THE KONA KAI RESORT IS PRIVATE, PRICEY AND EXclusive. The compound consists of a yacht club, a restaurant, a nightclub and a hotel. Figures Williams would be a member.
He is standing under the portico in front of the hotel when we pull up. He's leaning against a raised flowerbed, smoking a cigar, dressed in khaki slacks and a dark blue designer polo shirt. He has brown loafers on his feet that look like they might be Gucci. No uniform, no cop car in sight so he's here in an unofficial capacity. He looks like he fits right in with the yachting crowd. And he looks relaxed.
At least until he sees me getting out of the cab.
He tosses the cigar into the flowerbed and hurries to pay the driver. He doesn't say a thing to me until the car has pulled away.
Then Williams does something he's never done before.
He hugs me.
The gesture is unexpected. My body stiffens and my shoulders actually jump at the contact. He lets me go almost immediately and stands back.
"I am glad to see that you are well," he says.
I make it a point to look around. "Are you talking to me?"
He isn't letting me read his thoughts but I do get a flash that he doesn't appreciate the humor. He takes a card key out of his pocket. "Let's go up to your room. You must be tired."
I am, so I agree with a bob of my head. He leads the way through the lobby and directly to the elevators. Obviously he has taken care of registering. He uses the key to access the top floor of the hotel. The top floor.
When the doors slide open, he gestures to the left. A few steps down the hall, he stops in front of a set of double wooden doors with a brass placard that reads, "Presidential Suite."
He uses the card key to open the door and stands back to let me pass in first.
Instead, I take a step back. "The Presidential Suite? What is this?"
"You've been through a lot," he says. "I thought you could use a little pampering."
I push by him and stop right inside the door. There is a huge living room with a fireplace, fresh flowers on every surface, and three connecting doors leading off to what I assume are the bedrooms. There is a sliding glass door that overlooks the yacht club basin. It's open. In the late afternoon haze, the lights of the city across the bay are beginning to wink on.
"How many people are you expecting?" I ask, more than a little peeved. "If this is your idea of an apology for what happened with Max and Culebra, they should be the ones staying here, not me."
Williams' face gives nothing away. He is a very old vampire, who I doubt has ever apologized for anything. He isn't about to say the words even if an apology is what this elaborate gesture is all about.
I'm too tired to call him on it. Right now, a bath and a bed are all I want. It's been a long thirty-six hours since we parted company in Beso de la Muerte. I let him pick that out of my weary brain and he places the hotel key on a glass coffee table the size of Montana.
Do you require sustenance? He asks. I have someone on call.
His formality with me is foreign and strange. If I had more energy, I might care why.
As it is, I simply shake my head.
He leaves me without another thought or word. Once he's gone, I check out the bedrooms and pick out the one I like best. It has a huge round bed with about a hundred silk throw pillows scattered at the head. When I sweep them off and pull back the comforter, I find black satin sheets.
I wonder which president inspired this decor.
