Junette didn’t stop talking during our ride to the Seven Stays Hotel. Luckily, the top was down on my Volkswagen Thing, allowing the whipping wind to block out some of her chatter. “Something’s not right with Cinderella.”

  “I’ve gotten used to you complaining about me refusing cases, but now you’re upset I took one.” I peered at the windshield, considering for a moment to fold it down, but I wasn’t in the mood to receive a mouth full of bugs.

  “Don’t get me started. You stared at those files for months. Not telling me nothing, knowing I can’t read your mind. Damn well lost mine, and I ain’t got nothing else.”

  “Do you really want to hear all my thoughts?”

  “Men think with their zozo. No thanks!”

  “Should I return the deposit because Nina’s attractive?”

  “Can you trust her?”

  “I’m taking her case, not marrying her.” I peered out the window as I pulled into the parking lot.

  “You suspect everyone. She throws around money and long hugs like they’re nothing. You can’t see that?”

  Junette’s ability to noodle under my skin was tolerable because her advice often proved solid, but her opinions of others appeared arbitrary at times, making me wonder if she was right. Flashes of Nina’s behavior skipped through my mind. Some of her actions didn’t track with her situation, mostly the hug.

  As I exited the car, I said. “Is it possible she’s acting strange because she’s scared?” I scanned the hotel. The rooms lined both floors, all with exterior access.

  “Maybe your eyes stopped working when her pretty face blinded them.”

  “Nina reminds me of Mia.”

  “Your wife looked like a supermodel, too?”

  “She wore the same perfume.” After pausing, I added, “It makes little sense. But helping her…” I shook my head, flustered. “Since I can’t find the monster that…”

  “Killed Mia.” Junette finished for me.

  Approaching room 115, I said, “Can we concentrate on the case for twenty minutes?”

  I slid the card in the slot, waited for the green light to blink, and pushed the door open. The room appeared outdated but clean, far from being a honeymoon suite, but not a dive. A plastic bucket with a protruding champagne bottle sat on a dresser. Water pooled around it and dripped down the wooden drawers.

  I found the cell phone after a quick glance under the bed.

  “That’s odd,” Junette said.

  “We found it exactly where she suggested we look.”

  “If my husband disappeared, I’d bring his phone in case someone called.”

  “You didn’t have a husband.”

  “Because men are a pain.”

  “She wanted to preserve the evidence. The police might find fingerprints or DNA.” The words felt wrong leaving my mouth. A buzzing deep inside the recesses of my mind warned me of something. What set off my subconscious? A man goes missing, and the wife becomes suspect number one for any detective worth the title. But, Nina didn’t seem the type to plot against anyone. What would be her motive?

  “That’s thinking like the po-po, not a scared spouse,” Junette said.

  When I found Mia, I sprinted to her body without consideration for preserving the crime scene. Of course, I didn’t play detective back then, but lived as a prospective wizard studying absorption magic. If I arrived a few minutes sooner, Mia would exist inside my head. Unfortunately, her pulse disappeared, and her body radiated heat like a furnace.

  I jammed my hands into latex gloves and carefully scooped the phone into a plastic sandwich bag. After tucking it into my pocket, I continued the search. The couple never unpacked their bags, and the contents of the luggage offered no clues. Just as I considered accepting defeat, I discovered a wallet behind the dresser. Besides Claude’s driver’s license, it was empty. I pulled the ID from his bag. He looked close to how I pictured him, a tall thin man with parted brown hair and a clean shave.

  “Robbery?” Junette suggested.

  I scanned the room. “No signs of a struggle. Nothing broken. No blood.” I raised my eyebrows. “If abducted, he left without a fight. But why not take the entire wallet?” I dropped it into the bag with the phone.

  “At least we know what Frenchie looks like.”

  I continued searching, first rifling through the dressers and closet, then combing through the usual hiding spots. Nothing under the mattress, taped to a drawer bottom, or tucked away in the mini fridge. “I hoped to find a little more.”

  “Check the garbage.”

  “That’s a bad hiding spot. The maids might dump it.”

  “My niece went missing a few years ago. I found a flyer in the trash for a local concert. Led me right to her. People forget about the things they throw away.”

  I fished out the single piece of balled up paper from the small metal can and flattened it on the dresser. Three names were scrawled in blue ink. Lines from the same pen crossed off two of them, but the center name, Ushakov Viktorovich, remained.

  “That name looks Russian.” Junette said. “Didn’t Cinderella talk about a Russian patient?”

  “She did.” I plucked her check from my pocket and held it up to the paper. “The handwriting isn’t even close. Perhaps her husband wrote this.”

  After folding the note, I stuffed it and the check into my back pocket. “But how do we find him? According to his license, Claude lived in Pennsylvania. His patients likely lived there, not in Florida. Finding their address online wouldn’t lead us to them until they returned home.” Pulling aside the curtain, I glanced across the parking lot and spotted a small office.

  “Maybe he’s sloppy enough to stay at his shrink’s hotel.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Before taking Nina’s luggage to my car, I scanned the room one last time, not wanting to disturb it more than necessary. After exhausting my search, I grabbed the bag handle and drug it outside. Its tiny wheels ground against the asphalt as I lugged it to the car and tossed it into the back seat. The lobby was close enough to the vehicle that I trusted leaving the top down. Once I reached the door, I glanced back before entering.

  A kid in his early twenties slouched behind a wood counter and typed into his phone. Not looking up, he said, “How many nights?”

  The powerful aroma of marijuana almost made me step back. “I’m not here for a room.” I paused and glared at him.

  He again tapped away at the screen, then shook his head before eyeing me. “Do you have a complaint or something?”

  “Only questions.”

  “Information about our accommodations and prices is in the pamphlet.” He pointed to a stack of glossy folded papers. His gaze darted to his phone.

  “Do you remember your guests in room 115?”

  “No.”

  “A couple with a French accent.”

  “Them I remember.” Shifting in his chair, he said, “His wife kept asking about a non-existent continental breakfast.”

  “When?”

  The kid cleared his throat. “Two days ago, during check-in.” He nudged a backpack under the table with his foot before peering at me. “Are you a cop or something?” His voice wavered when he muttered the word cop.

  “He might be a drug dealer.” Junette said.

  I glanced at the backpack. “Have you seen them after that?”

  “Guests come and go constantly. The day is a blur of faces.”

  “Come on.” I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t notice a gorgeous woman?”

  He rolled his eyes. “She’s not my type, man.”

  Before I voiced my disbelief, Junette blurted out, “Maybe he prefers the boys.”

  “Did you have a guest by the name of…” I pulled the note from my pocket. “…Ushakov Viktorovich.”

  “We can’t give out information about other guests.”

  Slapping the counter to get his full attention, I said. “I’m not asking for his credit card number. Tell me if he’s staying here.”

  “Who are you?” He glared at me.

  “I could be the guy telling his cop buddies all about weed sales at a local hotel, or the guy minding his business. That’s up to you.”

  His eyes widened as he snatched a water bottle from the table with a shaky hand, spilling some down the front of his shirt as he sipped. “No need for that.” He pointed at his computer. “I don’t need to look. He wasn’t here. I’d remember a guest with a name like that. Another guy stopped in here.” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  He leaned forward and whispered. “This Crazy guy called himself Vlad. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if expecting SWAT to storm into the room.” The kid raised his eyebrows. “He paid with cash, and slipped me an extra hundred if I didn’t ask for ID.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Big guy. Could have been in MMA. Reminded me of that dude that fought Rocky in that old movie.” He tapped his chin. “I can’t remember the name. But the actor had blond hair and high cheekbones. Anyway, Vlad checked out a few hours ago. Seemed to be in a real hurry.”

  “Did he mention his destination?”

  He shook his head but stopped abruptly and put his finger to his mouth. “But he asked me for a bar’s phone number. The Maniacal Pelican. It’s a few miles down the road. I was like dude, just look it up on your phone, but he insisted.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He kept demanding a room closer to the pool, even after I told him it’s closed.” He rolled his eyes. “Who wants to swim in December, Florida or not.”

  I glanced out the window and realized Claude’s room was next to the pool. Pointing at his door I said, “Ensure the maids don’t clean until me or Mrs. Beauvais say otherwise.”

  He recoiled. “Checkout’s at 8 am, unless they extend their visit.”

  “I’m saying to extend it until further notice!”

  “Alright dude. Don’t get all scary with me. I’ll put a note on his file.” He raised his eyebrows and whispered, “The maids smoke constantly. They often forget.”

  “Monitor that door until this time tomorrow. Keep the staff out. Call me if anyone else enters.” I slid my card across the table. “Then I’ll mind my business.”

  He nodded.

  As I left, Junette said, ‘Cheech ain’t gonna stay off his phone to play lookout.’

  I closed the door behind me. “He may be paranoid enough to watch tonight.”

  The door to the Maniacal Pelican squeaked as it swung open. The stench of cigarette smoke and stale beer wafted out as I entered. A chubby man, sitting on a stool, examined the ID of a young girl with bright green hair. He returned her license, then glanced at me. I reached for my wallet, but he waved me in without requiring proof.

  “That means you look old,” Junette said.

  I grinned. Any concerns about appearing elderly faded away decades ago, when I learned to heal myself. Thirty seemed the ideal age to stay.

  One glance around the room confirmed how much I really stuck out. The crowd didn’t seem mature enough to drink. They walked around with their brightly colored cocktails and piercings in every place imaginable. One man at the bar stood out more than me. He appeared to be a foot taller than everyone around him, with a build like a pro wrestler.

  “Did you spot the guy sitting alone?” Junette asked.

  “I wouldn’t be much of a detective if I didn’t.”

  “Despite your utter lack of investigation skills, I figured even you’d have seen him.”

  “I’d like to strangle you.”

  A thin brunette with more tattoos than clothing smirked. “Take it slow Big Daddy.” She winked. “You don’t even know my safe word.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “Too bad.” She shrugged, swiveled, and strolled toward a table full of similarly inked friends.

  “Where’s that girl’s mother?” Junette said, “I’d whoop her till she couldn’t sit.”

  “She might be into that.”

  “Well then, I’d.” She paused. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “Can we concentrate on the task at hand?” I approached the bar, sitting opposite Vlad. The open concept allowed me to watch him while appearing to casually peer forward.

  A short brunette with her hair pulled into a ponytail dashed behind the bar and stopped in front of me. “I’m Yessica. What’s your poison?”

  “Scotch on the rocks.”

  She smirked. “My grandpa loves that drink.” She pointed to Vlad. “Are you here with vodka neat?”

  He glanced at her, then turned his attention to me. After holding eye contact for a moment, he shifted in his chair and scanned the room.

  “Smooth,” Junette said, “not bad enough you look old, but you order a grandpa drink?”

  “I don’t look a day over thirty.”

  “That’s ancient in here.”

  “Which makes me wonder why our friend over there asked for this bar.”

  Vlad slammed back his drink and signaled for Yessica. She scurried to him and listened as he talked much longer than a normal order should take. After a few minutes, she glanced at me, then back at him, and shrugged.

  “No reason to be shy now. Go question him.”

  Yessica snatched a bottle of vodka from the bar and poured it into his glass. He handed her a twenty and waved his hand, as if signaling he didn’t want any change.

  “Paying for drinks as he goes and being very generous with the tips.”

  “What does that tell ya?”

  “He maintains the ability to leave quickly without arousing suspicion, and he must make enough money that he doesn’t mind throwing it around.”

  “Maybe he’s burning through Claude’s cash.”

  Yessica stopped in front of me again. I swirled my drink to show her it was almost full.

  “That guy over there asked me if you’re a cop,” she said.

  “Do I look like a police officer?”

  “Yes,” both Yessica and Junette said simultaneously.

  “And an old one at that,” Junette added.

  Yesica leaned forward. “Vodka Neat has been creeping out my regulars.”

  “You’d have’ta be a whole new level of gross to bother this crowd.”

  “Have you seen him before?” I asked.

  As Yesica shook her head, Vlad stood from his stool. He glanced around before heading for the rear of the building.

  “Is there a back door?”

  The tattooed girl from earlier slid onto the bar stool next to me. “There might be. If you play your cards right.”

  “Oh, na-uh.” Junette said.

  The bartender pointed to the side. “That exit leads to an alley. You can cut him off if you hurry.”

  I slapped down a twenty and hustled to the front entrance. Behind me, the tattooed girl asked the bartender for a pair of scissors, or something to that effect.

  The cool air blew my jacket open as I stepped outside. I bolted around the corner and toward the back, only slowing to draw my taser as I reached the alley. A bare lightbulb above the rear exit flickered. The stench of rotten fish and sitting sewage assaulted my nostrils as I advanced. I cautiously peeked around a green dumpster, expecting the large man to leap out. But nothing was there.

  “We must have missed him.”

  I spun to leave. Instead of peering into the darkness, I stared at a gigantic man’s chest. I glared up at Vlad’s angry face.

  “You have backup pig?”

  “I’m not-“

  He gripped my arms with his oversized hands and lifted me off the ground as I kicked at him. My taser pointed at his legs. I fought to aim at his chest, but he spun and tossed me like a beanbag. I slammed into the brick wall and crumpled to the asphalt. He stomped toward me. Rolling, I avoided his kick. He snatched my shoulder and pulled me up as his enormous fist flew toward my face.