Free Fadeaway Girl by Martha Grimes Page B

cayenne-peppered-up rarebit in front of Miss Bertha. I walked over to a window to stare out and brood.
    I was so irritated by Will’s being let off his hotel duties, especially by this brand-new Ralph-Rafe person, that I hardly noticed when Miss Bertha cried out, “Water! Water!”
    Let her burn.

13
    I was out of the dining room and out the side door, hot on the trail of Ralph Diggs.
    As he was no longer in sight in the back, I could only guess he might have gone to the Big Garage to get tips on bellhopping from the Hotel Paradise concierge.
    Unfortunately for Ralph or Rafe, Will’s real work was “charm,” charming the guests, especially if there was trouble.
    Like a few weeks ago, when he’d wanted another kid to join the Hummers in the production of Medea, the Musical . He’d discovered this little girl wandering around the croquet court with a mallet, not knowing where she was or, possibly, who she was. So Will had hauled her up to the Big Garage, not mindful (or at least not caring) that her parents would be anxiously searching for her.
    It turned out that her name was Bessie, and she’d been “missing for hours.” Will and Mill were brought to the front desk with Bessie in tow. The parents were white-faced. Did Will apologize? Of course not. He sidestepped the entire issue by telling Bessie’s mom and dad what a marvelous stage presence she had and how she had a real future in the theater. This was all delivered with a million smiles. Since Bessie, who was only four, had about as much stage presence as Paul, the wonder was how the parents swallowed all of this malarkey.
    Charm, charm, charm, that’s all.
    It really irritated me. Will had it and I didn’t. I was the one who worked ; I was the one who deserved it; I was the one who almost got murdered.
    As I crunched along the gravel up to the Big Garage, I noticed a black Chevy coupe parked up on the verge. I didn’t think we had any guests coming today, which was not an unusual event, and wondered whose it was.
    I was astounded to find the garage door open. Open. It was like finding the pearly gates unattended by Saint Peter so that any screw-ball could just walk in. Back there in the shadows were Will, Mill, and the fellow I supposed was Ralph Diggs.
    Ralph was years older than Will and Mill, so no longer in his teens. Some girls I guess would find him “cute”: he had curly blond hair and a straight nose and hazel eyes. He was taller than Will.
    When we were introduced, he as “Rafe,” me as “Emma” (my name resistant to a fancy pronunciation), I said, “Ralph, isn’t it?”
    His smile was lopsided and he gave me a splintered look, as if the irises had broken up into tiny shards of green, blue, and brown.
    Will answered for him. Apparently Ralph Diggs was not to be put to a lot of bother answering questions. “Rafe’s taking over for me as front man,” said Will.
    That was a good description of either of them, I thought, having the strong ring of dishonesty and deceit. “Oh? Where are you going?”
    â€œDon’t be dumb. Nowhere. I’ll be the hotel concierge. You know, helping guests with problems and questions.”
    â€œThey’ll have to come to the Big Garage to ask them.”
    Will just rolled his eyes. Ralph kept up that smile that I decided was pretty cold.
    â€œWhat things? Aside from carrying bags only occasionally, you don’t do anything. Did Mrs. Davidow outline your job? Ralph?”
    The smile was still on only one side of his mouth. And his eyes looked those shards at me. But he did answer. “Helping out generally. Bags. Kitchen. Dining room. Getting groceries, since I have a car.”
    He did not appear to be trying to impress us with the car. I assumed it was the old black Chevy that I’d passed. But at my age, any car would impress me; I mean owning one.
    He said, “What do you do?”
    â€œI work.