Two other security guards came out of the conference room they were heading toward and Anna felt her stomach lurch. As they approached Rick Nicholson’s office, he emerged in the doorway. He was still wearing the clothes he’d had on last night and he looked exhausted. She heard him ask what was going on as Paul led her through the door to the conference room.
Anna took a deep breath to calm herself down as Paul and the two security guards entered the room. “What’s this all about?”
A third security guard entered the conference room. He was wheeling in her luggage. As he lifted the suitcase onto the conference room table, Anna blurted, “What the hell is going on here?”
“Trying to sneak out while still on duty?” Paul asked. He was regarding her from across the conference room table with suspicion. “Got something to hide, Ms. King?”
“Something to hide?” Anna felt a flush of fear rise in her, but she quickly got it under control. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s going on?”
Rick stepped forward. He looked nervous. “Paul, let’s...”
Paul held his right hand up to stop him. He didn’t remove his gaze from Anna. “Why are you leaving?”
“Because last night was the last day of the season.” Her stomach was rolling. She tried not to appear so nervous.
“You didn’t tell your shift supervisor you were taking the day off, and Rick wasn’t aware of it. This is serious business, Anna.”
“Taking the day off?” What was Paul Westcott talking about? “My last day of employment was yesterday. What are you talking about?”
Paul and Rick traded a glance. Rick appeared to visibly deflate. He looked embarrassed. He ran a hand over his face and when he looked at Anna he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Alex should have told you yesterday afternoon that you were tapped to work the Private Event this week.”
“What?” Now it was Anna’s turn to be confused. Alex hadn’t said shit to her. “Alex never told me anything about staying on for another week.”
“Miscommunication,” Paul muttered. “Ain’t that a bitch!”
“You’re telling me I’ve been tapped to work dinner service for Chef Munchel for this private event?”
“Yes, that’s what’s happening,” Rick said.
Anna felt herself wanting to relax, to laugh at the absurdity of it, but she couldn’t. She shook her head, the unease and nervousness deflating as suddenly as it had come over her. “Oh my God!”
“I apologize for the miscommunication and the sudden surprise,” Paul Westcott said, his demeanor very different now. “As you were told at orientation, you will be very well compensated for your service this week and—”
“That’s all fine and good,” Anna said, overriding him, “but I can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“I have things to do,” Anna said. The minute she said it, she realized what a lame excuse it was.
Paul Westcott was sharper than he looked. His demeanor changed back again to its previous state: suspicion and anger. He nodded at Glenn. “Open her suitcase.”
“You’re not opening my suitcase,” Anna protested.
“Yes we are.”
“What for?”
“I don’t like the way you’re behaving,” Paul said, his eyes locked with hers. “I don’t like the fact that we have a Bent Creek employee getting out of dodge only hours after being questioned about the theft of over three hundred thousand dollars in cash from one of our guests. A Bent Creek employee who, I might add, was stopped while trying to sneak off the premises.”
“I told you, Alex didn’t tell me anything about staying on!”
Glenn ran his fingers over the suitcase locks, fumbled with them a moment, then turned to Paul. “Lock has a combination,” he said.
Paul Westcott turned to her. The room grew silent as all eyes fell on Anna. She knew that look very well. She was being accused of the theft.
“You understand that you have no legal right to search my suitcase,” Anna said.
“Of course,” Paul Westcott said. “And you also understand that if you don’t open this suitcase and let us search it, I can have the police here in less than fifteen minutes. They’re quite aware of the thefts that have been going on here, and they will be happy to work with us in getting to the bottom of them. You will be their most likely suspect, too, I might add. So, if you don’t have anything to hide, tell Martin the combination and let him open your suitcase.”
“Fine, call the police,” Anna said, her heart pounding. This was bullshit! “I know my rights. My employment ended here last night. Technically I’ve been a guest since two a.m. this morning. You detaining me constitutes kidnapping.”
Paul sighed and turned to Rick. “Call the police, Mr. Nicholson.”
Rick nodded and headed toward the conference room door.
Everything was spiraling downward very fast. If the police showed up and detained her further, her plans were spoiled. There was no telling how long the police would keep her. “Okay, okay,” Anna said. “I’ll open it. I just want to get the hell out of here and be on my way.”
Paul Westcott raised his right hand again at Rick, who stopped. Paul hadn’t broken his gaze from Anna. “Excellent! You can start by giving Glenn the combination.”
“I’ll open it myself,” Anna said. She stepped up to the table and Glenn moved out of her way. Anna flipped through the combination quickly, getting the numbers in place by rote memory. She flipped the latches back and raised the lid to the suitcase, keeping her body positioned in front of it for a moment as she prepared herself quickly for what was to come. She took a deep breath, composed herself. “Here you go. Knock yourself out.”
Glenn and another security guard stepped in and began rummaging through the suitcase. They were very thorough. Paul and Rick stepped closer to Anna and watched as the suitcase was searched. Her clothes were removed and patted down. The mesh partition she stored her undergarments in was emptied, and she remained stoical as they pawed through her panties and bra, daring them to look at her. Glenn patted down the side compartments, emptied them of their contents—toiletries in one, Kleenex and wadded tissues in another—and the other security guard emptied out the zip-lock bag that contained the last two nights worth of laundry. When they were finished, the entire contents of her suitcase was piled on the conference room table, a haphazard of slacks, blouses, T-shirts, pajamas, underwear, bras, socks, and several pairs of shoes. When the guards were finished with the interior of her suitcase, one turned his attention to the exteriors’ various pockets and zippered compartments while Glenn turned his attention to her purse. Anna said nothing as he began removing items from her purse—a packet of tissues, her change purse, which he opened, spilling loose change and a roll of bills onto the tabletop. Other items from her purse were also deposited on the table—a bottle of Anacin, a roll of Antacids, her birth control pills, some extra tampons, a stick of spearmint chewing gum, a packet of breath fresheners, her iPod Touch and a pair of ear buds, her iPhone. Glenn patted the inside of the purse to insure there was nothing stashed in any of the zippered pockets. The other security guard completed his search of her suitcase and thumbed through the bills amid the loose change: two twenties, a ten, a five, and three ones was all that comprised of the petty cash Anna was carrying.
Glenn motioned to Anna. “Take off your backpack.”
Anna rolled her eyes and slipped the backpack off. She set it on the conference room table and unzipped one of the compartments. “My laptop and power cord,” she said, halfway pulling out a MacBook Pro. She slid the laptop back in, opened another compartment and slid a notebook out. “My notebook and pens. Some paperbacks.” She opened this second compartment more fully—several paperback novels lay inside. “That’s all.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” the guard said, reaching out for the backpack.
Glenn finished searching her suitcase and turned to Paul. “Suitcase and purse are clean.”
“Satisfied now?
” Anna asked Paul.
“Get Karen in here so she can give Anna a physical pat down,” Paul told Glenn. The guard who had grabbed her backpack was pawing through, taking things out.
“What? A pat down?”
Paul regarded Anna, that mistrust still in his eyes. “How do I know you aren’t hiding anything in the pockets of your jacket?”
“You’ve gotta be...okay, fine!” Anna reached both hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and pulled them inside out. Everybody stopped what they were doing and watched her. “Here you go. See? Nothing in my pockets, nothing up my sleeves. I’ll show you myself.”
With that, Anna peeled off her jacket and handed it to the guard who was rummaging through her backpack, who took it wordlessly (but she could detect he was a little surprised by her willingness to give it up so quickly). He stopped searching through the backpack as she proceeded to turn the front pockets of her jeans inside out. “Nothing there either,” she said. She turned around. “And if you want to look at my ass, check out the back pockets. No big wad of bills stuffed in my back pockets. Nothing stuffed down the front either.”
“Paul,” Rick said, “I think after seeing this, we can safely rule out Miss King as being a suspect in—”
“Not now,” Paul said, once again raising his hand to stop Rick in mid-sentence. Paul continued to pay close attention to Anna, who kept her own gaze locked with him. By contrast, Rick appeared uncomfortable. It looked like he didn’t want to be here, either.
“Okay,” Paul said, his eyes roaming over her, visually assessing her. “You aren’t wearing the type of clothing that can successfully hide that much cash, and the money wasn’t in your suitcase, backpack, or your purse. My apologies for jumping to conclusions.”
Anna didn’t answer him. She reached out for her jacket and backpack and began reassembling things. Both security guards looked to Paul for guidance. “Now that we’re finished, can I pack up and get the hell out of here?”
“Did you misunderstand what I said earlier about you being tapped for dinner service this week?”
“No, I didn’t. Did you misunderstand me when I informed you that nobody told me, and I can’t do it?”
Paul Westcott smiled. It was the first time Anna had seen the Security Director of Bent Creek Country Club and Resorts smile. “Come on, Anna, let’s not be difficult. This really is your lucky day. I apologize if Alex didn’t properly communicate to you last evening that Chef Munchel personally selected you for service; I will have to deal with his insubordination at another time. Let me be the first to congratulate you and encourage you to stay on board.”
“And I told you, I can’t stay,” Anna began. “I have—”
“Things to do. Yes, you told me that. But if you’ll remember from orientation, those who are selected to work the Private Event will receive a ten thousand dollar bonus.”
Anna stopped arguing. To do so would only cause further suspicion. Most people would jump at the chance to earn that kind of money for only five days of work. She had to think this through carefully.
“I might further add,” Paul Westcott continued, “that working the Private Event, if selected, is a condition of your employment contract with us.” Anna let that sink in as the room grew silent. “I’d hate for you to be the first Bent Creek employee Rick has to take to court for violating their contract.”
Anna sighed. “Okay, fine. Color me surprised that Chef Munchel selected me.”
“Why don’t you get your things together? I’ll have the concierge in to have your belongings transported back to your room. Then maybe you can get that sleep you wanted.”
“Yeah, sure,” Anna said. The more she stayed here, the more uneasy she was becoming. She needed to get back to her room to rethink this. Reschedule her plans for the week.
Paul nodded at her, then nodded at Glenn and the other two security guards. “Why don’t we let Miss King gather her things? Glenn, will you inform Guests Services to have the concierge bring a luggage cart to the conference room?”
“Yes, Mr. Westcott,” Glenn said. He and the other two security guards left the conference room.
“Very good,” Paul said. He smiled at Anna. “And let me be the first to congratulate you on being personally selected by Chef Munchel to serve our guests at this week’s esteemed private event!”
CHAPTER 15
The meeting with Anna King had been wrapped up thirty minutes ago, and Rick Nicholson was still trying to tie things up so he could go upstairs to his room and get some sleep.
He was at the front desk collecting the print-out of a report the front desk supervisor had run for him. Front Desk Services was getting a steady upstream in business as Bent Creek guests began to check out. Rick avoided eye contract with them as he darted in the back to Hal Green’s office to collect his report and confer with him, then he was back at the front desk, waiting for another report to print out.
Rick had been up for almost thirty-two hours. Last night had been horrendous. The theft of a quarter of a million dollars in cash was bad enough. Staying on duty to be on hand for the questioning of every Bent Creek service employee, from the wait staff and kitchen staff, to maintenance, guest room services, to those employees that manned the gift shops and entertainment services, had been trying and drawn out. And it wasn’t over, either. Security had arranged to question the final wave of exiting employees, with two teams handling the actual questioning and another team conducting a search of their rooms. This tactic had been employed last night with those employees who were working. Rick had been present at Anna King’s questioning, and he’d seen the report on the search of her room, which had come back clean. Her questioning had raised no red flags, either.
Rick frowned as he went over last night’s events and the encounter with Anna an hour ago. Why Chef Munchel tapped her for dinner service was beyond him, considering this morning’s performance. According to her performance reviews, Anna had mixed reviews from the customers; some praised her highly, others went out of their way to make her supervisors know that she was unworthy of future employment at Bent Creek as a waitress. This was common par with somebody with Anna’s professional background being out of their element, especially when they were expected to work a service job that catered to people that could be downright snobs. To be fair, every waiter and server on staff received negative comments. It was common when working as a guest services staff member at a place that catered to the rich and pampered.
“Here you go, Mr. Nicholson.” Tony Bunn, the lead desk clerk handed the last report to Rick, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Anything else you need?”
“Nope, this will be fine.” Rick gave Tony a smile, then headed around the front desk and began to weave his way past the loose throng of guests congregating in the lobby to check out.
As he made his way through the lobby, he nodded at those guests he recognized. Some nodded back. Only one acknowledged him by name. “Good morning, Mr. Nicholson.”
“Good morning,” Rick said. The guest held out his right hand to be shaken and Rick stopped. He regarded the man as he shook hands with him. His name came to him instantly. “Bob Garrison, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Bob said, smiling. Bob Garrison had come to Bent Creek by himself three days ago and had made small talk with Rick on the few occasions they came into contact with each other. He was instantly likeable. Rick believed he was involved in hedge funds. “You’ll be around this week, right?”
“Of course,” Rick said. “Duty calls. Where you off to this week?”
“I’m staying on,” Bob said. “Decided to at the last minute after giving it some thought and really enjoying myself the past few days.”
“Really?” This was news to Rick. He had a manifest of all the guest names who had paid for the private event and Garrison’s name wasn’t on the list. “I didn’t know that.”
“Chef Munchel invited me a month ago,” Bob said, his face open and affable. “He’s prepared dinner for several private
functions I was involved with and we got to talking. He told me about this event, extended the invitation, and I came out to see for myself.”
“You remitted your payment?” Rick asked. Rick knew the price for the private event was very steep—half a million dollars per person.
“I gave Chef Munchel a down payment last month and remitted the rest of it this morning at the front desk,” Bob said. “They even gave me a receipt. Do you want to see it?” Bob began to reach into the front pockets of his shorts for his wallet.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Rick said, his thoughts racing. He would have to double-check the database once he returned to his office. “I guess I’ll be seeing you this week, then.”
“It’ll be my pleasure,” Bob said. He flashed another smile, clapped Rick on the shoulder and left.
Rick Nicholson watched the taller man weave his way through the crowd, heading toward the elevators. Wistfully, he turned and headed toward the corporate offices.
Once back in his office he slumped in his chair and set the reports down on his desk. His mind reran the encounter with Bob Garrison again, then he turned to his computer and called up the database. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed in a search query for Bob Garrison.
The only information that came up on Garrison was that he had been a registered guest since Monday, three days ago. There was no key indicating Garrison was in the system for the private event. Rick double-checked the second database, though, just to be sure. He quickly went through the list of fifteen names of those guests who had paid to be in attendance at the private function. Garrison wasn’t listed.
Rick frowned. He picked up the phone and dialed Paul Westcott’s extension. Paul picked up on the third ring.
“What’s up, Rick?”
“Not much,” Rick said. “I just grabbed the last of the reports from guest services and I’m gonna go upstairs to get some sleep. I ran into a guest in the lobby. Guy by the name of Bob Garrison. He said Chef Munchel invited him to the private event a month ago and that he paid up, but he’s not in the system. You know anything about that?”
Retreat Page 11