Free The Dark and Deadly Pool by Joan Lowery Nixon Page A

hurry,” I said. “That should prove they didn’t belong here. That and the fact that their faces weren’t on any of the cards.”
    “Don’t try to make a mystery out of them.” Tina gave a loud yawn. “A lot of strange people wander in and out of a hotel.”
    “But they asked nosy questions about Mr, Jones. Shouldn’t we do something about it?”
    “There’s nothing to do. Except, I guess, if you see them again, let me know right away.”
    “Did Lamar tell you that I tried to reach you earlier?”
    “No. Anything important?”
    “Yes,” I said. “That guy’s card. That Kurt Quentin Fraiser. It’s back in the file.”
    “Forget him,” Tina said. “I have.”
    “But, Tina—”
    “I’ve been thinking about it,” Tina said. “There’s no point in wasting time flirting with men from out of town. It’s an exercise in frustration and could eventually lead to a lower self-image if I’m not careful. I need a really positive self-image.”
    “Tina—”
    “I’m tired of being a poor nobody,” Tina said. “And it’s hard waiting to be rich and famous. Did I tell you that I’m going to be famous too?”
    “Probably,” I said.
    “Of course, if anyone really super comes in, I might make an exception.”
    “Tina, about the cards—”
    “Lamar’s coming back. I’ve got to tour the lobby. Talk to you later,” Tina said, and hung up.
    I stared at the telephone for a couple of minutes. If Tina weren’t concerned about a card that was missing, then wasn’t, maybe I shouldn’t be either. I couldn’t help it. The whole thing made me feel uncomfortable.
    A second wave of guests came into the hotel as the first wave dressed and went out for late dinners. Very few people wanted to swim outside at this hour, so the inside section of the pool was crowded with laughing, splashing bodies. Just tidying up after all those people was a full-time job, and most of them couldn’t read. I mean, people kept taking glasses into the Jacuzzi, even though right over their heads was a decorative sign asking them not to; and one out-of-shape businessman after another belly-slapped the water right under the sign that said NO DIVING IN THE POOL, PLEASE . Maybe whoever had painted the signs shouldn’t have included the word
please.
No one seemed to take the rules seriously.
    By eleven o’clock, when the last guests had been politely edged out of the club, I had picked up at least two dozen towels from the floor and bench in front of the towel hamper, and made a collection of items that had been left behind and could be claimed in the office: two pairs of sunglasses, a paperback romance novel, four combs, one funky earring, and a very skimpy top of a bathing suit. It was certainly small enough. I could see how the owner could misplace it—even when it was being worn.
    Fran came in one door of the office as I stepped through the other. His hair was neatly combed, and his smile was as bright as the bowl of daisies he thrust toward me.
    “Thank you!” I said. “They’re beautiful!”
    “And practically fresh too,” Fran said. “The people in 912 only had them two days before they checked out.”
    “Secondhand daisies?”
    “Bet you never heard of that before, huh?” His smile didn’t waver. I put the bowl on the desk as he added, “Where to?”
    “Sit down,” I said.
    “I thought we were going somewhere to talk.”
    “We can talk right here.”
    As he sat in the extra office chair his shoulders slumped just a little, his coat wrinkled, and his cowlick sprang into action. It was the most vivid case of disappointment I’d ever seen.
    I sat across the desk from him and leaned forward, keeping my voice low. “Listen, Fran. This is business. Important business. I need to talk to you about the crimes going on at the hotel.”
    “You need to talk to Lamar, not to me.”
    I shook my head. “No. I don’t have any real facts to give Lamar, just feelings.”
    “I can’t do much about your feelings. I’ve