number above the elevator door. Six. I’d pushed the sixth floor button instead of the fifth.
The elevator began to close. I put my foot in the way to stop it when I saw Buster’s broad shoulders through the glass doors of the conference room. He was seated at the table, talking to a gray-haired woman. I stepped out of the elevator and got closer to the door, sidling across the hall like a crook, just to get a closer peek. It was weird to have butterflies in my belly over Buster.
His gray suit coat was strained across his back as he leaned forward. From the admiring smile on her face, his earnest manner was impressing the hell out of the woman across from him. Hair curled over the collar of his dress shirt. I got lost in the blue-black wave of his hair, until the elevator door dinged open behind me.
Sanchez was in deep conversation with a uniformed officer in the elevator car. Instinctively, I went in the opposite direction, pushing open the exit door to the stairs before Sanchez could see me. I let the door close behind me, my heart pounding.
The last thing I needed was for Sanchez to think I was snooping. Even I knew that the murderer returns to the scene of the crime. I had not meant to do that.
I charged down the stairs to the fifth floor. As I pushed open the gray door with the number five stenciled on it, I stopped to catch my breath, listening for noises above me. I held the door slightly open, ready to slam it and run if anyone came after me. After my heart stopped racing, I realized no one was after me. I leaned against the door, pushing against the stitch in my side.
Once in the hall, I tried to shut the door, but it wouldn’t close all the way. Looking down, I saw a small notebook wedged in the door hinge. I pulled it out and the door hissed contentedly and closed. I continued out onto Justine’s floor and found room 511. I knocked, then thumbed through the book idly as I waited for Justine to answer.
It was a spiral notebook, the size of a small index card. I was surprised to see the name of Freddy’s shop on the top of one sheet, with pencil drawings below. Flipping through, I found pages dedicated to other familiar names from the quilt show. It looked like someone had been making cryptic notes about what they saw at the Extravaganza. There were no words, just drawings and letters.
I’d seen Justine in this stairwell yesterday. These were probably her thoughts about their clients. She must have developed some kind of code so as not to offend anyone if she lost the notebook. Smart move, considering where I’d found it.
I knocked again, and when there was still no answer, I glanced at my watch. With Sanchez one floor up, I could not hang around the halls of the hotel. I didn’t want to stand here and bang on an empty door. Been there, done that. Got the blood on my T-shirt.
Justine was probably already downstairs. I made my way back down to the quilt show. Inside the lobby, the crowd waiting to get in looked even bigger than yesterday morning. It was déjà vu all over again with one exception—there was no sign of Justine. I spotted Eve standing at the head of the line, where Justine had been yesterday, ready to collect cash. Eve was wearing another version of the JustEve shirt, this one teal with black lettering, and black Dockers. From the looks of the red-eyed young woman in the information booth, biting back tears, Eve was in a coordinating black mood. I hurried over there.
“Hey, I was looking for Justine,” I told Eve.
“You just missed her.”
I disregarded her scowl and offered the notebook. “Maybe you could give her this for me.”
“Why?” Eve said, barely glancing at it. She twisted away from me, watching the burgeoning crowd.
I raised my voice. “Eve, I found this in the stairwell by your room. I think it belongs to Justine.”
I poked the notebook toward her hand, trying to get her to take it reflexively.
She lifted her hands up, away from the book, looking at me like
The elevator began to close. I put my foot in the way to stop it when I saw Buster’s broad shoulders through the glass doors of the conference room. He was seated at the table, talking to a gray-haired woman. I stepped out of the elevator and got closer to the door, sidling across the hall like a crook, just to get a closer peek. It was weird to have butterflies in my belly over Buster.
His gray suit coat was strained across his back as he leaned forward. From the admiring smile on her face, his earnest manner was impressing the hell out of the woman across from him. Hair curled over the collar of his dress shirt. I got lost in the blue-black wave of his hair, until the elevator door dinged open behind me.
Sanchez was in deep conversation with a uniformed officer in the elevator car. Instinctively, I went in the opposite direction, pushing open the exit door to the stairs before Sanchez could see me. I let the door close behind me, my heart pounding.
The last thing I needed was for Sanchez to think I was snooping. Even I knew that the murderer returns to the scene of the crime. I had not meant to do that.
I charged down the stairs to the fifth floor. As I pushed open the gray door with the number five stenciled on it, I stopped to catch my breath, listening for noises above me. I held the door slightly open, ready to slam it and run if anyone came after me. After my heart stopped racing, I realized no one was after me. I leaned against the door, pushing against the stitch in my side.
Once in the hall, I tried to shut the door, but it wouldn’t close all the way. Looking down, I saw a small notebook wedged in the door hinge. I pulled it out and the door hissed contentedly and closed. I continued out onto Justine’s floor and found room 511. I knocked, then thumbed through the book idly as I waited for Justine to answer.
It was a spiral notebook, the size of a small index card. I was surprised to see the name of Freddy’s shop on the top of one sheet, with pencil drawings below. Flipping through, I found pages dedicated to other familiar names from the quilt show. It looked like someone had been making cryptic notes about what they saw at the Extravaganza. There were no words, just drawings and letters.
I’d seen Justine in this stairwell yesterday. These were probably her thoughts about their clients. She must have developed some kind of code so as not to offend anyone if she lost the notebook. Smart move, considering where I’d found it.
I knocked again, and when there was still no answer, I glanced at my watch. With Sanchez one floor up, I could not hang around the halls of the hotel. I didn’t want to stand here and bang on an empty door. Been there, done that. Got the blood on my T-shirt.
Justine was probably already downstairs. I made my way back down to the quilt show. Inside the lobby, the crowd waiting to get in looked even bigger than yesterday morning. It was déjà vu all over again with one exception—there was no sign of Justine. I spotted Eve standing at the head of the line, where Justine had been yesterday, ready to collect cash. Eve was wearing another version of the JustEve shirt, this one teal with black lettering, and black Dockers. From the looks of the red-eyed young woman in the information booth, biting back tears, Eve was in a coordinating black mood. I hurried over there.
“Hey, I was looking for Justine,” I told Eve.
“You just missed her.”
I disregarded her scowl and offered the notebook. “Maybe you could give her this for me.”
“Why?” Eve said, barely glancing at it. She twisted away from me, watching the burgeoning crowd.
I raised my voice. “Eve, I found this in the stairwell by your room. I think it belongs to Justine.”
I poked the notebook toward her hand, trying to get her to take it reflexively.
She lifted her hands up, away from the book, looking at me like
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