Chapter 7
There were two windowless doors at the far end of the dining hall. Both of them were locked.
“f**k,” I muttered.
The doorknobs needed a regular key. I tried running the card between the latch of the first one and the jam.
“Shit.” I lost it inside. Harold was going to be mad at me. I checked my pants pockets, hoping I might have something to stick in the keyhole that would turn the tumbler if the locks were as cheap and shoddy as they looked. Whoever recently rebuilt the truly grand Forsythe Hotel must have put all their money into the really important stuff, like sheets, window moldings, wool carpeting, and humongous Christmas wreaths.
“Voila!” My mother had given me a silver fish charm with Pocket’s name on it meant to hang from the zipper on my UPS jacket. I must have miss
