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Myron swallowed. «Neither do I.»
«So what do we do?»
«I don’t know.»
«Decisiveness,» she said. «I love that in a man.»
He smiled again and turned right on Hobart Gap Road.
Brenda said, «I thought West Orange was the other way.»
«I want to make a quick stop, if you don’t mind.»
«Where?»
«The Holiday I
«How do you know he didn’t stay overnight?»
«The charge was for twenty-six dollars even. That’s too low for a room yet too high for a meal for one. It’s also a straight twenty-six dollars. No cents. When people tip, they often round off. Best guess is that he met someone there for lunch.»
«So what are you going to do?»
Myron gave a half shrug. «I have the photograph of Horace from the paper. I’m going to show it around and see what happens.»
On Route 10 he made a left and pulled into the Holiday I
«You want to wait in the car?» he asked.
Brenda shook her head. «I’ll walk around a little.»
The lobby had prints of flowers on the wall. The carpet was pale green. The reception desk was on the right. A plastic sculpture that looked like two fish tails stuck together was on the left. Serious ugly.
Breakfast was still being served. Buffet-style. Dozens of people jockeyed about the spread, moving as though choreographed – step forward, spoon food onto plate, step back, step right, step forward again. Nobody bumped into anyone else. Hands and mouths were a blur. The whole thing looked a bit like a Discovery Cha
A perky hostess stepped up to him. «How many?»
Myron put on his best cop face, adding just a hint of a smile. From his Peter Je
He held up the photograph from the newspaper. The perky hostess studied it. She did not ask who he was; as he had hoped, his demeanor made her assume that he was someone official.
«I’m not the one to ask,» the hostess said. «You should speak to Caroline.»
«Caroline?» Myron Bolitar, Parrot Investigator.
«Caroline Gundeck. She was the one who had lunch with him.»
Every once in a while you just get lucky.
«Would that have been last Thursday?» he asked.
The hostess thought about it a moment. «I think so, yeah.»
«Where can I find Miss Gundeck?»
«Her office is on level B. Down at the end of the corridor.»
«Caroline Gundeck works here?» He’d been told that Caroline Gundeck has an office on level B, and just like that he’d deduced that she worked here. Sherlock reincarnated.
«Caroline’s worked here forever,» the hostess said with a friendly eye roll.
«What’s her title?»
«Food and beverage manager.»
Hmm. Her occupation was not enlightening – unless Horace had been pla
Getting her phone number and address would be no problem.
Back in the corridor Myron dialed information. He asked for Gundeck in Livingston. Nothing. He asked for Gundeck in East Hanover or the area. Bingo. There was a C Gundeck in Whippany. Myron dialed the number. After four rings a machine picked up. Myron left a message.
When he came back up to the lobby, he found Brenda standing alone in a corner. Her face looked drained, her eyes wide as though someone had just poked her hard in the solar plexus. She did not move or even glance his way as he approached.
«What is it?» he asked.
Brenda gulped some air. and turned to him. «I think I’ve been here before,» she said.
«When?»
«A long time ago. I don’t remember really. It’s just a feeling… or maybe I’m just imagining. But I think I was here as a little kid. With my mother.»
Silence.
«Do you remember-»
«Nothing,» Brenda interrupted him. «I’m not even sure it was here. Maybe it was another motel. It’s not like this one is special. But I think it was here. That weird sculpture. It’s familiar.»
«What were you wearing?» he tried.
She shook her head. «I don’t know.»
«What about your mother? What was she wearing?»
«What are you, a fashion consultant?»
«I’m just trying to jar something loose.»
«I don’t remember anything. She vanished when I was five. How much do you remember from back then?»
Point taken. «Let’s walk around a little,» he suggested. «See if something comes back to you.»
But nothing surfaced, if indeed there was anything there to surface. Myron had not expected anything anyway. He was not big on repressed memory or any of that stuff. Still the whole episode was curious, and once again it fit into this scenario. As they made their way back to Myron’s car, he decided that it was time to voice his theory.
«I think I know what your father was doing.»
Brenda stopped and looked at him. Myron kept moving. He got into the car. Brenda followed. The car doors closed.
Myron said, «I think Horace was looking for your mother.»
The words took a moment to sink in. Then Brenda leaned back and said, «Tell me why.»
He started up the car. «Okay, but remember I used the word think. I think that’s what he was doing. I don’t have any real proof.»
«Okay, go ahead.»
He took a deep breath. «Let’s start with your father’s phone records. One, he calls Arthur Bradford’s campaign headquarters several times. Why? As far as we know, there is only one co
«The fact that my mother worked in his house.»
«Right. Twenty years ago. But here’s something else to consider. When I started searching for your mother, I stumbled upon the Bradfords. I thought they might somehow be co
She looked less than impressed. «What else?»
«The phone records again. Horace called the two attorneys who handled your scholarships.»
«So?»
«So why would he call them?»
«I don’t know.»
«Your scholarships are strange, Brenda. Especially the first one. You weren’t even a basketball player yet and you get a vague academic scholarship to a ritzy private school plus expenses? It doesn’t make sense. Scholarships just don’t work that way. And I checked. You are the only recipient of the Outreach Education scholarship. They only awarded it that one year.»
«So what are you getting at?»
«Somebody set up those scholarships with the sole intent of helping you, with the sole intent of fu
He glanced over at her, but she would not face him now. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was throaty. «And you think it was my mother?»
Myron tried to tread gently. «I don’t know. But why else would your father call Thomas Kincaid so many times? The man had not handled your scholarship money since you left high school. You read that letter. Why would Horace pester him to the point of near harassment? The only thing I can think of is that Kincaid had information that your father wanted.»