“We’re not going to talk about that today.”
“Stop saying ‘today’! How many more days are we going to spend in here? How long are you going to—”
“I don’t know!” he bellows. His gun falls to the floor, shocked out of his hand by the explosion of his voice. “I don’t know, Cara. Stop asking me.”
It’s a few seconds before my body stops shaking. Silently, I count to ten, then to twenty, watching the gun as I go through the numbers. If it were going to go off after falling so hard, it would have done it straightaway. It’s just lying there.
The man covers his face with his hands. He’s shaking harder than I am. Can’t wait to be gone and away from me. All I need to do is eat, drink, use the bathroom and then he can tie me up again and get out of here. Why won’t I hurry up and make it easy for him? That’s what he’s thinking.
Once he’s untied me, I need to find a way to keep him here, keep him talking to me. I can’t bear the thought of being able to walk and move my arms freely for half an hour, only to then be bound by ropes again.
Maybe he would stay if I talked about something neutral: the Arizona weather or our favorite movies.
He’s recovered a little and is pointing the gun at me again.
“I’m sorry,” I say. The words nearly choke me.
He nods. “It’s okay. I understand. This isn’t easy for either of us.”
There are so many questions racing around my brain, but I’d be crazy to ask them. And I think I’ve worked out one answer at least.
“If I could change our situation, I would.”
I can see it all over his face: he doesn’t know what’s going to happen beyond today any more than I do. He’s not in control of any of it.
This is someone else’s operation. Someone else’s plan.
11
October 13, 2017
Sir, with all due respect, you need to go home.”
Yeah, those were the words he’d heard. Detective Orwin Priddey couldn’t believe it. Bonnie Juno—a woman he’d only seen on TV until today—was telling a distraught man whose wife was missing that he needed to get on a plane to London, England, and forget all about finding her.
Juno was running the show here, no doubt—as surely as Priddey assumed she ran her own show. There were seven people present today—himself, Bryce Sanders, Juno, her Barbie-doll producer lady whose name Priddey forgot seconds after hearing it, the resort manager, Dane Williamson, a guest who claimed she’d seen Melody Chapa alive, and Patrick Burrows, husband of the missing British vacationer.
Swallowtail evidently prided itself on being well equipped for executive meetings. All present had a small notepad, a pencil and two water glasses in front of them. At the center of the large table were twelve bottles of water: six still and six sparkling. So far, nobody had written or drunk anything.
In addition to the six people, the strongest air-conditioning Priddey had ever known was also present at the meeting. He kept telling himself he’d ask for it to be turned down if no one else did in the next five minutes.
“Go home?” Patrick Burrows looked as if he was struggling to keep himself together. “I’m going nowhere till Cara’s found. How can I? How can I go home and tell my kids their mum’s missing? That I don’t know where she is? First thing they’d ask is why I didn’t stay and find her. So that’s what I’m going to do. I found her once. I can do it again.”
“And was she pleased to see you when you confronted her?” Bonnie Juno asked. “Was she hell! We all just heard it from your own mouth: she was mad that you’d disrespected her wishes. She set a boundary—October 24, her chosen return-home date—and you violated that boundary. The last words she spoke to you before running off were, ‘If you don’t leave immediately, I will.’ Before I go on, let me check—am I wrong about any of that? Heidi?”
That was the Barbie producer’s name: Heidi.
“It’s what I heard, too, Bonnie.”
“Dane? Detective Sanders?”
“Me too, Bonnie,” said Dane Williamson quickly. Priddey had the impression he wanted to get his agreement in before Sanders could. The two of them were sitting on either side of Juno. At least Sanders had made it look like he’d just happened to pick the seat he was in and might as likely have chosen any other. Only Priddey knew different, from the goal-successfully-achieved look on Sanders’s face that no one else would be able to interpret: wide, innocent eyes, cheeks slightly inflated.
Williamson wasn’t such a smooth operator. He’d been visibly panting in his eagerness to get close to the famous TV personality. First thing he’d done after sitting down was shuffle his chair closer to Juno’s—so much so that she’d felt crowded and moved hers nearer to Sanders, leading to more cheek-puffing.
“I heard that, too, Bonnie, yes,” said Sanders.
“Oh, good,” said Juno. “Well, then my ears are working. Mr. Burrows, I’m going to speak frankly to you, and one day you’ll thank me for it. I don’t think Cara’s gone far. Her car’s still here, right? I think she’s hiding out somewhere in this resort. But we’ve got a problem here. Your marital issues have gotten mixed up with this Melody Chapa business, and we need to act fast so we know what we’re dealing with. You need to act fast. If, as seems overwhelmingly likely, no one’s taken your wife and she’s laying low by choice, avoiding you . . . well, we need to know that, super quick. Best thing you can do by far is get on a plane back to England. I’d bet my last thin dime Cara’ll reappear the moment you’re gone.”
“How will she know he’s gone?” asked Tarin Fry, one of the three Swallowtail guests who had apparently seen Melody Chapa alive. “Since we don’t know where she is, we can’t tell her, right? If she were sticking close enough to Patrick to observe his movements, I think we’d all have spotted her by now.”
“Oh, she’ll know,” said Bonnie Juno. “Trust me—he leaves?” She pointed over the tops of the water bottles at Burrows, arm fully extended. “She’ll pop back up.”
“Pop back up?” Tarin Fry muttered with a small shake of her head.
Juno turned to Dane Williamson. “Dane, if you care about the Burrows family, tell Mr. Burrows there’s no room for him at Swallowtail. Mr. Burrows, you wanna stay close by? Fine—go to Mesa or Glendale. I might sound harsh, but I’m trying to help you. You don’t clear out of the way? Next time you’ll see your wife’ll be October 24, when she was always planning to go home, and you’ll spend every second between now and then worrying that something terrible’s happened to her. Dane?”
Williamson looked nervous. Perhaps he was imagining the headline: “Resort Manager Forcibly Expels Distraught Husband of Missing Tourist.”
Tarin Fry said to Juno, “Leave Patrick alone. You’re seriously going to drive him out of the resort where his wife was last seen?”
This was kind of fun. Priddey was enjoying his job more now that he officially didn’t give a damn about anything but the paycheck.
Sanders was saying nothing. He was sitting right back, looking at the wall, as if this part of the conversation didn’t concern him.
“I have a question for Bonnie.” Tarin Fry again.
“Shoot,” said Juno.
“The way you said, ‘Oh, she’ll know’ a minute ago, meaning Cara will know as soon as Patrick leaves . . . have you seen Cara, or communicated with her since you got here? Are you helping her to hide?”
Juno smiled indulgently. “What a peculiar question. No, categorically, I am not. Why would you think that?”
“Well, you were claiming certain knowledge of something you can’t know unless you know—more than you’re letting on.”
“Hah! Honey, that’s my style.”
“Sure, I know that. But this is a matter of substance, not style. You made a claim: that Cara would know instantly if Patrick left. I’m asking you if you’re able to substantiate that claim.”
Juno leaned forward and peered at her. “You’re the florist, right?”
“I’m a florist. For all
I know there might be others around the table. Him, maybe?” Fry pointed at Sanders.
“No, ma’am,” said Sanders with an easy chuckle.
Priddey decided he liked Tarin Fry. She was entertaining.
“How come you’re not an attorney, with all your talk of substantiating claims?” Juno asked her.
“I like being a florist.”
“Huh.” Juno looked puzzled by this. “Well, all right, you made a fair point. I don’t know for sure that Cara Burrows would reappear if her husband made himself scarce. It’s a hunch, that’s all.”
“Any chance we could get the air-conditioning turned down?” Sanders asked.
“Here’s an idea,” said Tarin Fry. “Patrick, you could leave temporarily, then come back in a few hours—put Bonnie’s theory to the test. If Cara pops up while you’re gone, great. If she doesn’t, we’ll know something’s wrong and the police can start trying to find her like a real missing person.”
Juno gave a small shrug and nodded. “Sounds like a good compromise to me.”
“While they’re at it, they can find Riyonna, too,” Fry added.
“Wait!” Bonnie held up a hand. “Did I miss something? Dane, you told me Riyonna Briggs left of her own accord after you gave her a piece of your mind.”
“I talked to her, yes. She was . . . noticeably upset afterwards. I maybe came down a little hard on her. Truth is, I couldn’t believe she’d indulged Mrs. McNair to the extent she had—going as far as calling the police, letting other guests hear what was going on so that everyone got scared and started imagining they’d seen Melody, too. No offense to you two officers, but . . . Riyonna should have known she was wasting your time. Lilith McNair sees a different Melody Chapa every time she stays with us. Once it was a boy!”
Williamson looked around, hoping for a favorable response to his punch line. No one reacted. They’d all heard about Boy Melody before.
“Riyonna said she’d wanted to be thorough,” the resort manager went on. “It was Mrs. McNair seeing Poggy that made her feel this time might be different and couldn’t be ignored. Point is, however she felt about it, taking action without running it past me was unacceptable. Unprofessional. I told her straight out that she was lucky to still have a job after pulling a stunt like that. She left my office in tears.”
Bonnie Juno sighed. “All right, so, chances are Riyonna’s feeling like a fool, pride hurt, and she’ll be back as soon as she gets over it. Heidi, get our people onto this. See if she can be tracked down, as a matter of urgency. Liaise with Dane when we’re done here; get her number, address and the rest.”
“Will do, Bonnie.” Heidi made a note on her pad.
“Might be worth sending her a conciliatory text,” Sanders suggested to Williamson. “In case she’s too scared to show her face. You know: ‘please come back, all is forgiven’?”
“Great idea, Detective,” said Juno. “Do it, Dane—now, if you wouldn’t mind.” Williamson nodded and reached for his phone.
“This is ridiculous,” Tarin Fry blurted out. “You’re giving preferential treatment to a less likely hypothesis over a more likely one. Two women are missing. They should both be here at Swallowtail, and they’re not. Both—”
“I think we all need to keep calm and not jump to the conclusion that anyone we can’t see around this table has been snatched by a faceless abductor,” Sanders cut her off. “This is how hysteria spreads, and believe me, once it takes hold, it’s hard to make sense of anything.”
“I could not agree more, Detective,” said Bonnie Juno.
“I’m glad the two of you agree, but I hadn’t finished.” Tarin Fry’s smile was cold. “Okay, I won’t say ‘missing’ if you’re squeamish. Two women, suddenly not here. One saw Melody Chapa alive and heard her mention Poggy by name, the other called the police after another resort guest saw the same thing: Melody with Poggy. Now, you’re going to tell me this could all be a big coincidence—and yes, Cara and Riyonna both had reasons to run away that had nothing to do with Melody, I’m not disputing that. And before someone points out that Mrs. McNair also saw Melody and I did, too, and no one’s abducted either of us—obviously I’m aware of that. On balance, though, I still think Cara and Riyonna have been removed from Swallowtail and taken God-knows-where against their will. Here’s why.”
Tarin Fry stood up and started to walk around the table, passing behind people’s backs. Bonnie Juno adjusted her chair so that she could watch Fry head-on as she moved toward her. Priddey felt as if he were watching a drama in which everyone loved their own lines a bit too much. He wondered how long he’d have to sit here listening to them all.
“Cara first,” said Fry. “She asks Patrick to leave, to allow her this much-needed time alone. He tries to persuade her to be happy about him staying, or he refuses to leave, or whatever. Cara wants to win this one, and the only way she can think to do that, if he won’t go, is to disappear herself and leave him stranded. Right?”
Juno, Sanders, Heidi and Williamson all nodded. Patrick Burrows looked dazed, staring off into the distance as if he were alone in the room.
“Okay, good,” said Fry. “So, what could be more stupid and self-defeating than for Cara to make her big point by staying at Swallowtail, the resort her husband refuses to leave? And he certainly won’t be going anywhere once she’s missing. She’d know that. This is a big resort, but let’s face it: if she’s here, she’ll be found by the end of the day—and there Patrick will be, waiting for her. Instead, she could have got into her car and been halfway to Santa Fe before Patrick had found his way to reception. I think that’s what she’d have done.”
Priddey agreed. He said nothing.
“Moving on to Riyonna . . .” Tarin Fry had returned to her chair and was standing behind it. “She’d been disciplined by her boss and she was upset. Mr. Williamson, I have two questions for you: Is Riyonna a defiant, combative employee? And does she have another source of income aside from her job here? Rich husband or parents, anything like that?”
“No,” said Williamson. “Riyonna’s a very respectful employee. Friendly, courteous. And not in great shape financially since her divorce last year.”
“Deferential to your authority, would you say?”
“Absolutely. Apart from this one time.” He sighed. “I should probably have been a little less harsh with her.”
“When she walked out of your office in tears, was it the end of her shift?”
“No. Nearer the beginning.”
Tarin Fry nodded and half smiled. “Well, I don’t know about you all, but if I were short of cash and I’d just had a warning from my boss after a major screwup, the last thing I’d do is walk out before the end of my shift. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if you mess up at work and get called out on it, that doesn’t entitle you to leave early.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Bonnie Juno thoughtfully. “And if you needed every cent you could lay your hands on, post-divorce—”
“You’d apologize to your manager and get the hell on with doing your job,” Tarin Fry finished the sentence for her. “The only way you wouldn’t do that is if you have a problem with authority—and we’ve just heard that Riyonna doesn’t. I might walk out and risk long-term unemployment and penury rather than eat humble pie served up by a jerk—no offense, Mr. Williamson—but I don’t believe Riyonna would.”
“Those are some very good points,” said Juno.
“I’m glad you liked them. Now I have something to say to you two.” Fry pointed at Priddey, then at Sanders. “Instead of wasting your time combing every inch of this place for Cara, focus on room 324 and the elusive Robert and Hope Katz.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Bonnie Juno cut her off. “Four rooms suddenly turns into one room? What about 322, 323 and 325?”
“I’m in 325, and I told you all already, Cara said the bathroom of the room she went into—”
“. . . was on the other side of the hallway,” said Juno. “Yeah, you did. But we only have your word f
or that, don’t we?”
“Yes, you do.” Fry didn’t flinch. Turning to Priddey, she said, “Trust me. Three twenty-four’s the one. Robert and Hope Katz. Who I’m betting don’t exist. Another place you need to search? Cara’s casita, where she was staying. Her kidnapper’s DNA might be all over it. And she had an iPad with her, one she borrowed from the shop here, in the main building. See if you can find it. I don’t think she’d have left it by choice. It was a way of contacting her kids. Oh—she used Instagram to do that, I think, so that’s something else you should do: look and see if she and her kids have been Instagram-messaging each other or whatever the hell it’s called. If one of the kids has sent her a message recently and she hasn’t replied . . . well, that’s another sign she didn’t leave here on her own steam, right?”
“I have a question for you, Ms. Fry,” Bonnie Juno said.
“Mrs. Fry.”
“How come you and Lilith McNair are still here? Is this master abductor not very thorough?”
Tarin Fry didn’t miss a beat. “Too thorough would be too obvious. Even you guys, desperate as you all are to pretend nothing’s seriously wrong here—even you couldn’t reasonably explain away four unexpected disappearances. No one needs to remove Mrs. McNair from the scene—the more she talks, the more out-and-out crazy she sounds. Better to leave her here to discredit, by extrapolation, all sightings of Melody alive.”
Juno narrowed her eyes. “And you?”
“I take good care of myself. I don’t wander around in a naïve haze like Cara and Riyonna, thinking the world’s a sweet and lovely place. You don’t believe me? Let’s put it to the test. Hire someone to try and bundle me into the trunk of their car and drive me outta here. You’ll see what happens.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Bonnie Juno said wearily.
Tarin Fry turned on Priddey. “Go to the spa and find the bit of paper in the pot in the crystal grotto that’s got ‘Cara Burrows—is she safe?’ written on it. That’s been there since before Cara disappeared. She found it. It scared her, understandably.”
Keep Her Safe Page 18