I was in Los Angeles for the American Film Market to pitch a few scripts I’d written. I checked into a swanky hotel and went to use the in-room safe—only to find it still locked from the previous guest. I called the front desk, and they gave me an override code to open it.

I have to admit, as I stood there in front of the , I was a little nervous to open it. I mean, God only knows what could be left behind in a place like that or a city like LA, right? Sadly, in real life, the safe was completely empty.

But in my mind, the moment the latch clicked, the story took off running, turning an empty void into an outrageous web of stolen diamonds, international intrigue, centered around a mob boss with a severed finger and the poor school teacher that found it.

Give me the Finger is what happens when you’re a storyteller in a city like LA, where everyone is playing a character, half the wealth is an illusion, and a locked safe is an open invitation to an outrageous mystery.

"Of course, I realize now it was a bad idea to take the gun, the diamonds, and the finger." Stay calm, I told myself. He’s got no real proof you’re involved at all. Remember what George said: the best lies are based on truth.

Easier said than done, however, when you have Samuel Lefevre, a French Interpol agent the size of an American linebacker, staring you down with piercing brown eyes trained to break you, questioning you in a stern voice with a heavy accent.

“Savenger’s finger?”

“Yes, Savenger’s finger. Look, it’s not like I cut it off the guy myself.”

“You just found it?”

I sighed—I couldn’t help myself—but we’d been over this repeatedly, and I was getting tired. “Yes! I just found it.” I could tell from his grunt of a response he still didn’t believe me.

I confess, I’ve had a hard time believing the events of the last few weeks myself, and I'm the one they happened to! Despite my meandering brain, I focused on keeping my breathing calm and my body relaxed. I was really in hot water, but luckily, I didn’t know what they wanted to know most—which, if I had to guess, was where Savenger or his finger were now. I reminded myself I can’t share what I don’t know. So, I watched him pace as he studied the file in his hand and concentrated on remaining calm.

He’d grunt, look at me, and glance back at the file. I knew what it said about me. I’m nobody in the grand scheme of things—just a grade school teacher on holiday who checked into the right hotel room at the wrong time and wound up in the middle of international mobster shenanigans.

He swung around suddenly, closed the file, and fixed his gaze on me. “Would it interest you to know someone recently used that finger to access Savenger’s vault?”

“They did?” I really did find that very interesting, but I was doing my best not to show it.

“Yes, and they made off with millions in stolen jewels and cash.”

My heart raced. Had George really done it—and without me? Of course he had, the rotten scoundrel.

“They did?” Damn. My voice squeaked and gave me away, and he pounced on it.

“So, it is of interest to you.”

I leaned back in my chair, pretending an unconcern I didn’t feel. “Well, yeah, it’s interesting—I mean, really, millions?—but again,” and I leaned forward and tapped the table with my finger to emphasize my innocence, “I had nothing to do with it,” and I met his eyes.

Samuel stared at me for a second and grunted again as he pulled a picture from the folder and dropped it on the table in front of me.

“You know this guy?”

I looked at the picture. Oh, I knew him, alright. That rat bastard seduced me, and even if it was the most mind-blowing sex ever, I hated him right then because he’d made off with the finger, and apparently millions, and my heart to boot. But I digress. Back to the situation at hand. I looked up at Samuel, trying to judge just how far I could push him.

“Define the word ‘know’?” I was quite proud I said it with a straight face, though he wasn’t impressed or amused. He quirked an irritated eyebrow and stared even harder at me. He knew I was lying, so I had to give him something. Again, the best lies are based on truth, so I thought back to the first time I encountered George.

“He was in the room next to mine at the hotel. He liked his TV loud—in fact, he was kind of a jerk when I asked him to turn it down.” I hesitated, unsure of how much he really knew. Had I given him enough? I waited patiently to see.

“That’s it?” he asked, and the staring game was on for real. Both of us knew we knew more, but neither knew how much. My eyes may not be piercing or dark brown, trained to break you, but my grass-green orbs have been known to hold a look of artless innocence that’s saved me a time or two from getting fired for perfectly just cause. I laid it on him with all the guileless Southern charm I could muster.

“That’s it,” I said.

After a few seconds of heart-stopping eye probing, he finally broke eye contact, swept up his file, and headed to the door.

Under the table, I uncrossed my toes and gave a huge mental sigh of relief. I wasn’t going to jail. Yet.

I guess I should start at the beginning. That’s usually a good place to start, right? My name is Daphne Pierce, and I’m a fourth-grade teacher. What, you might ask, is a humble teacher doing in Monaco, land of millionaire playboys and gorgeous women? Well, I’d tell you, but honestly, I’m not really sure myself. I was in France on a soul-searching hiatus when I saw a tour going to Monaco. I’d always been a Grace Kelly fan, and though I passed on the tour, I figured a few days in Monaco sounded fun and exciting. Wow. Understatement of the year.

It started the moment I got out of the cab. I caught my breath as the taxi pulled up to the Hôtel de Paris, one of the most beautiful hotels in Monaco. Sadly, I was on my cell phone, arguing (as usual) with my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, Bob.

“I told you, I’m in France—well, now Monaco.” I paid the taxi driver, who tersely set down the mismatched and probably cheapest bags this particular curb had ever held. “Merci,” I whispered. I pulled up the handles and started walking to the hotel door, carrying one bag in front and dragging another behind me, with no clue I’d just insulted the bellhop who’d been waiting to help.

“I’ll—no, I told you, I need some space. Yes, well—maybe we need a break.” Really, Bob was a nice guy, but his inability to listen was extremely frustrating.

I was listening somewhat to Bob as I got to the door. It swung open and knocked my bag out of my hands. Two extremely well-dressed men were coming out and both reacted with exaggerated courtesy. They were so comical—one tall and skinny, one short and round—in expensive suits with pocket squares that matched their ties.“Here, let me get that for you, miss,” said the tall one as he stooped with almost comical grace to pick up my bag and dust it off.

“So sorry,” said the heavy, shorter one as he held open the door for me. If they’d been wearing hats, I swear they’d have doffed them. I just stood there and stared at them.  Chip and Dale in human form, I swear.

“Miss?” said the short one again, still holding the door. 

“Merci,” I whispered as I walked through the door. I couldn’t help but turn and watch them as  they strolled away and got into a black town car. The driver closed the door with a snap, and the car pulled away.  I snapped out of my Disney cartoon and turned back to look at the beautiful lobby, absorbing the magic of the place until Bob’s irate screeching on the phone got my attention.

“Daphne? Daphne? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, Bob, I heard you. I’m sorry, I dropped my bag.  Look, I’m checking in. I’ll call you later, okay? Bye.” I clicked off the headset and stopped, staring at the lobby in wonder. It was as if I’d stepped onto the set of a Grace Kelly movie. And I was going to be here for a whole week! With glee in my heart, I headed for the desk to check in.

A few minutes later, I was at the door to my room. I shoved it open with my hip and stepped inside, kicking it closed behind me. I dropped the key on the ornate French table opposite the bathroom door.

I stuck my head in to take a peek, and the bathroom was dreamy! Double sinks were set in an ornate French cabinet, with a large shower, but it was the deep bathtub with all the divine-smelling products that tickled me. I was definitely going to have a long soak in that tonight!

The room was ridiculously posh—thick pale-green velvet curtains framed a set of floor-to-ceiling windows, gold-accented furniture gleamed under the warm glow of an extravagant chandelier, and the Aubusson carpet was so thick I felt like I was sinking with every step. It smelled faintly of expensive perfume and the kind of money that didn’t ask for prices. Don’t ask what this week was costing! I couldn’t really afford it, but I needed so desperately to not be me for a while. You know what I mean, right?

In the sleeping area, I could hear the muffled roar of a television blasting through the walls—something with explosions, gunfire, and overly dramatic one-liners. I rolled my eyes. I guess price has nothing to do with the thickness of the walls. I tried to ignore it, but after a few minutes of horrific screams and gunfire, I gave into my inner bitch and knocked on the connecting door.

Would it surprise you that the man watching the TV was neither deaf nor elderly? It certainly surprised me! The thought that I now understood the definition of ruggedly handsome flashed through my brain as I stared at him in surprise. He wasn’t a giant, but taller than me (which is nice since I’m 5’7”) with wavy dark hair and deep blue eyes.

“Yes?” he asked, impatiently as he undid his cuff button, barely taking note of me at all.

“Uh, hi.” Oh my god, did my voice just squeak? Mortifying!

“Did you need something?” And there went the other button.

“Could you turn the TV down just a little?” I watched mesmerized as he pulled his shirt loose from his pants.

“Sure.” And he closed the door with a snap.

I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed I didn’t get to see him finish taking off his shirt, but I was relieved that he turned the TV down. With a sigh, I tossed my bag onto the enormous four-poster bed and went straight for the safe, tucked discreetly inside an ornate armoire. My fingers curled around the handle, expecting it to pop open. Nope. Still locked. I huffed and grabbed the phone, stabbing at the front desk button.

“Front desk, how may I help you, Miss Pierce?” came the too-cheery voice on the other end.

“The safe is locked. Can you send someone up to open it?”

“I can do better than that. One second.” I could hear him punching keys on the computer. “Just punch in #0719#. That’ll open it and reset the safe so you can use it.”

I blinked. “That seems… wildly insecure.”

“The override code is randomized, specific to each safe,” the clerk deadpanned. “Enjoy your stay!”

I sighed. “Thanks.”

I hung up and crouched in front of the safe, punching in the code. The lock beeped, and the door swung open with a soft click. It wasn’t empty. Of course not! I sat down on the carpet as I let out a sigh of regret for the delay this would cause in the date I’d planned with the giant tub, followed by room service. Someone had left their mystery stash behind, and now I had to deal with it.

With the enthusiasm of a teenager taking out the trash, I reached inside and pulled out the first item: a .45 caliber gun. I stared at it in awe and started to shake. I’d never held a gun before. It was cold and heavier than I expected. I set it carefully on the carpet and reached back in.

The next item was a small black velvet drawstring bag. That seemed promising. I loosened the strings and tilted it over my palm. About ten large, glittering diamonds tumbled out—big enough to make even the most jaded jewel thief weep. The light flashing off them was mesmerizing, and my pulse picked up as I reached back inside for the last item. My fingers closed around something smooth and cylindrical, and I pulled it out: a small jar with a large white label. The name “John Savenger” was scrawled across the front. I frowned.

“Who the hell is John Savenger?” I thought as I turned the jar slowly to reveal the contents. A human finger floated inside, the pale flesh bobbing slightly in the murky liquid.

“Oh my God!” My hands betrayed me. The jar slipped from my fingers, hitting the plush carpet with a soft thud before rolling to a stop, the finger inside bobbing, pointing straight at me like I’d done something wrong.

I swallowed hard, trying to process what I’d found. All I could think was, What the hell?

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, the Chip and Dale boys I met at the door, aka Sam "Goldy" Goldsmith and Jerry Sunshine were still in the town car, making their way to who-knows-where. Sam leaned back with a satisfied grin—the kind that suggested he was already mentally reclining on a sun-drenched beach.

“I can’t wait to wrap up this job,” he declared, rubbing his hands together like a man about to dive into a buffet. “Our last one. I’ve got an island with my name on it.”

Jerry, sitting beside him, smirked. “Don’t you mean our name?” he quipped, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course,” Sam replied with mock solemnity. “You’re always welcome on my island, Jer, you know that.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got some plans of my own,” Jerry shot back, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Sam chuckled. “I bet. You’ll certainly make Felicia’s eyes pop if you use one of those diamonds.”

Jerry nodded, the image of Felicia’s wide-eyed delight playing before him. “Yes. Felicia deserves one of those—and an island.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “She sure does.”

A sudden thought struck Jerry. “You got the goods?”

Sam froze, his grin fading. “No. Don’t you have them?”

Jerry’s eyes widened. “No. Didn’t you clear out the safe?”

“Me? No,” Sam said, beginning to look like a deer caught in headlights.

“I told you to do it,” Jerry insisted.

“No, you told me to remind you to do it, and I did,” Sam retorted.

Jerry slapped his forehead. “I did not. I told you to clear out the safe!”

Sam’s face fell. “You mean you didn’t empty the safe?”

“No,” Jerry said, his voice climbing an octave.

“That’s not good,” Sam muttered, his voice laced with an edge of panic.

“You think?” Jerry exclaimed, leaning forward to address the driver. “Driver! Turn around and go back to the hotel immediately!”

“Please!” Sam pleaded.

The tires squealed as the car flipped a U turn and headed back to the hotel. Jerry and Sam approached the front desk with the urgency of men who’d just realized they’d left the oven on at home- or a finger in a safe.

The clerk—the same Cockney fellow who’d checked me in—looked up with a smile. “Back so soon, Mr. Sunshine?”

“Yes, I left something in my room. Can I get a key to get back in? Room number 512,” Jerry said, trying to sound casual.

The clerk tapped away at his keyboard. “I’m sorry, sir, but that room is occupied. I can’t give you a key, but I can call the guest and ask if they’ve found anything.”

Jerry, opting for a more persuasive approach, put his hand on the phone to prevent the clerk from calling and he pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket. “I can give you this,” he said, and then, as if performing a magic trick, produced a gun from his other pocket. “Or I can give you this. But we need that key. Now.”

Sam nudged Jerry, whispering, “Please.”

Jerry gave Sam a look that could curdle milk before turning back to the clerk with a fake smile. “Please.”

The clerk swallowed hard, eyes darting between the gun and the bill, before snatching the hundred-dollar bill. He typed into the computer and swiped a key, sliding it across the counter with the air of someone who did this every day. “There you go, Mr. Sunshine. Just drop the key back on your way out, please.”

“No problem,” Jerry replied as he and Sam hurried away.

Once they were out of sight, the clerk picked up the phone and dialed my room. I was still staring at the loot, trying to figure out what I should do. I mean, I knew what I should do: call the police and I have no idea why I didn’t do that immediately. What was wrong with me? Maybe I was in shock?

Then the phone rang, and I jumped to answer it, “Bob, I told you—” I began.

“This isn’t Bob,” the clerk interrupted, his voice urgent. “You have to get out of there, now!”

“What? Who is this?” I asked, confusion and panic wrestling for dominance in my mind as I heard the terror in his voice and stared at the loot on the bed. I plopped down in the chair trying to process it all.

“The front desk. You’ve got to get out of that room ASAP. Bad guys with guns are on their way up there right now to get something they left in the room.” He hung up.

I knew exactly what that something was. It was now spread out across the bed like the world’s worst yard sale: a gun, the diamonds, and the finger. Of course who ever left it would come back for it, and of course, they would be gun toting hooligans. I'm from Texas- I should have realized that a little sooner!

“Uh oh,” I muttered. Then, trying to convince myself I was totally in control of the situation, I also hung up the phone. I stood up and put both hands on my hips like a superhero.

“Okay.” I nodded. “I’ll just leave," and I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.

“Daphne”—yes, I talk to myself, especially when stressed—“what the hell are you doing?" when I hesitated, "get out of here.” Now!"

But some wicked part of me didn’t listen, and I turned back and with a rushed sweep of my arm, I shoved everything into my oversized purse. Then I rushed to the door, cracking it open just enough to peek out. I'd watched enough movies to know you always check to see if the coast is clear. It wasn't!.

My stomach dropped. The two men I’d run into at the hotel entrance were coming up the hall. Worse, the short one was pulling out a gun. Apparently, the one in the safe wasn’t the only one they had.

I quietly shut the door and put up the privacy chain. Not that that would keep them out—they seemed very determined! Hide. I needed to hide. I spun around, eyes darting for a place to conceal myself. The room, lovely as it was, wasn’t designed for hide and seek. There was no closet deep enough, no convenient curtain to slip behind. That left one option—the connecting door to the next room, the one with the blaring TV. I unbolted my side and started pounding on the other door frantically.

“Come on, come on!”

The door swung open, revealing George, wearing slacks and the unbuttoned shirt. If I hadn’t been in full panic mode, I’d have really enjoyed just how much he looked like a young George Clooney.

“What do you want now. lady?” he asked, his voice irritated.

“I want in!” I tried to push in, but he blocked me.

“Are you nuts?” George spluttered.

“What? No! Please, I need to hide. Just for a few minutes!”

Behind me, the distinct click of a key sliding into my room’s lock sent a fresh wave of panic through me. The first attempt didn’t work—small mercies—but that wouldn’t last. Then the key worked, but the privacy chain held.

“Crap. Just let me in!” I whispered urgently and I ducked under his arm and pulled my door shut, then his, and locked it. Leaning against the door, I listened as Jerry and Sam broke the privacy chain and the door swung open with a loud bang that hushed George up instantly. We stood quietly, our eyes locked, as we listened to what was going on in my room. My heart was racing and I was too scared to breathe or look away.

Jerry and Sam stood in front of the open safe, staring at its barren interior.

Sam frowned. “The safe’s empty.”

“Yes,” Jerry said, his voice dangerously calm. “The question is, who emptied it?”

Sam sighed. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

Jerry shot him a look. “Clearly.”

“You’re not gonna let this drop, are you?”

Jerry ignored him, already searching the room. His gaze landed on a bag sitting on the bed. He strode over, unzipped it, and started rifling through its contents. Out came gym clothes, then some neatly folded underwear. He barely hesitated before tossing those aside too.

Across the room, Sam yanked open the closet door with a bang, rummaging through the hanging clothes. “I did exactly what I was told!” he snapped.

Jerry was unimpressed. “No, you didn’t. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

The two of them continued to bicker as they tore through the room.

Back in George’s room, his blue-gray eyes sharp with curiosity, “Doesn’t sound like they’re finding whatever they’re looking for,” he whispered. “Do you know what it is?”

I shook my head, gripping my purse so tightly my knuckles turned white.

George eyed me, skeptical. “Really? It wouldn’t happen to be in your purse, would it?”

“Absolutely not,” I whispered back. Wow. Apparently, I can lie through my teeth when the situation calls for it!

George didn’t buy it. With a quick grab, he reached for the bag, but I wouldn’t let it go. I tried to keep it on my shoulder, twist it out of his grasp, but the strap slipped off my shoulder, and we argued in whispers as we played tug-of-war with my purse.

“Give me my purse!” I hissed, pulling it back toward me.

“Look, lady—” He yanked it his way.

“Daphne,” I spat out as I pulled with all my strength.

“Fine. Daphne. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” He pulled it back toward him.

“I don’t know what’s going on. Honestly. I just checked into my room, got a call from the clerk telling me to clear out because some bad guys with guns were coming to retrieve something they left behind.” I held on with all my might.

George raised an eyebrow. “Something you know nothing about?”

“Right.” I said.

At that moment, the strap of my purse gave out. The bag hit the floor, and out came the gun and the jar rolled a few inches before coming to a stop, the severed finger inside bobbing in the liquid accusingly—this time pointing at him!

George stared at the gun and the finger, then let go of the bag as he cocked a crooked grin at me.

“Right,” he said.