All Mortal Flesh

FORTY-FIVE

By the time he stepped inside the last of the Algonquin’s three hundred rooms, Russ didn’t want to see another poofy quilted coverlet, mahogany armoire, or fringe-bedecked armchair in this lifetime. He and Barbara LeBlanc had worked their way from the Presidential and Honeymoon suites through the executive suites, junior suites, deluxe rooms, superior rooms, and standard rooms without finding any sign that his wife had ever been here.

He had gotten an eyeful of John Opperman’s current living quarters-in the Presidential Suite, of course-but the only thing that revealed about the president of BWI, Inc., was that he kept stacks of business magazines in the bathroom and that he had really dull tastes in music-unless the Three Tenors and Classical Light CDs stacked by the built-in stereo system came with the room.

As they descended the stairs-the elevators were still offline while the electricians worked on the system-he heard a woman’s voice yelling from the lobby.

“Hello! Anybody here? Russ?”

Barbara LeBlanc shot him a glance. “You’re certainly livening up the place today.”

He took the remaining stairs two at a time and emerged, knees twinging, into the canvas-and plastic-covered lobby.

He saw a blonde in a familiar red peacoat, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest, but in the next moment, he recognized his sister-in-law, who must have appropriated one of Linda’s coats.

“Debbie?”

She turned. She actually looked relieved to see him, which meant she must have really been worried she was stuck up here in an empty hotel with a storm raging outside. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’ve come to help search for my sister.” Her defiant tone wobbled. It had probably been a bad drive up the mountain.

“You can help by staying put. The last thing I need is to be hauling you out of a snowbank.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It figures you’d say that. It’s a lot easier to claim you’ve been moving heaven and earth to find her if no one else is around as a witness, isn’t it?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he started.

“Hi.” Barbara glided up beside him and extended her hand to Debbie. “I’m Barbara LeBlanc, the manager.”

“Debbie Wolecski.” She bent her wrist and took the manager’s hand in the kind of grasp no guy would ever attempt. “Linda Van Alstyne’s sister.”

“Ah.”

“Has he told you that she’s missing?”

Barbara smiled crookedly. “We’ve just finished searching the hotel for her. I’ve seen parts of this place I didn’t even know existed.”

Debbie looked from the manager to Russ. “Nothing? No sign of her?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing from any of the places she worked at?”

“How did you know I was visiting her work sites?”

Debbie made an impatient gesture. “I spoke to the dispatcher at the police station. She told me I should stay put, too.”

Russ dragged one hand through his hair, feeling tension knots kinking through his shoulders. “You should leave your rental here and come back into town with me. I’ll run you back up tomorrow after they’ve plowed out.” He glanced at Barbara. “That’d be okay, wouldn’t it?”

“Sure. Our caretaker will plow our drive and the private road down to Sacandaga Road. You can leave your car here as long as you like.”

Russ fished in his back pocket and pulled out a creased business card. “Best way to reach me will be my cell phone for the next few days,” he said, handing it to her. “Please call me as soon as Opperman gets back from his business trip. It’s probably a long shot, but he might know-”

The front door inched open, admitting a gust of frigid air and a swirl of snowflakes. A man, angular and anonymous in a black wool dress coat and a scarf, banged his suitcase against the door, forcing it wider.

“Speak of the devil,” Barbara LeBlanc said cheerfully.

A woman staggered through the door, clutching her valise in one hand and the neck of her coat with the other. The man let the door swing shut behind her. She plucked the hat from her head and shook out her blond curls. Her eyes widened as she saw the three onlookers.

“Russ? Debbie!”

The man-Opperman-unwound his scarf, scattering snow on the plastic sheeting.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Linda Van Alstyne asked.