I asked. “I’m sorry, sir. We aren’t allowed to give out information about our guests,” replied a man behind the front desk of the Marshall House. He wore a dark green blazer with a pineapple emblem on the pocket. “Right.” My heart plunged into my stomach. She was my only lead. I wondered if I should wait in the lobby for a while. Maybe the lady would wander in, and I could talk to her. I had to go to work in an hour, so I guess it wouldn’t hurt to kill some time. Sinking into a deep leather armchair, I looked around. The lobby looked like it came from an earlier time. It smelled like a combination of flowers and wood cleaner. Heavy dark furniture sat on hardwood floors. Large oil paintings, with ornate gold frames, adorned the walls. I grabbed a handful of mints from a crystal container on the coffee table. The sign beside it read, “Help yourself.” I unwrapped one and plopped it in my mouth and then put a few in my pocket.
