The Chase Clive Cussler (read more books TXT) 📖

but very lovely by any standard. He also noticed she wore no wedding ring.

The woman was dressed as if she meant to attend a party in one of the hotel’s ballrooms, Bell reasoned. He was right as usual. The elevator stopped on the second floor, which held the ballrooms and dance floors. He stood aside, hat in hand, and made a slight bow as she exited onto the landing.

She threw him a smile with surprising warmth and nodded, and said, in a mellow yet husky tone, “Thank you, Mr. Bell.”

At first, it slipped by Bell. Then it hit him like a hammer on a thumb. He was stunned that she knew him, and positive he’d never seen her before. Bell gripped the arm of the elevator operator. “Hold the door open a moment.”

By now, she had mingled in with a crowd that was funneling through the arched doorway of the hotel’s grand ballroom. The women wore ravishing gowns in extravagant colors—crimson, peacock blue, emerald green—with ribbons, sprigs, and feathers in their hair. The men were dressed in their finest evening clothes. A banner over the doorway read BENEFIT FOR ST. JOHN’S ORPHANS.

Bell stepped back, nodding at the elevator operator. “Thank you. Please take me up.”

Bell unlocked the door to his suite and found a study, living room, ornate bath, and bedroom with a canopied bed, all furnished in Victorian elegance. His trunks had been opened and his clothes packed in the dresser and hung in the closet by a maid, a service provided to those who reserved suites. The trunks were not in sight. They had been moved from the room and stored in the basement storage area. Bell lost no time in taking a quick bath and shaving.

He opened his watch and read the time. Thirty minutes had elapsed since he stepped from the elevator. Another fifteen minutes were taken to tie his black tie and insert the shirt studs and cuff links, usually a job that took four hands. It was one of the few times he wished he had a wife to help. Black socks and shoes came next. He did not wear a cummerbund but a black vest instead, with a gold chain running from the left pocket through a buttonhole to the big gold watch in the right pocket. Last, he slipped on a single-breasted black jacket with satin lapels.

One final view of his reflection in a full seven-foot mirror and he was ready for the evening, whatever it would bring.

The charity ball was in full swing when he walked inside the grand ballroom and stood unobtrusively behind a tall potted palm. The ballroom was spacious and majestic. The parquet dance floor was laid in an intricate sunburst design and colorful murals adorned the ceiling. He spied the mysterious woman, seated with her back to him, with three couples at table six. She appeared to be alone, without an escort. He sidled up to the hotel director in charge of the evening’s event.

“Pardon me,” said Bell with a friendly smile, “but could you tell me the name of the lady in the blue dress at table six?”

The director straightened with a haughty look. “I’m sorry, sir, but we frown on giving information on our guests. Besides, I can’t know everybody who comes to the ball.”

Bell passed him a ten-dollar gold certificate. “Will this jog your memory?”

Without a word, the director held up a thin leather book and ran his eyes over the entries. “The single lady at the table is Miss Rose Manteca, a very wealthy lady from Los Angeles whose family owns a vast ranch. That’s all I can tell you.”

Bell patted the director on the shoulder. “I’m grateful.”

The director grinned. “Good luck.”

An orchestra was playing a medley of ragtime and modern dance tunes. Couples were dancing to a song called “Won’t You Come Over to My House.”

Bell walked up behind Rose Manteca and whispered in her ear. “Would you please consent to dance with me, Miss Manteca?”

She turned from the table and looked up. Golden brown eyes looked into a pair of mesmeric violet eyes. She was smooth, Bell thought, but his sudden appearance in evening dress completely stunned her. She lowered her eyes and recovered quickly, but not before her face blushed red.

“Forgive me, Mr. Bell. I did not expect you so soon.”

“So soon?” he asked. What an odd thing to say, he thought.

She excused herself to the people at the table and stood up. Gently, he took her by the arm and led her to the dance floor. He slipped his arm around her narrow waist, took her hand, and stepped off smartly with the music.

“You’re a very good dancer,” she said after he swept her around the floor.

“Comes from all those years my mother forced me to take lessons so I could impress the debutantes in our city.”

“You also dress very well for a detective.”

“I grew up in a city where the affluent men lived in tuxedos.”

“That would be Boston, would it not?”

For once, in his years of investigation, Bell was at a loss, but he recovered and came back. “And you’re from Los Angeles.”

She was good, he thought. She didn’t bat an eye.

“You’re very knowledgeable,” she said, unable to fathom his eyes.

“Not half as knowledgeable as you. What is your interest? How do you know so much about me? Better yet, I should ask why?”

“I was under the impression you like to solve mysteries.” She tried consciously to look past him over his tall shoulder, but she was drawn into those incredible eyes. This was a sensation, a stirring she had not counted on.

The photographs she had been shown did not do him justice face-to-face. He was far more attractive that she had imagined. He also came off as highly intelligent. This she’d expected, though, and could understand why he was so famous for his intuition. It was as though he was stalking her as she was stalking him.

The music ended and they stood together on the dance floor