“I spend most of my time at hotels now that I gave up my houses. I’m basically a nonagenarian nomad,” he said with an explosive laugh. “I’ll be here through Christmas and then I’m off to Maui for New Year’s.”
“That sounds lovely,” Skyler said. She was becoming impatient with the conversation. The temperature was falling quickly and she was getting cold.
“Hawaii is my all-time favorite, but Santa Fe is a close second. I built a very fine business and worked my fingers to the bones over the past 50 years, so I deserve this easy life, I believe. But I should get on before it gets dark…and I should stop monopolizing a pretty young lady’s time.”
“I enjoyed our chat, sir,” Skyler said, “And I especially appreciate being called a young lady, when it’s obviously not true.”
“That’s where you are wrong, young lady. You’re young when compared to me,” he said over his shoulder as he worked his way up the hill she had just come down. “Until we meet again!” And he disappeared behind a large olive tree and was gone.
Skyler continued the last few yards to the casita where she encountered a hotel employee stacking pinon wood for guest fireplaces. The dogs sniffed at the man and tried to jump up on him to say their ‘hellos.’
“I’m sorry,” Skyler said, pulling back on the leashes. “They love absolutely everyone.”
“No bother,” the young man said as he pet Mulder and Scully quite enthusiastically. “I love dogs.” He pointed up at the trail with his nose. “You do know who that guy was, right?”
“No. We just bumped into each other.”
“That’s Foster Martin.”
“The Foster Martin? The billionaire?”
“The very one,” the man said. “He’s one of our most frequent and probably oldest guests.”
Skyler was impressed, and more than a little bit excited. “Well, isn’t that interesting. I didn’t recognize him.” She wondered if she’d been rude to the old man; she hoped not.
“I’m pretty sure he owns nearly half of the television stations and newspapers in this country.”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” she said. “How interesting.”
* * *
When Georgia answered her hotel room door, Carter immediately detected that she’d been crying. Then he saw the shiner encompassing her left eye.
“What the hell happened?” he asked as he closed the door and led her back into the main room of her suite. He sat her down on the sofa and settled in next to her. “Georgia? Did someone hit you?”
She hesitated.
“Come on, it’s me,” Carter said.
“Massimo and I had a little…disagreement,” she managed to whisper.
Carter became enraged. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” He took a deep breath. “Excuse my language, but are you kidding me? Massimo gave you a black eye?”
“How can I show my face in public? Or even private? It’s almost Christmas.” She started to cry.
“The bigger issue is that your Italian asshole agent laid a hand on you. Georgia, this will never do.”
“I know,” she sniffed.
“Why on Earth would he hit you? What was the argument about?”
“Money, of course,” she said. She reached for a bottle of water and took a long drink. “I need to stay hydrated.”
“Yes, indeed. Money? I assume he’s done very well representing you.”
“He didn’t pull any punches at the party last night. You heard him. He wants me working. Constantly. That’s his way.”
“He may not have pulled any punches last night, but he obviously punched you! Where is he? I need to…”
She cut him off. “Carter, honey, he’s long gone.”
“Where did he go?”
“I told you on the phone; he’s probably half way to Milan by now. He caught a commuter to Denver and I think he was getting on a plane with direct service to Europe. Did you know that one could fly from Denver to Europe? I didn’t know that you could…”
“I don’t give a crap about that, Georgia. What I care about is you. And I care about Massimo not getting away with this. We’ll sue him. No! Forget about suing—he should be arrested. We’ll have him arrested when he steps off that plane in Italy. How do we go about getting that done?”
“He has taken care of my career from day one, Carter,” she said. “He cares about me too much, is all. How do I walk away from all of that?”
“I honestly don’t know who you are right now,” he spit. “You’re one of the most famous, sought-after opera singers in the world. Surely you can find another agent. One who won’t lay his hands on his prized client. But when I get my hands on him, I tell you, Georgia, I won’t be gentle.”
Georgia rose from the sofa and walked to the large picture window. She watched as the last rays of sunlight sparkled above the horizon. Then something caught her eye. She looked down at the street four floors below and saw a hooded figure staring up at the hotel. It sent a chill through her body. He, or she, perhaps, was wearing sunglasses and appeared to be looking directly up at her window. Georgia stepped back a few paces. “Carter! Come here.”
Carter jumped off the couch and joined the singer near the window. He looked down at the street and saw nothing. “What is it? What am I looking for?”
She tentatively stepped forward again and peered downward. “He’s gone.”
“Who’s gone?”
“I don’t know who it was,” she said strongly. “But there was a hooded man—maybe it was a woman, I don’t know—looking up at the hotel. Right at me.”
“There’s no one there now.”
“Good.”
“It could have been a kid or a tourist,” Carter said. “The city is crawling with tourists right now, honey. It’s Christmas.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
Carter put an arm around Georgia’s back and gently led her back to the couch and they sat down. He clutched one of her hands in his and squeezed. “You’ve had a hell of a week. And I am so sorry for what you’ve gone through. But I know you’re strong. We can deal with this together.” He nodded toward her suitcase sitting by the closet door. “How about we get your stuff together and you come stay with Sullivan and me at our house? We won’t tell anyone where we are. It’s private up there. The closest neighbor is a world away. The fact is, I’m not leaving you here alone, so I’m not really asking. We have tons of extra bedrooms all with their own bathrooms. You’ll be very comfortable and very secure.”
She considered it for a moment. “I guess I’d feel safer there.”
“Done,” he said as he sprung off the couch. “Let’s get going. My car is in the garage. We’ll stick you in the backseat and no one will even know you left the hotel. We won’t even check you out. Leave the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door. Good plan?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s a good plan.”
“It’s a plan, at least,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Carter. I’m the last thing you should have to be worrying about right now. You have a hotel to finish.”
He took both of her hands in his own. “I can do both. I cloned myself, remember? We’ll get the hotel built and keep the beautiful opera singer safe. And we’ll find out who left that crazy bomb in your house, too. I promise you that.”
“I can’t believe that sentence just came out of your mouth,” she sighed. “A bomb at my house.”
“It’s unbelievable.”
“It sure is.”
* * *
Brenda and Sullivan walked into the Secreto Lounge at the Hotel St. Francis and found a vacant table along the wall. Brenda took the banquette seat and Sullivan pulled a heavy wooden chair across the stone floor. They each drank in the atmosphere before speaking; they were always critiquing, evaluating, judging, and borrowing ideas from competitors. They had that in common.
“It’s warm and inviting in here,” Brenda finally said. “Love the chandelier with the candles. They look real, but they’re electric.”
“Agreed. Ru
stic, yet upscale.”
They perused the cocktail menu, Brenda selecting the Agave Way—featuring New Mexican green chili (of course, she thought), tequila, lime juice, and agave nectar—and Sullivan chose the Collins’ Death, a doctored Tom Collins with cucumber, lemon, cane syrup, gin, acai spirits, and soda water. The waitress zipped away to place the order with the head bartender.
“I think she recognized you,” Sullivan said quietly.
“Perhaps. I’m still surprised when people do.”
“You’re on television constantly. I’d think you’d be used to it by now.”
Brenda scanned the room then lowered her voice a bit. “You’d think, but I never, ever expect it. I swear, every single time it happens I am taken aback. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I suspect that people know who you are, too, yes?”
“Most people think I’m my brother,” he chuckled. “But, no, it doesn’t happen very often. People don’t tend to know hotel developers as much as they do celebrity chefs who are on T.V. all the time. Although, we did have a woman on a plane freak out when she spotted us in first class. She said she was the very first Franklin-Lowery V.I.P. card holder. A real devotee. We looked it up later and indeed she had card number 000001. We immediately added a million points to her account when we got back to the office.”
“Like frequent flyer points?” Brenda asked.
“Yeah. It takes a while to accrue them, but 1,000 points will get you a free week night stay. 2,000 points for a weekend night. Slightly more on holidays, naturally. It seems to be a popular loyalty program. You live and die by repeat customers, as you well know. She deserved that million for being number one.”
“Mmm hmm,” she said. The drinks were delivered and then they ordered appetizers. “It’s all for research,” Brenda said when the waitress disappeared. “So, I won’t allow myself to feel guilty for adding another pound to all of the others I already have.”
“We’re going to spoil our dinner, but I don’t care,” Sullivan said. “What are we doing for dinner, anyway?”
“Skyler is going to meet us at your house. Carter just texted and invited us.”
“I’m the last to know.”
Brenda’s eyebrows raised. “We certainly don’t need to come, dear.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that,” Sullivan said, his face reddening. “It’ll be fun to have a group dinner away from the masses.”
“He said Georgia would be there, too.”
“I suspected as much. My brother has a soft spot for that lady.”
“She seems nice.”
“She is,” he said after he swallowed a gulp of his drink. “I just hope she doesn’t become his new project.”
“Oh gosh. What does that mean?”
“Well, obviously she is quite needy right now, given the break-in at her house and the exploding presents. And, of course, we should help a friend, but we also should be putting 110% into the hotel. That’s our main objective here.”
Brenda chuckled. “I thought you were the liberal one. I would have thought that you’d be more caring and concerned.”
“I’m not uncaring, Brenda,” he said. “I love Georgia. I just don’t love this distraction. Not now. This is the most important project we’ve ever taken on. And the most expensive.”
“I get it,” she said, “but friends come first. If I’ve learned anything in the world of business, it’s that business should not come in the way of friendships. Ever. And at the end of the day, you’re still a multi-millionaire with an incredibly successful business. It’s all about balance.”
“I’m balanced,” Sullivan spit. “And I’m not a multi-millionaire. Not yet. At least not multi in the way I want it to mean.”
“But you own controlling interest in six hotels.”
“We haven’t exactly made a fortune yet,” he said under his breath. “It takes time. We’ve put nearly every dime of profit back into the business so that we don’t have to continue to go out and find new investors. We already gave away a small percentage of the company. We’re not willing to part with any more.”
Brenda had obviously hit a nerve. “I’m happy to be a part of this adventure and I know that it’s going to eventually pay off for you two…and me.” She smiled. “Shall we put business on the back burner for the evening?”
“We shall. And we should. And I am very sorry for snapping, Brenda. Really, I am.”
“It’s all good,” she said. “Ohhh, goodie! The guacamole is here.”
They dug into the appetizer and spent the rest of their time dreaming up ideas for Cornerstone’s menu. They wholeheartedly agreed that classic Southwestern items had to be featured, but they aimed to bring in unexpected dishes, too. “Santa Fe is going to get a kick in the culinary ass,” Brenda said proudly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Lowery brothers’ rented house was nestled into a narrow valley in the hills above the city. From the backyard, there were views of the rolling hills through the tall trees that surrounded the property. The house didn’t sit high enough to have the commanding mountain and city views that Georgia enjoyed much closer to town. But the twins appreciated the remoteness of the property, and certainly dug the amenities. An in-ground infinity pool was covered with a tarp for the winter, but an enormous round hot tub sat nearby in a wooden gazebo. The tub was covered and kept at 103º, at the ready around the clock.
Inside the house, a 20-foot high wood-beamed ceiling towered over the Great Room, a space that included a large well-equipped kitchen, a dining area, a sunken conversation pit, and an office nook. Four ensuite bedrooms lined the back of the house and there was a tiny fifth bedroom area upstairs with its own small balcony. Georgia toured the house on her own while Carter started a fire in the massive stone hearth.
“I know how to make one thing really well,” Carter said when she reappeared in the kitchen, “so, I’m making that for dinner.”
“Let me guess,” Georgia said. “Spaghetti.”
His face fell. “How’d you know?”
She pointed at a pile of groceries on the counter. “I’m not a detective, Carter, but I spy a few boxes of pasta, several cans of crushed tomatoes, and a block of parmesan cheese.”
“You got me.”
“How could I not be thrilled that we’re having Italian tonight?” she deadpanned.
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, Georgia. We can make you something else.” He started rooting around in the refrigerator. “I think.”
“Don’t be silly. I was kidding. I refuse to even allow myself to think about that man tonight.”
“Or ever again, Georgia,” Carter said. “Massimo is a disgrace and he doesn’t deserve his 10%. Or any percent!”
“Ten?!” she nearly choked. “Try 40.”
Carter’s mouth fell open. “Georgia! Why would you give him 40% of your money? That’s insanity. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“I was stupid and young and I signed a long-term contract.”
Carter slammed a hand on to the counter top. “And now that contract is null and void, my dear. We’ll see to that. Actually…” he pulled out his smartphone “…we should take a picture of that black eye of yours.”
Georgia took a step away from him. “Why on Earth would I allow you to do that?”
“For evidence! You should also seriously consider filing a report with the local police department.”
“Against an Italian citizen? In Santa Fe, New Mexico? What good would that do?”
“All the good,” Carter said. “This has got to be documented for it to be official. If you want to keep him away from you, and if you want to get out of that damned contract, then this is what needs to happen. Even if he never comes back to the United States ever again, I’m pretty sure those are the hoops you’re going to have to go through. And if and when he comes back, he’d be arrested on sight.”
The singer sighed deeply. “Massimo has obviously had a large impact on my life and career, but I have been dreaming of jetti
soning him for a while now. He’s grown increasingly demanding, unreasonable, and downright scary in the last few years. And he’s put his hands on me more than a few times, Carter.” She paused, looked up at the ceiling, and tried very hard not to cry again. “I’ve made nothing but bad decisions my entire life.”
“That’s just not true,” Carter said. “You married two amazing men and you’re the toast of the opera world. I’d say those were good decisions.”
“I married two men who both dropped dead on me and the third guy I got involved with…” Her voice trailed off. “Okay. I’m done feeling sorry for myself.” She straightened up, pushing her shoulders back. She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath. “I’m done!” she sang loudly.
“Well done, Diva,” Carter said with a smile. He pulled out an enormous stock pot and began filling it with water. “I’m going to start cooking. Brenda, Skyler, and my brother should be here any minute now.” When the pot was on the stove and the gas jet lit, he turned back to the singer who was struggling to open a bottle of wine. “I just realized something, Georgia. I’m cooking spaghetti for one of the most famous chefs in the world. What am I thinking?”
“She’ll love it,” Georgia said. “She’s very down to Earth and you know it.” She handed the bottle and corkscrew to Carter who quickly extracted the cork.
“I guess so.”
Georgia took back the bottle and filled two glasses. She proposed a toast. “To a quiet evening at home. With no surprises.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said. “And absolutely no exploding presents.”
“That goes without saying.” She took a long sip. “Mmm, this is very good wine. So smooth.” She took another sip. “I’ll tell you, I am a little miffed that I didn’t get to open any of those gifts. Tell me. What did you bring?”
Carter laughed. “I have no idea. Sullivan picked up something downtown and had it wrapped at the store. I’m sure it was very expensive and over-the-top extravagant, and you would have loved it and cherished it forever.”
The New Mexico Scoundrel Page 6