Free Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog by Carol Lea Benjamin Page B

was too strong to be masked by air freshener, especially since there was no window in the small bathroom. I picked up a clean washcloth, wet it, and held it over my nose and mouth.
    I looked at the outlet next. It was as old-fashioned as everything else in the hotel. Had there been an outlet with a ground fault interrupter, the way there is in the bathrooms of more modem hotels, Alan Cooper would still be alive.
    The bath mat was gone. It must have gotten soaked when Alan fell back into the tub. The wet towels and the broken shelf had been removed, but the radio had not. It had been placed on the floor next to the foot of the tub, and there it sat, the loose cord behind it. It was useless as evidence. You wouldn’t be able to get fingerprints from an object that had soaked in hot, soapy water. From what Sam had said, the detectives would only expect to find Alan’s prints on it anyway. There had been black powder on top of the nightstand. Tomorrow or the next day they’d confirm that Alan was the one who’d moved it out so that he could have music while he soaked in the tub.
    There was a terry robe the hotel supplied tossed over the closed toilet, something to put on when you got out of the tub. And Alan’s toothbrush and shaving things were out on the sink.
    The trash basket had only a couple of used tissues in it. I picked up Alan’s things and went back into the bedroom. I packed the rest of his gear, putting his bathroom supplies neatly into his dopp kit, checking the closet again to make sure I hadn’t left a pair of shoes on the floor or a shirt on the shelf. I slipped the collar and remote in last. Then I sat on the window seat and looked out at the park.
    It was after nine already. I still had to get Dashiell out for a short walk and shower and change before Beryl’s talk. I stood near the window looking around one last time, then zipped up the suitcase, released Dash from his stay, and was about to leave when I realized I hadn’t checked the wastebasket near the bed. So while Dashiell filled his nose with Beau’s smells, I walked back to the bed where Alan Cooper had spent the last night of his life and found another bunch of wadded-up tissues in the trash. Guy must have had one hell of a cold, I thought. Or maybe he was allergic. It was the season for it.
    “Maybe that’s why he was soaking in the tub, to help with chest congestion, what do you think?” I asked Dash, being one of those New Yorkers who uses my dog as an excuse to talk to myself.
    But Dashiell wasn’t listening. He’d found a third tennis ball, this one under the covers on the other side of the bed, and since I’d spoken to him, he figured maybe I wasn’t busy any longer; maybe, in fact, I’d be as interested as he was in a little game of fetch. He trotted over and tossed the ball at my feet, backed up, barked, and wagged his tail.
    One ball on the floor and two shoved under the covers didn’t mean a game. It meant Beau was hoping for a game and was being ignored.
    So instead of responding to Dashiell’s invitation, I busied myself pulling the top sheet and blankets all the way off the bed.
    Bright sunlight was streaming in through the window, lighting up every corner of the room. With the covers off, I quickly discovered why Beau had had no response to his pleas for a game of fetch. His master, it seemed, had been otherwise occupied. As far as I could tell, right up until the end, Alan Cooper, God bless him, had made wet spots the old-fashioned way.
    Now all I needed to find out was who wore skimpy leopard bikini underwear. Because whoever it was, she’d left a pair in Alan Cooper’s bed.



WOULD YOU MIND? SHE ASKED

    I took the empty place in the last row next to Woody for Beryl’s talk, then looked around to see where the other female trainers were, wondering if it had been one of them who had so generously entertained Alan on the last night of his life. I’d overheard Audrey in the bathroom saying she’d been with someone