“Oh, no,” said Lucy. “No work for you today.”

“Don’t be silly, Mom,” snapped Elizabeth. “I’ve got to go. I think that whatever happened to Sylvie—”

“What happened to Sylvie was dreadful,” said Lucy. “You need to know what Girard told me. She wasn’t attacked by some random rapist or something. She was grabbed and tortured and killed execution-style. They think she was involved in something that got her in trouble, probably drugs.”

“Duh,” replied Elizabeth sarcastically. “And I’m pretty sure that it’s happening at the hotel.”

Lucy thought her daughter was on to something. The Cavendish had gold-plated faucets in the marble bathrooms and Yves Delorme linens on the beds. The upper crust gathered in the tastefully decorated dining rooms to enjoy delicious food, excellent service, and distinguished company. But the hotel also employed a small army of workers who didn’t earn very much and were expected to serve people who had more money than they knew what to do with. No wonder there was a thriving black market operation, and now, she suspected, a drug operation. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed that a hotel like the Cavendish, with staff and guests coming and going, not to mention a constant stream of deliveries, would be an excellent cover for illegal activities.

“I don’t want you—” began Lucy.

Elizabeth cut her off. “And I’m not going to be able to figure out what’s going on unless I’m there.”

Lucy didn’t like the idea, but she knew that Elizabeth was right.

“I don’t want you to put yourself in danger,” she said, this time finishing her sentence. “You’re going to have to be very careful,” warned Lucy. “And you better watch out for Adil and Malik. I’m pretty sure they’re involved somehow.”

“I’m not going to trust anybody,” said Elizabeth, surprising her mother by actually agreeing with her. “Getting Sylvie’s killer behind bars is the only way I’ll ever feel safe.”

If only there was some way she could be there, helping Elizabeth, thought Lucy, and then she realized that there was. “Okay, but you have to stay in constant contact with me. You can text, okay?”

“Yeah,” agreed Elizabeth, with a relieved sigh. “I’ll feel better if I know you’re keeping tabs on me.”

“That’s a first,” said Lucy, causing Elizabeth to grin.

“I’d like to get into her locker,” continued Lucy. “But I have a feeling the cops have already sealed it.”

“Probably,” agreed Elizabeth, “but she used to keep a black duffel bag of stuff under the reception counter, way in the back. I don’t think anybody knows about that but me.”

“We have to find out what’s in that bag,” said Lucy, and Elizabeth nodded.