Murder Hurts by Elizabeth Lowell as Ann Maxwell

Author:Elizabeth Lowell as Ann Maxwell [Maxwell, Elizabeth Lowell as Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Action Adventure Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780679418177
Google: BjCqa7AI8K4C
Amazon: 0679418172
Barnesnoble: 0679418172
Goodreads: 1575131
Publisher: Villard
Published: 1993-08-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter FIFTEEN

The concierge caught me in the lobby of the Chateau Beverly and said that everything was arranged.

"What everything?"

"Your suite and the adjacent suite for Mr. Speidel."

I must have looked blank, because she launched into an explanation.

"Ms. Flynn wanted to book them until further notice. I've done some switching, and everything is set through the end of the week. If you need the rooms longer, please let me know as soon as possible."

"You'll know as soon as I know," I promised.

The concierge smiled slightly, thanked me, and went about her work of seeing that not one of her guests' whims went unfulfilled.

The Chateau would be a real change of pace for Benny. He lives in one half of a faintly disreputable West Newport duplex. He works in the other. When he travels, he favors Motel 6.

Fiora was still on the phone when I reached the suite. Benny was on the balcony watching three young women in bikinis bare their legal all to the sun. The poolside beauties were the lush brown of well-tanned beach bunnies, but their hair was dark and cropped short rather than long and bottle-blonde.

"Don't you see enough flesh on the sand in front of your place?" I asked.

"A man never gets enough beauty."

Benny wheeled his chair back into the room with quick, powerful strokes that made his shoulders ripple. From the waist up, he's in better shape than Schwarzenegger, and better looking, too. From the waist down, Benny has been on wheels ever since a single round of friendly fire cut his spinal cord in Vietnam.

The condition has done little to hamper his social life. Fiora tells me there's something enormously attractive about any man who genuinely likes women. Benny does. He makes female friends like a big, confident tomcat does. He likes to strop himself on their legs, and they like to stroke his fur and make him purr.

It's fascinating to watch. If I tried something like that, I'd be arrested.

"Those are three devout young Muslim girls getting away from the repressive control of their fathers," Benny said, "who just happen to be princes and members of the Saudi royal family. They invited me over for drinks later."

"The princes or the girls?"

"You're in a bloody frame of mind, aren't you?"

"I'm working on it."

He grunted. "Let me know when you get there. Until then, get on with telling me what the hell you've stepped in this time."

"Didn't Fiora explain?"

"She left a message on my machine this morning asking me to come here. So here I am."

"Oh."

That's the Ice Cream King of Saigon. He earned the name working undercover in Vietnam during the war. During the day, he made vanilla, chocolate, and nunc mam sherbet; at night he fought the kind of shadow war that calls for ruthless pragmatism and unflinching loyalty. Benny still practices that kind of loyalty. He is why I need so few other friends in the world.

Loyalty is not the word, really, for it suggests something consciously given or withheld. Benny doesn't choose. He's simply there, always there, when either Fiora or I need him.

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