Christine cruised east on Ventura Boulevard to the Summerlin Suites, a thirty-floor hotel on the other side of town near Universal Studios Hollywood.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the valet said as he greeted Christine with a grin. She handed him her car keys, walked through the double glass doors into the atrium lobby, and approached the reception area.
“Hi,” Christine said to the front-desk clerk whose name was Curtis which she noted by his name tag. “I would like a presidential suite on the top floor where it’s facing those hills to the south, if you have one available.”
“One moment, please.” Curtis looked down at the computer screen. “Yes, we have one available. Would this be for one person?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely.”
Curtis expressed mild surprise. “All right. Would this be on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis?”
“Uh, make it weekly.”
“All right. One moment, please. Method of payment?”
“Charge,” Christine said. She withdrew a credit card from her handbag and gave it to the desk clerk.
Once Christine entered the expansive presidential suite, she toured the plush surroundings and savored everything in awe. She made it a point to go to the enormous picture window that faced south and overlooked parts of the hills above Studio City. She gazed a little to the west and saw Rose’s house.
Christine called Dougie and Tawny, then Jimmy. She informed them of her present whereabouts and gave them the address and the suite number of the hotel.
“See ya Monday,” she said before she hung up.
Christine eyed the Hutchins’s residence with fanatical scrutiny.
“Now, you’re really gonna get it,” she said. “You have absolutely no idea what I can do and what I’m capable of. Just you wait. I guarantee you will see . . . hear . . . and feel my wrath.”
Christine continued to stare at the house on the side of the hill.