everyone headed back to South Beach.
I’d have to make sure Cyrus agreed to let me cover it for the station. I wondered whether I could find a way to interview a few more members of Team Sanjay at the memorial service. With any luck, Olivia would be there and I could find out whether she really was next in line to be Sanjay’s assistant, or whether this was just wishful thinking, as Miriam Dobosh had suggested.
“Found them!” Ted said, breaking into my thoughts, waving a sheaf of papers. “I don’t think Martino’s going to find them very interesting, though. I only glanced at a few, but they seem to be positive. It looks like the audience really loved Sanjay.”
“Somebody didn’t,” I said thoughtfully. “Can I take a look at them?”
“Help yourself,” he said, laying them on the glass-topped wicker coffee table. I’d just started to leaf through them when Ted was called away to deal with a late arrival, a middle-aged couple named Parker, in matching Florida T-shirts, who insisted on seeing both of the garden rooms before checking in. Ted shot a helpless look in my direction and herded them up to the second floor. I smiled at him and went back to my reading.
Ted was right: The audience evaluation forms were all wildly complimentary, except for one that chilled me to the bone. It was unsigned, and the writer clearly wasn’t a fan of Guru Sanjay—hatred and venom practically rose off the paper. It was hard to read in the dim light of the porch, but a few words jumped out at me, followed by a flurry of exclamation points. “Charlatan! Con Man! Fraud!! Your day will come!!!”
I sat back, stunned. I had to get a copy of this piece of paper—and fast. Once Martino got ahold of it, it would officially become evidence and I’d never get a peek at it again.
Ted was still busy with the Parkers, and no one was man ning the front desk. I slipped the form into my pocket, strolled into the lobby, and, after making sure no one was in the office, slapped the page on the copy machine. I heard Ted coming down the stairs just as the copy rolled into my hands, and I shoved it into my pocket, along with the original.
“I was looking for some munchies,” I said by way of explanation.
“I’ve got a jar of those pistachio nuts you like in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring them out on the porch, along with a bottle of wine.”
I returned to the glider, slipped the original form into the pile with the others, and swung back and forth a little, lost in thought. I was pondering my next move when Ted joined me.
“Finally got them settled,” he said, easing himself into a chair. “What a pair! They couldn’t decide if they wanted the white room with the blue-tiled bathroom or the yellow room with the green-tiled bathroom. She wanted white; he wanted yellow. It was like trying to hammer out a Middle East peace accord.”
I smiled to show I absolutely understood the craziness of hotel guests.
“Interesting reading,” I said, patting the pile of audience evaluations. “But nothing out of the ordinary.” Ted nodded. “I didn’t think you’d find anything significant.” He paused to sip his wine, looking out at the darkening sky. “You didn’t happen to come across one from Kathryn Sinclair, did you?” he said, sitting up a little straighter.
“No, who is she?” I pulled the papers onto my lap and began riffling through them a second time. I heard a scuffling sound in the darkness and wondered whether one of Ted’s many cats was out there. Funny, but I had the eerie feeling someone was watching me.
“She’s the proverbial fly in the ointment. Probably the one person in the group who isn’t a Sanjay fan. I forgot to tell you about her, but she was having a screaming match with that woman who was Guru Sanjay’s assistant. Miriam something-or-other.”
“Miriam Dobosh,” I said excitedly. “Why was Kathryn Sinclair arguing with Miriam?” I finished flipping through the evals
I’d have to make sure Cyrus agreed to let me cover it for the station. I wondered whether I could find a way to interview a few more members of Team Sanjay at the memorial service. With any luck, Olivia would be there and I could find out whether she really was next in line to be Sanjay’s assistant, or whether this was just wishful thinking, as Miriam Dobosh had suggested.
“Found them!” Ted said, breaking into my thoughts, waving a sheaf of papers. “I don’t think Martino’s going to find them very interesting, though. I only glanced at a few, but they seem to be positive. It looks like the audience really loved Sanjay.”
“Somebody didn’t,” I said thoughtfully. “Can I take a look at them?”
“Help yourself,” he said, laying them on the glass-topped wicker coffee table. I’d just started to leaf through them when Ted was called away to deal with a late arrival, a middle-aged couple named Parker, in matching Florida T-shirts, who insisted on seeing both of the garden rooms before checking in. Ted shot a helpless look in my direction and herded them up to the second floor. I smiled at him and went back to my reading.
Ted was right: The audience evaluation forms were all wildly complimentary, except for one that chilled me to the bone. It was unsigned, and the writer clearly wasn’t a fan of Guru Sanjay—hatred and venom practically rose off the paper. It was hard to read in the dim light of the porch, but a few words jumped out at me, followed by a flurry of exclamation points. “Charlatan! Con Man! Fraud!! Your day will come!!!”
I sat back, stunned. I had to get a copy of this piece of paper—and fast. Once Martino got ahold of it, it would officially become evidence and I’d never get a peek at it again.
Ted was still busy with the Parkers, and no one was man ning the front desk. I slipped the form into my pocket, strolled into the lobby, and, after making sure no one was in the office, slapped the page on the copy machine. I heard Ted coming down the stairs just as the copy rolled into my hands, and I shoved it into my pocket, along with the original.
“I was looking for some munchies,” I said by way of explanation.
“I’ve got a jar of those pistachio nuts you like in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring them out on the porch, along with a bottle of wine.”
I returned to the glider, slipped the original form into the pile with the others, and swung back and forth a little, lost in thought. I was pondering my next move when Ted joined me.
“Finally got them settled,” he said, easing himself into a chair. “What a pair! They couldn’t decide if they wanted the white room with the blue-tiled bathroom or the yellow room with the green-tiled bathroom. She wanted white; he wanted yellow. It was like trying to hammer out a Middle East peace accord.”
I smiled to show I absolutely understood the craziness of hotel guests.
“Interesting reading,” I said, patting the pile of audience evaluations. “But nothing out of the ordinary.” Ted nodded. “I didn’t think you’d find anything significant.” He paused to sip his wine, looking out at the darkening sky. “You didn’t happen to come across one from Kathryn Sinclair, did you?” he said, sitting up a little straighter.
“No, who is she?” I pulled the papers onto my lap and began riffling through them a second time. I heard a scuffling sound in the darkness and wondered whether one of Ted’s many cats was out there. Funny, but I had the eerie feeling someone was watching me.
“She’s the proverbial fly in the ointment. Probably the one person in the group who isn’t a Sanjay fan. I forgot to tell you about her, but she was having a screaming match with that woman who was Guru Sanjay’s assistant. Miriam something-or-other.”
“Miriam Dobosh,” I said excitedly. “Why was Kathryn Sinclair arguing with Miriam?” I finished flipping through the evals
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