P.S. YOU'RE DEAD by Edmund Raoul

Author:Edmund, Raoul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Richport Press
Published: 2022-10-17T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 42

She’d only taken three steps on the carpet, and already she felt special. How could she not? Here she was, in the very heart of Beverly Hills, at the iconic cradle of Hollywood lore and legend, on the same red-carpeted entrance that countless celebrities and movie stars had walked!

It was the Beverly Hills Hotel, the “Pink Palace” itself, and she—little Esmeralda Williams, a simple “desert flower,” as her Daddy called her—was about to enter its lobby, as the royalty of Hollywood had been doing for decades before her.

A valet dressed like a liveryman from a fairy tale opened the car door when they arrived and extended a white-gloved hand to assist her in exiting. Before she even reached the lobby, she felt giddy from the opulence, the glamor. She strolled, savoring every step, delighting in each glimpse. Her surroundings were steeped in legend: the plants, the lighting, even the banana-leaf wallpaper spoke of a fantasy world.

When her Daddy had told her she would meet her date at the Beverly Hills Hotel, she gasped, and anticipating it had kept her awake night after night, counting down to the ethereal moment when she would be here. If she hadn’t thought about her date and how important it was to do what Daddy wanted, she might have swooned!

“Would you like to be seated in the Polo Lounge?” a handsome young man asked. It disarmed her—that they would actually invite her to enter the fabled watering hole of Hollywood’s movers and shakers. For a moment, she was self-conscious. Did she fit in? Surely, she must stick out like a sore thumb! But her concerns couldn’t have been more unfounded, nor her suspicions further from the truth. Beautiful as a goddess, dressed in a shimmering Versace gown, shod in outrageously expensive Jimmy Choo pumps, and dripping with gems, she was the very picture of an upwardly mobile young starlet. In reality, young women like her were as common a sight at the hotel as the fat and balding Tinsel Town execs on whose arms they were escorted. Yes, she fit in—mightily—for she had the look of the hour, radiant and every bit as charismatic as any of the other beautiful young women in the Polo Lounge.

But that was where any similarities ended. None of the young hopefuls she walked amongst possessed a lethal skillset like Esmeralda’s, nor the bloodthirsty intention that guided her every step. After she sipped a Shirley Temple and sated herself on the posh ambience, she looked down at her watch and realized it was time to meet her date. She left the Polo Lounge and headed for the elevators.

Her date’s room was on the third floor. Daddy had told her his name was Samuel Brinkman, that he was a gentleman in his late sixties, and that she was to be gracious towards him. She had rehearsed every aspect of her date countless times to make sure she would perform flawlessly. She knocked on the door three times. That was the signal that Daddy and Mr.

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