Midnight Cravings

He smiled, showing even white teeth and a dent that could almost be called a dimple. “Call me Dan,” he said. “Please.”

She swallowed. Hard. “All right, Dan.”

He took a step closer to her. He smelled good. Like Ivory soap and clean clothes. Somehow Josie found that reassuring.

“So your bag was stolen,” he said. “Were you hurt in the attack?”

“No, no, there was no attack.” She tried to will her pounding heart to calm down. “I wasn’t there.”

“You weren’t there.”

“No. Well, yes.” He had her flustered. This was bad. “I mean, I was just a couple of feet away. See, I set it down for a moment while I tried to make a call at the pay phone off the lobby. The phone didn’t work, so it couldn’t have been longer than a minute or so, but when I hung up, it was gone.” She tossed an apologetic look to Myrtle. “I’m sorry to trouble you with this. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” Please, please, please let there be a logical explanation, she prayed, returning her thoughts to the more important problem at hand.

“It’s no trouble,” Myrtle answered, but she looked very troubled.

“You say you left it over there?” Dan asked, indicating the hallway, where now there was a small crowd of people, apparently having a contest to see who could toss the most peanuts in the air and catch them in their mouths.

“Yes,” Josie said. “Right there where all the peanuts are on the floor now.”

Dan Duvall’s voice grew about one hundred and five percent less sympathetic than it had been when he’d first walked over. “And you weren’t keeping an eye on it?”

She swallowed a terse retort. “I got a little distracted for just a minute. But, as I said, I was only a couple of feet away.”

“You shouldn’t have left your things unattended. Anyone could come along and pick ’em up.”

“That seems obvious now.”

“Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around?” Myrtle asked, kneading her crepey hands.

“I’ll get the details,” Dan said, patting the older woman’s thin shoulder. “It looks like Lily Rose needs some help at the counter now.” He gestured toward the girl at the check-in counter, who was now looking fretful and fluttering her hands like birds in front of her as she tried to help an increasingly long line of impatient guests.

Myrtle gave an exclamation and bustled over to help poor Lily Rose, muttering about beer drinkers.

Dan Duvall smiled after her, then turned back to Josie, his smile disappearing, and asked for a description of the missing items.

She gave it to him, noticing that he didn’t bother to write any of it down. “There was an envelope in the side pocket that was clearly marked with the name Beatrice Beaujold,” she explained. “It occurred to me that maybe someone at the hotel had taken it up to Beatrice’s room, thinking it was hers, but it wasn’t there when I looked.”

“What was in the envelope?”

“Nothing very interesting to anyone but me. Beatrice’s bio and picture, and some flyers and information about this contest. My own notes.” She took a short breath. “A check for Beatrice. Her appearance fee from the brewery.”

“Well, it’s not like someone else could endorse it and cash it.”

“Maybe not, but she’s expecting to pick it up when she gets here.”

“I understand. You didn’t lose any cash?”

“No.” She tried to sound calm.

“Well, that’s good. I’m afraid I’m not sure how much we can do to help you,” he said, looking as if he didn’t want to do anything at all to help. “But we’ll certainly be on the lookout.”

There was the sound of smashing glass in the corner and Dan Duvall’s eyes jerked to the scene. His mouth went tight.

“’S’all right,” someone called, waving a feeble hand. “’N’accident.”

A muscle ticked in Dan’s jaw.

Josie tried to get his attention back. “Do you want me to write the description down?” she asked, trying to sound helpful although she was annoyed at how little concern he was showing for her loss. “So you don’t forget?”

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll let you know if it turns up.” He gave a short nod and turned to go.

“Wait a minute.”

He turned back, his face a mask of patience. “Ma’am?”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

He raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting for her to elaborate.

“I mean, that stuff is really important to me, even though it isn’t particularly interesting to anyone else. I need it back.” She thought of the letter Beatrice’s editor, Susan Pringle, had written. She’d barely had a moment to glance at it, but the first paragraph had mentioned there were some “special challenges” when handling Beatrice in public. It had also said that there was some “confidential material” in the letter and that Josie should be careful not to let it go astray, but before Josie had been able to read further, her flight had been announced and she’d put the letter away.

She’d intended to read it on the plane, but the flight had been turbulent, and as soon as she’d gotten off the plane, she’d had to drive a car, and…well, she just hadn’t gotten to read the note.

At the time it had seemed so offhand it hadn’t occurred to Josie that it was any more important or confidential than any personnel file. Now her mind reeled with imagined possibilities.

“I really need my briefcase back,” she emphasized. “Should I go to the police station and fill out an official report?”

“You could,” he said, a hint of slow molasses in his accent. “But there’s really no point.”

“It would make me feel better to know it was properly reported.”

“You’re reporting it now.”

“I am,” she said, trying to keep from gritting her teeth. “But are you?”

He gave a maddeningly lazy smile. “Why, yes, ma’am. I am. I don’t have time to go into the station to take your report right this minute, but I’ll file it as soon as I can.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspecting he was patronizing her. “Look, there were some really important papers in that envelope. I’d feel better seeing someone commit this report to black and white right now.” Though she thought better of it an instant later, she couldn’t resist adding, “The way most police would.”

“I see.”

“So where is the station house?”

“Corner of Elm and Magnolia. But we’re really shorthanded. If you go in they’ll just have you wait until the chief of police gets in and that’s—”

“Good,” she said, her voice tense. “I’m eager to speak with him.”

He smiled again. Not a friendly smile, but an amused one. On a different person, under different circumstances, it might have been boyish, mischievous. “I’ve got a feeling you may change your mind about that,” he said.