Black woman, well dressed, early fifties. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if you could help me. My cousin Eleanor left the bar about a half-hour ago, and I thought perhaps you could pop into the ladies’ room here and see if she might be in there, see if she’s all right.’ ‘Sure,’ the woman said, pushing open the door. ‘You say her name’s Eleanor?’ ‘Yes. Ellie, actually. About this tall, blondish, wearing a light brown cardigan.’ ‘Hang on,’ the woman said, and disappeared into the ladies’ room. Paris leaned up against the wall and looked both ways down the hallway. Empty. The front-desk clerk had told him that Eleanor Burchfield had walked across the lobby, and around the corner toward the ballrooms and convenience lobby. The small alcove, which contained a Coke machine, an ice machine, and a candy machine, along with a tiny gift shop, was empty when Paris glanced in. Whoever had worked behind the counter had closed and shuttered the shop for the evening.
