Page 6 of Buck Baxter and the Mysteries of Love

Instantly I recognized the voice. “Stella?” I turned to look around the lobby but there was no sign of her.

“Buck? Is that you?”

I crouched low, glancing under the broken-legged coffee table then squatting even lower to look under the tattered sofa. “Stella? Where are you?”

“I’m right here, you big patsy!” From behind the counter trotted Stella, shimmying about as she pulled her stockings up and her dress down, at the same time licking the suspicious sheen off her lips. “What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

“No! Didyoufollowme?”

“No! You told me to go out and find myself a good time, which is exactly what I was doing… until we got rudely interrupted. Ain’t that right, Lanky Larry?”

Lanky Larry spun around behind the counter, still shuddering as though teetering on the brink of pleasure while he fumbled with his trousers and hitched up his suspenders.

Apparently, Stella felt right at home in this dive too. “Sorry to barge in on your romantictête-à-tête, but I’m here to see the manager of this fine establishment and ask a few questions.”

“Ooh, is this about the case?” Stella tippy-tapped excitedly in her heels. “Are we on a new case right now?”

“I’mon a new case right now. You look like you’re too busy tootin’ Lanky Larry’s trombone to solve anything.”

“On the contrary,” Stella said, waggling a finger at me. “Tootin’ Larry’s trombone could in fact work in our favor right now.” She turned to the man behind the counter. “Hey, you up there in the clouds. If you ever want me to finish that tune, you’ll tell Buck Baxter here whatever he wants to know.Capiche?”

Lanky Larry still looked as though he was dealing with the situation in his trousers when he muffled a grunt and asked me, “What is it you wanna know?”

“Apparently you’ve had a man and woman check in briefly—maybe only for a couple of hours or so—on more than one occasion in the past few days.”

He looked at me with a vague expression on his face. “Mister, this is a sleazy, two-bit hotel. That’s what happenseveryday.”

“Let me be more specific. You’ve had a handsome young fella with a rather wealthy looking female—fancy clothes, perfect hair, fine French perfume—checking in lately. She’s the kinda dame who don’t usually check in to a place like this. You catch my drift?”

Lanky Larry twigged on. “Oh yeah, I remember them. They sneak in real quiet, go upstairs for an hour or two, then take off before sunrise. Only…” He pondered a moment, gathering the few thoughts he had.

“Only what?” I asked.

“Only, he ain’t the only one invited to the party each night.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she ain’t just pitchin’ woo with the one fella. Once they check in, three or four other mugs head on up to their room. All of ’em dressed the same—black suits, black hats, black ties. I don’t doubt their havin’ one helluva time up there… and yet, I ain’t never heard a peep outta that room. No records playing, no laughin’ or screamin’ or glasses clinkin’. Whatever they get up to in there, they’re as quiet as church mice.”

“Even a church mouse can get up to no good,” Stella said, screwing up her face with suspicion.

“I agree.” I turned back to the manager. “Lanky Larry, you think we could borrow the key to that room and have a quick look around?”

Lanky Larry hesitated uneasily. “It’s hotel policy not to—”

“Ah, don’t be such a stupid putz!” Stella lambasted. “You want the key to my heart? Then hand over the key to that room already.”

Lanky Larry instantly spun on his heels, grabbed a key off the board behind him, and slapped it down on the counter. “Room sixty-nine. You might wanna take the stairs, the elevator keeps getting stuck. We think there’s a stiff in the bottom of the shaft, but nobody wants to look.”

“That explains the smell in here,” I muttered.

“And here I was thinkin’ it was my breath after that baloney and pickle sandwich I had for lunch,” added Stella. “I tell ya, you gotta be careful what you put in your mouth these days.”

We didn’t need the key to room sixty-nine after all. When we got there, we found the door already ajar. Cautiously I nudged it open with one hand.

The room was dank and dingy. The dying light of day struggled to break through the closed curtain, only managing to peep through the tears and holes that had been eaten through by moths. I reached inside the door and flicked on the light. The bed had been roughly made, and given the number of stains on the sheets there was no telling how often they were washed and changed. In one corner was a writing desk with a broken lamp, and against the far wall stood a wooden closet beside a crookedly hanging painting of a daffodil-filled vase, the only splash of color in the room.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Stella asked quietly, as though the room had ears.

---