Chapter 17 -Murder on the Mind

"Yes?"

"Room service!" a male voice responded, with an amused undertone and no Italian accent. She had heard that voice before.

Gary?

No, not him. His was a baritone, mellifluous and cultured. Plus, he was back in the UK. This voice lacked somehow lacked depth.

Ike peeped through the spyhole but the corridor, oddly bent and twisted by the lens, seemed to be empty. Until a blue pupil popped into view on the other side and winked at her.

Curious, Ike fiddled with the lock and cracked the door open.

Would she ever learn?

A white trainer shot into the crack, and a strong arm pushed at the door. Ike jumped backwards to prevent the panel from slamming into her face.

"Hiya, sweetheart, long time no see."

Ike stared at the grinning man who blew her an air kiss.

Ben. Her ex. In the flesh. Behind him, in the corridor, two maids pushed along a trolley laden with towels and miniature soaps. That was probably where he had got his inspiration from.

"Where do you come from?"

He sauntered into the room, hands in the pockets of his designer jeans, an expensive leather jacket moulded to his elegant torso. Aviator shades in the breast pockets of a snow-white linen shirt and blow-dried blond wavy hair gave him the air of an expensive, and highly desirable male model.

The outfit did a great job of hiding the rottenness underneath.

"Fiumicino, dear. Yesterday evening. Tried to have a chat, but you were out."

Ben reached for his shades and tapped the earpieces against his shining teeth. A cloying wave of "Pure Homme" by Culturucci rolled across, down her throat and into her lungs, making her gag.

"Get out."

Ben ignored her, took a step closer until only a handspan separated Ike from his hunky presence. She stood her ground.

So did Boris.

"Growl!"

Ben looked down. "What's that?"

"A dog, I dare say."

Boris bared his teeth and lowered the pitch of his growl. He didn't look all that cute any more.

"A very pissed-off dog. I suggest you get lost before Boris makes you leave. I'm not all that fantastic at handling the bugger."

Ben twisted his perfect lips into a moue of distaste and disappeared the glasses back into their pocket. "Sweetheart, there are lots of things you're not good at when it suits you. Fine. I was prepared to be civilised, but we can do it your way. Saves time."

"Let me guess, you want money."

Ben laughed his deep throaty laugh. "Oh, you know me so well. I can't deny a cash injection would be most welcome. I'm scraping the bottom. 500 quid now and then as a monthly retainer should see me through."

"Oh, the price has come down from last time."

Ben bared his perfect teeth at her. "A special. Just for you." Implants, of course.

"I'm intrigued. What am I supposed to pay you for? The trip is over, and the whole sad affair is already in the media."

"Yes, it is. That's how I knew."

"So, you can't threaten me with exposure, like last time. Why should I throw money down your greedy gullet?"

Boris barked once, a sharp noise that snapped through the room like a shot. The dog got two paw steps closer to Ben who backpedalled towards the door, keeping an eye on the snarling animal.

"Right, I know when I'm not welcome. You don't want the media to look more closely at what is going on."

"You're dealing with an empty deck," Ike said, lacing her words with scorn. But deep down the man worried her. Ben had turned up for a reason. He wasn't stupid. Once, Ben had also been less obnoxious, more caring. But from the start of their relationship, he had let her take the reins, and just trundled along for the ride. In the beginning, she had been charmed; in the end, only guilt remained.

She had spoiled him rotten, and he let her.

His cheeks flushed and that little boy anger she had come to despise distorted his handsome features. "I'm not. I've got my sources, and a little birdy has been telling me your tour was in trouble well before that accident happened. Not something you would like to have aired in public, right? Especially not, when his lordship is facing a custody case." Ben bared his teeth.

Boris did likewise. With a snarl, he shot towards Ben.

"Boris! Heel."

The dog stopped and looked at her as if to ask if she had lost her mind. "Leave Ben be. I don't want you to get food poisoning."

Ben, having beaten a tactical retreat, glowered from the corridor. "If that rabid beast ever bites, I'll sue."

Her breath coming in gasps, her head in turmoil, Ike shot her ex a fake sweet smile. "So will I. For cruelty to animals. Now get out of my way."

"You have 48 hours. Then I'll talk to a few tame journalists," Ben spat and stormed towards the elevators.

###

Ike took half an hour to release her inner pressure cooker, much to the dog's delight. With Ben gone, Boris' mood had bounced back up; he sniffed out trees, lampposts, cars and left his watermark in every possible and impossible place. All Ike had to do was trail after him on the other end of the leash, lost in her personal lousy weather system.

Back in the hotel grounds, she threw a much-chewed tennis ball for him. The sight of stubby legs pumping across an expanse of grass glittering with dew got her heartbeat down and the smile back on her lips. As a herding dog, Boris needed a lot of exercise, the manual had told her. Intelligent and determined, Corgis also loved a challenge. During the centuries he already spent on this Earth, Boris must have mellowed and seemed to be a lot less hyper than others of his breed. But when she saw him running and jumping for the ball which he then laid at her feet she knew the little dog was in his element.

"Ho boy, more play tonight, okay? Now, I need food."

Boris heard "food" and woofed his agreement.

"You already enjoyed your Kibble. Did you not listen to the vet? About not overeating on people food? I bet you didn't, you had exits on your mind." She snapped on the carabiner of the leash and turned towards the hotel terrace with its cherry-striped umbrellas that turned a brave face on November.

Well, for a late autumn day this wasn't half bad, she thought as she climbed the marble steps towards the two geranium-filled urns squatting up top. The green scent of freshly grown grass warmed by the sun mingled with the tantalising smells of coffee and crispy croissants served al fresco.

"I wonder where Ben gets his news from. I never knew Gary was having a custody issue?"

Well, why should the man tell her? She wasn't a great communicator either. She had only sent a terse text message as a response to his lordship's worried voicemails.

"All okay. Will call."

Which she didn't. Not yet. First, she needed at least two cups of the special Indonesian roast they served at the hotel. With cream.

But only after she had responded to the call of Nature.

Ike pushed through the swinging glass doors and entered the corridor. More marble. At its end, a golden sign discreetly announced the showcase of the Stella del Monte's upmarket plumbing: the ladies' loo.

Boris whined.

"I can't just bare my buttocks in public, my little friend. It's frowned upon. Won't take long."

Another whine. The little dog strained at the leash, headed for the exit.

"What's up with you? Don't tell me, Ben is lurking inside? He's capable of a lot of things, but that?"

Boris barked once.

Her head turned towards the toilet door, then back towards the dog. Something was bothering him. Still, he didn't growl like before. Not Ben then.

Must plough through that Corgi manual. Presto.

"Shh, it's okay."

It wasn't. Boris was getting more agitated by the minute, zipping backwards and forwards and tangling his leash into a knot.

"Why are you getting your hairy nickers in a twist? Let's have a look, shall we?"

Ike pushed against the door, shoving it inwards. It opened halfway, then hit an obstacle.

She saw nothing and took a step into the loo. Noticed a black streak on the white door frame, roughly at hip height. Somebody had been none too careful with their luggage. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a heap of clothes on the floor. Her gaze flipped downwards.

So did her stomach.

Not clothes.

She had found a body.

Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.

Picture copyright Sharon McCutcheon from Unsplash