The Hotel Detective Read Online Free PDF Page A

weren't even cold—why, that was unthinkable. It was almost as though he were being rewarded. Carlton took a sip of the champagne.
     He needed some bolstering. He was surprised at how easily the first sip went down. And then the glass. And finally the bottle.

IV
    Sharon Baker wasn’t typical of most interns. She was older, around thirty, and professionally attired in a gray business suit,
     a far cry from the high school or college kids who usually interned at the Hotel. Sharon was about five and a half feet tall,
     with a light complexion and dark, short hair with finger waves running through it. Her face was angular, but her full lips
     softened the sharp lines. Her eyes were dark and intelligent and rather regal.
    The riddle of her internship grew as Am listened to Sharon and Kendrick talking. She wasn’t a homemaker entering the work
     force or someone looking for a career change, but a graduate in the Master of Professional Studies program at Cornell University,
     Kendrick’s alma mater. They didn’t do a Masonic handshake for one another, but Am felt a certain clubbiness in the air—whether
     it was there or not.
    Sighing, Am waited for old home week to end. Because he knew that theory was so different from practice, he liked to tease
     hotel school graduates, saying that hotel programs thrived in those schools that emphasized major collegiate football. He
     had learned the trade while on the job, working in hotels for the six years it took him to earn a degree in philosophy, and
     in that time not one guest had asked him about nihilism or existentialism or logical positivism. They cared more about a clean
     room, a comfortable bed, and soft towels.
    While at the university, Am thought of his hotel jobs as way stations between more important ventures. It was only after graduation,
     when he took the grand tour around the world, that he began to see innkeeping in a different light. There were times in his
     travels when nothing mattered so much as the haven of a well-placed bed. A good inn, Am discovered, was a sanctuary, a godsend,
     and with that epiphany he returned to San Diego, a born-again believer in the hotel trade.
    Sharon’s talking to Kendrick gave Am the chance to observe her. And the more he looked and listened to her, the more he kept
     thinking she arrived with the caption “What’s wrong with this picture?” Finally she took notice of his scrutiny and turned
     away from Kendrick to return Am’s gaze.
    Kendrick noticed their eye contact. “Mr. Caw-field,” he said, “will be seeing to your work program.”
    She tilted her head slightly. Her brown eyes weren’t as deferential as the movement. They challenged, and behind them was
     almost a smugness. Am had noticed that Kendrick hadn’t mentioned a word about her helping him with security. Of course not.
     He had the feeling that Sharon wouldn’t be jumping for joy when she learned about her duties.
    After thanking Kendrick for his time, she left him with all the right parting words. The GM wasn’t oblivious to her charms;
     he looked about as contented as a dog getting his hindquarters scratched. Turning to Am, Sharon motioned with waving hand,
     inquiring, “Shall we?” Am fell a step behind as she led the way out of the office and down the hall, moving forward as if
     she knew the path better than he did.
    “You have an unusual name,” she said. “Am.”
    Kendrick never called him Am. His “Mis-tah Caw-field” was indictment enough. Am wondered where she had heard it spoken.
    “It’s an abbreviation of sorts,” he said.
    “For what?”
    “Long story,” he said, “and I’d rather hear yours. So far it doesn’t make sense.”
    “What doesn’t?”
    “Your interning. People like you are supposed to step out into high-powered jobs.”
    She arched one eyebrow. Am had always been envious of those with that talent. “Haven’t Cornell graduates ever worked here
     before?”
    “Sure. They come in here thinking they know