"And if so, did she meet them in Chicago? Maybe the Hyatt room will shed some light."

"How are we going to find out which room she has, assuming this isn't an old reservation?" I asked. "They won't just give it to us."

"I'm going to be honest," she replied.

A unique approach.

We arrived a few minutes later and parked in the check-in area. Once inside, she asked for the manager on duty.

"Hi, my name is Sabrina Spencer…"

"Are you the mystery author?" interrupted the clerk standing next to the manager. She had a really annoying squeaky voice.

"I am," replied Sabrina, giving the woman a warm smile, but subtly motioning the manager aside.

Now realizing he was dealing with someone important, the manager was more than happy to oblige and took us into his office. When we were seated, he asked, "What can I help you with?"

"I believe my sister, Isobel Worth, had a room here. She was killed in Boston on Saturday, and I'm trying to clean up loose ends. I found a keycard for your hotel in her belongings. If she was still registered here, I'd like to gather her things and pay her bill."

"Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss. Let me see if she was registered." He typed into his computer. "Yes, she was … is … currently registered."

"Would you mind telling me what room?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, this is where it gets a little problematic. I can't just give you access to her room. Please understand, I believe you, but since you are not registered, I'll need to speak to the authorities about it."

Sabrina pulled something from her wallet. "This is the business card for the detective who is handling the case in Boston. He can vouch for me."

She started to hand him the card, but let go just before he touched it. The card fluttered to the floor.

"I'm so sorry," she said.

"Not a problem," he answered, and they both reached down at once. As he picked it up, she now had a clear view of his computer screen and glanced over at it. The manager picked up the card and everyone settled back.

We waited while the manager called Detective Marsh. He said "okay" and "yes" about a dozen times before he finally hung up.

"Well, I'm afraid there is going to be a delay," he said apologetically. "The detective said that since it is still an open case, he needs to contact the Chicago PD to come by and go through the room first. I'm very sorry."

"That's not a problem at all," said Sabrina. "We'll wait out in the lobby for them. Thank you so much for your help."

We quickly excused ourselves and made our way back out to the main lobby. Out of sight of the manager Sabrina handed me the keycard.

"Room 1798. I don't want the police going through it first. I should stay here and meet them, since she was my sister. Plus, I've always treated the police well in my books, so I might be able to stall them by letting them know who I am—the one time I want to use my fame—giving you a few minutes up there. I'll text you when they are on their way up."