* * * * * I arrived in the lobby of the Parc 55 Hotel at 5:42 P.M. There were barely a dozen people in the spacious lobby, with a pair of guests being helped at the front desk by two hotel staff members. I stepped up behind these people and waited my turn. I was on edge, because of what I might discover here in the way of messages. Impatiently, I glanced to my right and noticed the cashier. She was a cute, petit redhead, with a dusting of freckles on her cheeks, whom I had dealt with before. She wore her gold-red hair in a short bob, which complemented her forest-green blazer. “Deborah” was etched on her silver name plate. She spotted me, recognized me, and lit up with a warm smile. Moving to my position she said, “Hi, Mr....