“The mezzanine, which has conference and banquet rooms. To reach the mezzanine, use one of the guest elevators. You’ll see the M before the numbered floors pick up.”

“Thanks.”

He was already on the phone as I moved away from the desk.

Having seen Kim and Christian depart the hotel in Teddy Xanakis’s company, I had no qualms about taking the elevator to the fourteenth floor.

Once in the corridor on fourteen, I paused at the credenza and selected a magazine called Beverly Hills Exclusive from those on display. I tucked it under one arm and then did another quick walk-about to verify that the freight elevators on this floor were located where I’d seen them on floors seven, eight, and nine. Sure enough, the Staff Only door opened onto an identical utility area. I closed the door and wandered back to a point in the corridor where I could see anyone who might pass. I leaned against the wall and leafed through my magazine.

Another hotel guest, a gentleman, walked by and flicked a look at me.

“Maid’s in my room,” I remarked.

He nodded and smiled briefly. Maybe the same thing had happened to him.

Ten minutes later, the Staff Only door opened and a room service waiter rolled a cart into the corridor. There was a crisp white cloth over the top and the bottle of Taittinger was nestled in a silver ice bucket, beaded with condensation. Also included were two champagne glasses, a nosegay of yellow roses in a crystal vase, and a cut-glass bowl of fresh strawberries with a side of whipped cream. Nice touch, that, and I would surely be charged accordingly. The waiter checked his order pad and proceeded to a room halfway down the hall. I remained where I was, but kept an eye on him.

He knocked. No answer. He knocked a second time, and after a brief wait, he used his pass key to open the door. He reached down for the door stop that he used to keep the door ajar as he pushed the cart inside.

I took a seat in one of the two comfy chairs provided on either side of the credenza. From my shoulder bag, I removed a pen and the hotel note card, scribbled “With our compliments” on the inside, and dashed off an illegible signature. I slipped the card into the matching envelope along with the business card for the guest services manager I’d collected from the registration desk.

Two minutes later, the room service waiter crossed my field of vision, this time without his cart. I waited until I heard the Staff Only door open and close. Then I tiptoed to the main corridor and looked both ways. No one. I turned left and scampered the short distance to the room he’d just left, which turned out to be 1418. I slid the note under the door.

That done, I had another piece of business to take care of. I went down to the lobby and out to the motor plaza. I fished out my valet parking ticket and passed it to the valet car parker, along with a five-dollar bill. When my car swept into view, I got in and headed for Wilshire Boulevard. Seven blocks later, I found a gas station and filled my tank. I drove back to the hotel motor plaza, where I left my car for the night. My clean underwear was still damp, so I set up the ironing board and iron and sizzled them dry.