When Laura checked at the front desk, she was told that Lord Bryce-Davies hadn't checked in, and wasn't expected for another hour and a half. "He's already here!" Laura declared, raising her voice as Murphy, now wearing street clothes, joined her and tried to pull her back.
"Laura."
She shook him off keeping her angry gaze fixed on the man behind the counter. "I beg your pardon, miss," the clerk informed her in an offended tone, "His Lordship has not checked into this hotel. The penthouse suite is still vacant, awaiting his arrival-"
"He's here," Laura insisted. "He's checked into Room 410 as Harry something or other."
The clerk looked at his records. "The gentleman in Room 410 checked out this morning, Miss. He left a forwarding address in London- I've been there, and the address is most certainly *not* a part of that city in which Lord Bryce-Davies would reside."
"Laura," Murphy tried again.
"What, Murphy?!" she asked, then winced as she realized that she was still yelling.
"Let's go back to the office, okay? Talk about this? You'll see him this evening and get it straightened out."
Laura shook her head, giving him a determined look that Murphy recognized with a sinking feeling. "I'm going to find Hugh Carter. I think he owes me an explanation."
"Maybe he didn't know that Lord Bryce-Davies was in Los Angeles," Murphy suggested, smiling nervously at the curious clerk.
"And I want you to track down Nathan Ford. I want to know why he pointed us right at our *client*," she told him, already moving toward the elevators.
"Give me a clue where to begin!" Murphy called after her.
"He took a City Cab. Number 2146," she replied.
Murphy watched her enter the elevator, then turned to the doors. The taxi stand was full- and as he checked the numbers, he discovered that City Cab 2146 was near the back of the queue. "Hey, buddy," he said, going over to the driver, who was lounging on the hood, reading a racing form. The driver gave him a suspicious glare. "That didn't take long."
"What didn't?"
"You took a fare out of here a little while ago. Middle aged, a little shorter than me. Dark hair with gray in it. English accent."
Murphy saw the recognition in the cabbie's eyes, but the man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know. My memory's not what it used to be."
"Maybe this will help," Murphy suggested, pulling his wallet out to remove a twenty. The driver reached for the money, but Murphy held it away. "Not til I know if your memory's good."
He grinned, revealing a missing tooth. "Yeah. I remember that guy. Strange one."
"Strange? How?"
"Got in the cab, then got out not a block down the road. Gave me a good tip, though," he said, eyeing the money greedily.
Murphy passed him the twenty. "Did you happen to notice which way he went when he left the cab?"
"Back this direction."
"Thanks."
"Thank *you*"
Murphy went back inside the hotel and approached the same desk clerk that Laura had spoken to earlier. "Hello."
"You again. His Lordship-"
"I'm not here to ask about Lord Bryce-Davies," Murphy assured him. "I'm trying to find someone else. Nathan Ford."
The clerk checked his records, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, we don't have anyone registered here by that name."
"WAS he here?"
"Not to my knowledge, no." Murphy described Ford again. "English," the clerk repeated with a resigned sigh. "We have two remaining English guests. Hugh Carter, and a Reginald Frobish. The latter matches the description you gave me."
"What's his room number?" Murphy asked the clerk, then rolled his eyes at the expectant expression on the man's face. The wallet came out again, and he pulled out another twenty. The clerk lifted an indignant eyebrow. Shaking his head, Murphy considered how expensive this case was becoming. He pulled out another twenty and slipped it to the clerk, who took it and placed it under the register. "The room number?"
"Five fifteen."
"Thank you."
Laura was waiting for the elevator when Murphy stopped it on the fourth floor to check on her. "What did Carter have to say?" he asked.
"Nothing," she reported, shaking her head. "He wasn't there." She looked surprised when he pressed the button to close the doors and then for the fifth floor. "Where are we going?"
"I've got a lead on Ford. He's checked in under the name Reginald Frobish."
"Reginald Frobish?" Laura repeated in disbelief. "I think it's time we called Fidelity Insurance again to check out Nathan Ford," she said as they moved down the hall. "What room number is he in?"
"Five fifteen."
She looked at the numbers on the doors. "Here it is." She knocked on the door twice, with no response. "Cover me," she told him, digging into her purse for a lock-pick.
"You've covered," Murphy muttered, glancing up and down the hall as Laura worked to open the door.
Laura heard the soft "click" as the lock gave and smiled at him. Cautiously, she opened the door and peered into the dark room beyond. "Hello? Mr. Ford?"
"He's not here, Laura," Murphy said. "Go on in." He glanced down the hall nervously as the elevator began to open, and practically pushed Laura into the room before following her.
"Murphy!" she hissed, stumbling over a chair beside the small desk.
"Someone was coming," he told her. "Let's search the room and get out of here."
"Sounds good to me." She started toward the dresser, only to stop as the sound of someone trying the door filled the room. Her eyes flew to Murphy's.
She indicated that he should hide on one side of the wall as she picked up an empty Perrier bottle from the dresser The door opened, and Laura waited for whoever it was to enter the room before pressing the bottle into the man's back. He lifted his hands into the air. "Hold it right there."
"Miss Holt?"
"Harry?" She glanced at Murphy. "Turn on the lights, Murphy."
Harry looked back at Laura. "Would you mind putting the gun away, Miss Holt?"
She smiled and lifted the bottle for him to see. "It's not a gun."
"Ingenious."
"What are you doing here, Your Lordship?" Laura asked pointedly.
Harry examined her face, and knew that he had his answer. She was angry. "So you found me out."
"Murphy lifted a fingerprint from your room last night," she told him. "Oh, Murphy Michaels, this is Harry- better known as Lord Bryce-Davies. Our client."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Michaels," Harry said, shaking the blonde man's hand in a firm grip. "So it was you who searched my room. I thought it was-" he hesitated, not sure how much more he should say. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for Nathan Ford," Murphy explained,"- who checked into this room under the name of Reginald Frobish."
Harry sighed. He had recalled that name himself, among others, and had inquired at the desk. It was the reason he was here. "I was going to tell you about him earlier, you know, but you accused me of-"
"Of planning to steal the tiara," Laura recalled, wincing at the memory. "I'm sorry. But he told us that you were a jewel thief and that you were planning to steal the tiara."
"And so you set out to keep an eye on me."
"You knew he wasn't Ford last night, didn't you?"
"Nathan Ford is barely as tall as you are, Miss Holt. He's rather paunchy, and completely bald, with no sense of humor whatsoever. Yes, I knew that the man you pointed out as Nathan Ford wasn't that gentleman last night."
"And yet, you didn't say a word," Laura accused.
"I wanted to be certain that he was who I thought he was."
"And who might that be?"
Harry looked at her for a long moment. "Daniel Chalmers. At least, that's the name he uses most often."
"Who is this- Daniel Chalmers?" Murphy asked as he began to search the room.
"A con man. A thief. Among other things."
"And how do *you* know someone like that?" Laura asked, moving toward the closet, intending to search it.
"It's a long story," Harry told her as she opened the closet door- and cried out in surprise, turning into Harry's arms.
"Oh, Hugh," Harry moaned, keeping his arms around Laura as Murphy went to confirm that Hugh Carter was indeed dead. His body had stuffed into the garment bag that was hanging on the inside of the door.
"Well, we know Chalmers is something else, don't we?" Murphy said.
"What's that?"
"He's a murderer."
"No," Harry said into the suddenly quiet room. "Daniel's a lot of things on the other side of the law, but that's not one of them."
"How can you say that?" Laura asked, pulling away with an embarrassed expression as if she suddenly realized that Harry's arms were around her. "Hugh Carter was your agent. Your friend, I assume. He told me that he'd known you since you were a boy."
"Yes. He had. His father was my grandfather's chauffer. Hugh and my father were good friends when they were growing up. Daniel didn't kill him, Laura."
"I wish I could be as certain as you are, Your Lordship."
"Make it Harry, okay?" he asked, and saw the refusal begin in her eyes. "It is my given name. Well, a version of it, anyway." He moved toward the body, only to pause as Murphy spoke.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to see if I can find out how he died," Harry explained.
"I'll do it," Murphy told him, pushing past him to examine the body. He lowered the zipper on the case, and had to support the body. "Looks like a knife wound in the back. Between the third and fourth vertebrae."
"Probably went right through his heart," Harry nodded, giving Hugh's body a sad look. His blue eyes met Laura's. "Trust me on this, Laura. Daniel's not a murderer."
"How can you be so certain of that?" Murphy asked.
Harry kept his gaze locked on Laura as he spoke. "Because, in addition to being a con man and a thief, Daniel Chalmers is my father." He saw the surprise in her eyes at his confession. "I told you that it was a long story."
"But- if he's your father," Murphy asked, "Why would he want to steal the tiara?"
"Wouldn't that be like- stealing from himself?" Laura asked.
"No. Daniel was- disinherited by his father- my grandfather, before I was born. Daniel has no claim on the estate beyond what I choose to give him. And even that is limited by my grandfather's will." He ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration. "I'd almost be willing to give him the bloody thing if it would guarantee that he stayed away."
"What are we gonna do about him?" Murphy asked, indicating Hugh's body.
"Leave him, for the moment," Harry suggested. "We'll find Daniel and get the truth out of him."
"Before or after he steals the tiara?" Laura asked.
"Before, hopefully. If he gets his hands on it, he'll get as far away as fast as he can."
"But, what if he comes back here-" Laura began.
"I don't think he will. I'm sure that Hugh told him that I'm aware that he's here. He won't chance coming here and finding me waiting."
"Where else will he be?" she asked.
"The reception this evening, most likely."
"You don't really think that he'd show his face there?" Murphy asked. "Not after-" he nodded toward Hugh's body.
"It's a public place, and he knows that I'll do whatever it takes to avoid a scene that might get into the press. He'll be there. I'm as certain of that as I am that he's innocent of murder. It's likely that he doesn't even know about Hugh's death yet." He looked at Laura. "I'll leave the decision in your hands, Miss Holt. Should we alert the police and have whoever did this take off, or find Daniel and get to the bottom of things?"
"I think we should call the police," Murphy said, reaching for the phone.
"Laura, all I ask is that you give him until after the reception to turn up. If he doesn't, then I'll call the police myself about Hugh's death. Will you give me that?
Laura's eyes locked with Harry's. "Hang up the phone, Murphy."
"But Laura, there's been a murder-"
"We'll do it his way, Murphy. For now."
Harry smiled in gratitude for her decision. "Thank you," he said, and as their eyes met, he felt for a moment that they were alone in the room, without Murphy Michaels' disapproving presence.
"You *are* our client," Laura reminded him. "Even if you did lie to us- to me," she amended, and Harry knew that he wasn't yet forgiven his little game. But he found himself impressed with Laura's professional attitude regarding the current situation. "And if you're that certain that Daniel Chalmers is innocent, then the least we can do is hear *his* side of the story before bringing in the police."
"We have to find him first," Murphy reminded them in a dark tone.
"As I said, he'll turn up," Harry told him. "Shall we go then?" He closed the closet door, and on the way out, hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door, to keep the maid from entering and finding Hugh's body before it was necessary.
At the elevator, Harry turned to Laura. "Why don't you come up to my suite once I get checked in downstairs so we can have a chat?"
"I have some final preparations to make for the reception," Laura said, glancing at Murphy.
"Surely Mr. Michaels can handle that," Harry suggested. "I'd like to explain-"
"Murphy has things to do as well. I think any explanations can wait until later," she told him. She got into the elevator and frowned when he didn't follow. "Aren't you coming down?"
He shook his head. "I'll take the next lift. I have some things to do myself. It's time for Lord Bryce-Davies to arrive in all his glory," he told her with a self-depreciating grin that he was glad to see her respond to.
"Don't awe them too much, Your Lordship," she said as the doors closed.
Well, she wasn't going to listen to him as Harry, that was obvious. Perhaps she would respond more readily if the request came from her client, Lord Bryce-Davies, he decided, pressing the button to summon the other lift.
Where the bloody hell was Daniel?
To Be Continued . . .