“Much as I’d love to hear about the vultures, I’ll go with you,” Caroline said. “Remember, I’ve got another little errand you could help me with.”
Precisely the words I’d been dreading.
“We’ll leave you gentlemen to your discussions,” I said.
Caroline and I returned to the truck, and headed for the main road.
“So what’s your little errand?” I asked.
“We’re going by the Caerphilly Inn on our way back to town, aren’t we?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Great,” she said. “We’re going to burgle it.”
Chapter 25
“Please tell me you didn’t really say what I just thought I heard,” I said.
“Relax,” she said. “I have a plan.”
“Exactly what does your plan think we’re going to find at the Caerphilly Inn?”
“No idea,” she said. “But since the Evil Lender’s executives are staying there, stands to reason if we poke around enough we’ll find something interesting. Did you have a better plan for finding out what’s going on in what your dad’s calling Redcoat headquarters?”
“I was thinking maybe Grandfather could learn something from his new raptor and carrion bird specialist,” I said. “Or were you going to hire him?”
“We’ll sort that out once your grandfather has assessed his credentials and charmed him,” she said. “And the best plan would be to let him keep working for the Evil Lender for the time being. Sort of a mole in place. Moles are useful.”
I couldn’t argue with that. And maybe Caroline was just being dramatic when she used the word “burgle.” Unless she’d recently acquired the skills needed to circumvent a four-star hotel’s pricey security system, odds were we wouldn’t manage anything more than eavesdropping and skulking.
“We’re getting close to the Inn,” I said. “Where should I park the van?”
“The parking lot would be my suggestion,” Caroline said.
I looked at her in surprise. Knowing Caroline’s love of drama, I’d fully expected that she’d want us to park a mile or two away, cover the car with branches, hoof it over the pastures and the back nine of the golf course, and then scout the hotel with binoculars from the shrubbery for an hour or so before finally creeping toward our goal. Was she going normal on me?
Then again, if she was having a brief flirtation with normal, perhaps I shouldn’t complain.
“Do we really want to put the van in plain sight?” I asked. “Because we’re going to sneak around once we get there, right?”
“No, we’re not sneaking,” she said. “Once we get the key from Ekaterina, we’re going to do a little discreet investigation.”
“Ekaterina?”
“My mole inside the Inn,” she said. “She’s a supervisor in housekeeping. She’s lending us her master key. We need to be discreet, so we don’t get her in trouble. But there’s no need to sneak. And for that matter, there’s nothing more conspicuous in a four-star hotel than someone acting furtive. We march right in like people who have a perfectly good reason for being here.”
“And just in case anyone asks, what is our perfectly good reason?”
She pondered for a few moments. I hoped she came up with her good reason soon, because we were turning into the Inn’s driveway. Which meant we were still a mile or so from the front door, but I was nervously expecting to be stopped at any moment.
“I’m planning a fund-raiser,” she said finally. “I want to see if the Inn’s a suitable venue.”
“Wouldn’t they assume you already knew whether it was a suitable venue?” I asked. “You’ve only been here a couple of dozen times, visiting Grandfather.”
“But never when I was planning a fund-raiser,” she said. “You look at a place differently when you’re thinking about whether you can squeeze in four or five hundred well-heeled guests and how much trouble it will give your caterer. Don’t worry—if you don’t think you can carry it off, just leave it to me. You know nothing, you’re just being kind enough to give me a ride. Ah, here we are. Try for a shady spot near the door.”
Normally we’d be lucky to find even a sunbaked spot a quarter mile from the hotel, but to my surprise the lot was half empty. I actually could find a spot relatively close to the wisteria-framed door and shaded by the huge, raspberry-colored flowers of the crepe myrtles that dotted the parking lot. Not that the shade would help much—the car would still be an oven when we returned. The parking lot was paved with gleaming white gravel and the whole thing shimmered with heat in the July sun. I hadn’t even stepped out of the van and I was already eager to get inside where it was air-conditioned.