The phone on his desk rang, snapping him out of his thoughts. So much for reflection.
Rick picked up the phone. “Rick here.”
“Hello, Rick.” It was Paul Westcott, Chief of Security. “Got a second?”
“Sure thing.”
“Are you going to the meeting tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Great! I wanted to touch base with you on the north end of the property and what proposals the state Games and Commissions are planning for next year’s season.”
And with that, Rick was back in his new world; plotting and planning the best way to run the most efficient business he could ever lay his hands on.
CHAPTER 2
Eighteen Months Ago
When the private detective was finished looking at the photographs, he looked across the desk at Joe. “How long has she been missing?”
“Six months now,” Joe said. Even now, admitting this aloud still made his hands shake, his stomach flutter with fear over what could have happened to his daughter.
“And you say the last time you spoke to her was two years ago?”
Joe nodded. “Yes.”
“You were estranged from her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He sighed, wondering how to explain this. The grandfather clock in the entry hall tolled, chiming five o’clock. Right on cue, the jingle of keys and the sound of footsteps through the kitchen—his maid, Juanita, leaving for the day. Once the private detective left, he’d have the house to himself again.
“Carla has always been fiercely independent,” he told the detective. “Something I’ve always admired, by the way. She gets that from me, so we butted heads occasionally when she was a teenager. Nothing too serious, just the usual teenage rebellion crap. But then...around the time she graduated from college, we had a disagreement over a position that had been offered to her. A big oil company, Al Azif, Ltd, had offered her a very generous position, but it was at their world headquarters in Saudi Arabia. Carla wanted to take it, and I tried to talk her out of it.”
“Why?”
“The honest answer is two-fold. I didn’t want her to move out of the country because I couldn’t stand the thought of her being half a world away. Any parent would understand.” He looked at the private detective. “Are you a father?”
The private detective nodded. “My son is four, my daughter seven. I know what you mean.”
“I knew that if she went to Saudi Arabia, I’d be worried for her constantly. You know how they treat women over there, right?”
The private detective nodded.
“Al Azif is a private company, and despite the fact that they have many Americans on their payroll, including American women, it is required that all women, regardless of their nationality or religion, live by Sharia law in Saudi Arabia. I pointed this out to Carla and we had a big fight about it. The biggest one we’ve ever had. I think she rebelled against me for the simple fact to rebel. She was taking this job and she didn’t care if she was going to have to clothe herself in a burqua while out in public.”
“I see,” the private detective said. He’d introduced himself to Joe as Dean Campbell over the phone when they had their first conversation a few days ago. Joe pegged his age as mid-thirties, average build, average looks. He was perfectly suited for his profession.
“She accepted the position and our argument grew more heated,” Joe continued. “To be honest, I was afraid for her safety at this point. Kidnappings in Arab countries are routine, and ransoms are rarely honored. Caucasian women command high prices on the Arab slave trade. I have more than enough to pay a ransom, but that wasn’t the point. I did not want Carla to be in any danger, period. I did not want her living under Sharia Law, and even if she stayed on the straight and narrow in accordance to their customs, she would always have the risk of running afoul of the mutaween, or the Morality Police, for whatever imagined infraction they considered offensive: being seen in public with a man who was not her husband or relative, accidentally showing a hint of ankle, being a woman.”
“Those rules even apply to foreign workers?” Dean asked.
“Oh yes,” Joe answered. “It applies to everybody living within the kingdom. No exception is made for tourists or foreign workers who are in the country on work visas. That’s a large part of the reason why the U.S. Embassy discourages American citizens from travelling there for any reason.”
Dean made a note of this.
Joe continued. “Call me politically-incorrect, but I didn’t want her to be living under such barbaric conditions. Carla’s acceptance of the position was contingent upon her arrival in Saudi Arabia within three days. Because our argument over this incident spilled over into the next day and involved her mother, which drew out the conflict even longer, that window of opportunity closed and the employment offer was rescinded.”
The private detective raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s odd.”
“It isn’t if the talent pool is promising,” Joe answered. “I later found out that the offer was made to another burgeoning executive. A young man, by the way. He’s still over there.”
“Safe, I presume?”
“I don’t know, because two days after their offer to Carla was rescinded, she accepted another job offer, this one in Casper, Wyoming.”
“With Braun & Meyers?”
“Right.”
“She was laid off from that position nine months later and drifted through various jobs,” Dean said, reading over notes he’d obviously taken a few days ago when they’d had their first phone consultation. “She lost her apartment, lost her credit, her car, and you had a hard time keeping up with her.”
Joe sighed. Even now, thinking about it, created a deep pang of sorrow and regret that had not eased with the passing of time. “When she moved to Wyoming, she left no forwarding address. I had to pester my son to get information on her. She wouldn’t talk to me on the phone, wouldn’t meet with me. I even flew out there and tried to make amends with her.”
“She filed a police report against you?” Dean said. The private detective looked across at him, eyebrows raised.
“Yes.” He nodded. “I had to hire a Casper-based private detective agency to keep tabs on her. She somehow found out I was having her followed and did everything she could to shake off my tail. Being homeless didn’t help. She didn’t have to be homeless. I could have helped her find a new position, especially with my contacts, but she didn’t want my help. Even without my help, she should have had no problem finding a position. But with the economy the way it is.” He shook his head in despair. “The last place she was traced to was a Motel 6, just outside the city.”
“You’ve reported her missing?”
“Yes.”
“What do the Casper police say?”
Joe sighed, the first signs of frustration becoming evident in his voice. “They wouldn’t take me seriously at first. Said there was no evidence of foul play. The police gained access to her motel room and the place was clean. She left no suitcase, no personal belongings. The only thing she was guilty of was skipping out on her bill.”
The private detective pursed his lips. “I can see why the police wouldn’t want to get involved. Did you tell them what you just told me? About your estrangement from her?”
Joe nodded, feeling the last nail being driven into that particular coffin.
“Did they at least try to do a search for her?”
“No.”
“What about you? Did you put up missing flyers or anything?”
“Yes. And nothing has helped.”
The private detective was silent for a moment. He opened the folder he’d brought with him: notes on the case. He read them over, his features reflective. Contemplating.
Finally, the private detective looked across the large mahogany desk at him. “I have to be honest, Mr. Taylor...this isn’t going to be easy. I’ve had some success in cases like this before, but it could t
ake a while.”
He was prepared for this. “I don’t care how long it takes. I just want you to find her. I just need to know...if she’s okay.”
The private detective nodded, his face solemn. “Of course.”
CHAPTER 3
Anna King felt a brief moment of irritation as she approached the next table in her station.
Her waitress shift at Bent Creek Resort’s massive dining room had only started an hour ago, and dinner service was already proving to be unbearable. The presence of the Daniels couple was the first thing that had set off her unease; upon seeing them, she’d felt a twinge of anxiety roll through her.
The second thing that had set it off was the scumbag at table seventeen, who was vacationing with his parents. The scumbag had skinned both his knees during some outdoor excursion earlier in the day. As Anna approached their table to take their order, he’d been in the midst of changing the bandages Ellen Wood, the resort’s nurse, had affixed earlier that day. Anna had barely gotten a cursory “Good evening, I’m Anna King and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with a cocktail?” No, she hadn’t even been given the courtesy of finishing this introductory script. Instead, Mr. Daddy Warbucks had thrust a pair of bloody and pus-filled bandages at her and said, “Here, take care of these.”
The moment the bloody, pus-filled bandages touched her hands, Anna had dropped them in disgust and made a sound. She didn’t remember now what it was. Probably ugh! She couldn’t help it. It was instinctual.
That faux pas had resulted in a verbal dressing down in Alex’s office. “I don’t care if those bandages had the bubonic plague on them,” Alex had said. “Your job is to serve our guests, no matter how outlandish their requests may seem to you. Do you understand?”
Anna understood perfectly. “Yes, Mr. Lillywhite,” Anna had been forced to say.
“Good. Don’t let it happen again.”
It hadn’t mattered that immediately after she’d dropped the bandages, she’d quickly summoned a bus boy to dispose of the mess. Mr. Lillywhite, who was the manager of the restaurant, made it clear on her first day that her job as a waitress was not only to take customers’ orders and deliver quick service, she was to indulge in whatever whim the customer had, no questions asked.
The Daniels couple were the worst. Shane Daniels was an arrogant twit. Slim with short graying hair, he reminded Anna of a weasel. He had a southern accent that told Anna all she needed to know: rich southern boy who thought everybody who held a service job was just another nigger to mistreat. Niggers were niggers, regardless of what race and nationality they were. His wife, Jackie was no better. Jackie wasn’t much to look at, with shoulder-length wavy blonde hair, big tits, and a face that brought new meaning to the term ‘horsey’. She seemed to exist for the sole purpose of providing a life support system for her twat, which Shane indulged in every evening, or so he told everybody around him. “Jackie and I were getting it on last night, did we keep y’all awake?” he’d brayed loudly to their equally snobby friends at their table that first night. Over the past four nights he’d made an effort to let everybody around them know how much he and Jackie fucked. Jackie, to her credit, grinned stupidly during Shane’s drunken boasts. Anna recognized the glazed look in her eyes every evening; the way she’d laugh five seconds after everybody else started laughing, as if from a delayed response. The woman was zonked out of her mind. Probably on Oxy or some other opiate. Anna didn’t blame her. If Anna had the misfortune of being chained to Shane Daniels, she’d probably be full-on junkie, too.
Anna approached her next table, doing her best to put what was turning out to be an incredibly shitty night behind her. The customers at this new table were a youthful looking couple; blonde, tanned, and physically fit and attractive. The guy looked boyishly handsome, the woman his perfect trophy wife. Anna smiled warmly at them. “Good evening! I’m Anna and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with a drink?”
The man smiled at her. “You’re the Epsilon who’s taking care of us?”
Anna kept her smile. “Actually, I’m an Alpha in disguise, sir. But I’ll be glad to take your order.”
The man started, the surprise evident in his features. His wife seemed to not know how to respond. Anna was surprised by how quickly she’d lobbed that lame attempt of an insult his way. It was obvious this customer was well-educated, his reference to Aldous Huxley’s novel Brave New World clearly demonstrated this.
“Well, then,” the man said, smiling back. He glanced at his wife, then turned back to Anna. “It’s refreshing that the help is educated, wouldn’t you say so, dear?”
“I suppose,” the woman said, her smile fake, plastic.
“With that in mind, it would be great to get to know you a little better at some point during our stay,” the man continued. “It’s rare that we come across one that is well-read.”
“I’m sure it is, sir,” Anna said, playing her role well. “I would welcome that very much.”
The man turned to his wife. “Perhaps this can be arranged then?”
The wife nodded, her smile seeming to be one of amusement. Anna watched carefully, getting the impression wifey was simply putting up with her husband’s flirtations with her. She turned to Anna. “I apologize for my husband’s blunt treatment of you. You have to realize, most of the help we deal with here are rather shallow people.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Anna said, nodding. “I understand.”
The man was regarding her with a look Anna recognized—desire. “You are a rather attractive woman, if I may say so.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
“About that wine...”
“Yes?”
The man turned to his wife. “How about a bottle of the Cabernet?” The woman nodded, and he turned back to Anna. “A bottle of the Cabernet, please.”
“Wonderful! I’ll bring that to you right away.” And with that, Anna headed to the bar, ignoring the Daniels couple, who appeared to be the center of attention again at their table.
She was almost out of her station when a lone customer seated at one of the booths signaled to her. Anna smiled at him and approached. “Yes, sir?”
The man smiled back. Anna had liked him from the moment she’d taken his drink order fifteen minutes ago. He was tall, with dark hair that was boyishly long but not enough to be considered rebellious, and almost movie star handsome features. In a way, this did not make him stand out in this crowd. Most of the men at the Bent Creek Country Club and Resorts were very handsome men. Anna had found herself fantasizing about some of them, and it had gone no further than that. It was nice to have erotic fantasies, but it was their personalities that had extinguished the flame of attraction for her. Every hottie at Bent Creek either had the IQ of a toaster or they were arrogant, pompous pricks. This customer was neither. “I’ve decided,” he said.
“Great! What can I get for you?”
The man read off the menu. “I’ll have the Tiger prawn ravioli with the creamy fennel puree, and the light lobster bisque.”
“Very good,” Anna said. “I will put that order in. Would you like another glass of Pinot Noir?”
“No thank you,” the man said. He smiled at her.
“Very good.” Anna nodded and made her way to the kitchen.
Anna reached the queue and jotted the guest’s order down and handed it to the chef who manned the pass, who took it and turned to the crew in the kitchen. “Tiger prawn ravioli with the creamy fennel puree and light lobster bisque.”
Anna went to the kitchen and traded a glance with Martin Coslaw, the aging bartender who maintained duty behind the bar. Stooped with age, Martin had served the privileged at Bent Creek for over twenty years. He was her favorite co-worker by far. He had a million stories about Bent Creek, and had given her some unsolicited advice on her first night: keep your head down, don’t let your emotions get the best of you, and remember—at the end of the day, these people mean nothing to you. It
was valuable advice.
Martin approached the bar. “What’s needed, dear?”
“Fresh bottle of Cabernet,” she said.
Martin nodded and called the order back to one of his assistants, who ducked out the back to the wine cellar. Martin reached behind him for glasses and a bottle of Cutty Sark. “Night’s gonna be hell,” he said, not missing a beat. “A lot of the guests did a big hike through Pike’s Canyon.”
“Great.” Anna knew very well what this meant. The pampered and privileged who’d made this hike would be raring for not only relaxation, but partying at the expense of those who had to work here. Last weekend a bunch of them had hiked Pike’s Canyon and the party that had followed resulted in a waiter being fired by Alex when the man wouldn’t clap his hands and hoot like a seal on command. “But your friend is doing it!” the man had said, pointing to one of the groundsmen, who, according to Martin, had been too embarrassed and scared to not comply.
“I don’t give a shit,” the waiter had said. “I’m not doing it and you, can fuck off!”
“Yep,” Martin said, finishing off the drinks and placing them on a ticket at the waitress station for pickup. “Most of ‘em are here now.”
“The Daniels party wouldn’t be one of them, would it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Great. Just what I need.”
Martin’s assistant emerged with the bottle of Cabernet and a bottle opener. He set them on a tray. Martin set a pair of wine glasses down on the tray and gently pushed it toward her. She smiled at Martin, who nodded and winked, and with tray in hand she headed back to her station.
She tried to tune out the noise from the Daniels table as she approached the customers who’d ordered the wine. She set the empty glasses down, then opened the bottle carefully. The couple smiled in anticipation, trading glances with each other. Anna wondered if they were on a weekend romantic getaway or something—she hadn’t seen them here until today, and the season ended in two days. Anna poured them each a glass and waited while they took a sip. The man nodded in approval. “Very good. Thank you.”
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