more information, I headed out to the Ritz-Beverly Hotel. Just for a look, nothing more. If Eva was there, I wasn’t going to kill her. She was supposed to be calling the office for a daily update and I could give it to her in person and then ask for an update of my own.
So I took the scenic route. I had a hunch that someone had seen Eva come to the office yesterday, which meant she was being watched. Then Ada reminded me of the mystery man on the road above the Hollywood Sign and I had to concede the fact that maybe I was being watched too.
At least I was careful with the man from the Parks Department. Nobody had seen that.
Whether I was paranoid or not didn’t seem to make much of a difference, because for most of the way to the hotel I was in fact being followed by a gold coupe with a white roof that looked like you could pull it back if it was a nice day.
But it was nice day now and the top was up. There was only one person in the car, and while he was making some kind of effort not to be seen, it wasn’t working.
I figured I could deal with that problem with the time came and eventually I turned past the sign that said The Ritz-Beverly Hotel in a flowing script that looked like handwriting.
The hotel was a pink construction peeking out from behind rows of phoenix palms and another kind of palm with a narrow tall trunk that I didn’t remember the name of. The hotel was set well in grounds that were both capacious and sun-kissed. I reached the start of its driveway around ten in the morning and I was looking for lunch around the time I pulled into the guest parking lot. A sign told me valet parking was available at two bucks a day. I decided to do Ada a favor and use the free option so I parked the car in the shade of a palm to hide the paintwork. The building in front of me was pink and had curves and arches and three turrets that looked like Venetian bell towers. There were three flags fluttering against the blue sky, one per turret, the Stars and Stripes in the middle, flanked by the banner of the California Republic on either side. The windows, of which there were more than a few, had white frames and verandas with possibilities.
The place looked like an expensive kind of wedding cake, one that looked good in pictures but probably not so much up close.
I stood by the car in the shade of the palm tree and straightened my tie and my hat and I tried to look like the kind of private detective who might be called to such an establishment by an exiled dowager duchess who had lost the family jewels in the top penthouse suite.
I walked toward the hotel and then I turned under the shade of the next palm tree along and watched the parking lot, but the gold coupe that had been following me all the way from Franklin didn’t make an appearance. The tail—if he was a tail—wasn’t that bad. But as I stood there a couple of cars cruised past the end of the driveway and kept on going. One of them could have been gold.
.I was met at the hotel entrance by a phalanx of doormen in top hats and tails. Each of them smiled tightly and the oldest number opened a large gold and glass door for me. I doffed my hat and he did the same. I saw a red line around his forehead and his thin hair was damp.
Hell of a day to be wearing a get up like that.
The hotel lobby switched the pink for a yellowish cream. It was a better color in my book, except for the fact that it seemed to stick to everything like glossy pancake batter. The floor was yellowish cream marble. The marble pillars were the same. There were two desks about a mile away from me on either side. Between me and them was an obstacle course of sofas and easy chairs and side tables. The sofas and chairs were a yellowish cream and had enough padding to lose a small child in. The tables, made of a dark wood with an admirable grain, were mostly covered with yellowish cream tablecloths to hide their shame.
There was a piano in a sort of conservatory annex on my far left. The
So I took the scenic route. I had a hunch that someone had seen Eva come to the office yesterday, which meant she was being watched. Then Ada reminded me of the mystery man on the road above the Hollywood Sign and I had to concede the fact that maybe I was being watched too.
At least I was careful with the man from the Parks Department. Nobody had seen that.
Whether I was paranoid or not didn’t seem to make much of a difference, because for most of the way to the hotel I was in fact being followed by a gold coupe with a white roof that looked like you could pull it back if it was a nice day.
But it was nice day now and the top was up. There was only one person in the car, and while he was making some kind of effort not to be seen, it wasn’t working.
I figured I could deal with that problem with the time came and eventually I turned past the sign that said The Ritz-Beverly Hotel in a flowing script that looked like handwriting.
The hotel was a pink construction peeking out from behind rows of phoenix palms and another kind of palm with a narrow tall trunk that I didn’t remember the name of. The hotel was set well in grounds that were both capacious and sun-kissed. I reached the start of its driveway around ten in the morning and I was looking for lunch around the time I pulled into the guest parking lot. A sign told me valet parking was available at two bucks a day. I decided to do Ada a favor and use the free option so I parked the car in the shade of a palm to hide the paintwork. The building in front of me was pink and had curves and arches and three turrets that looked like Venetian bell towers. There were three flags fluttering against the blue sky, one per turret, the Stars and Stripes in the middle, flanked by the banner of the California Republic on either side. The windows, of which there were more than a few, had white frames and verandas with possibilities.
The place looked like an expensive kind of wedding cake, one that looked good in pictures but probably not so much up close.
I stood by the car in the shade of the palm tree and straightened my tie and my hat and I tried to look like the kind of private detective who might be called to such an establishment by an exiled dowager duchess who had lost the family jewels in the top penthouse suite.
I walked toward the hotel and then I turned under the shade of the next palm tree along and watched the parking lot, but the gold coupe that had been following me all the way from Franklin didn’t make an appearance. The tail—if he was a tail—wasn’t that bad. But as I stood there a couple of cars cruised past the end of the driveway and kept on going. One of them could have been gold.
.I was met at the hotel entrance by a phalanx of doormen in top hats and tails. Each of them smiled tightly and the oldest number opened a large gold and glass door for me. I doffed my hat and he did the same. I saw a red line around his forehead and his thin hair was damp.
Hell of a day to be wearing a get up like that.
The hotel lobby switched the pink for a yellowish cream. It was a better color in my book, except for the fact that it seemed to stick to everything like glossy pancake batter. The floor was yellowish cream marble. The marble pillars were the same. There were two desks about a mile away from me on either side. Between me and them was an obstacle course of sofas and easy chairs and side tables. The sofas and chairs were a yellowish cream and had enough padding to lose a small child in. The tables, made of a dark wood with an admirable grain, were mostly covered with yellowish cream tablecloths to hide their shame.
There was a piano in a sort of conservatory annex on my far left. The
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