The Mysteries of Max: Books 31-33 by Nic Saint (chrome ebook reader txt) 📗

he said, shaking his head and idly fingering his wedding band.

“Simply be a friend to her. A doctor and a gentleman.”

“All I’d have to do is take her to dinner?”

“Or lunch. No romance involved whatsoever.” Mrs. Bezel took a deep breath, and looked willing to stake it all on one final plea. “My sister doesn’t need your medicine right now, doctor. She doesn’t need your pills. What she does need is your kindness. Your humanity. Your friendship and your compassion. And right now you’re the only person I can think of who fits the bill.” She directed another one of those pleading glances in his direction that did so much to weaken his resolve. “Please?” she added in a small voice.

Chapter 11

“So what do you think?”

“What do I think of what?” said Vesta as she took a tentative sip from her chamomile tea. She preferred hot chocolate, but her doctor, who also happened to be her son-in-law as well as her boss, had recently advised her not to consume so much sugar as it was bad for her. Also, all that chocolate made her hyperactive, which apparently was a bad thing, too. She made a face. “This stuff is probably going to kill me even faster than my regular hot chocolate.” She raised her hand. “Waiter! Hey, waiter!”

Dutifully the young man whose task it was to keep the customers frequenting the Hampton Cove Star’s outside dining room happy, eagerly came hopping over.

“Please dump this in the nearest toilet where it belongs,” she said, handing him the terrible brew, “and give me my usual.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the kid, who had yet to outgrow his pimple-faced phase, and quickly hurried to fulfill this treasured customer’s order.

Scarlett, who’d ordered her usual high-caffeinated drink, was grinning throughout the scene. “I don’t understand why you insist on torturing yourself with those herbal concoctions, Vesta. You know you hate them, and still you insist on trying them all out.”

“It’s my son-in-law,” she lamented. “He says chocolate isn’t good for me. The sugar does something to my liver, the caffeine does something to my heart and the rest isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be either. Though if I listened to him I wouldn’t be allowed to eat anything I like. He frowns at meat, cheese, coffee, chocolate, cake…”

“That’s doctors for you. Their only joy in life is to make life for the rest of us miserable. That’s why I never go to them.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You go to them all the time. In fact you’re probably Tex’s most loyal patient.”

“I humor him. He likes to prescribe me stuff, and I like to throw away his prescriptions. That way we’re both happy.”

“You’re crazy,” Vesta said. “Now what were we talking about?”

“Bob Rector,” said Scarlett as she took a nibble from one of those miniature pastries that Tex had told Vesta were pretty bad, too. “Also known as Mr. Potato Man.”

“Look, I talked to my son and he says he’s got the thing well in hand. In other words, he told me to stay out of it.”

“And when have you ever allowed yourself to be told off by your own son?”

“You’ve got a point,” Vesta admitted as she watched the pimpled kid return, carrying a tray with an extremely delicious-looking hot chocolate.

“Extra-large hot chocolate, with extra cream and marshmallows,” the kid announced in a high-pitched voice, then placed the order on the table and blinked a couple of times in quick rapidity before asking, “Is it true that you’re Chief Alec’s mom, ma’am?” His pimpled face had taken on a dark hue. It made his pimples practically light up like so many little Christmas lights.

“That’s right,” said Vesta as she licked her lips at so much gooey goodness standing at attention at arm’s length. “Why do you want to know?”

“The thing is, ma’am,” said the kid, gulping a little, and in the process giving his Adam’s apple a thorough workout, “that currently we have a VIP guest staying with us. At the hotel,” he added to make his meaning perfectly clear, “not the dining room.”

“Is that so?” said Vesta, taking an extra-large sip from her extra-large drink and savoring the extra-delicious taste as it flooded her taste buds. Whatever Tex said, something that tasted so absolutely divine couldn’t possibly be all bad, now could it?

“The thing is, this VIP guest has expressed a desire to invite a guest to his suite—and he did. Last night. I know it’s not really allowed, but sometimes when guests ask, we provide, you know. Even though we might, um, like, frown upon the practice?”

Vesta rolled her eyes. “Just spit it out, buddy. What are you trying to tell us?”

“I think what our hot cocoa-pushing friend here wants to say,” said Scarlett, “is that this VIP guest invited a lady of the night to accompany him in his room, and even though the hotel officially doesn’t allow that kind of thing, they supplied him with just such a lady. Isn’t that right, son?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the kid, visibly relieved at Scarlett’s assistance.

“So?” said Vesta, who still didn’t see what Dr. Pimple Popper’s next victim was driving at.

“Well, the young lady never seems to have left the gentleman’s room,” said the kid as he rubbed his nose nervously, polishing it to a shine. “The night clerk never saw her leave, and neither did the day guy, and the cleaner who went in just now to do the room saw no sign of her either. The thing is—we don’t want to call the manager otherwise he’ll call the cops, and my colleagues will probably get fired for breaking hotel policy.”

“So you don’t want to call the cops and you don’t want to tell management,” Vesta summed up the affair succinctly. “But the girl is missing and you worry that your VIP guest did—what, exactly?”

“I think he may have d-d-done something to h-h-her?” the kid stammered.

“You mean like, killed her?” asked Scarlett.

“Yeah?”

“Who is this VIP guest, exactly?” asked Vesta.

“Oh, don’t you know, Vesta?”