Beth rolled over for what had to be the thousandth time in the last hour and stared at the ceiling. He would have gotten better use out of it. She could toss and turn just as easily on a sofa as she could on this bed. At least then she would have better reason to.
She’d fallen asleep easy enough. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she wasn’t a big drinker. But her buzz didn't last long. The dreams had seen to that.
She'd been at Isobel's wedding. Everything had been going great. Hell, she hadn't even been crying. Then suddenly, everything changed.
Clouds had rolled in overhead. Rain started to fall. Isobel and Jordan started fighting. Her mother started yelling. Spencer started laughing. Everyone turned on her. They knew it was her fault. Everything was ruined, and it was all her fault.
Beth had woken with a start.
The room was dark. The only light was from the bedside clock that read 3:45. That was an hour ago, and sleep wasn't any closer.
Beth sat up and peered toward the couch, but it was far too dark to make anything out. So instead, she sat and listened for signs of life. Nothing. No rustling fabric. No breathing. Charlie was dead asleep.
Just like she should be. But she wasn’t, and dwelling on it wasn't going to get her there.
Not that she could help it. Her mind was racing. A few nightmare scenarios were still rattling around in there, but the longer she stared in Charlie’s general direction, the more they faded. What replaced them were crystal clear images of her helping him out of his jacket. Working on the buttons down his shirt. Going for the zipper of his…
What she needed to do was take a walk. Just a little one, around the hotel halls, to clear her head.
Beth slipped out of the sheets and felt for the wardrobe in the dark. She reached inside, and found her jeans and a zippered sweatshirt. They would have to do. It wasn’t like she would be running into anyone this early in the morning.
She dressed, walked on tiptoes to the door, and cracked it open. A sliver of light from the hall fell across the couch. Charlie was there, eyes closed, body relaxed. He wore a plain white T-shirt on top. A hotel blanket covered his bottom half.
Shame, she thought. She'd love to see what he was wearing under there. Boxers or briefs?
She closed the door behind her with a soft click.
The hallway was bright and quiet. The light instantly cleared some of the fog from her brain. She padded down the hallway, not sure where she was going, but with each step the weight of her terrible dream faded a little more.
Everything was fine out here. The world kept on spinning. Nothing she had done had brought it to a stop.
She took the stairs instead of the elevator. It felt good to keep moving. Unsurprisingly the lobby was almost as empty as the hall.
“Hi,” she said to the desk clerk. “I was just wondering if there was anything open right now around here.”
The woman looked at the clock. “Not yet. But the cafe will open at 5 o'clock.”
Beth smiled and thanked her. Coffee would be perfect. And she could explore the hotel for another fifteen minutes, no problem.
Beth wandered down the corridor that led past the restaurant and lounge. She turned corners and looked at old pictures on the walls. She found a flight of stairs that led down to the spa and another that led up to the hotel gift shop. After a few minutes, she wasn't exactly sure where she was.
She pushed open a swinging door and found herself alone in an industrial part of the hotel. Giant washing machines whirled and hummed.
The sound of hushed voices made Beth turn her head. She wasn't alone after all. Two men stood in profile at the far end of the room. She narrowed her eyes: Salvatore Munoz. Isobel's uncle. She didn't recognize the other man. He didn't look like someone from the Munoz family, just some random white guy in a dark suit.
She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she saw one pass a large manila envelope to the other. The second man glanced inside then nodded and pushed a briefcase across the table.
Beth didn’t have any idea what was in that envelope, but it didn’t take a genius to tell what type of transaction she was witnessing. It was the kind that she was better off not knowing anything about.
She snuck back a couple of steps, directly into a metal folding chair that had been leaning against the wall. It clattered to the floor.
Both men swiveled around to face her.
Beth raised her hand and bowed her head in the international sign for sorry, I got lost and wandered into someplace I shouldn't have, but I’m getting the hell out of here now.
Salvatore made like he was going to move toward her, but the other man put his hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he could take a single step. She couldn’t hear what the man whispered to Salvatore, but by the way his lips moved she could have sworn he said, “not here”.
Beth decided not to stick around to find out. She turned and bolted out the door, then ran like hell back up the stairs.
By the time she found her way back to the lobby, she’d stopped shaking. Even though it was still empty, the civilized feel of the place eased her mind a little.
Salvatore Munoz had always given Beth a serious case of the creeps, and that was under the best of circumstances. Maybe it was the setting—the haze of the fluorescent lights, the well-worn industrial tile—but this incident spooked her more than usual.
Or, it could have been the murderous look in Salvatore's eyes. But that wasn't unusual. In her mind, Salvatore always looked like that.
What in the world was he doing meeting with someone in the Kensington’s laundry room at five o'clock in the morning? Nevermind. She really did not want to know the answer to that. In fact, she wanted to forget about the whole incident. As far as she was concerned, nothing had happened. If anybody asked her about it she’d say that she had wandered into the laundry room and gone temporarily blind. It was the damnedest thing.
She checked the clock on the wall. It was still a few minutes to five, but she could wait outside the cafe until they were ready. Suddenly, it was very important that she saw a smiling face. At the very least, someone who didn't look like he wanted to kill her.