Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 06 Read Online Free PDF Page A

hand. “I’m Estelle Oppers, Mr. Pilverman. I came along with Ruby Bee so she wouldn’t get herself mugged in the airport, or get hopelessly lost before she ever caught sight of the hotel. We’re from Maggody, Arkansas.” She gave him a moment to respond, but he was now regarding her with the same sharply quizzical look he’d given Ruby Bee—who was not pleased with the remark about getting mugged or lost. “Where’re you from?”
    “Connecticut,” Durmond said with a vague gesture. Estelle opened her mouth, but Ruby Bee wasn’t about to listen to any more aspersions. “Why, I used to have a second cousin who lived in Connecticut,” she inserted neatly. “Elsbeth Matera was her name, but of course she died way back in 1952, so I don’t suppose you’d remember her, even if you knew her. She had palsy something awful during her last few years, bless her soul, and the nurse’s aides had to read the little cards and letters I sent her on her birthday and at Christmas. Did you ever happen to …?”
    “I’m afraid not,” he said. He glanced over her head as a door behind the registration counter opened. “Perhaps we have someone to help us?”
    Ruby Bee wasn’t real sure the man was the one she would have picked, given her druthers. For one thing, he looked meaner than a rattlesnake, with his squinty eyes, fancy hair swept back in a televangelist’s pompador, and snooty sneer. He probably wasn’t even thirty years old, but he was regarding them like he owned the hotel and everything else on the block, and they were nothing but those homeless people that Arly had warned her about. Mr. Pilverman’s mustache was messy but friendly; this man’s was nothing more than a thin black line that could have been drawn with a felt-tipped pen. His lips were thinner than Mrs. Jim Bob’s.
    She wasn’t a bit surprised when he said in a real cold tone, “The hotel is closed for remodeling. Please be about your business elsewhere.”
    Durmond Pilverman stepped forward, saving both Ruby Bee and Estelle the necessity of what might have been a fine display of indignation. “These ladies and I were told that the Krazy KoKo-Nut cookoff is to be held here, and we have letters to that effect. Are you the manager?”
    “In a manner of speaking. May I see this purported letter?” He extended a hand with well-manicured nails and a ring as gaudy as a carnival prize. His cuff fell back to expose a heavy silver bracelet. If that wasn’t bad enough, he had several gold chains around his neck like he thought he was one of those egotistical Hollywood movie stars.
    Ruby Bee was about to warn Mr. Pilverman not to hand over anything to this fellow with all the jewelry when the door again opened. This time it admitted several folks, all of them looking unhappy in varying degrees. The unhappiest of them all was a pretty young woman in a pale green skirt and jacket, carrying a briefcase in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Her eyes were flashing like the taillights on a taxi.
    “Are you Richard Belaire?” she demanded as she strode across the room. She sounded as if even a hint of affirmation would result in bloodshed. “Are you?”
    The snooty man behind the counter got snootier. “No, dearie, I’m president of the Junior League, but I must have left my white gloves and pearls at home today.”
    “You have not returned my last four calls, Mr. Belaire, and it’s caused me a great deal of inconvenience. We need to talk. In the office—now.” She went down the corridor, and after a pause, Mr. Snooty Pants went through the door from which he’d come earlier. “Goodness gracious,” Ruby Bee murmured.
    “What on earth is going on here?” gasped a woman in the doorway. She nudged her companion, a teenaged girl, then let her luggage fall to the floor. “What kind of hotel is this? This will not do—not at all!” She spotted them and managed a tight, harried smile. “I’m Frances Vervain, but please call me Frannie. I