Free IN ROOM 33 by EC Sheedy Page B

her bag. "Tomorrow, then." She walked out of the store, careful to walk slowly and keep her head high. A few minutes later, she went into one of the zillion coffee shops that decorated every corner of Seattle. She bought herself bottled water and took a seat.
    She was broke. And she was dependent on her daughter to change that. The bill for those summer tees was less than five hundred dollars— a measly five hundred dollars!- —and she couldn't afford them. There was David, of course. She could go to him, ask for money; he had said he'd take care of her.
    She thought about this, but decided it would be a bad move. It was too soon after Stephen's death to appear desperate, and if she handled her money problem badly it could ruin things. She'd appear weak, needy, perhaps even grasping—traits that frightened men off faster than bad sex. No, she had to wait for him to offer the money, insist she take it.
    Last night, when he'd called, he'd been edgy—angry again—because Joy hadn't committed to selling the Philip. Adding her money problems into the mix would increase his stress level, perhaps turn his anger toward her. The smart thing to do was to be supportive, get in his corner—and start handling her damn daughter.
    She glanced out the window, saw the top of the Marriott. The hotel wasn't more than a couple of blocks away. Lana stared at it a long time, slowly sipped her water, and tapped her polished nails on the table. Finally, she rose and picked up her bag.
    Stephen had asked Joy to take care of her, and, having considered her other options, Lana had no choice. She would ask Joy for money.
    As she walked up the street toward the hotel, Lana's dearest wish was that Stephen were still alive—so she could kill him herself.

 
     
     
    Chapter 5

     
    Joy opened her door and stood back, amazed. "Lana... I mean, Mother! What are you doing here?"
    "Visiting. May I come in?"
    Joy stepped aside, and as usual when she was in the same room with her mother, her stomach muscles tensed. "I just got back from meeting Stephen's lawyer. It seems even wills need to have paperwork and X's in all the right spots."
    "It's done, then?"
    Joy nodded. "I was just having coffee. Would you like some?"
    "No, thanks." Lana walked into the luxurious hotel suite and looked around. "Nice. There must be more money in travel writing than I thought—either that or you're already into that hundred grand."
    Joy looked away, clamped down on her temper. "Like I said, it's comped. Sometimes I get lucky."
    "Obviously." Lana strolled over to the window, looked out and down onto the busy street below. It was close to noon, and the lunch crowds were already rushing the crosswalks. She turned back to Joy. "I need some money."
    Her wide-set eyes rested on Joy like drugged butterflies, bright, pretty, expressionless.
    The taut muscles in Joy's stomach eased off. She'd expected this, just not so soon. "How much?"
    "You could give me the hundred thousand."
    "I could, but I won't."
    "It's mine. Stephen meant for you to give it to me."
    "He meant for me to take care of you—financially. And he left it up to me to decide how best to do it. That's going to take a few days. In the meantime, how much money do you need to get through the next month?"
    "Forty thousand."
    Joy's breath caught and then she laughed. It was the only logical response. "I said a month." She shook her head. Some things—like her mother's spending habits—never changed. "I'll make your mortgage payment and give you ten. That should put a few cans of soup in the cupboard." Joy got her checkbook from her briefcase, wrote out the check, and handed it to Lana.
    Lana took it, barely glancing at the numbers on it. "This isn't going to work, you know. Me coming to you for handouts."
    "It's going to have to. For now, at least. Trust me, I don't like it any more than you do."
    Lana slipped the check into her bag. "You toured the Philip yesterday. What did you think?"
    "I think it might have...