The Hotel Detective Read Online Free PDF

everything, and then we go about training them. Generally they take just a little
     bit longer than high school grads to learn.”
    His words were light, joking, but Sharon wasn’t anywhere near a smile. “I also have an MBA,” she said, a hint of superiority
     in her voice.
    “In that case I’ll speak slower,” Am said.
    “Maybe,” she said with false sweetness, “you should consider not speaking at all.”
    “Partners in crime need to communicate.”
    “Partners in what?”
    “The hotel security director just quit. We’re the replacements.”
    “I don’t think my talents will be best utilized,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “by having me walking around saying
     ‘Ten-four’ into a walkie-talkie.”
    “With so many talents,” said Am, “I still find it hard to understand why you’ve chosen to intern at all.”
    “Have you ever spent a winter in Ithaca, New York, Mr. Caulfield?”
    “No. I’m a born-and-bred Californian.”
    Sharon gave him a knowing, if not very complimentary, look. “Ithaca gets more snow than most of Alaska,” she said. “I promised
     myself to go to a place that was warm, a place where there wouldn’t be any snow.”
    “Ever consider a vacation?” he asked.
    “I expect to be enjoying myself while I am here. I also figure two or three months of operational experience will look good
     on my résumé.”
    “Two or three months,” said Am. “Gee, by that time you should know everything.”
    She ignored his sarcasm. “Security holds little interest for me.”
    Her attitude, Am realized, echoed his own of just a few minutes past. Instead of explaining, he had acted like Kendrick. Belatedly
     he tried to appeal to her. “Sometimes management is filling in,” he said.
    “Ever hear of delegating?” she asked.
    His reasonableness vanished. “Thanks for volunteering.”
    Her jaw tightened. Then she relaxed. Somehow Am knew she wasn’t capitulating, though, merely reformulating her plans, whatever
     those were.
    “It couldn’t be short for am-enable,” she said.
    For a moment Am wasn’t sure what she was talking about; then he remembered that Sharon had asked about his nickname. She wasn’t
     easily distracted.
    “No,” he agreed.
    “Amoeba? Amentia?”
    He stopped her, doubting seriously whether she would come up with anything flattering. He had forgotten he had another name.
     Even his parents called him Am now. The renaming had occurred over fifteen years ago.
    “No. And it's not some exotic name.”
    “So, what is it?”
    He opened his mouth to tell her, then held back. There was something about Sharon that wasn't forthcoming. He decided he should
     be the same way with her.
    “You're a hotel dick now,” Am said. “Figure it out.”

V
    Carlton wandered aimlessly around the suite. Nothing in his life had prepared him for being a murderer. Other people did things
     like that. Terrible people. Evil, awful people. Not him. He finally settled in front of the wine and cheese that he had purchased
     only a few hours, and another lifetime, ago.
    I won't get this kind of thing in prison, he thought, suddenly maudlin. Unconsciously he began to gorge himself on the cheese,
     his motivation akin to an animal's instinctive preparation for a long winter. After retrieving a corkscrew from the nearby
     wet bar, he opened the wine and started drinking from the bottle. It didn't dull his senses as much as he hoped it would.
    Carlton caught a look at himself in the mirror. He was a mess. His clothes were disheveled, and his thin, stringy hair was
     matted in little unkempt clumps. There were stains on his shirt, telltale marks of the horror he had committed. He stripped
     off his clothes and walked into the bathroom.
    The fragrant smell of potpourri welcomed him inside Strains of Brahms sounded, so restrained as to be almost subliminal. Carlton
     looked around the enormous bathroom. It had a separate shower and an oversize sunken spa. Both were marble. The ceramic