“Very much so.” Bob stopped in front of her and gestured toward the front desk. “I was just coming down to give the front desk my payment for the private event. I take it you aren’t working it?”
Anna shook her head. “No, I’m not. Chef Munchel didn’t pick me. Lucky me, I guess.”
Bob smiled. “After the night you had, you deserve a break. You still have my card?”
“I do, yes.”
“Good. Give me a call next week. We’ll meet for lunch. Maybe I can help you land a position with one of the companies I work with.”
“That would be great, Mr. Garrison.”
“Please, call me Bob.”
Anna smiled. “Okay, Bob it is.”
Bob reached out and took her hand in a farewell handshake. He motioned to her luggage. “You’re taking off early, I see.”
“Oh, yes. Well, my father called me last night during my break and said my brother is really sick. I wasn’t going to leave until this afternoon after I’d gotten a good night’s sleep, but when I got my father’s call...” She shrugged.
“Of course,” Bob said. “Duty calls when it comes to family situations like that. I hope it isn’t serious.”
“I don’t think it is,” Anna said.
“Give me a call when you’re ready. And if you need to get in touch with me before then, feel free to get in touch with me at my cell number.”
“I will. Thanks, Bob.”
“Thank you,” Bob said. He gave her one last smile and then made his way to the resort’s restaurant, which was just off to the right of the elevator banks.
Anna sighed, then reached down to grasp the handle of her luggage. Her purse slipped from her grasp and fell to the marble floor. She cursed silently, reached down and scooped it up. Once she got a firm grip on it, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and began heading toward the front door. No sooner did she breach the entrance toward the corporate offices than the door opened and Paul Westcott stepped out.
Anna stopped, momentarily startled. Bob was already a dozen yards ahead of her and she could barely see him as he moved into the slight alcove-like area to the front desk. At first glance, Paul appeared to be just as surprised by her appearance, but he quickly recovered. “Where do you think you’re going?” he said.
Anna was startled by the question. “Home. Where else would I be going?”
“Home?”
“Yes, home.” Anna frowned. “Why?”
“Didn’t Alex tell you?”
Anna felt a tingling in her spine. “Alex didn’t tell me anything. What’s going on?”
Paul held the door open and gestured for her to come inside. “Come on back here. We need to talk.”
Anna looked around. She was still holding on to her suitcase.
“The concierge will make sure it stays at the front desk,” Paul said. “Come on.”
Anna glanced at the front desk clerk, who nodded, affirming he’d heard what Paul said, then without a backward glance, she entered the Administrative area after Paul.
* * *
“Checking out, sir?”
The front desk clerk was smiling and affable as Joe Taylor approached the front desk. He’d intended to head to the restaurant for a quick breakfast when a nagging feeling made him stop and head back toward the front desk. Joe smiled back, reaching for his wallet that contained Chef Munchel’s business card and the hand-written code number he’d jotted on it a month ago when the Chef invited Joe to partake in the event. “Actually, I’m not,” he said. He leaned against the front desk. “I’m checked in to Suite 408, under the name Robert Garrison. Chef Jim Munchel invited me at the last minute to participate in the private event taking place this week. I’ve already put down my security deposit and was told I could remit the remainder this week during my stay.”
“Very good, Mr. Garrison.” The desk clerk was in his mid-twenties, with pleasant features and short-cropped brown hair. He was wearing an impeccable blue suit with a white shirt and black tie. “Were you given an event code?”
“Yes.” Joe took his wallet out and plucked Chef Munchel’s card out just as a whisk of movement and a scraping sound behind him attracted his attention. He turned around.
Anna King’s suitcase lay on the marble floor fifteen feet away from where he’d just spoken to her. Anna was nowhere in sight.
Frowning, Joe moved away from the desk toward the hall. Was that a doorway that was closing just past the elevators?
“Is everything all right, Mr. Garrison?”
Joe stopped, turned to the front desk. The desk clerk was looking at him curiously. Joe motioned to the luggage on the floor. “There was a young woman back there a minute ago. I was just talking to her. Did you see her?”
“Yes, I did, sir. She was called to a quick meeting. Don’t worry about her baggage. When the concierge returns, I’ll have him retrieve her suitcase and place them behind the front desk.”
“Very good, thank you,” Joe said, returning to the front desk. Despite the desk clerk’s strict professionalism and calming tone of voice, something didn’t sit right with Joe. Anna had seemed pretty anxious to leave Bent Creek so early.
The desk clerk’s fingers were poised over the computer’s keyboard but his gaze was centered on Joe. “Your code, Mr. Garrison?”
Joe read the code to him. The clerk typed it in to the computer, verified his name. Then he asked for his ID. Joe handed over the Colorado driver’s license that Dean Campbell had made for him with the Bob Garrison pseudonym. The desk clerk examined it quickly, nodded, then typed something else in. “Do you wish to complete your transaction with a major credit card or with cash?”
“I’ll pay cash,” Joe said.
“Very good, sir.”
Joe reached into the front pocket of his shorts and extracted a white envelope containing two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in large bills. He handed the envelope over to the desk clerk, who counted it discreetly and placed it in the side compartment of the hotel’s cash drawer. His fingers flew across the keyboard. “I’ll have your receipt in a moment, Mr. Garrison.”
“Thank you,” Joe said.
The lobby doors opened and the concierge returned with an empty luggage cart. Without looking up from the computer terminal, the desk clerk called out to him. “Eric, can you retrieve the luggage on the floor and bring it around behind the front desk, please?”
The concierge nodded. He parked the luggage cart near the entrance, then retrieved Anna’s suitcase from the floor. The whir of the laser printer behind the front desk sounded and the desk clerk smiled at Joe. “Don’t worry, Mr. Garrison, we’ll take care of her luggage.” He lifted the receipt out of the printer’s tray and slid it across the marble counter-top at him. “And here’s your receipt. I hope you enjoy the remainder of your stay.”
“Thank you,” Joe said, nodding. He folded the receipt in half and placed it in the front pocket of his shorts next to his wallet. He stepped away from the front desk and headed outside.
When he stepped out to the front receiving area of the hotel, he kept his sunny disposition on his face. He looked out at the circular driveway, at the rolling expanse of greenery that made up the estate. The air was brisk, slightly cool, but the sun was out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was going to be a nice day, weather-wise.
You can’t attract attention here, he said to himself. Take a walk. Give them the impression you’re not concerned for the girl.
And even though Joe Taylor was growing very concerned for Anna King, he took his own advice. He headed out for a walk.
CHAPTER 13
Fourteen Months Ago
He met Dean Campbell at a greasy spoon in downtown Casper, Wyoming. As he slid into the booth, Dean slid a menu across the table to him. Beneath the menu was a tan manila folder. “I ate dinner here last night and the food is amazing,” Dean said. “Go ahead, order up.”
“I’m not hungry,” Joe said.
“You are today,” Dean said. He took a
sip of water.
“I am?”
Dean shot him a look that was so subtle it would have been impossible to notice if Joe wasn’t seated exactly opposite him. That look seemed to say we might be under surveillance, so act normal.
Joe took a look at the menu. It was standard diner fare. Different kinds of sandwiches, hamburgers, chicken dishes, pastas, steaks, salads, seafood. Joe had worked as a line cook in such an establishment a long time ago, when he was a far different person. He quickly zeroed in on a selection that appealed to him—grilled flounder on a bed of rice pilaf. A middle-aged waitress took their order and, after she delivered a pot of coffee, Joe deftly moved the envelope down to the seat and stuck it in his front slacks’ pocket while Dean started feeding him information. “She lived on Unemployment Insurance for about a month and was looking for work. She broke her lease at the apartment she was at and moved into a series of motels, the last one about a block from here.”
“Were the other motels within walking distance of this place?”
Dean took a sip of his coffee. “The first three weren’t. The last two were.”
“And this was after she lost her second job?”
“Well, yes, if you count job-jobs,” Dean said. “Remember, she kept the apartment during her stint as a consultant. She only resorted to the retail type jobs because the economy turned so shitty.”
“Right.” Carla could have had a good position with any of the four companies Joe sat on the board for, no questions asked. All she had to do was come home. Carla had proven to be as stubborn as he was at that age.
“Anyway, nobody saw her leave the motel around the time of her last job interview. And her car was never found. The cell phone number she had, that’s a dead end from a legal standpoint. To get a trace on the phone through her carrier would require a court order, and we can’t do that without evidence of a crime.”
“Not even with her listed as missing?”
Dean shrugged. “There’s no evidence of foul play. Far as the police are concerned, she just took off in her car for parts unknown.”
“But that’s bullshit!”
“I know that and you know that. But according to Joe Law, that’s where shit stands now.”
“You talked to the police?”
“I have.”
“What do they say?”
“I got a little bit farther than you did. Got one detective who expressed somewhat of an interest in Carla’s disappearance. With his help, I was able to talk to her former employer, some of the friends she made. Everybody I talked to is surprised she up and disappeared like that. One of her friends, a lady named Gabby, who worked with her at Braun & Meyers, says Carla wasn’t the type of person to just suddenly drop out of sight.”
Joe took a sip of his coffee. The diner was half-full. Dinner service was another hour or so away. Out on Main Street, traffic was brisk. “So we’re at another dead end.”
“Not quite. I did get Gabby to remember an important detail.”
“Oh yeah?”
Dean nodded. He poured himself some more coffee from the metal carafe. “Gabby couldn’t remember all the details, but she said the last time she spoke to Carla, maybe four days before anybody last saw her, she claimed Carla told her she had this face-to-face job interview. Gabby couldn’t remember the name of the company, or what kind of job it was, or in what part of town. All she could remember was the name of the man Carla was supposed to meet.”
“What was it?” Joe asked, curious. He thought it was odd for Carla’s friend to remember something this miniscule.
“Bill Richards.” Dean regarded Joe from across the table. Something in the private detective’s features sparked something in his instincts. This is important, he thought. He’d never seen Dean look so excited, so encouraged by this bit of news. “You might wonder why Gabby would remember the man’s name but not the company or any other detail, and I can’t tell you, Mr. Taylor. The way the brain works, the way people recall things when they’re trying to remember it...well, I’ve had clients give me explicit details on the most trivial things that most people would forget: what they had for breakfast two weeks ago, what slot they parked their car in at the grocery store parking lot the previous Saturday, all sorts of nonsense. Gabby said that Carla told her about this job interview a few times. The first time Carla told her about it, she sounded excited. Gabby told her she would be happy to be a reference for her. She was pretty certain it was some kind of financial job again, but she couldn’t remember the name of the company. She kept telling me that things like that, company names, they always slipped her mind. The second time she talked to Carla, Gabby said she was just brimming with happiness. She’d had a very good phone interview with this Bill Richards guy, and she told Gabby he’d sounded nice on the phone, that he asked the right questions and the two of them seemed to really connect professionally. I could relate.”
“So Gabby remembered Carla doing the interviews, but not the name of the company?”
Dean shrugged. “She said normally she wouldn’t remember details this mundane, but this one was different, and it wasn’t because Carla had been under-employed and desperate for so long, too.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Carla told her she’d had to undergo a background check and drug screening prior to her second interview.”
Joe frowned.
“I know,” Dean said. “I thought that was unusual, too. Employers usually don’t bring the whole background check and drug testing thing into the equation until after the second interview, sometimes after the third, when it’s evident they’re going to hire you.”
“Some high-end positions will require background checks before a second interview,” Joe said, his thoughts racing. “Especially if the candidate is going to be working with sensitive financial data. You know, stock-broker, that kind of thing.”
Dean nodded. He took a sip of his coffee. “Sure.”
“What else did Gabby say?”
“Carla told Gabby a week later that Richards had called to arrange a face-to-face. She came away from that even more impressed. Gabby is certain Carla told her the name of the company, but she can’t remember it. She said it had a very bland sounding name.”
“It wasn’t Corporate Financial, was it?” Joe asked, a worm of unease spiking in his abdomen. When he’d learned Carla had been at Corporate Financial for a brief stint, he’d been worried, but she hadn’t been there that long.
“No, it wasn’t them. But something similar. She said they have a small office, north west side of town, but that’s about all she told Gabby.”
“But she remembered this guy’s name, Bill Richards.”
“Yeah.” Dean took a sip of coffee.
Joe leaned back on his side of the booth, his thoughts racing. “Did she give Gabby a physical description?”
Dean shook his head. “She didn’t.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“I call every financial firm, accounting firm, bank, and stock broker in this city and ask for a Bill Richards,” Dean Campbell said. “He’s bound to turn up after a few days of cold calling. Somebody’s got to know him.”
Joe nodded, agreeing with the plan. If they could find this Bill Richards guy, he might be able to tell them key information about Carla. Was she nervous at the interview? Behaving strangely? Joe would think that if Carla had been looking forward to this interview, she would have been behaving quite the opposite, actually. If she’d been planning to make a break for parts unknown, why would she have agreed to a final interview anyway?
“Did Carla tell Gabby...” Joe asked, groping for the right way to phrase the question. “Did she give any indication that she was even thinking about... making a break from Casper and just relocating somewhere else?”
“I asked Gabby this,” Dean said. He looked at Joe with a sense of resignation, of puzzlement. “And she was adamant that Carla was determined to stay in Casper. She was determined to find a position, to make the area her home.
In all the months Gabby knew her, even after Carla was laid off, your daughter never said a word to her about packing up and leaving.”
“Not even offhandedly?” Joe asked.
“Not even offhandedly.”
The waitress delivered their meals and they paused in their conversation. Joe thought about this as they dug into their food. What Dean revealed sounded like Carla. It also dove-tailed with what Danielle told him. How many times had Carla told Joe, in a very determined tone of voice, that she was going to do something and she stuck to her guns? Every single time. Joe considered the complications as he savored his dish, which was prepared to perfection.
“I think your next move is sound,” Joe said. He was digging into his grilled flounder and enjoying it very much. “But I have two questions for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Why did you insist that I fly up here to meet you?”
Dean didn’t look up as he dug into his meal. “It’s much more secure to talk to you face-to-face. Cellular communications can be hijacked, encrypted email can be intercepted.”
“That leads me to question number two,” Joe said, trying to be as casual as he could without being overly conspicuous about it. He hadn’t noticed anything abnormal about the other restaurant patrons at all upon arrival, but during their time here Joe had snuck casual looks around. They were well out of eavesdropping range, and Joe was certain Dean wouldn’t have said as much if he knew their booth was bugged. “You gave me the impression earlier that we might be a topic of interest. Is that true?”
“I’m not taking chances,” Dean said.
“Why not?”
Dean paused. He held a half-eaten French fry in his hand. “Let’s just say that I have the sudden instinct to play this very, very, safe.”
CHAPTER 14
Anna’s mind was racing as Paul Westcott led her down the hallway to one of the rear conference rooms at the end of the hall. She had her purse slung over her right shoulder, her backpack was strapped to her back. Only her suitcase had been left at the front desk, and she was confident the front desk would keep careful watch over it. So why was she so nervous?
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