One Night in Monaco - Blair Babylon Page 0,8
when to talk and when to let the defendant speak. She had been Casimir’s best and only paralegal for years, and he extolled how they worked together as a team at every opportunity.
Issouf gathered himself and said, “A man by the name of Maxence has checked into one of our largest suites in the hotel—”
Yeah, that totally sounded like their Maxence.
“—and did not return to his suite last night, as far as we know. No front desk staff noted his reentry into the hotel, and his suite’s elevator keycard was not utilized.”
Roxanne twitched in her chair.
Gen did not jump up, though she wanted to. “Do you have any idea what time he left the hotel yesterday?”
“About eight o’clock. He had a light supper in his room before he left. He appeared to be dressed for the casino or another formal event. He walked in the direction of the casino when he left.”
She asked, “Have there been any sightings of him in the meantime?”
“Not at the hotel, at least not that I was able to discover.”
“Thank you,” Gen said, her tone earnest. “We really appreciate the information.”
“I can put his suite on the earliest rotation for housekeeping as a welfare check,” Issouf said.
“I would greatly appreciate that,” Gen told him. “What time?”
“We could go in at six in the morning,” Issouf said.
“Great,” Gen said. “We would really appreciate that. Rox, shall we get some sleep?”
Issouf led them to their rooms, asking whether they needed anything at all until their luggage arrived, and he didn’t even roll his eyes at their obvious lying about the luggage, so they begged toothbrushes and some large tee-shirts from him. He smiled primly and seemed pleased to help.
Yeah, service at five-star hotels was good.
As soon as Gen sat down on the couch in the living room area of her suite to kick her shoes off, knocking rattled the door. A voice stage-whispered from the hallway, “It’s Rox! Let me in!”
Gen waddled over to the door and opened it. Her feet were puffy, and red lines criss-crossed over her arches.
Roxanne blazed in. “We have to tell the guys that Max was here and now he’s not. Does your cell phone work?”
“I think so.” Gen checked her phone. “It says it’s roaming, but I think I have a connection.”
“I don’t even have that,” Roxanne fretted. “We have American plans. We added European minutes every month, but it doesn’t work in Monaco. They’re a walled garden.”
“Oh, yes. Monaco isn’t part of the all-European-access plan, but we have proper European plans because Arthur is over here so much. It should work on roaming.” She tapped a few buttons, and the call buzzed through.
“Don’t!” Roxanne said. “The roaming charges must be insane. I’ll just go find them.”
“Oh, no!” Gen said, almost disconnecting the phone and then stopping herself. She considered her cell phone, Arthur’s enormous English manor house, his London Knightsbridge flat, the jewelry he’d given her and the art he owned, his sports cars, and his petty cash bank accounts that he didn’t bother to keep track of ran that to seven figures. “We probably don’t have to worry about one day’s worth of roaming charges anymore, do we?”
Roxanne blinked her large brown eyes. “I guess not. It’s weird to just fritter away money like that, though. I mean, roaming charges.”
“I know. It still feels weird,” Gen said as the phone connected to the line with a solid beep. “It’s fast.”
“Monaco is the first country in the world to go all 5G,” Roxanne said.
“Yeah,” Gen snorted. “What did they need to cover all of this teensy country with 5G, two household routers and a couple of repeaters?”
Roxanne flopped down on the couch. “I suppose I could have asked Issouf for the hotel’s wifi password.”
Arthur’s phone line went to his voicemail.
Gen hung up. “He’s not answering. We can tell them later.”
Chapter Five
The Lobby
Casimir
A middle-aged white man wearing a black tux stumbled toward the glass-and-gold exit of the Monte Carlo casino. Federal-blue circles clung under his eyes, and his black tie dangled from his collar.
Beside him, a bedraggled woman, clad in a forest green dress just a shade lighter than her sable skin, clung to his arm. She appeared to be in her early forties, though her exaggerated cheekbones and jawline suggested pharmaceutical-grade filler, so she might have been anywhere from forty-five to seventy. They appeared to be holding each other up. She took a slug from a magnum of champagne clenched in her fist.
A CLOSED sign hung from the golden bars