Timothy gave me a quick squeeze. “They have a job to do, Penelope, and conversing with you is not part of it.”
Wow, double sting for poor Bob. I gave him a quick sympathy look just before I started to step out of the elevator. I would have gone forward, but Timothy suddenly jerked me back and hit the close the door button.
“That was our floor,” I said, slightly exasperated because I was super ready to put my feet up and relax in our luxurious suite.
“Reporters are hanging out in the hallway,” Timothy said, looking back at the men, not at me. “Call the desk, Terry. This needs to be reported immediately.”
Apparently, Mr. Peters had not been scorned as we’d assumed. He’d rallied his troops and invaded. Timothy’s cheekbones tightened. He looked like he was ready to sock somebody.
I was tired from the day. I really, really didn’t want to play spy games with a bunch of reporters. “Can’t we just ignore them and head for our rooms?” I asked, despite the hardness in Timothy’s eyes as he glared at the elevator’s control panel.
“Terry, get us new rooms and have the staff remove our things afterwards. I don’t trust this situation. Who does Simone know in San Diego?”
Did I need a hair appointment or new clothes? What did Simone have to do with a crazed reporter? I wanted to ask, but sometimes it’s better to remain silent.
The hotel manager himself met us on the ninth floor. He looked rather out of breath, but I’m sure he’d just used the other elevator to get up there ahead of us. He waved us forward and off the elevator.
“I am very sorry for this. I was unaware. Of course, we can find you new rooms. This is an outrage, and I will have it taken care of at once.”
The man was wearing a three-piece suit in gray charcoal. His tie was boring. It picked up the same gray tone as his suit and displayed black diamonds. Simone would have dubbed him unimaginative. Even the man’s hair seemed tedious and dull. The hotel manager could slide through a murder case, entirely unnoticed. I wondered if his wife would recognize him in a line-up.
My grandmother would say that it was rude thinking such thoughts, but thoughts were private. The manager couldn’t read my mind like Timothy did. I glanced up to see Timothy’s eyes on me. As usual, he was amused. Yep, he’d definitely read those thoughts. He must think me a shrew of the worst kind to be so judgmental.
Timothy leaned into me and pressed his mouth against my ear, “Not at all, my dear. You are the only part of this episode that can make me smile. Shrew or not, I find you absolutely adorable.”