Gillette for a minute. Is he still there?”
The woman smiled slightly. “Dale’s always in his office. I swear, I don’t know when he sleeps.”
We went down the hallway, and Will knocked on the door. From inside, Gillette called, “Come in.”
Will opened the door. Gillette glanced up from his desk, then looked again as he saw all four of us marching in. He came to his feet quickly.
He asked the same question that the concierge had. “Is there a problem?”
“One of your guests has disappeared,” Frasier said.
Gillette came out from behind the desk. He looked as dapper and cool as ever, but I saw alarm lurking in his eyes. “Let’s all stay calm now,” he said. “Who’s missing?”
“Howard Burleson.”
“The elderly gentleman who was with you when I checked you in this afternoon?”
“That’s right.”
I saw the relief that appeared on Gillette’s face. “Mr. Burleson’s not missing,” he said. “He’s just gone around the corner to Petit Claude’s.”
All of us stiffened with surprise. “Where?” Frasier demanded.
“It’s a jazz club, just around the corner.”
“How do you know this?” Will asked.
“Because I ran into Mr. Burleson in the lobby a little while ago, and he asked me if the club was still there. I told him it was and asked him if he was familiar with it. He said that he had been there many times, years ago, with a friend of his.”
I had a hunch that the friend Burleson meant was Tennessee Williams, but that didn’t matter now.
“He said he was going to take a look at the place again,” Gillette continued. “I assume he’s still there.”
I said, “But you don’t know that.”
Gillette frowned. “Well, no, I suppose I can’t be sure he’s there. You could check his room–”
“He’s not there,” Frasier said as he started to turn toward the door. “Where exactly is this club? I have to find him!”
“I’ll show you,” Gillette offered. His manner was brisk as he led us out of his office. I suppose he had realized that Burleson could have wandered off anywhere after visiting Petit Claude’s, and now he was worried again. He said, “You know, if Mr. Burleson is, well, mentally disadvantaged, someone should be with him at all times. I must say, though, he struck me as being fine. He seemed to know exactly where he was and what he was doing.”
“Of course he did,” Frasier said, with a glance at Tamara Paige. “There’s nothing wrong with his memory.”
Even under these strained circumstances, he couldn’t let go of the hostility between him and Dr. Paige, and, judging by her glare, neither could she.
The five of us left the hotel, turning in the other direction from the way Will and I had gone to the theater. It was noisier on the street now, as the evening’s hilarity began to increase. Along with the humidity and the smells of Cajun cooking, the air was full of loud talk, laughter, and music from various outdoor restaurants and clubs. Most of it was Dixieland jazz or blues, but I heard a little zydeco mixed in, too. It made for a discordant but somehow pleasing blend.
When we turned the corner, I saw the neon sign for Petit Claude’s. It was a little place, not much more than a hole-in-the-wall that was crowded between a sports bar and a bakerythat was closed for the night. The place had an air of age about it. Maybe it was the way the sign buzzed and flickered from time to time, or maybe it was the patina of softness that the years had worn onto the bricks of the building’s façade. A green awning extended over the sidewalk at the entrance, and it looked like it had been there since the Truman administration. Maybe even since FDR.
“There it is,” Gillette said. “I’m sure he’s in there.”
“He had better be,” Frasier said, not bothering to keep the anger and menace out of his voice. “From now on, he’s not to leave the hotel without me.”
“I’m afraid we can’t be held responsible for enforcing something
The woman smiled slightly. “Dale’s always in his office. I swear, I don’t know when he sleeps.”
We went down the hallway, and Will knocked on the door. From inside, Gillette called, “Come in.”
Will opened the door. Gillette glanced up from his desk, then looked again as he saw all four of us marching in. He came to his feet quickly.
He asked the same question that the concierge had. “Is there a problem?”
“One of your guests has disappeared,” Frasier said.
Gillette came out from behind the desk. He looked as dapper and cool as ever, but I saw alarm lurking in his eyes. “Let’s all stay calm now,” he said. “Who’s missing?”
“Howard Burleson.”
“The elderly gentleman who was with you when I checked you in this afternoon?”
“That’s right.”
I saw the relief that appeared on Gillette’s face. “Mr. Burleson’s not missing,” he said. “He’s just gone around the corner to Petit Claude’s.”
All of us stiffened with surprise. “Where?” Frasier demanded.
“It’s a jazz club, just around the corner.”
“How do you know this?” Will asked.
“Because I ran into Mr. Burleson in the lobby a little while ago, and he asked me if the club was still there. I told him it was and asked him if he was familiar with it. He said that he had been there many times, years ago, with a friend of his.”
I had a hunch that the friend Burleson meant was Tennessee Williams, but that didn’t matter now.
“He said he was going to take a look at the place again,” Gillette continued. “I assume he’s still there.”
I said, “But you don’t know that.”
Gillette frowned. “Well, no, I suppose I can’t be sure he’s there. You could check his room–”
“He’s not there,” Frasier said as he started to turn toward the door. “Where exactly is this club? I have to find him!”
“I’ll show you,” Gillette offered. His manner was brisk as he led us out of his office. I suppose he had realized that Burleson could have wandered off anywhere after visiting Petit Claude’s, and now he was worried again. He said, “You know, if Mr. Burleson is, well, mentally disadvantaged, someone should be with him at all times. I must say, though, he struck me as being fine. He seemed to know exactly where he was and what he was doing.”
“Of course he did,” Frasier said, with a glance at Tamara Paige. “There’s nothing wrong with his memory.”
Even under these strained circumstances, he couldn’t let go of the hostility between him and Dr. Paige, and, judging by her glare, neither could she.
The five of us left the hotel, turning in the other direction from the way Will and I had gone to the theater. It was noisier on the street now, as the evening’s hilarity began to increase. Along with the humidity and the smells of Cajun cooking, the air was full of loud talk, laughter, and music from various outdoor restaurants and clubs. Most of it was Dixieland jazz or blues, but I heard a little zydeco mixed in, too. It made for a discordant but somehow pleasing blend.
When we turned the corner, I saw the neon sign for Petit Claude’s. It was a little place, not much more than a hole-in-the-wall that was crowded between a sports bar and a bakerythat was closed for the night. The place had an air of age about it. Maybe it was the way the sign buzzed and flickered from time to time, or maybe it was the patina of softness that the years had worn onto the bricks of the building’s façade. A green awning extended over the sidewalk at the entrance, and it looked like it had been there since the Truman administration. Maybe even since FDR.
“There it is,” Gillette said. “I’m sure he’s in there.”
“He had better be,” Frasier said, not bothering to keep the anger and menace out of his voice. “From now on, he’s not to leave the hotel without me.”
“I’m afraid we can’t be held responsible for enforcing something
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