They proceeded to the elevator, which seemed to be in New Jersey. After a long walk, they finally squeezed themselves and the luggage into the elevator car. When they reached the main level, the redcap delivered them to the sidewalk, and Annie gave him a twenty-dollar bill.
He tipped his hat. “Thank you very much. You enjoy your stay.”
Annie looked for the car that was supposed to be waiting for them. She knew the three of them and all their luggage would not fit into a regular taxi. Through the bustle of cars, cabs, and vans, she spotted the vehicle with her preassigned number in the window.
“There he is!” She waved in his direction.
The problem was getting their luggage across the four lanes of traffic. It was a free-for-all. Horns beeping, people yelling, police blowing whistles. Myra thought Charlotte might just faint.
“Are you okay?” She took Charlotte by the elbow.
“Yes. I’m just, well, a little overwhelmed, I guess you’d say.” Charlotte took a deep breath.
“No doubt. You’ve been through a lot, and now we sucked you into this,” Annie said while trying to stop traffic. “No! You get out of the way!” she shouted at a cabdriver.
Charlotte cringed and pulled Myra closer to her. Myra chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, dear. She won’t get us killed. Arrested? Maybe.” That made Charlotte giggle as they moved closer to the waiting car.
The driver got out and stowed their bags in the trunk of the town car. “Ritz-Carlton?” he asked.
“Yes,” they said in unison, causing the driver to look in his rearview mirror. They looked like three women who were on a crazy road trip. Little did he know that he wasn’t far from wrong.
The traffic was like traffic any day in New York. Slow. Jammed. Loud. A fire truck came screaming up Eighth Avenue, alerting cars to pull over. The problem was there was no room to go anywhere, but somehow the sea of cars opened, allowing for New York’s Bravest to get through. When it came to a crisis, New Yorkers always stepped up. Overall, New Yorkers were very friendly and helpful. They simply needed to be approached the right way. Despite that, the city could be intimidating to visitors.
The car made a right turn from Eighth Avenue onto Central Park South and pulled in front of the hotel. The driver popped the trunk, and what seemed like an army of bellmen stormed the car. One of them recognized Annie right away.
“Countess! So nice to see you again!” He pecked the back of Annie’s hand. “And Mrs. Rutledge! Hello!” Another peck. “I see you brought a friend.” He nodded toward Charlotte.
“Jean-Luc! Lovely to see you, too. This is our friend Charlotte. She is a children’s book author! Charlotte, this is Jean-Luc, chief concierge,” Myra said.
Charlotte looked puzzled for a moment, remembering the description Charles had given her of Franny O’Rourke. Then she giggled. Myra and Annie looked at her and realized what must have been going through her head and laughed.
“My, you ladies are in a fine mood.” Jean-Luc smiled as he led them through the doors of the elegant hotel. “How long will you be staying with us?”
“We’re not sure yet. You know me. It could be a few days. A few weeks. We’ll take each day as it comes!”
“Ah, one of the many things I appreciate about you, Countess, your joie de vivre! After you, ladies,” he instructed his guests. “One moment.” Jean-Luc walked over to his desk and retrieved three envelopes. He returned and handed them to Annie. “You are all checked in. Your rooms await.”
Charlotte noticed that in the short time between getting out of the car and being handed their envelopes, their luggage had been swiftly shuttled to their rooms. It was as if guests didn’t have to think about anything.
“Shall we?” Annie prodded. The women linked arms and walked to the elevators, where a security guard welcomed them.
Charlotte gave Annie a questioning look. Annie whispered, “They make it a habit of knowing who comes and goes here.”
“I see. But won’t that . . . I mean, what about?” Charlotte was thinking about their undercover operation, as she liked to call it.
Annie gave her a quiet “Shh . . .” and winked.
Charlotte vacillated from anxious to excited. She thought a glass of sherry might help. She certainly didn’t want to take any more pills. Even if they were prescribed by a real doctor.