by David Bell
“We’re on it,” Willard said. “We called Wyckoff PD. They’re heading to the hotel right now.”
“Good,” Kimberly said.
“This old dog still knows how to do his job,” Willard said. “We’ll hear from them soon.”
“Good. Do we know Morgan Reynolds and Joshua Fields just met in the airport?” Kimberly asked. “And as far as we know they haven’t been friendly before? Not online or anywhere else? People can meet all sorts of ways these days.”
“We haven’t found any connections,” Brandon said. “Online or elsewhere. But that doesn’t mean they haven’t connected some way. Or met in person during Fields’s travels.”
“What else did the father say?” Willard asked.
“It took a while to get this information out of him. The guy was cagey at first. You could tell he didn’t want to get his son in any deeper.”
“Understandable,” Willard said.
“So I laid it on thick. I told him he needed to tell us everything so we could protect his son. Which is true, of course.”
“And that got through to him?” Willard asked.
“Yeah. It’s obvious the guy loves his kid. Anyway, here’s the big news. Fields called his dad, asking him to have a cop friend look into two people for him. One was Morgan Reynolds, who he was with. The other name he gave his dad?” Brandon paused, adding his own dramatic touch. “Simon Caldwell.”
Kimberly felt a burst of energy travel up her spine and hit the base of her skull. “He’s right there, then. Thirty minutes away from here, in Wyckoff.”
“My alma mater,” Brandon said. “Henry Clay.”
“Mine too,” Willard said.
“He’s there. He has to be.”
Willard raised a cautioning hand. “We don’t know that for sure.”
“Why else would this Fields guy be asking to have the police check on him?” Kimberly asked.
“It’s possible,” Willard said. “Of course.”
“Think about it. We haven’t seen Simon in almost forty-eight hours,” she said. “When Giles was first reported missing, he was all over us. I called him back yesterday, and he didn’t return my call.”
“Yeah, you’re getting warmer,” Willard said. “But maybe he’s laying low because we learned about the two assaults on his record.”
“Not to mention the one in college Steven Hatfield just told me about.”
“Assault?” Willard asked.
“Intimidation, maybe?” Kimberly said. “Harassment? It’s close. But there’s more.”
Brandon and Willard both edged forward in their seats.
“It turns out Giles had some issues with his temper.” She told them about the run-ins with two female employees, the ones she’d heard about from Steven Hatfield. “We know Morgan Reynolds and Giles Caldwell had a beef over money. Could it have blown up into something more?”
“We don’t know,” Willard said. “But it’s a theory.”
“But we do know Fields and Reynolds are together in Wyckoff,” Brandon said. “At least they were as of last night.”
“And Morgan grew up in Wyckoff?” Kimberly asked.
“Yup,” Brandon said. “She also went to Henry Clay. Like us.”
Willard shifted his weight. He turned his head from one side to the other, grimacing. He looked like he had a crick in his neck. “So, we have a missing person here, Giles Caldwell. Meanwhile, that man’s brother, his former employee, and a random complete stranger may all be together in beautiful Wyckoff, Kentucky, where the former employee—”
“And . . . can we call her a person of interest yet?” Kimberly asked.
“We’re getting there. And that’s where she grew up and went to college. And the stranger is trying to get his dad to call in favors with the police to dig up dirt on the other two. What a wonderful world we live in.”
“I just got back from TechGreen,” Kimberly said. “Hatfield didn’t have any insights about Morgan Reynolds, except he didn’t think the company did anything wrong in not paying her the bonus.”
“It’s in her contract,” Brandon said. “Whatever they develop becomes the intellectual property of the company.”
“That’s in everyone’s contract,” Kimberly said. Her words snapped out like a beat on a snare drum. She took a breath. “But everyone else who made an app got a bonus. Just not her. Some people don’t always get what they deserve at work.”
Willard nodded, seemingly unaware of her irony. “But it’s a big leap from disappointment to murder.”
“What else do people kill for?” Kimberly asked. “Love and money. Right?”
“We need a body, though,” Willard said directly to Kimberly. “Or some kind of evidence. Is that all?”
“No, it’s not,” Kimberly said. “I learned something about our brothers. Apparently Simon feels like he got the shaft when their mother died, that certain things went to Giles in a way that wasn’t fair. If you’re looking for a motive, that’s money right there.”
“But to kill his brother over it?” Willard asked. “He came in here pitching a fit, saying we weren’t doing enough.”
“That’s a big risk,” Kimberly said.
“This guy doesn’t seem like one for the safe bet,” Willard said. “He’s over in Wyckoff chasing down leads on his own. He’s not shy. Or completely stable. Was that it at TechGreen?”
Kimberly shook her head. “Get this: TechGreen still has landlines. On every desk.”
Willard pointed to his phone. “They come in handy. What if the grid goes out?”
“Right. Turns out the desk where Morgan Reynolds used to work still gets the occasional call for her. And one of them was from the passport office just a few days ago. Except they didn’t ask for Morgan Reynolds. They asked for Morgan something else. But the woman who has Morgan’s desk now couldn’t remember the name. Thought it began with a ‘W.’”
“Maybe it was a wrong number,” Brandon said.
“But what are the odds?” Kimberly asked. “She used another name on the plane. She probably used another one for the passport.”
“Why give her work number to the passport office?” Brandon asked. “Why not home or a cell?”
“Maybe she gave them both,” Kimberly said. “They tried one, and when they didn’t get an answer, they called the other.”
“Whatever the reason, it’s all starting to sound like premeditation,” Willard said. “Maybe she planned to do something to Giles and then leave the country.”
“Exactly,” Kimberly said. She thought about all the angles, all the moving parts. “And she’s right over in Wyckoff.”
“Actually,” Willard said, “I wanted to talk to you about that for a minute.”
“You mean you want me to take a little road trip?”
41
It turned out to be one of those rare hotels with windows that actually opened, and I managed to slide the pane over, creating a three-inch space, big enough for a six-year-old. Unless I could lose fifty pounds in two minutes, I wasn’t going out that way. Not to mention that I was on the third floor, about twenty feet above the parking lot. I could jump, sure, but I’d likely end up with two broken legs. Or worse.
But then I saw something useful.
Simon banged again. If Simon’s goal was to attract the attention of every housekeeper and guest on the floor, he was likely succeeding. I bounded across the room and said, “Give me one more minute. I have to use the bathroom.”
“You better not be screwing with me,” Simon said.
I cracked the door, leaving the security latch in place. Simon’s big head filled the small opening like a hungry dog’s.
“Can’t you just wait for me in the lobby?” I said. “Can’t a man use the bathroom in peace?”
“You said twenty minutes.”
“No, you said t
wenty minutes. Do you mind?”
“Let me wait in the room.”
“Look, Simon, I’ll be down soon. Just let me go to the bathroom.”
“You better—”
“Simon. I could have called the cops by now, and I didn’t. Will you be chill?”
I shut the door in his face, realizing I might have missed my chance at the window. I rushed back across the room, and the pleasant morning air blew in, a nice change from the artificial, musty atmosphere of the hotel.
I looked down and saw Billy, the garbage boy, pushing a cart full of what I hoped was clean laundry across the parking lot. Thanks to Simon, I’d almost missed him. Billy was just reaching the back entrance of the hotel, his hair mussed, his shoulders slumped. Whatever he’d done with his girlfriend after work the previous night had left him worn-out and not quite ready to face the new day.
I gave a soft whistle, hoping Simon had left the other side of the door and couldn’t hear me.
Billy looked up. He squinted for a moment, his face uncertain and confused. He probably thought he was being summoned from on high, my whistle from the third floor of a two-star hotel the modern equivalent of a burning bush.
“Oh,” he said, recognizing me.
I dug in my wallet and pulled out a twenty. It fluttered in the breeze two stories above Billy’s head. “I need your help. Bring that cart to my room. Three oh six. Right now.”
Billy blinked a few times. I could see a scattering of acne on his cheeks. “But my manager—”
I pulled out another twenty. “There’s more. Just get up here. Fast.”
“Is this illegal?” he asked.
“Not at all. Is Sean working?”
“No.”
“All the better. Come on.”
Billy pushed the cart into the building without committing one way or the other. I went over to the door and looked through the peephole. No sign of Simon. Maybe I’d put him off just long enough.
And then I waited.
I’d like to say I waited calmly on the edge of the bed, making plans for what I was going to do once—if—I made it past Simon and out of the hotel. But I didn’t.
Instead I paced. Like a caged lion. Back and forth, back and forth.
I quickly concluded that Billy must have flaked out, that he’d run into his boss or Sean the security guard, who’d decided to show up on his day off just to make sure nothing unseemly was transpiring in the hotel. Or maybe Billy just figured my money wasn’t worth the possibility of getting fired.
As far as my plan B . . . it didn’t exist. I could call the cops and risk never seeing Morgan again, but the abandoned photograph made me think she wanted me to find her. Or I could talk to Simon and tell him what he wanted to know, which meant he might track Morgan down. But neither of those options was appealing. . . .
A gentle knock sounded. I went over, hopeful. Through the peephole I saw Billy, hair still mussed, laundry cart by his side. I undid the chain and the security bar and pulled the door open. I looked past Billy, up and down the hall in each direction. Not only did I not see Simon, but I didn’t see anyone else at the moment. No housekeepers, no guests. No man with the giant eagle tattoo and the Fu Manchu mustache.
“Do you know what I want you to do?” I asked.
“I’m guessing you don’t need a bunch of clean towels.”
I grabbed my bags and came back to the door. Billy was already moving some of the laundry aside, making space for me. Before I got in, I handed him three twenties, a big raise from the night before. A trip in the laundry cart past a maniac seemed like a more expensive job.
“There’s a man in the lobby. Big guy, light jacket, edgy.”
“I saw him. He looked at me like he wanted to choke me.”
“He wants to choke me, I think. For sure he wants to choke the woman I was looking for last night. He can’t see me. My car’s on the north side of the building. A black Charger. Just get me there.”
“We’ll have to go right past him. The elevator comes out into the lobby. If he’s down there, he’ll see me.”
“Don’t look at him,” I said. “Roll me past and then we’re done.”
Billy stared at me, no doubt contemplating his life choices. No doubt he hadn’t expected this when he applied for a part-time job to help him pay for college.
“You’re crazy, man.”
“Think of the story you can tell your friends. Or your girl.”
He nodded. I knew when a sale was closed.
“Okay, I’m feeling you,” he said, pointing at the cart. “Get in.”
42
Kimberly felt like a coward. She could have called Maria directly but opted for reaching out to Peter first. She knew Maria would be at a game-day soccer practice, and she hoped Peter would lift the burden of breaking the bad news to their daughter. She listened to the phone ring while the tires of her city-issued sedan hummed against the two-lane state highway, heading west to Wyckoff.
“What’s up?” Peter asked.
“Everything.”
He sounded instantly concerned. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. Not really.” Kimberly regretted alarming him. No one needed more stress added to their lives. “It’s just . . . it’s work. Something’s come up. I’m not going to make the soccer game tonight.”
“Oh, okay. I’m going. No worries.”
“I know you’re going. With Jennifer.”
“Yeah. So?”
“It’s not you I’m concerned about. We have a touchy, judgmental preteen to deal with.”
“Yes, her,” Peter said with a sigh. “But she’ll have to deal. It’s nothing you can get out of, is it? Oh, is it about Giles Caldwell? Is that it?”
“You know I can’t really say.”
“Oh, come on. You used to give me all the good dirt. Even after we split up, you’d tell me. I can keep a secret.”
“Okay, you win. Who else could it be but Giles Caldwell? He’s taking over my life. Or at least the people who knew him are. And the mayor.”
“Did you find him?” Peter asked, not trying to hide his interest in any potentially macabre details. She could tell by his tone he was expecting to hear about a body stuffed in a trunk or a finger mailed to the police as part of a ransom demand. And she had to admit she liked hearing his voice that way. While she could find no single atom of desire inside her body to be with Peter again, she liked the sense of familiarity, the easy give-and-take they could fall into. Only people who knew each other a long time—and well—could so quickly settle into that rhythm. And they certainly knew each other well. They’d been through a lot together—marriage, childbirth, divorce. They’d lost their virginity to each other senior year of high school. Jennifer couldn’t say that. All things considered, Peter was her friend. And it was nice to be able to talk to a friend. “Or . . . did you find any part of him?”
“No, nothing that concrete. We have good leads on a couple of interesting people, so I’m driving out to Wyckoff right now. Willard is sending me to check on it all in person.”
“It’s a nice drive out there,” he said. “Always makes me think of taking Maria to Fantasy Farm when she was little. Remember that?”
“Of course I do.”
“You must have a good lead if you’re going in person.”
“You forget, Giles Caldwell is a prominent citizen in our little burg. He employs people, pays a lot of taxes. Gives a lot to charity. And . . .”
“And what?”
“He and the mayor are friends. Of course the mayor wants this to be a high priority. She wants it wiped away as soon as possible, so Laurel Falls can go back to touting itself as the nicest small town in America.”
“I guess they can’t claim that title when someone has gone missing. Maybe they can revise it to Nicest Small Town in America with
a Potentially Murdered Business Owner.”
“It has a nice ring to it.” Kimberly saw an oasis of fast food restaurants, and her stomach rumbled. She’d had only coffee that morning. In fact, that’s all she’d had all day. Not a good plan. She felt wired, edgy. And her hunger exacerbated her frustration over missing the soccer game after promising three times she’d attend. “Sometimes I hate my job.”
“Well, let me ask you something,” Peter said.
She recognized his tone. He was going to launch into something completely reasonable and logical, something that shifted her frame of reference so she saw the situation in a new light. Isn’t that what friends do for each other? Yes, it is.
“Go ahead, ex-husband,” she said.
“If you were the lieutenant—when you are the lieutenant—would you have sent you out to Wyckoff to check on . . . whatever it is you’re checking on up there? These so-called interesting people or whatever?”
Kimberly considered her reply. She kept two hands on the wheel, Peter’s voice coming through the hands-free system, the talk show she’d been listening to silenced so she could make the phone call. She gave the matter serious thought, considered all the facts, the same ones Willard knew.
“Of course,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I’d like it.”
“Isn’t that what it means to be an adult?” Peter asked. “Doing stuff you don’t want to do just because you know it’s right?”
“Like I said, that doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Do you want me to break it to Maria?” Peter asked. “And then after the game we’ll take her for pizza. That usually soothes her preteen angst.”
“Yes, and tell her I’ll call her when I get the chance.”
“Isn’t it good for her to learn she’s not the center of the world?” Peter asked. “Sometimes work comes first, right?”
“Right. And it is kind of important to find a missing person.”
“Exactly.”
Kimberly sighed. “I was looking forward to the game even though I know nothing about soccer.”
“Match,” Peter said.
“Whatever. I’ll keep you in the loop about when I’m coming back. Maybe we’ll learn something big in Wyckoff and wrap this up. I’m trying to look for positive things.”