wore, except this was a matronly ensemble and not a sexy bar girl. Casper was standing in front of another guest room, seeming to be struggling with their key card.
“Hey!” I shouted, my voice too loud in the still and silent hotel.
Casper jumped and spun toward me. I was too far to make out any serious details, but I was fairly certain Casper was a man, dressed as a woman, with Halloween face paint on for a dead effect. He panicked, a combination of having been caught and having been caught by a man just this side of naked. Casper bolted down the hall, then seemed to rethink that plan, and reversed course for the stairwell.
I raced forward to cut him off, but Casper dodged and ran around the far side of the banister to put distance between us. He was seconds away from the stairs, and then there’d be no way I could catch him without taking a tumble and breaking my neck. We’d spend the rest of this amazing vacation calling banks to freeze cards, scheduling an appointment for a driver’s license replacement, and worse than having to deal with the DMV, Calvin would have to report his badge being stolen.
In a split-second decision, I picked up a potted fern from a stand beside a mirror and framed painting on the wall to my right, took aim as Casper rounded the corner, then chucked it.
I was standing on the landing of the second floor, surrounded by soil, broken pottery, and one fern that didn’t look like it’d survive the assault. I still had no shoes or pants, but at least I’d been given one of my sweaters, so I had that on with my arms firmly crossed over my chest. An EMT was shining a penlight into Casper’s eyes, checking for a potential concussion caused by either the pot or the fall down the stairs, while a uniformed officer was stooped and securing handcuffs on Casper from behind. Calvin stood about a foot away, talking to a second officer. He wore only his jeans, which were low-hanging and snug on his hips. He’d come rushing out of our room after I’d woken the entire third floor, and probably a few actual resting spirits, by braining Casper in the head with a fucking houseplant.
The third-floor guests were watching us over the banister. Blondie was on the landing with us, alternating between panic, profound confusion, and one or two distracted, lingering glances at my bare legs.
“I didn’t have time to get dressed,” I said, very matter-of-factly.
Blondie stuttered a little. “Y-yes, sir. It’s—it’s understandable.” He turned his attention toward Casper. “You’re fired, Sheldon.”
Sheldon blinked his eyes a few times when the penlight was removed. “Yeah, I figured,” he grumbled.
The cop, his hands on his belt and looking very butch, asked in a bellowing voice, “Mr. Goodwin, when did you get yourself a copy of the housekeeping key cards?”
“Few weeks ago,” Sheldon muttered, mostly to the floor.
“And you’ve been pilfering valuables from guests?” Butch concluded, putting two and two together and looking very pleased with his investigative skills.
Sheldon nodded and added, “I was using 321 to store my costume and goods.”
“That’s where you were going when I caught you?” I asked.
Sheldon nodded.
“What happened?” Blondie interjected.
Sheldon shrugged, the motion limited by his cuffed hands at his back. “I guess the card got demagnetized. I couldn’t get inside, and then this psycho threw a fern at my head.”
“You stole my boyfriend’s wallet,” I snapped. “Give it back, by the way.”
Butch leaned over Sheldon and patted down his fake boobs before finding a pouch sewn into the chest of the dress. He removed Calvin’s wallet and passed it to me. “Is this it?”
I opened it and was confirming the contents when Calvin joined me, patting his back pockets as he stared at the wallet. “This is yours,” I said, handing it to him.
Calvin raised a light-colored brow. “Want to fill me in, baby?”
“Something woke me up, and I noticed the armoire—” I felt my face grow hot, and I spun toward Sheldon again. “You were in our room all night?”
He had the decency to look chagrined. “I was in there—in the armoire—when you checked in. I didn’t even have time to open the suitcase before you’d come back to drop your phone off. I don’t bother taking phones—too easy to get caught, what with GPS. But you didn’t have shit on you. Hours later, I realized I’d dropped my key card to 321, so I