Day 61, Chapter 61
Little did I know, up until 2 weeks ago, JPatt was the owner of not one, but two massive mansions in South Florida. On June 16th he sold the small one off to some dude from Connecticut for $10.3 million. I presume that the reason he sold it was the size – a mere 11,000 square feet. As you know, the other house (currently being renovated) is 20,000 sq. ft. and can more easily accommodate the (plus-size?) family of three. Plus there’s room for the treasure trove room.
I crossed Market to the Whitcomb, an elegant four-hundred-room Victorian hotel, and entered the opulent lobby, glittering with crystal chandeliers, marble floors underfoot, wood paneling everywhere, and humongous floral bouquets scenting the cool air.
Is Lindsay “glittering with crystal chandeliers” or is the lobby? This is what you get with such a frenetic pace of writing – hopefully, people read it so quickly they never notice the preponderance of bad grammar. (Wait, was this a description of JPatt’s house?)
Lindsay walks to the Market Street Grill, on the instructions of WCF, and picks up an envelope left there for “H. Tyler.” The receptionist’s name is Sharron, by the way. Not sure why we needed to know this.
“Open the envelope, sweetheart,” the killer said, and, gritting my teeth, I did it.
It must have been crazy-glued shut or made out of cast iron and bolted shut. Inside is a parking lot ticket stub and 25 bucks. Then WCF drops a bomb on Lindsay – he knows her real name! (Remember, she’s pretending to be Henry Tyler’s fictional secretary, Judy.)
“Who is Lindsay?” I asked, but I was rocked. My stride faltered and I nearly stumbled down the hotel steps. How did he know my name?
|Anyone for sweetmeats?|
Duh! You’re a famous detective, star of now nine bestselling novels by James Patterson! When I Google your name, a zillion pictures of Angie Harmon pop up because she played you on TV for a season.
WCF reminds her that he can easily hurt the people she cares about if she tries any funny business. She fantasizes about this prospect:
I pictured Cindy in the camera’s eye, Conklin, Joe working in his home office, Martha at his feet. I saw myself with my Glock in my hand, sights lined up between the no-color eyes of a guy in a baseball jacket. I squeezed the trigger.
Problem was, I didn’t have the Glock.
By my count, WCF has called Lindsay “sweetheart”, “sweet stuff”, “princess” (three times), “sweetmeat” (twice!), “good girl” (twice), and “my girl on a leash”.
Go to Day 62.