The Penthouse Treasure by James Gerard (list of ebook readers .TXT) 📕

 The last week and a half Charisse had nothing to do but wait and make the reservations for Paris. She tapped her feet against the armrest of the couch and stared at the laptop wobbling on her stomach just waiting for nine o’clock to roll around.   For some reason the airline and hotel reservation page on the laptop turned up missing and a call directly to a travel agent representing the airline was in order. The two hour wait for Connelly’s personal travel agent to arrive to work was torturous, but at least she was satisfied that the long, idle days were spent wisely.

For the past ten nights discussions with her best friend went well. They took the time to research many a website to find the most tasteless and clownish spring clothing designs photographed over the years. With much joy and laughter they chose the ones that would have the fashion world in an outrage thus ruining Connelly’s reputation as the premier photographer in the industry.

Charisse grabbed the laptop and with a hand tossed it on a coffee table. She then swung her legs off the couch and took hold of the phone. Peering at the computer screen, she was about to tap in the toll free number when the phone rang.

“Of all the times to call,” she grumbled. “Good morning Mr. O’Brien.”

“You haven’t made the reservations yet have you?”

“Funny you should ask, I was about to do so just before you called.”

“Good. Change of plans Brandy. I need to you to get me on the next available flight to Paris. I don’t care what it costs just please do it.”

“But you don’t need to be in—”

“I know, but something important has come up. I need to be there now.”

“Of course Mr. O’Brien, I’ll make our reservations for—”

Connelly blurted out, “Oh no Brandy, this year I’m going by myself.”

Oh really, thought Charisse, you wouldn’t want me there to see you use yet another poor victim would you now. She took a deep breath and stated, “May I ask why?”

“Look, I’ll explain after I get there. Now will you please find me a flight as soon as possible.”

“Yes Sir Mr. O’Brien.”

Charisse looked at the number and tapped it in. Speaking directly to the travel agent she told the woman the urgency of the travel plans. When asked if a one way or round trip ticket was needed she really did not know but in the spirit of the vengeance plan it was decided that a highly expensive one way ticket in first class might be a bit annoying to the owners of the magazine. And the fact that it was due to take off in two hours only made the ticket that more expensive. Now, she thought, for the hotel.

She picked up the laptop and loaded the hotel reservations page. The former personal assistant had noted that Connelly normally spent seven days in Paris for events surrounding the Spring fashion show, but now two extra days needed to be added. The arrival and departure dates and times were typed in and seconds later a responding message read that there were no available rooms for that time period. “Really,” remarked Charisse. With a coy smile forming on the face she looked for the number of the hotel and called directly. “Hello. I only speak English,” she revealed.

“English, yes. May I help you?”

“Yes, I need to make reservations for tonight through—”

“I am sorry, but due to the upcoming fashion show all our rooms are taken. I recommend you try—”

“It’s for Connelly O’Brien!”

“Mr. O’Brien? There must be a mistake. We have him booked for the seventh of January.”

Charisse briefly wondered who booked the room but quickly dismissed it as a reservation made automatically by the management for being a long standing patron of the hotel. She cleared her throat and said, “Well there has been a change of plans. Mr. O’Brien is scheduled to arrive in Paris…” she paused to look at the handwritten notes and continued, “…at about three in the morning of the fifth.”

“Well mademoiselle, for Mr. O’Brien I will make the reservation.”

Charisse quickly ended the call and immediately ran into Connelly’s apartment.

“Is everything set?” asked Connelly as he came out of his bedroom.

“Better hurry and pack. I have a flight for you which leaves at eleven; that’s less than two hours from now. And I have a room reserved for you in Paris.”

“Outstanding Brandy. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“So, if I’m not going is there anything particular you want me to do while you are gone?”

“Just keep a look out for the photos. It’s important that you send them in immediately; the editor will be waiting for them so they can begin printing the issue. Okay?”

“Yes Sir Mr. O’Brien. I will do exactly as you say.”

 Charisse awoke and immediately checked for missed calls on the cell phone and peered over the computer screen looking for email alerts, but there were none. She could not understand what the delay was. Two days had passed since the opening of the Spring fashion show and yet there was no contact from Connelly. Figuring Cheryl would know she grabbed the laptop and went racing into Connelly’s apartment.

“Cheryl!”

The apartment was silent.

She went dashing down the hallway and pounded on her bedroom door, “Cheryl! Cheryl, are you there?”

No answer.

The phone suddenly rang. “Finally,” she grumbled through clenched teeth. “When are you sending—”

“I’m sort of in a hurry Brandy so listen, “Connelly blurted out. “In my bedroom, in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers there is a small notebook. Go in and get it.”

Charisse bolted away from Cheryl’s room and rushed into Connelly’s bedroom. Eyes darted back and forth and the chest of drawers was quickly spotted. “I got it.”

“Open it up and on the first page, upper left hand corner there is a set of numbers, eight of them, read them off to me please.”

“Nine two one zero five four two five.”

“Good. Now in a matter of minutes I’m sending you the photos. I want you to go through the captions and check for errors. Then once you’re finished with that then immediately send them into the magazine. Do you understand?”

“Absolutely Mr. O’Brien.”

“Thanks sweetie. Talk to you later.”

Excitement ran through the mind as she set the computer on the top of the chest of drawers.   The mouse clicked away. In a matter of seconds the file of the replacement photographs was just a tap away and at a feverish pace her email account was opened. With sheer joy racing through the mind the email was there.

After opening the attachment the photos and captions lit up on the screen. While the captions were an unexpected snag in the vengeance plan, the problem was easily overcome. With the skill of a software engineer Charisse back and forth from file to file, from program to program deleting and copying and pasting the photographs and captions. In a matter of minute the altered file was sent as an attachment in an email to the magazine.

“Yes!” shouted Charisse and threw up her arms in victory. She sat on the edge of Connelly’s bed contemplating how much he would feel crushed, betrayed, used in the very same fashion as he had used his wife. But the celebration was shorted lived; for in a matter of days, maybe hours she knew Connelly would be coming after her. She had to get out and get out now. But first there was the matter of the treasure, and for that the simple solution to get to his treasures was to break down the door.

Over many a discussion with her best friend the past couple of days it was decided that breaking in the doors was the only way. They had discussed bringing in a locksmith but believed that the apartment building’s security would be too suspicious of any authorized person being allowed up to the apartment. After all, they discussed, that Connelly made it clear that all visitors had to be cleared by him. The same held true for bringing up a criminal type, one who was experienced in burglary. And now that the magazine had the file and while Cheryl was absent now was the time.

Charisse grabbed the laptop off the chest of drawers and something caught her eye.

“It couldn’t be.” She reached out and exclaimed, “My my Connelly, a bit forgetful in your rush to do evil.”

“Answer already,” whispered Charisse as she stood before the locked doors. With the key securely held in hand she wanted to wait for her best friend to answer before entering, but after ringing a few more times voicemail came up. “Where are you?” Waiting a few seconds more the call was ended with the hopes that her friend would call back immediately.

With a shaky hand the key was inserted and turned. “Yes,” Charisse squealed at the click of the tumbler. The other shaky hand reached out and turned one of the knobs and then pushed forward. The room with Connelly’s prized possessions was now open and exposed to yet more malicious intents of the vengeance plan.

Charisse entered the room. The light penetrated the darkness just enough where something was spotted hanging off what looked like a free standing coat rack sitting in the middle of the room.

The phone rang. She gasped in fear and came to a dead stop.   Relief came instantly as the identity of the caller was seen. “You are not going to believe this but I’m in the treasure room.”

“What do you see?”

Charisse stepped into the room and took a couple of steps to the right. Probing the wall a hand found the switch and light illuminated the room. “You have to be kidding,” she remarked while staring at the irritating item.

“What? What do you see?” the voice on the other end of the phone asked.

How stupid, thought Charisse as she reached out and took the item off the rack and examined it further. “Yep, it’s his big, yellow umbrella. I don’t get it. Why would he have put