Margot nodded, taking in the sloping hills covered in spindly trees not yet filled with leaves. It was cooler than she’d anticipated and she was glad she’d thought to bring the extra jacket, knowing that her thick sweater wouldn’t be enough.
“So Bentley and I will stay at The Garber while you go?” she asked.
“I think so. It’s a very nice place and the head of security said that you two would be welcome to stay.”
“How’d you swing that?”
Adam merely smiled and Margot decided it was better not to know. Instead, she turned her gaze out the window. They were drawing near to their destination according to Adam’s GPS. Soon, as they rounded a large bend in the road, they saw elegant signs pointing the way to The Garber.
In her research, Margot had discovered that the elegant and extremely expensive Garber Resort was established in the late 1700s by Phillip Garber in the green hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains of West Virginia. The images she’d seen online were impressive and a little intimidating.
It had guided her wardrobe choice that morning, opting for sleek dress pants, a colorful silk top, and her thick sweater. She’d added additional touches of makeup and jewelry, and she was pleased to see that Adam and Bentley had also dressed the part in sporty daywear appropriate for the season as well as the expensive locale.
They rounded yet another bend and Margot gasped, waking Bentley in the process.
“Oh my,” Bentley said from the backseat, his words snatched right from Margot’s lips.
Ahead, they saw the massive resort that stretched at least six floors high. The entrance towered above everything with opulent white columns jutting up in a display of wealth and elegance. The gardens in front of the resort were tended to with precision and care, showcasing the plants of the season as well as what looked like thousands of poinsettias stretched out in front of the entrance like a living red-carpet. It was massive, elegant, and spoke of wealth and wealthy patrons.
Bentley’s son had come here?
Everything Margot had read of Ben Anderson, while not extensive, had told a very different story. It told of a young boy growing up in less than desirable conditions, but with a head for business. And then how that little boy grew wealth more rapidly than most and, once he’d reached his first million, he’d forsaken it all to live a humble lifestyle, giving back more than he kept.
But this…this was impossible. It didn’t fit the profile of the man Margot had come to understand. Then again, she would be the first to admit there wasn’t much on Ben Anderson and there was still much she had to learn about him.
“Good thing I wore my good tie,” Bentley said, his derisive laugh speaking volumes. He wasn’t one for wealth either, though he’d done well for himself as a trial lawyer.
Adam pulled the car up to the front and rolled down his window, explaining to the valet what they were there for. The man nodded, as if expecting them, and offered to take care of his car free of charge. Adam climbed from the car, no doubt breathing a sigh of relief that Margot shared—knowing that valet parking here had to run close to fifty dollars, if not more—and they all climbed out.
After gaining directions to the security offices, Adam led the way. Margot admired the decor as they walked through the plush, carpeted halls with elegant chandeliers, expensive pieces of art, gilt mirrors, and more staff than she’d ever seen any establishment have during the off-season. She caught herself thinking it would have been extremely difficult to pull off anything sinister when surrounded by so many smiling and helpful faces.
“Here we are,” Adam said, pulling open a clear, seamless door for them to enter the security offices.
A woman looked up from a thin but large computer screen and greeted them. “Good morning and welcome to The Garber security office. How may I help you?”
Margot wondered if this was how the woman answered all inquires or if she had a fast-paced response for guests dealing with theft issues. Then again, perhaps they didn't have that many issues at such a place?
“I'm Detective Adam Eastwood from the North Bank Police Department. I’ve—er, we’ve—got an appointment with Jeff Dean.”
“Yes, Mister Dean is expecting you. Just one moment.” She flashed a practiced smile their way and pressed a button on her phone console, saying, “They have arrived.” Then she stood and motioned them toward the back office door. “This way.”
They followed her, and Adam flashed Margot a look. She held in her smile but knew they were thinking something similar. This was a drastic change from a police department.
“Welcome,” a large, gray-haired man said, standing up at his desk. “I'm Jeff Dean, head of security.”
He was a mix of hard lines and strength and looked as if he’d served in the military at one time, his haircut a clear giveaway.
“Detective Adam Eastwood,” Adam said, offering a firm handshake. “And my, um, Missus Margot Durand and Mister Bentley Anderson.”
“Pleasure,” Jeff said, indicating that they should all sit down.
They took seats and Adam jumped right in. He was never one to beat around the bush. “We’re here about what happened with Ben Anderson.”
“Right,” Jeff said, leaning back in his chair. “We—obviously—don’t have all the facts yet, though we’re working with the local authorities to see what we can do to recover what was stolen.”
“Stolen?” Margot asked. “I thought it was murder?”
“It was both, actually.” Jeff’s gaze seemed to rest on Bentley for a little longer than necessary. “It turns out that, while there was a murder, the commotion caused by that masked several other infractions we found out later. Like the theft of jewelry, cash, and a few important documents from various high-profile guests during the time of the murder.”
“Do you think that Ben was responsible for both?” Adam asked.
“That, we can’t be sure of. There is a lot of info we’re still combing through.” Jeff went on to explain the surveillance system, their approach to finding the culprit or culprits, and even the few staff members that they had interviewed in conjunction with the thefts. “The truth is,” he said, “we’re not sure if the theft and the murder are linked or not. We tend to think they are, but there isn’t any hard evidence to that as of yet. We’re not ruling anything out until we can do so in an affirmative manner.”
“Who died?” Bentley spoke up and all eyes turned to him for a moment. It was a good question though, and Margot watched as Adam turned his focus back to Jeff.
Jeff steepled his fingers on his desk and eyed Adam. “His name was Frank Harper.”
Bentley gasped, his hand going to his chest. For a moment, Margot though he might be having a heart attack, but then he leaned forward and said, “I know Frank Harper.”
Adam had to rush out of their meeting to make his appointment with the local PD, but the look he gave Margot was clear: remember everything that Dean says because I’ll need to be debriefed when I get back. She gave him a subtle nod and he left.
“May I ask how you know Mister Harper?” Jeff asked, after giving Adam a salutatory handshake.
Bentley leaned back, his look turning from surprised shock to concern. “It was about a month ago.” Bentley shot Margot a look, then turned back to Jeff. “He came by the complex where I live and said that he was doing research for a book he was writing on past trial lawyers in D.C. He asked a lot of the right questions and had some insider information that I assumed he’d gotten from colleagues of mine. I let him in and we talked for a long time. We even took a selfie.”
Margot had to press her lips together to keep her smile from showing.
“May we see it?” Jeff asked, all business.
“Sure.” Bentley took out his phone and began poking his finger at the screen until he found what he was looking for. “It was his idea. We took the photo, then I asked him for it so he emailed it to me. See?”
Margot stood so she could see the image of a man who looked to be in his early fifties
leaning in next to Bentley. He wasn’t quite smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. It was almost…sinister-looking.
“That’s him,” Jeff said, shaking his head and leaning back. His look said, What are the odds? And Margot had a feeling they were all thinking it.
“What did you say you talked about?” Margot asked Bentley.
“Me mostly.” Bentley gave a slight shrug. “For some book, or so I thought.”
“What was he doing here?” Margot asked Jeff. It wasn’t making a lot of sense to Margot that a man writing a book would come to The Garber to stay. Then again, some authors could likely afford it, but the name Frank Harper didn’t sound familiar to her.
“He was a guest here,” Jeff said it as if it was obvious, but Margot was looking for more.
“Did it look like he…fit in?”
“Our guests come from all walks of life. Yes, there is a dress code and a certain type of clientele we attract, but not all fit into that category. Our staff is trained not to discriminate based on looks. You never know who you could entertain unaware.”
Margot nodded in understanding.
“But, to really answer your question,” Jeff said, squaring his shoulders, “he did appear to fit in. Nice suit. Expensive luggage. Big tipper. The whole nine yards.”
Margot found this interesting and was about to ask Bentley if he’d gotten the same feeling from the man when they’d met. In the photo, he didn’t look exceptionally wealthy, but it was difficult to tell from a photo.
“What about…Ben?” Bentley finally asked, taking their conversation in a different direction entirely.
“We didn’t actually have Ben Anderson registered as a guest.” This was news to Margot. “We actually didn’t know it was him until we reviewed the tapes.”
“So, he was a guest but not registered under his name?”
“Correct.”
“How—” Margot was about to ask how they had identified him, but Jeff beat her to it.
“We caught him on surveillance footage. Here, let me show you.” Jeff tapped on his keyboard and then turned his monitor so they could see.
Margot watched as a man came into view. He looked left and right with his back to the camera as he backed out of a room, one Margot assumed wasn’t his, and then he turned to walk down the hall and she gasped.
It was the man from the senior living complex. Felix Lynch. The man who had been following her. “I’ve seen that man before!”
6
“This is just a rousing game of ‘who knows who’ here,” Jeff said, looking between Margot and Bentley. “How do you know this man?”
Margot was still trying to piece it together herself. So the man they called Felix Lynch was none other than Bentley’s son, Ben Anderson. He had been at Bentley’s apartment complex. Bentley’s son had possibly been following Margot. But why?
She rushed through her explanation of how she’d run into him outside of Bentley’s apartment. She even explained how she thought she’d seen him tailing her a few times, to which Bentley looked disgruntled that she hadn’t said something.
“I had no idea that it was him.” She looked from Bentley to Jeff.
“What color was the car that was found burning?” Bentley asked.
Margo paled. How had she not even thought to ask? Was that the reason that she hadn’t seen the car following her more recently? It had to be. She mentally berated herself for not realizing the connection sooner. Then again, they still weren’t sure who the body in car was. All points led to them assuming it was Ben, but there was a possibility it wasn’t. There was always a possibility.
“I'm not sure, but we don’t know who was in the car. Not for certain,” Jeff said. “If it was Ben Anderson—” Jeff sent an anxious glance at Bentley to see how he was doing. “—then a big part of my job right now is finished. Not saying that I wish that upon you, Mister Anderson.”
Bentley waved at the man. “It’s not over until we know for sure. I went through too many cases where I thought I knew the outcome only to realize it was something entirely different when it came right down to it.”
Margot knew Bentley was right. There was still so much they didn’t know about Ben or his possible death or what he was doing in North Bank—although, seeing that she’d run into him outside of Bentley’s room, she wondered if it had something to do with reconnecting with his father. And it was also extremely coincidental that Frank Harper was the deceased and had come to see Bentley not weeks before. But how did it all tie together?
“Mister Dean,” Margot began.
“Call me Jeff, please.”
“Jeff.” Margot selected her words carefully. “What did you discover about Ben Anderson—aka Felix Lynch—while he was here? Obviously, you have enough to pin the murder on him?” She asked it like a question, though she assumed Jeff thought it was a statement.
“The mountain of evidence is ever-growing.” Margot had a feeling this was hyperbole, but she refrained from commenting. “First off, we had Ben Anderson checked in under Felix Lynch, and he paid cash for his three-night stay in one of our luxury cottages.”
“I’m assuming that’s unusual?” she asked.
“It was an exception, of course. I learned later, after questioning the attendant who checked him in, that he was exceptionally charming and offered a rather hefty bribe for her to allow him to pay in cash. In fact, he got out of leaving a credit card on file like we always require—for incidentals and such—by placing a two-thousand-dollar deposit that he said the woman could keep if all went well. This in addition to his bribe. She even went so far as to give him the guest list in advance.”
Margot’s eyes went wide. “Did the woman say why she went along with it?”
“She was infatuated by this handsome man and his money—isn’t it obvious?” Margot was about to ask if she could speak to the woman, but Jeff continued. “She learned from that mistake. She’s no longer working with us.”
Margot made a mental note to find out the woman’s name.
“So he paid cash, a lot of cash, and then what happened?”
“He wasn’t signed up for anything extracurricular that we offer, but his visit was timed with an annual ball we host. It attracts a…wealthy clientele.”
Margot knew this meant lots of high profile visitors and lots of extras, like jewels and money.
“The day after the ball,” Jeff continued, “was when that footage was taken.”
“The day after?” Margot asked for clarification.
“Yes. It is strange… I would have expected him to use the ball as cover to put his plan into action.”
Margot leaned back in her chair. “Not exactly. Did Ben attend?”
“He did,” Jeff said, looking at her like he was surprised she had guessed that. “He purchased a ticket—in cash—at the door, and wined and dined with the guests like he was one of them.”
Because he was, Margot thought. At least in every way that mattered. No doubt he’d been dressed to the nines, tossing out names of wealthy friends he had, and generally fitting in.
“But the next day… Well, you see what happened.”
“Makes sense, actually.” Jeff frowned, motioning for her to continue. “I mean, he went to the party to scope out what his options where. My guess would be that he talked to many ladies that night, no matter if they were married or not, because he wasn’t after a date or flirtations, he was after their jewelry.
“May we see the video you showed again?”
Jeff looked on the verge of demanding an explanation, but then nodded once. “Sure.”
He tilted the screen her way again and Margot watched with a more practiced eye this time. There, as he was coming out of the room. She hadn’t noticed it before, but his glance flitted to the camera. It was enough to see that he had stolen items in his hand, the things Jeff was most tuned into, but she wondered if that had meant they missed the expression of shock and—was it queasiness?—on Ben’s face.
“There,” Ma
rgot said, leaning forward. Jeff stopped the video. “Did you see it?”
“See…what?” Jeff looked uncomfortable.
“What are you looking at, Margot?” Bentley asked good-naturedly.
“See,” she said, pointing to the screen. “The look on his face.”
“Yeah, he’s afraid he’s going to get caught for killing a man,” Jeff observed.
“No, that’s not it at all.”
“He looks shocked,” Bentley observed.
“He does.” Margot looked up at Jeff. “That’s the look of a man who just walked into something he wasn’t expecting. And, if you rewind it to just a few seconds before, you’ll see he glanced up right at the camera. He knows he’s been caught on tape, because any good thief would know about the security cameras, but he was too shocked to do anything else.”
“So what? You’re saying he found the dead body while heisting jewels and cash from our patrons?”
“I think so.”
Jeff leaned back, his large hand rubbing at his jaw. “I don’t buy it.”
“You don’t have to. You can see for yourself,” Bentley said, an age-bent finger pointing at the computer screen.
“It doesn’t wash. There are too many things tying him to this hotel, this murder.”
“Well, that remains to be seen,” Margot said. Her eyes traveled back to the man on the screen. He was handsome, dressed in an expensive suit, and looked absolutely shocked. He looked the way a person should after encountering a dead body. One they did not expect to find.
When Adam finally made it back to the hotel, Bentley and Margot’s cursory tour had been completed and they were partaking of a complimentary cup of tea in the sitting area of the large resort.
“There you are,” Margot said, standing when Adam came toward them.
“Sorry. Seems that police business in the country takes a little longer.”
Margot smiled, knowing that Adam was used to a faster pace of life. Even if North Bank was a sleepy little retirement town, they were close enough to Washington, D.C. to feel the sense of urgency in things.
A Deadly Engagement Page 4