The Hotel - 4

"Damn," I said under his breath.

It was definitely a ballroom, with a polished, hardwood floor, several chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and a multitude of chairs and small tables along the walls. At one end was a platform, which I presumed was for the band or orchestra hired to play when there were dances or parties.

"This is the room Mr. Delaney set aside for your performance," Felicia told us.

"It should work," I said as I walked across to the windows. They had heavy dark blue velvet drapes, pulled back at the moment. The upholstery on the chairs matched them. There was also a set of double doors opening onto a large patio facing the lake.

"Where do we eat?" Ramsey asked.

"Always his first question," I told Felicia, grinning. "He's a bottomless pit."

"Am not," Ramsey protested. "Well, maybe…"

Felicia took us back to the entry hall and into a room across from the lounge. As with everything else we'd seen on the ground floor, it was huge, with a dozen tables, meant for four to six people each, scattered around it. Along one wall was a long credenza. "For breakfasts," Felicia explained. "We do them Continental-style, although we offer much more than just rolls and coffee. Lunch is served from noon to one, dinner between six and eight."

Ramsey checked his watch and emitted a very feigned moan. "That's ninety minutes from now." It was a running joke with him that he was always hungry. His looks belied it as he was hardly Falstaffian in his build. Instead he was every woman's dream—tall and slender with wavy blond hair.

Phil patted his shoulder. "You'll survive, I promise."

"There's a smaller, more private lounge through there." Felicia pointed to a door at one end of the dining room. The kitchen is there," she pointed again. "It's off-limits to the guests, however, unless you want Brenda to give you a tongue-lashing. She's the cook, if Mr. Delaney didn't tell you."

"He did," I replied.

"There are two more rooms which will probably interest you," Felicia said.

Going back to the entry hall again, she opened another set of doors. "This is the cocktail lounge."

It was dark and atmospheric, with paneled walls and deep red carpeting. There were tables, and booths—all empty—and no one was behind the bar.

"I'd have expected a lot of guests in here," I said, puzzled that there weren't.

Felicia smiled. "At the moment, you're the only ones in the hotel. More will arrive in a day or two."

"Just us?" Caitlin asked in surprise.

"Yes. Mr. Delaney wanted you to have the run of the place without any interruptions for the next couple of days so you could set up for your performance."

"That was nice of him, I guess," I replied.

"There's also coffee shop," Felicia said, taking us to it.

"The only modern room in the place," Phil commented, looking around.

Comparatively, it was. The walls were pale green above pale oak wainscoting, the tables had green-checkered tablecloths, and the order counter had a small pastry case beside it. Ramsey immediately gravitated to it, ordering a scone and coffee from the girl manning the counter. The rest of us decided to do the same and soon, after moving two tables together, we were seated. Felicia left us at that point, saying she was available if we had any questions.