Free Speak Now by Margaret Dumas Page A

princess had been only thirteen years old and prone to fits of giggling when she’d known my husband.
    I sighed. If only I could be equally satisfied that I knew everything about Jack’s increasingly murky-sounding past. I turned over, and was disappointed to find a note instead of Jack’s sleeping profile on the pillow next to mine.
    C,
    The concierge found a racquetball partner for me. I should be back around 1:00.
    -J
    Racquetball. Right. I stretched, wondering what to do with the day. The clock said 8:32, so sleeping a few more hours seemed reasonable. Then, guiltily, I remembered I’d promised to read the play Chip had sent over. I padded out to the living room and found it under a pile of newspapers and magazines.
    I called room service for coffee and a bagel, then turned on the television, flipping among the channels of morning programming. There was still no news coverage about the murder of the woman in our suite, and I wondered why. If they were trying to identify her, it seemed reasonable to put her picture on the news. But either the hotel really had some pull with the media or the police didn’t work that way.
    I kept switching channels after breakfast had been delivered. Various stars were shilling for their various new movies on various talk shows. Various chefs were creating various masterpieces on various cooking shows. I hovered on the Weather Channel for a moment, picturing Jack on screen, telling me all about pressure systems over the Pacific. Then I pictured him shirtless. I turned the TV off and sighed. Maybe it was time to deal with the subject I’d been trying to put out of my mind. I picked up the phone and pushed the button for the hotel operator.
    “Could you connect me with the head of security, please?”
    “Is there a problem, Mrs. Fairfax?” When would it stop startling me when someone called me that?
    “Just put me through, please.”
    “I’ll give you Mr. Shepherd,” she answered, after a slight hesitation, and I heard music for a minute or two. I scrunched my forehead, trying to remember if Mr. Shepherd was the name of the security man I’d met the night we’d found the body. I drew a blank.
    “Mrs. Fairfax,” a robust voice assaulted my ear. “Bill Shepherd here. How may I help you?”
    “Mr. Shepherd.” The voice clicked with a face, but not the right one. “Aren’t you the hotel manager?”
    “Yes ma’am. How may I be of service?”
    Well, for one thing you could let me talk to the person I wanted to talk to.
    “I’m afraid there’s been some mistake,” I told him. “I asked for the head of security. Mr….”
    “Oh.”
    Now it was my turn to ask if there was a problem.
    “I’m afraid the man you’re thinking of is no longer with us.” The regret in his voice was completely manufactured. The tension wasn’t.
    “What? Why?”
    “Mrs. Fairfax, I’d be happy to help you in any way I can.”
    “Did you fire him?”
    A pause. “I’m sure you’ll understand I can’t comment on the matter.”
    Right. But I didn’t like it. I’d had the crazy idea of questioning the security chief to see if he had any theories about the body in the bathtub. And maybe to get a little information out of him. Like whether the police suspected me or Jack. But I doubted I’d get anything from the corporate Mr. Shepherd. I thought quickly. “Well, maybe you can help me. I was wondering if now would be a good time to look at the tapes.”
    “Tapes?”
    “Inspector Yahata mentioned there were tapes from the lobby security cameras…”
    “Yes, of course. But I’m afraid the police still have them.”
    So much for that.
    “Mrs. Fairfax?” I suppose my silence was unnerving the man.
    “Can’t you just tell me whether you fired Mr….the security chief, or if he…left?” As in left, shrouded in mystery and casting suspicion on himself and what his role in the murder of an unidentified woman might have been?
    “I’m sorry, but—”
    “Never mind then.”
    “Is there