Stephanie went to the hotel desk and was told that James Marley had checked out earlier that afternoon.

She should have stopped right there; she would've with anyone else but her interest in Marley went deeper than what she could figure.

"Look, I need to find him," she said. She leaned into the counter, and in a conspiratorial whisper out of raspberry lips that sensually formed each word carefully, "Help me. Please."

It was too much for the clerk. He wrote down all the information he had and handed it to her on a hotel pad paper with the hotel name torn off.