Deadly Ruse

by E. Michael Helms

  I handed the desk clerk my charge card and took the elevator up to the third floor. I followed the signs to Room 321, inserted the key card, and let myself in. The room was plenty swanky and sparkling clean. There were two queen-size beds, a good-size refrigerator, microwave, coffeemaker with all the fixings, and a flat-screen television damn near as wide as the sofa in my camper. Twenty dollars’ worth of casino chips rested on one of the bed pillows beside some foil-wrapped chocolates. All in all, not too shabby a deal, not to mention the outside balcony overlooking the fancy indoor-outdoor pool with its waterfalls and hot tubs.

  After unpacking my bag I grabbed the chips and headed for the casino, about a five-minute walk across the large parking lot. Hoping to find Dakota on the job, I strolled through the casino to the blackjack tables. She wasn’t on duty that I could see, and I didn’t want to take the chance of putting her in jeopardy by asking any of the employees if they knew when she was due in.

  I enjoyed a beer, busted out of a couple quick games of blackjack, and walked back to the resort sans chips. Back in my room I put on my swimsuit and a T-shirt, grabbed a couple of plush towels from the bathroom, and headed for the pool.

  At the tiki bar, located where the pool morphs from indoor to outdoor, I bought a Michelob from a cute brunette bartender. Past the tiki bar and just inside the indoor pool area, two side-by-side doors were marked “Office” by a lighted sign on the wall between them. Beyond the office the resort’s cavernous shopping mall surrounded the huge indoor pool. It was a great location to people-watch.

  I took the beer and chose a spot outside by the pool where I could keep an eye on anyone walking in or out of the office doors. After spreading one of the towels on the wide tile border surrounding the pool, I shed my T-shirt and deck shoes and stuffed my valuables inside the shoes. Then I headed for the deep end of the pool where three diving boards of various heights were located.

  After a death-defying dive off the medium board for a quick dip to cool off, I climbed out of the pool and toweled off. I sat there for several minutes drinking beer, basking in the sun, and taking in the view. Several guests were sunbathing on chaise longues. Nearby, two bronzed young women relaxing side by side on their stomachs had undone the straps of their bikini tops, offering an enticing eyeful to any alert viewer. At the shallow end of the pool, separated by a colorful rope and floats, several kids were fighting with water noodles and batting beach balls back and forth.

  I finished the beer, folded and rolled the second towel into a pillow, and lay down to soak up some rays. At some point I drifted off to sleep and dreamed I was back in Iraq listening to the distant rumble of artillery. Friendlies, I knew, our own batteries firing a mission in support of some unit to our north. The sound was strangely comforting.

  I bolted awake when thunder crashed from a lightning strike way too close for comfort. Cold raindrops pelted my body as I grabbed my gear and hustled to the shelter of the tiki bar. I checked my watch. Damn, ten to five. My little nap had lasted longer than I thought. I took a seat on a stool at the bar and slipped on my shirt. I ordered another beer from the young brunette who was decked out in white shorts and a Hawaiian-style shirt with the tails knotted around her tanned midriff. The clothing suited her; it looked like there might be a branch or two of Polynesian in her family tree. Dillon was pinned above her left breast pocket. Dillon? Where the hell did parents come up with these names for their daughters these days?

  Dillon brought the Michelob along with a frosted mug and some napkins. I declined the mug, handed her an Alexander Hamilton, and told her to keep the change. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt to make a friend around here. “Thank you,” she said, and flashed a wide smile full of pearly whites that gleamed against her bronzed face. She offered a hand. “I’m Dillon.”

  “Andrew,” I said, taking the soft hand and returning a light squeeze.

  Dillon leaned closer and said in a low voice meant only for me, “The second one is on the house.” She winked and pointed to her watch. “Happy hour begins at five. Close enough.”

  From my stool I had a fairly clear view of the office doors directly to my front across from the bar. The only obstacle was a boisterous hulk of a man with thick gray-white hair, a ruddy face, and a bulbous nose lined with purplish veins. He was probably around fifty and looked alarmingly similar to former president Bill Clinton before heart surgery forced him to trim off the excess poundage. He was smoking a big cigar and flirting with Dillon and a couple of women around my age who sat a few stools away. He kept offering to buy the pair drinks, and they kept refusing. At one point I thought I heard him say something about getting them a free upgrade on their room. With the cigar and the sweet talk, the comparison to Willy J. was getting downright uncanny.

  I finished the beer, and when Dillon glanced my way I smiled and pointed at the bottle. She brought my free Michelob, and I laid an Honest Abe on the bar for her. She thanked me with another flash of teeth. “Who’s Mr. Friendly behind you?” I said, casually lifting a finger off the bar and pointing at Dillon’s midriff, which stood between me and my former commander-in-chief’s double. I was pleasantly surprised to see that her belly button wasn’t sporting jewelry.

  “Oh, him.” Dillon puffed out a breath. She leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “That’s Mr. Garrett.”

  I almost spit out the mouthful of beer I’d just taken. “David Garrett?” I regretted mentioning Garrett’s first name as soon as it left my mouth. Another rookie mistake.

  Dillon shrugged. “Maybe, I’m not sure. He’s one of the owners of the place or something like that. I’ve heard there’s supposed to be a big corporate meeting here sometime this weekend.” She leaned in so close that I could feel her breath on my face when she whispered, “He’s a real pain in the you-know-what. He just arrived this morning, and he’s already pinched me on the butt twice when I turned my back to him.”

  I looked at Garrett again and tried to visualize Dr. Lawrence Garrett’s face. The hair and ruddy complexions were similar, but I wouldn’t bet the family jewels they were related. “Why didn’t you slap the taste out of his mouth?”

  Dillon frowned. “Don’t I wish.” She sighed. “I’m a single mom with a little boy to raise, and I can’t afford to lose this job.”

  Hearing that, my dislike for Garrett grew tenfold. Dillon couldn’t be much older than my Megan, and to think she had to put up with the crap that pompous bigwig was dishing out really pissed me off. I felt like walking over and decking the SOB, but the news I’d just learned about the meeting forced me to back off. If Garrett was in town, there was a good chance the other big shots would make a show, too. This could turn out to be an interesting weekend.

  I ordered three more brews to go. When Dillon brought them I handed her a twenty, thanked her for the great service, and headed to my room.

  Back in my room I put two of the beers in the fridge and carried the other out to the balcony overlooking the pool. The weather had cleared, and the automatic lights around the pool complex were coming on. I scoped out the surroundings again, and this time found that I could see a portion of the tiki bar from my vantage point. Garrett was still there, chatting up a bottled blonde sitting to his right. The pair he’d been schmoozing earlier had vanished.

  I spread a towel over one of the wet chairs and punched in Frank’s cell number. When he answered I filled him in on what was up and asked if he could get over here this weekend to help me out.

  “Sorry, Mac, but I’m on surveillance for a couple more days. Looks like you’re on your own for now.”

  “Let me guess: another feline straying on her tomcat?”

  “Close. This time it’s the tom on the prowl.”

  “Christ, Frank, don’t you ever get tired of being a voyeur-for-hire?”

  “Don’t knock it. Cheating spouses are most PI’s bread and butter. Without them we’d go hungry. Did you talk to Sheriff Pickron about the rocks?”

  “Not yet. He’ll be so busy with this holid
ay crowd I figured he wouldn’t give me the time of day, much less a million bucks.”

  Frank laughed. “Sounds just like his old man.”

  “Well, enjoy your exciting weekend at the peep show.”

  “You too. Let me know how it goes. And watch your tail.”

  Just then a shapely blonde sporting a white string bikini that left almost nothing to the imagination sauntered to the pool’s edge and stuck a toe in the water. “Will do, Frank. I promise I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

  Thirty minutes later I was showered and dressed and headed for the Polynesian Royale, a restaurant located on the opposite side of the indoor pool from the tiki bar. A nonchalant glance toward the bar told me Garrett was gone. Two perky blondes in Dillon-wear were now waiting on a growing number of patrons. They could’ve passed for twins, if they weren’t.

  A few feet from the restaurant entrance somebody touched the back of my arm. I spun around with my arm cocked and saw Dillon flinch back.

  “Sorry, Andrew, I didn’t mean to startle you!”

  I let out a breath and lowered my hands. “Me too. What’s up?”

  Dillon gave a quick sideways nod of her head and moved away from the entrance to one of several benches lined against the wall where the lighting was more subdued. I followed her, and we took a seat on either end so we wouldn’t give the appearance of being a couple. She glanced around until she seemed satisfied we weren’t being watched. “I thought you should know that Mr. Garrett asked me if I knew you.” She said this without looking my way.

  “And?”

  “He thought we seemed awfully friendly, but I told him no, that I’d never seen you before this afternoon when you showed up at the bar. I don’t know what business it is of his, anyway.”

  “Did he give you any idea why he might be interested in me?”

  “No, that’s all he said. I didn’t mention your name or anything.”

  “Did he ask?”

  Dillon leaned forward, resting her hands on the bench’s edge and scuffed at the walkway with a Nike. “Yes, but I told him I didn’t know.”

  “Thanks, let’s keep it that way, okay?”

  She kept her eyes to the front. “Sure. Are you... with the police or something?”

  There was that question again. “No. Why?”

  In my peripheral vision I could see she seemed on edge. “Nothing, really.”

  Dillon’s answer was less than convincing. I scanned around and casually slipped one of Frank’s business cards from my pants pocket. I set it on the bench next to my thigh. “My number’s on the back of this card. If you feel like talking, give me a call sometime when you’re sure it’s safe.” I knew I was taking a risk, but my gut told me she knew something that she wanted to get off her chest.

  From the corner of my eye I noticed Dillon’s lips tweak into a smile, and I could sense she was trying hard not to look my way. “Are you hitting on me, Andrew?”

  I stood and started toward the restaurant without making eye contact. “I wish. See you around.”

  The next morning I skipped the gratis continental breakfast the hotel offered and instead ordered eggs, grits, and country ham at the Royale Café a few doors down from the Polynesian Royale. I figured the more locations I covered, the better my chances were of spotting someone who might be involved in the case, namely Alice, Wes, or possibly even Eric Kohler or Rachel Todd. The food was first-rate, but unfortunately nobody of interest made an appearance.

  Back in my room, I’d just finished brushing my teeth when my cell phone rang out the Marines’ Hymn that my son Mike had programmed in for me. I answered quickly, guessing it was probably Kate.

  “Andrew? Or should I call you Mac?”

  “Morning, Dillon. Let’s keep it Andrew between us for now. It’s my middle name.”

  “Fine. I called Mr. Hightower to check up on you.”

  “Then I guess you figured out that I’m not at the resort for a vacation.”

  “Yes. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I finished pouring a cup of coffee from the pot I’d started before brushing my teeth. “Not at all; I would’ve done the same thing. Did I pass the test?”

  “Yes, he told me you were in the Marines and all, and that I could trust you.”

  I decided to be blunt. “Good, but can I trust you? You know I put my butt in a sling when I left you that card.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I called. I think we should talk.”

  I took another sip and swallowed. “Okay, shoot.”

  “I’d rather not talk over the phone. Can you... come to my house?”

  Dillon sounded hesitant, and the thought of an ambush toyed with my mind. This could easily be a setup, but what the hell. If she was on the up and up, then she’d taken a big risk by tipping me off about Garrett outside the restaurant last night. If she really had something for me, I figured it was worth the risk. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that other philosophical BS. “Sure. When and where?”

  There was silence for a moment. Maybe Dillon was having second thoughts about getting involved or setting me up. “I live in Parkersville with my aunt and son.” She gave me the address and her cell phone number. “Can you be here at eleven? I have to be at work by two this afternoon.”

  I assured her I’d be there and started to end the call when she stopped me in mid-sentence.

  “Andrew? Please make sure nobody follows you here.”

  On the drive down to Parkersville, Dillon’s parting words kept running through my mind. There were two ways I could take it. Either she was really scared that someone from the Palmetto Royale would find out we were talking, or she was throwing me one hell of a curveball. If she lived with her aunt and little boy like she said, then I probably had nothing to worry about. On the other hand, what if there was no aunt or son? What if she’d agreed to be the lure in exchange for a nice payoff from Garrett or Alice and company? Then my ass truly would be in a sling. Either way, I’d decided to show up packing my S & W.

  I damn near wore out the Fusion’s rear- and side-view mirrors by the time I pulled into Dillon’s empty driveway and parked in front of the attached garage. It was a typical house of brick and siding located in a typical middle-class neighborhood with similar houses up and down the street. I breathed a little easier. If this was to be an ambush, whoever chose the location could’ve done a hell of a lot better. I grabbed the manila envelope with the photos of the old Destin gang that I’d brought along for my stay at the Palmetto Royale. As I exited the rental I tucked the .357 Magnum in the back of my Dockers and made sure my pullover shirt covered it. They say one can never be too careful, a lesson I’ve learned the hard way.

  I rang the bell, and Dillon quickly opened the door. She took an anxious glance around and practically jerked me inside. I reached behind me, but my adrenaline stopped pumping when I saw a curly-haired youngster maybe a year old propelling himself across the hardwood floor in one of those little tyke walkers. My fatherly instincts said that Dillon was who she claimed to be, and that this was no setup.

  “Did anybody follow you?”

  I let out the deep breath I’d taken when I’d rang the doorbell. “No. I checked my mirrors the whole way and made a lot of unnecessary turns instead of driving straight here. We’re safe.”

  Dillon let out a big sigh and seemed to relax a little. “Thanks for coming.” She took a peek out the window, locked the deadbolt, and then intercepted her son and lifted him from the walker. “I made coffee. Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

  I didn’t ask, but I assumed the aunt wasn’t home as I followed Dillon and watched as she buckled the kid into a high chair and spread a handful of Cheerios across the tray.

  “Andrew, meet Tyler. Tyler, meet Andrew.”

  I held out a finger, and the boy wrapped a chubby fist around it. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Tyler.”

  Dillon laughed and looked even more relaxed. She told me to have a seat at the table while she poured the coffee. I sat f
acing the double windows above the sink and watched her pad barefoot across the kitchen tile to the coffeepot. She was dressed in faded jeans and an oversized man’s shirt with all the buttons in their proper place except the collar button. Somewhere beneath all that fabric I knew lurked a very nice figure, but I admired Dillon for her motherly modesty.

  She seemed a little hesitant to dive right into the topic she’d called me about. Instead, she sidestepped the issue with small talk about growing up in Lompoc, California, and attending Cal State-Fullerton where she’d graduated with a BA in sociology. While home during a semester break she’d met her future husband, an airman stationed at nearby Vandenberg Air Force Base. A whirlwind romance led to marriage. A few months later, soon after the budding family was transferred to Eglin AFB in the Florida Panhandle, Tyler was born. Eglin wasn’t far from Frank’s home stomping grounds, and it was the source of a good portion of his cheating-spouse business.

  Tyler was only three months old when his daddy announced he was in love with another woman and wanted out of the marriage. Luckily for the new mother and baby, Dillon had an aunt living in Parkersville. She welcomed the two into her home until Dillon could get back on her feet. Dillon went right to work with plans to save enough money to return home to California and begin a new life for herself and Tyler. The divorce was just recently finalized, but the Air Force had quickly docked hubby’s pay for back child support. Throw in the salary and tips from her job at the Palmetto Royale, and Dillon was doing all right for herself. End of story.

  I sensed that Dillon was hungry for companionship and the chance to talk to someone of the adult variety other than her aunt. I appreciated that, but this wasn’t a social call. I made a show of looking at my watch. “I’m glad you and Tyler have landed on your feet, but we both know you didn’t ask me here so we could swap bios. You said you had to be at work by two, so we better get down to business.”