Unfashionably Dead

Chapter Twenty-four

Lanie sticks close to the walls and embraces the shadows on her return to the hotel. She mutters under her breath about her carelessness and stupidity. With each tense step across the well-lit bridge, she increases her pace, seemingly wanting out from under the lampposts' disapproving glare.

She doesn't breathe until the sliding glass opens for her at the hotel, and even that is short-lived as she desperately pats her pockets. They are empty, her hotel key lost at some point before I found her.

"Good evening," the front desk clerk says as a deflated Lanie approaches the counter. The silver-haired woman takes in Lanie's distressed appearance and her smile transforms into a straight line. "Are you okay, Miss?"

Lanie sighs. "I was mugged on my way to Channelside. I only had about twenty dollars on me, but apparently they also got my hotel key."

"I don't know what's gotten into people these days? Did you call the police?"

"It seemed pointless for such a small amount of money. I'm just glad I left everything in the room or he would have made off with a lot more."

"Would you like to call them now? I'm certain an officer is patrolling the area."

Lanie shudders. "No, that's not necessary. I honestly just want some sleep."

The older woman frowns. "Very well then. What is your room number?"

"Six-ten," Lanie answers. She then tells her name and the make and model of her car to the clerk.

Satisfied that Lanie is who she claims to be, the clerk supplies her with a new key. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call."

Lanie takes the key and stuffs it into her pocket. "Thank you so much. Have a good evening."

As Lanie walks to the elevator, the clerk watches her, her jaw set. She shifts her attention to the phone. The doors close and I break my attention from the clerk to leap inside with my friend.

Lanie closes her eyes and her sigh echoes off the walls.

I can't help but cast a suspicious stare her way. I want to believe that she is innocent, want to believe she could not do this to Margaret, but deep down I know it is possible. It's just like the little girl who snaps after being poked for several minutes by her sister. Eventually the girl strikes back, and usually, it's ugly. I can only hope she had better self-control and did not murder Margaret.

Upon entering her hotel room, Lanie flicks the light on, checking in the bathroom, the closet, and other nooks for an intruder. With a sigh of relief, she lifts the Fendi off the desk and ensures everything is inside.

"If I make it through tonight without being arrested, it will be by miracle alone. God help me." She kicks off her heels and stands in front of the mirror.

"I look awful." She pulls at one of the strands of hair that had fallen from the bun. With her other hand, she uncoils the bun. Her hair cascades halfway down her back as she shakes it free.

Wringing her hands, she paces the room, asking what she should do.

"Call the police," I say to her as though she can hear it. "I know it will look bad if you call them, but it will look even worse when they find your scarf and your fingerprints all over everything."

After several minutes of pacing, she stops in front of her purse and removes the phone. The phone lights to reveal four missed calls: two from Adam, one from Weston, and one from my mother a couple hours ago. She scrolls through them, seeming to deliberate on whom to call. She closes her eyes and presses Adam's number.

I squish myself down to hear the conversation, but after four rings, it goes to voicemail.

"Give me a call when you get this. We need to talk." There is no loving tone in her voice, nothing to hint at a desire to work things out with him. She closes out of the phone and places it onto the desk.

"How do I tell him?" She fishes through her purse for the prescription and removes a pill, carefully containing it in her hand as she twists the cap off a water bottle.

As the sleeping medicine is being taken, a knock on the door forces water to dribble out of Lanie's mouth onto her chin.

She clears her throat and heads to the door.

Another knock vibrates the wall. "Open up. It's the police."

Lanie freezes mid-step.

I peer into the hallway.

Grant is holding his badge in front of the peephole. He raps again at the door.

When I return my attention to Lanie, she looks from the bed to the bathroom and back again.

"Oh, Lanie. Just answer the door before you make things worse for yourself. If you aren't going to do that, change your clothes."

But she doesn't move. "Omigod, he's come to arrest me."

Finally, she works up nerve and checks the peephole. Relief crosses her face for a split-second before the door opens.

"What brings you here, Officer Smith?"

Grant's eyes widen. "Good evening, Miss Hayes. I got a call from Annie downstairs at the front desk. She was concerned about you."

With a sigh, she ushers him inside. "I'm fine, just like I told her." She takes a seat on the bed.

"You don't look fine." He points to the tear in her jumpsuit.

"I was mugged. He got away with twenty dollars. End of story."

"Will you come down to the police station and file a report?"

She shakes her head. "I can't do that. I just took a Xanax to help me sleep. My guess is I have another twenty minutes tops, before it takes effect. I just want this day to be over with."

He stares at the scratch above the tear in the fabric. "You're seriously going to allow this guy to get away?"

Her shoulders sink as tears roll down her cheek. "It's not worth the trouble."

Her cell phone rings. Grant lifts it from the desk and eyes the caller ID, Adam, before handing it to her.

"I can't talk now," she says into the phone.

"Margaret," Adam slurs in a voice loud enough to catch Grant's attention.

"Look, I'll call you tomorrow morning. I can tell you're drunk." She disconnects the call, sets the phone on vibrate, and slides it into her purse.

Grant eyes her with curiosity. "Don't let me stop you from talking to your fiancé."

"Ex-fiance," Lanie corrects. "We broke up earlier today, this time for good."

"And what about Margaret?"

Lanie winces at his mention of her. "No idea. I really don't want to talk about her right now."

"Fair enough." He heads to the door. "Is there any chance you can give me a description of your assailant so I can be on the lookout for him?"

A yawn overtakes her and she rubs her eyes. "He was wearing a mask, a black sweatshirt, and jeans. I think he was probably about six feet tall. No accent. It easily could've been you."

"And where was this?"

She gulps. "It was near the corridor that has Qachbal's Chocolatier."

"Thank you. I'll scout the area for him." He opens the door. "I hope you get your rest, Miss Hayes."

Lanie latches the door behind him. She quickly changes into pajamas and climbs into bed. Within seconds, her eyes close. The word "Margaret" escapes her lips as she drifts off to sleep.

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Author's Note: As always, thank you for still being here. I hope you're still enjoying it. Hoping to have another update before my company arrives this weekend. Thanks again!