Left To Hide

by Pierce, Blake

  “And when did Mr. and Mrs. Hanes arrive to this lovely establishment you run so wonderfully well?”

  Maria frowned in thought, but then nodded again. “I remember all our customers. They’re part of the family. Mr. and Mrs. Hanes arrived before first snowfall. They went missing four days ago.”

  John spoke for the first time, and his presence, followed by a grunt, seemed to break a sort of spell. Both Robert and Maria glanced at him, their eyes narrowing somewhat. “Before snowfall,” John said. “Means the bodies might be covered.”

  Robert’s eyes widened nearly imperceptibly in alarm. Maria gasped, staring white-faced at John. “Bodies?” she said. “You think they’re—they’re…” She swallowed.

  “Dead?” John provided. “Probably. Been gone a while.” He glanced toward Robert, who had passed a hand over his face and was massaging the bridge of his nose as if against a sudden headache.

  “They may very well be fine,” Robert said, patting Maria on the arm again before lowering his hand and turning toward John.

  John grunted. “Probably not. Probably dead. We should go looking though—soon.”

  “I—I can tell you the trail they usually hiked,” said Maria, clearly holding back a sob. “Like I said, they were family to us here.”

  John shrugged. “Probably were lured somewhere quiet. Whoever got to them wouldn’t have wanted them on familiar ground when they struck. What?” he demanded of Robert, who was now glowering at the larger man.

  In a clipped, long-suffering tone, Robert said, “We don’t know they’re dead. Nor do we know the context of their unfortunate disappearance. All of this is conjecture.”

  John eyed the smaller man. “Conjecture? I don’t know what this word means.”

  Robert sighed and smiled one last time at Maria, before bidding farewell and then moving toward the elevator. As they approached Robert’s luggage and the attendant in waiting, Robert muttered, beneath his breath, “Don’t you have a jacket? Something besides those greasy sweatshirts?”

  John kept his eyes straight ahead. “Not all of us packed three closets for a couple days in the snow.”

  “Oh? In a place like this, my friend, you might want to pay attention. Appearance matters more than character in these halls.”

  John paused, turning on Robert and looking him straight in the eye. “I’m aware of the appearance I’m portraying,” he said, quietly. “Not all bees are caught with honey, yes?” Then he turned once more and strode toward the elevator.

  They would unpack, claim their room, and then set out in search of Mr. and Mrs. Hanes. The search and rescue team were treating it like a missing person’s case—as if they’d gone hiking and fallen into a gorge. But John knew better. A killer was on the loose, and to find the Swiss couple, he would have to think like a murderer.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Adele heard a knock on her door. She held up a single finger, then realized the person on the other side of the threshold couldn’t see her. “One moment,” she called out.

  Adele turned back to her computer, and her eyes flicked to Agent Marshall, who was sitting on the opposite side of the circular wooden table. Adele inhaled deeply, gathering her thoughts. “So you’re telling me the Benevetis were deeply invested in fracking operations,” she said.

  Agent Marshall nodded once, her short-cropped hair catching the light through the window beyond in a strange pattern, like a smudge around her forehead.

  “What were these two doing up here? Do you think they were involved in the opening of the new resort?”

  Agent Marshall shook her head. “I don’t know. That information is protected. Even to us. Where there’s money at play, power comes too.”

  Someone knocked on the door again, politely, but a bit louder this time.

  “Almost,” Adele called. She returned attention to the German agent. “An Italian bigwig in the oil industry goes missing in the Alps. There’s a headline for you.”

  Agent Marshall smiled politely at Adele, her arms crossed in front of her. But she held her tongue. Adele studied the younger woman, trying to read her expression. Was Marshall here to help on the case, or was she there to prevent Adele from meddling?

  Before the person outside could finish their third knock on the door, Adele called, “Come in, please.”

  The door opened with a click and swung in, hesitantly. A man in a valet uniform shifted uncomfortably in the door.

  “Hello?” Adele said curiously.

  “Yes,” said the man in the doorway, hesitant. He took a shuffling step into the room, but then seemed to think better of it, and just as quickly retreated. He waited uncertainly in the threshold, glancing from Adele to Agent Marshall.

  Adele turned her own quizzical countenance on the young agent. Marshall, though, stood to her feet and gestured at the man. “Thank you for coming, Otto.” Marshall shot a look toward Adele. “You had mentioned you wanted to speak with some of the employees about the Benevetis.”

  Adele’s eyebrows inched up in understanding.

  “This is Otto Klein,” Marshall said. “He’s been working in the resort for nearly five years. He often interacted with Mr. and Mrs. Beneveti.”

  Adele’s expression softened, and she glanced at the man. “Are you a valet?”

  Otto nodded once and cleared his throat. “Yes, I am,” he said, in crisp German.

  “And the missing couple, you knew them?”

  Mr. Klein was still standing in the door, but at a gesture from Adele, he reluctantly entered and came to the edge of the table. The door behind him was still open, and Adele knew from experience that people in flight-or-fight situations would often try to manage the quickest point of exit. Those who preferred flight wouldn’t shut the door. Those who preferred to fight would.

  She examined the valet from her chair, and he didn’t sit, looking down at her with a nervous expression. He was quite handsome, as most the employees of this resort were. Adele knew that one thing her case had in common with John and Robert’s case was the level of clientele. Most of the people in this resort were extraordinarily wealthy. In fact, she would’ve doubted that anyone outside the millionaire’s club could’ve afforded the stay.

  She caught a whiff of cologne from Otto—a fragrant, flowery smell melded with the odor of a fresh car. A sudden thought came to her; vaguely, she remembered her own childhood. Memories surfaced, for the faintest moment, like the knell of a whisper. She pictured herself, her father, her mother, before the divorce. She pictured snowbound hills, sliding down bunny trails. She pictured hot cocoa by the fire, and she pictured throwing snowballs at each other, as they rushed from the outdoor hot tub into the indoor heated pool. She smiled faintly, but then the smile faded as other memories also surfaced. Memories of arguments, of anger.

  She wrinkled her nose and pushed the emotions, the thoughts aside.

  She fixed her gaze on Otto. “What did you think of Mr. and Mrs. Beneveti?”

  Otto hesitated. The valet scratched his chin, adjusting a slight, thin strap that looped into the hat perched on his head.

  “They were excellent clients, and tipped well,” he said.

  Adele’s eyes narrowed. Clients. Tipping. Both comments about the customers’ financial situation. Low-hanging fruit. But also telling.

  “Did you like the Italian couple?”

  “As I said,” Otto said, hesitantly. “They were generous. Tipped very well.”

  “Yes, but did you like them? If they didn’t tip well, would you have gotten a beer with Mr. Beneveti.”

  Otto paused. “I don’t think Mr. Beneveti drank. Not that I was aware of. They were never in the bars.”

  “The resort has its own bars? Plural?”

  “Yes,” Otto said, hesitantly. “Four of them. And a couple of the more expensive rooms have their own.”

  Adele tried not to let her surprise show. Perhaps she needed to reassess exactly how high-end this facility was. “All right, but Mr. Beneveti, let’s start with him. What did you thi
nk of him? Aside from the tipping.”

  Otto held his hands up defensively and rocked back on his heels, as if moving toward the door, but then readjusting and standing steady. “I didn’t know the man well,” he said.

  “You didn’t like him, did you?”

  Agent Marshall’s eyes darted to Adele, the wraith of a frown inserted across her face. But Adele kept her gaze fixed on Otto.

  The valet scratched at the corner of his chin again, adjusting the strap to his hat once more.

  “I had a couple of interactions with Mr. Beneveti,” Mr. Klein said, carefully, “that weren’t particularly pleasant.”

  Adele nodded. “You’re a very polite man, Otto. I respect that you’re doing your job even now. But this is an investigation. A murder investigation.”

  At this, for the first time, Otto’s demeanor shifted. Quiet, nervous, hesitant—the mask faded to be replaced by horror, fear. He stared at her. “Murder? I thought it was a bear attack.”

  Adele narrowed her eyes. “The local news said that, right?”

  Otto nodded. “The resort owners, too. The managers. Everyone is saying it.”

  Adele shook her head. “Nein. I’m not convinced yet. We haven’t received the medical examiner’s report.”

  Otto nodded. “Oh Gott! That’s terrible. No one deserves that, not even…”

  “Even?” Adele said, jumping on the word.

  Mr. Klein blushed slightly, his cheeks taking on a similar hue to his uniform. But he eventually coughed and said, “Mr. Beneveti could be rude, arrogant sometimes. He once threw a drink at a friend of mine. Said he didn’t imbibe, to take the swill away. Doused the young busboy in vodka and tonic. The boy had simply got the order wrong. Taken it to the wrong room. Received a reprimand. Mrs. Beneveti went to the manager and tried to get him fired.”

  “Was he fired?”

  Otto shook his head. “No, but they moved his shifts. Cut back his hours so he wouldn’t interact with them. Cost him rent for a couple of months. The rest of us helped him out as best we could. Mr. Beneveti had a temper. He had wealth, lots of it. And he knew it.”

  Otto fell silent, realizing he’d spoken more than perhaps he wanted to. He shrugged bashfully, his cheeks reddening again. “But like I said, they were generous.”

  Adele tilted her head, steepling her forefingers beneath her chin as she examined the valet. “Anything else? Any other interactions? Anyone else who might’ve had a grudge against the Italian couple?”

  Otto quickly shook his head. “I have no grudge. Like I said, I have nothing personal against him. He was rude and obnoxious, Mrs. Beneveti could be a bit overbearing. Protective. But a lot of the clientele here are like that. They’re wealthy, and with that comes some paranoia. They never know what people actually want from them. It’s a pity when you think about it.” Otto nodded once with certainty, as if trying to convince himself, then his head bobbed again, with less certainty, and he scratched the side of his face.

  “All right,” said Adele. “There’s nothing else you can think of?”

  Otto shook his head. “No, but,” he hesitated, “that busboy, the one who delivered the vodka and tonic. He might know some more. He’s only a teenager, nineteen. But he still on staff.”

  “Is he here now?” Adele asked.

  “Yes, should I fetch him?”

  Adele shook her head. “No; I will go speak to him. Where is he? We won’t take any more of your time, I know you’re on the clock.”

  “All right. His name is Joseph Meissner.”

  “Joseph Meissner?” said Beatrice Marshall.

  “Yes. He’s working at one of the bars now. Called the Respite in the Cliffs. Beyond the indoor golf course.”

  “There’s an indoor golf course?” Adele asked, flat-toned.

  “Next to the heated pool.” Otto smirked. “Welcome to the one percent.”

  He regarded them each in turn with a practiced, professional smile, then hesitantly moved back toward the door and disappeared, leaving the two agents alone in the room once more.

  Adele shared a look with Agent Marshall. “Did you hear that?” she said, quietly.

  “I heard a lot,” said Marshall. “What do you mean in particular?”

  “The story about the bear attack. The owners were repeating it; the managers. Almost like they’d rather there be a rampaging bear in the slopes than a murderer.”

  Marshall whistled. “It would make sense. The clients here pay good money. Good money. The owners wouldn’t want to scare them away.”

  Adele regained her feet, closing the lid of her laptop and heading for the door. As she did, she gripped her jacket.

  “Do you know where Respite in the Cliffs is?” she said.

  “Honestly, I’m kind of in the mood for a drink.”

  “Yes, but we need to speak to this Joseph Meissner fellow. Sounds like he might’ve had a grudge against the Beneveti couple.”

  “You don’t really think a busboy killed them, do you? We still don’t even know if it was murder. The medical report hasn’t come in yet.”

  Adele shrugged. She didn’t say it, but in her bones, she knew what this was. Like a bloodhound with a scent, she knew. “All right,” she said, “do you think there’s someone who can take us to the bar?”

  Marshall also gathered her jacket, pulling it on as she too moved after Adele. “They have golf carts moving all around; keys are at the counter downstairs.”

  Adele resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Golf carts on demand. Private swimming pools warmed next to golf courses. Private bars in the rooms. It all sounded amazing. But at the same time, it sounded so alien and strange. A foreign way of living. Still, Adele could remember her own memories on the ski slopes. They had never come somewhere this nice. Her family had never been able to afford it. But she could remember the ski slopes. The warm conversations by the fire. The arguments at night. She remembered it all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Respite in the Cliffs was placed at the very edge of the resort. The building was three stories of glass and circular wooden platforms. It seemed to be situated on stilts, extending high enough to graze the tops of the trees around, and presenting a view into the valley below. Adele and Agent Marshall exited the golf cart they had been allowed to borrow and moved up the many wooden steps, which were glazed with small bits of glittering stones that reflected the light above.

  Adele had her hands in her coat pockets, and her nose had reddened from the cold, but she still couldn’t ignore the sheer beauty of the scene surrounding the elevated bar.

  Mountains as a backdrop, a valley in the foreground, windows all around displaying nature’s allure. Adele marched up the steps, with Agent Marshall in tow.

  She pushed open the door to the establishment and was confronted by a few tables already occupied by clients. One of them even had a family. The children were sipping on Cokes while the parents had glasses of wine.

  The tables themselves were fascinating. They were made of glass, with small stones, polished or put through a tumbler, encased in a resin. The single bulbs set in concave casings in the ceiling illuminated and cast sparkling designs across the tables. The ceiling itself was dark, and with the reflected colors looked like the night sky. Skylights above suggested that on the darkest nights, with clouds gone, visitors would be treated to a glorious vision of the heavens as well.

  For now, it was still early evening, and night had yet to fall.

  Adele approached the bar with Agent Marshall behind her. She felt a bit out of place as she maneuvered up to the counter and leaned over. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Joseph Meissner.”

  The woman behind the counter glanced over, and she placed a drink in front of a burly man wearing a brown overcoat. She smiled at the man, making chitchat before approaching Adele and Agent Marshall. “Joseph is out,” she said, curtly.

  “You know where he is?”

  “Resupplying. Why? Who are you?”

  “My name is Agent Sharp. I’m looking into
the disappearance of Mr. and Mrs. Beneveti. I heard Joseph had some run-ins with them.”

  Sometimes the most direct approach was enough to dislodge people’s distrust. Or so Adele hoped. She studied the barkeep, and the woman’s eyes narrowed. “Joseph is a good kid. He didn’t have anything to do with it. Besides, I thought it was a bear attack.”

  “So I keep hearing,” Adele said. “You know when Joseph will be back?”

  The woman crossed her arms. She had no tattoos on display. But Adele could see small holes, vaguely covered with a dusting of makeup, in the woman’s ears and nose, suggesting that when she was off hours, she had at least three piercings.

  “Like I said, Joseph is a good kid. Besides, the Benevetis were assholes.”

  Adele blinked. Agent Marshall leaned in closer.

  “How forthright of you,” said Adele. “Mind expounding?”

  The woman behind the counter snorted. She turned away, grabbed a couple of glasses, moving over to the far end of the counter, and pouring something from a long brown bottle with golden filigree. No sooner had she finished pouring than two of the clients at the furthest table raised their hands, and one of them called out, “Another round. Please.”

  The woman smiled, grabbed both the drinks, walked over, and placed them at the table before returning.

  Adele waited patiently, watching as the woman approached again. The barkeep rubbed her hands against the small towel behind the counter. “They were assholes. Loud, obnoxious. Felt like they owned the place. Mr. Beneveti made more than one pass at me. Obviously, I wasn’t allowed to make too big a deal of it. But he got handsy. Mrs. Beneveti has tried to get more than one of us fired. Joseph too, from what I remember.”

  Adele nodded. “So I heard. You say Mr. Beneveti assaulted you?”

  The woman snorted. “Don’t use your words for my problems. No. I said he got handsy. Obnoxious. I work in a bar. Low inhibitions and wealthy clients. It tips well, but some of my dignity,” she nodded toward the door, “I leave on those front steps. Otherwise I’d never make it.”