Perry nodded.
Slowly, his body relaxed into the warmth of Nick’s, and Nick was sure he was drifting off, but he said suddenly, wearily, “I miss Vermont.”
Nick’s heart stopped.
But fair enough. Unlike Nick, he had not spent half his life roaming the globe. Until California, the farthest he’d ever been from home was Burlington. It was natural he might feel a little homesick.
“Me too,” Nick admitted. “I even miss the snow. I never thought I would.”
“Yeah?” Perry tilted his face up as though trying to read Nick’s expression.
Nick nodded. Searched his soul. Made himself say, “If you want to go back and see your folks for Christmas, I’ll figure out a way to make it happen.”
Improvise, adapt, and overcome.
Perry said doubtfully, “Would you be able to come too?”
“No. Not this year.”
“Then no way. I’m not spending Christmas without you.”
“I appreciate that. But if you really want to go…”
Perry lifted his head, said incredulously, “Are you saying you don’t care if I’m not here for Christmas?”
Nick growled. “Of course I care. That’s not what I’m saying. But if you’re feeling homesick—”
“You’re my home.”
It closed Nick’s throat. For a moment he couldn’t get any sound out. Finally, he squeezed out, “Okay. Same.”
Perry snorted. “You old romantic, you.”
Nick kissed him and kissed him twice more for good measure. Perry chuckled, enjoying the attention. They lay quietly, holding each other. Nick was thinking.
He said slowly, cautiously, “There is a possibility. It wouldn’t happen right away, but I could push for it to happen sooner than it might otherwise. Business is good. People like the idea of hiring ex-Navy-SEALs when they’ve got a problem. Roscoe has been talking about expanding, maybe eventually opening an eastern branch. He’s even hinted around, wondering whether I might be open to moving across country again.”
Perry sucked in a quick breath, and Nick hastened to add, “It wouldn’t be for another year or two. And it might not be Vermont, but it would be a hell of a lot closer than we are now.”
“Yes,” Perry said. “That would be great.”
“And it might be Vermont,” Nick said. “Vermont was one of the possibilities being kicked around.”
“That would be great,” Perry said again. “It’s fine if it takes a couple of years. It gives us a goal. Something to plan for.”
Yes. Not just a dream, a real plan for a future they would build together.
“You could finish art school here while we save up to buy a house. A nice house. With an art studio for you and a big backyard for me.”
“I didn’t know you wanted a big backyard.”
“Yeah. With a firepit and a toolshed.”
Perry started laughing.
“What’s so funny about that?”
He shook his head. “Just the way you said a firepit and a toolshed. So…soulful.”
Nick laughed self-consciously. But he liked hearing the happiness in Perry’s voice. They were both happy. Nick liked this plan a lot. Liked even more that Perry was willing—wanted—to invest in this dream.
“How am I so lucky?” Perry whispered, which had to be the nicest thing anyone had ever said to Nick. Within another minute or two Perry was sleeping, his breathing soft and steady. Nick could feel the curve of Perry’s smile pressed against his throat.
For a time, Nick listened to the mice in the walls gnawing the woodwork, and mulled over their rosy plans for the future. Eventually he went back to wondering what the hell was going on at Angel’s Rest. He was worried about Perry too. Less than twenty-four hours in this dump, and he had already had a second asthma attack. This was not a good place for him.
And what the fuck with the alligator? Whoever was letting that thing loose was taking a hell of a chance on someone being badly hurt. There had to be a reason for it, and as much as Nick would have liked to believe it was some well-intentioned idiocy like allowing a caged animal its freedom, he was pretty sure that wasn’t the case. The intent was malicious.
Did it have anything to do with the skeleton-clad intruders?
It seemed like a completely different strategy with maybe a completely different goal.
But what goal?
If the alligator had been trying to break down Horace’s door, it might make sense, but Horace was safely out of reach on the third floor. Instead, the beast had gone after the girl. Twice. Did someone have a grudge against Ami Savitri?
If so, it would have to be someone inside Angel’s Rest. Someone with access to Enzo’s keys as well as keys to the hotel perimeter doors. For all Nick knew, that was everybody in the hotel.
He continued to mull over the possibilities.
What if the alligator was being used as a distraction?
A distraction for what?
Maybe he ought to go see if he could figure that out.
Double-checking that Perry was deeply, comfortably asleep, Nick edged slowly, carefully out of the bed, tucking the blankets around Perry and then packing pillows around him for good measure.
Perry stirred, muttered a drowsy inquiry, and sank back into his dreams.
Nick stepped soundlessly across the floor to the door, eased the door open, and stepped into the cold and drafty hallway.
By now it was nearly daybreak. Night was fading to a soft gray fuzz. He could just make out the squares of the macabre paintings and the hooded figure of the monk standing guard by the elevator.
Nick locked the door and considered his options. The elevator was going to be too noisy. Everyone in the place would hear him coming. No, there had to be stairs on this level. Stairs running up and down. Those would be his best bet.
He set off briskly in the opposite direction from the elevator.
It was a very long hallway, but at last he spotted the landing between the two separate flights of stairs.
His foot twisted as he stepped on something round and hard. He caught himself and bent to have a look. A marble. The kind used in games kids didn’t play anymore.
This one looked like a devil’s eye.
An escapee from Horace’s collection?
Nick pocketed the marble and continued toward the head of the staircase. His gaze sharpened as he realized that the dark pool of shadow at the foot of the steps leading from this floor to the next level, was not a shadow. A body in a cape lay motionless, face down on the carpet.
Nick’s heart jumped in his chest. He had seen that broken sprawl too many times to mistake it for anything but what it was.
Death.