Three Days in the Amaranth Hotel

Chapter 4: The Model Train Whistle

Bobby the night watchman sat at the reception desk trying to flick a paper football between pen goalposts. A brown mouse scurried along the wall. The only other sound on the first floor besides the faceless clock's ticking came from the staff bedroom down the hall.

"...and I think we should do another sweep of the unoccupied rooms," Laura was saying. "A couple of our more exotic trinkets might get us some extra cash. Those vases in 209 have to be worth something."

"Fine, fine." Briggs paced beside the twin bed, a glass of scotch in hand.

Laura shuffled through the papers beside her on the loveseat. The room was haphazardly furnished with whatever personal effects Briggs could pack when he'd left his house four weeks ago. He used to use this room for occasional overnight shifts, but lately his occupation felt a lot more permanent. Laura still didn't know exactly what happened. No matter how many times she asked, Briggs refused to give any details. She'd even called his wife, Stacy, under the pretense of talking about window treatments but really to ask why she'd kicked him out after twenty-five years of untroubled marriage. Laura knew Briggs had to have done something big to deserve so hasty a booting. But Stacy just said he could come home when he finally came to his senses. About what, Laura couldn't guess. But, knowing Briggs's senses, she figured that could take a while.

She eyed the paintings of trains lining the wall and scowled. The day after Briggs moved in, he'd carried half a dozen cardboard boxes downstairs. And Laura knew what was in those boxes: parts and pieces to that train set. He'd been talking about it for years, but at least he kept the accursed thing at home. Now that it was here, no one else was allowed down in the basement anymore, not even Laura to fetch cleaning supplies. In all likelihood Briggs feared she would knock the engine off its tracks and send a dozen plastic figurine passengers plummeting to a tragic and untimely end on the concrete of the Amaranth's basement floor. If anything convinced Laura Briggs was going to be staying a while, it was that ridiculous train.

"Okay." Laura wiped her reading glasses on her sleeve. "Now that that's settled, on to preparations for new guests. Are you sure Bobby can handle checking in that government fellow tonight? Mr...." She searched for the correct form. "...Mr. Rockthrone?"

Briggs took a swig of scotch. "Oh, Bobby could use some actual responsibilities around this place. We pay him for the night work, so let's give him the night work. No point in the two of us working ourselves to death twenty-four hours a day. We already don't get to bed till—" He glanced at his alarm clock. "—Jesus, is it 1:00 already?"

"We're managing." Laura stifled a yawn.

"Managing by a thread," Briggs muttered. "I just hope one more guest isn't more than the two of us can handle. This Rockthrone guy might be kind of eccentric. Who makes a reservation for this place? And plans to check in at 3:00 in the morning, to boot."

"I'm sure he has a delayed flight or something," Laura said. "And it's not like we haven't gotten used to eccentric."

The whump of a shoe tripping up the marble staircase out in the lobby made them both pause and listen. They shook their heads when no sound followed the first. They both knew there was almost always someone wandering the halls of the Amaranth at night.

"Regardless," Briggs said. "Maybe with a fancy D.C. job, this guy will have some money to throw around the place."

"Speaking of throwing money around." Laura peered at Briggs over her glasses. "I've called the gardeners to start planting the new birch trees as requested. They're coming tomorrow morning while the ground's still soft from tonight's rain."

"Good," Briggs said, not catching her disapproving tone.

"Now, shall we get on to this month's numbers?"