“Perhaps she took the elevator to the ground?” suggested the maître d’.
“She wouldn’t leave without telling me,” said Mac, rather lamely. “But yes, let’s check.”
Mac followed the maître d’ down the hallway to the dim alcove, where a private elevator delivered diners from the ground floor plaza. A liveried attendant stood by the doors. Mac addressed him in French, describing Ava and inquiring if she had recently left the restaurant. The response was an emphatic no.
Where could she be? Mac was no longer troubled; he was flat-out panicked.
He retraced his steps down the hall. Then he saw it. A glimmer of gold on the carpet. He bent to look more closely. An earring. He picked it up.Ava’s earring.It was broken, the post missing, a smidge of blood visible.
“Did you find something?” asked the maître d’.
“An earring,” said Mac. “It belongs to ... to ... her.” He stood and studied the corridor. He spotted a camera high in one corner. There had to be others in the restaurant. “You have cameras. Can I see them?”
“Of course we have them, but—”
“But what?” asked Mac.
“This is a legal matter,” said the maître d’. “We are not allowed to share this with ... well, strangers.”
“I’m asking a favor,” said Mac.
The maître d’ frowned. “I will have to contact the police. We must wait until they arrive.”
The police.They’d want Mac’s name. Passport. From there, who knew? The police were to be avoided at all costs.
“No,” replied Mac. “That won’t be necessary. Is there another way out?”
“An emergency exit to the exterior stairwell.”
“Show me.”
The maître d’ retraced his steps to the opposite side of the dining room and threw open the emergency exit. An urgent bell pinged several times. There was no way someone could open it without drawing attention to themself. Mac passed through the door onto a steel grate, through which one could view the stairwell descending to the ground. Mac bent over the rail, searching. There was no one on the stairs.
He called her phone a second time. Again, the call went directly to voicemail. Ava’s phone was still powered off. “It’s me. I have your earring. What’s going on? I’m worried.”
“Are you certain you don’t wish for me to call the police?” asked the maître d’.
Mac shook his head.
The maître d’ opened his hands. “But where is she? Where can she have gone?”
Mac was unable to provide an answer.
Ava Attal had vanished.
Chapter 4
Hotel Bristol
Paris
The hotel lobby was calm and airy, a towering bouquet of flowers placed on a center table. Mac made a beeline for reception.
“Did I beat madame back?” he asked playfully, hardly slowing.
“Indeed, you did,” snapped the hotelier, matching Mac’s smile. “I have not seen her. You enjoyed your lunch?”
But by then Mac was already climbing the stairs. He knew better than to take the hotelier’s words at face value. If Ava could disappear from a restaurant high up the Eiffel Tower, she could sneak into a large hotel without being seen.
