Dillon got up and refilled our cups and sat back down. She stared into her coffee for a moment before looking up. “I think someone is dealing drugs at the resort.”
My eyes lit up. I took a sip of coffee and set the cup down. “What makes you think that?”
“Just talk from some of the employees at the resort. And I’ve seen certain people coming out of rooms where they had no business being.”
That was an interesting scenario, but it didn’t prove anything and I told her so.
Dillon shook her head and stared into her cup again. “I’ve smelled odors... my husband was involved with meth and marijuana and other junk while we were stationed at Eglin, so I’m pretty sure something’s going on.”
“If you think something’s up, why don’t you just quit and look for another job? There’s no sense putting yourself in a risky situation.”
Dillon looked away. “Have you checked the job market around here? It sucks. I couldn’t make half of what I’m making at the Royale anywhere else.” She turned her head and faced me with searching eyes. “Besides, it might be too late. This one girl approached me.”
I waited a few seconds. “About what?”
She sniffled. “She said I could make some extra money, more money than the resort was paying me, if...”
“If what?”
She shook her head. “I think whoever’s behind the drugs has been pressuring certain employees, mostly attractive girls, to help them push their junk.”
“You got any idea who’s behind this?”
Dillon shook a few more Cheerios from the box onto Tyler’s tray. “No, not for sure. I mean, I’ve seen a couple of people, but I really can’t mention any names.”
I waited again, but Dillon wasn’t offering. “Is Caitlin Medlin one of these people?”
Her jaw tightened, and she focused on the Cheerios box like she was reading a best-selling novel. “I really can’t mention any names. It’s not safe.”
“How so?”
She let out a breath. “This girl asked me to flirt with the customers, find out who might be interested in what they were selling. I told her I didn’t want to get involved, that I didn’t want any trouble because of Tyler and all.” Dillon dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “She told me it would be a shame if my son was taken away from me for being found with drugs in my possession.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Can you help us?”
So that was their game. Put the squeeze on single moms or others in vulnerable situations who stood to lose more than a job if they didn’t cooperate. Either help push their junk or risk being framed for refusing to get involved. I got up and tore a paper towel from a roll on the counter near the sink and handed it to Dillon. “You think the owners might be involved in this drug stuff?”
Dillon shook her head again. “I don’t think so. I mean, from what I hear they’re making a lot of money. Why would they risk losing their business over something illegal like that?”
Good answer. This girl had a savvy head on her shoulders.
Dillon sniffed and drew in a ragged breath. “There’s something else you should know.”
I waited.
“Back in college, I was busted for possession of marijuana.”
“With intent to distribute?”
She shook her head. “No, we were at a big fraternity party and suddenly the cops came busting in. The word was that somebody working undercover tipped off the police. It was my first offense, so I had to appear in court and pay a small fine.”
“No probation?”
“No.”
“Then you’re clean. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
She sighed. “I can’t help but worry, because of my son. I mean, if somebody planted something on me and it was found, I might lose him.”
“They’re probably bluffing just to increase business,” I said, hoping to ease her mind. I opened the envelope, pulled out the photos and handed them to Dillon. “Have you seen any of these people around the resort or casino?”
She spread the photos on the table and studied them a moment. “Yes.” She turned the photo of Alice so that it was facing me. “This is Ms. Spence. She’s one of the main owners or whatever; at least that’s what I’ve heard.”
I pointed to Wes Harrison’s likeness. “What about him?”
Dillon’s eyes narrowed as she gave the composite another look-see. “That could be Mr. Weston, only his hair is different and he doesn’t have those funny-looking eyes.”
“Does this Mr. Weston have a first name?”
Dillon turned her head and gently blew her nose into the paper towel. “I only know him as Mr. Weston. I mean, I don’t really know him or anything. I’ve just seen him around a couple of times.”
“Have you ever seen the two of them together?”
Dillon sucked on her lower lip. “I’m not sure, but I think so. Coming out of the office a few weeks ago just as my shift started. I’m pretty sure it was them.”
It was a long shot, but I showed her the old beach photo of Kate and the others. She didn’t recognize any of them.
“Can you help us, Andrew? Please, I don’t have anyone at work I can discuss this with. And I can’t tell my aunt. She’d go straight to the police, and the owners would find out and I’d lose my job for sure.”
I reached across the table and placed a hand on her arm. “I’ll see what I can do. For the time being don’t trust anybody, period. You never know who might be working as a snitch to cover whose butt. Just go to work, do your job, and come home.”
She wiped her nose and nodded.
The clock had caught up with us. Dillon had to get ready for work and drop Tyler off at daycare on the way. Tyler grabbed my finger and we shook good-bye as I got up to leave. Dillon unbuckled her son and carried him on a hip as she walked me to the door. I unlocked the deadbolt and started to turn the doorknob and then stopped. I looked straight into her eyes.
“It’s real important that you don’t talk about this to anybody,” I said. “Not your aunt and especially nobody at work. Just go about your business as usual and act like nothing has happened. And try to avoid contact with any of the employees you don’t trust. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can do, but this thing is probably bigger than anything we can handle by ourselves.”
Dillon bit her lower lip and nodded as Tyler pawed at her breasts. “Mommy will feed you in a minute,” she said.
Lucky guy. “And if you see me around, we don’t know each other from Adam’s second cousin. Not even eye contact. Got it?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly Dillon wrapped her free hand around the back of my neck, pulled my face toward hers, and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, Andrew,” she said as she closed the door behind me and locked the deadbolt.
CHAPTER 25
After leaving Dillon’s house I drove around Parkersville a while and then turned east on Highway 98 toward St. George, chewing on what we’d just talked about. Like Dillon said, it wouldn’t make sense for Alice or Wes to jeopardize their perfectly legitimate casino/resort business by allowing drugs to be dealt on the grounds. Why risk screwing up a very profitable and booming business for a few extra bucks such an operation might bring in? And why the hell would they have chanced having “Mr. Weston” fingered as Wes Harrison if it resulted in a police investigation? They were too sharp for that; at least I knew Alice was. My guess was that Alice was doing everything in her power to nip Caitlin Medlin’s business in the bud before the cops got wind of it.
On the other hand, Ms. Medlin and her cohorts, Whit Coleman and Summer Tyson, were neck-deep in the drug crapola. This little entrepreneurial endeavor had their names written all over it. Also, Coleman and Tyson were both students at Chipola, another fertile ground for pushing their goodies.
My brain was starting to hurt. I figured I’d take my mind off things long enough to drive by the camper and make sure it was still in one piece. The campground was packed, and the Grey Wolf looked fine from the outside, so
I drove on by and headed back to the Palmetto Royale. I hadn’t used my complimentary half-hour massage yet, and after my meeting with Dillon I figured a little muscle-kneading might help me unwind and clear my mind while I thought about what my next step would be. I definitely needed to contact Frank and bring him up to date, but figured I’d wait until later that night. It might help liven up his evening.
On the way to the resort I called Kate on her cell phone. She and her mother were at the beach soaking up rays and were just about ready to head home. Things were going fine, but she was still a little miffed about being held prisoner at her parents’ house, as she so delicately put it. Kate invited me to visit and have dinner with the Bells on Sunday, and I accepted. I didn’t mention the little vacation I was taking at the Palmetto Royale. No sense in giving Kate cause to worry, or getting her more riled up than she already was, whichever the case might be.
It was around three-thirty when I got back to my room. I showered and then called the spa to see if I’d need an appointment for the massage, or if they took walk-ins. The young lady I spoke with assured me that I would be accommodated with a pleasurable experience at my convenience. Fancy words, but I took them to mean they accepted walk-ins. So, with my gratis certificate in hand I headed for the elevator.
The spa and gym were located in a wing of the hotel at the end of a long corridor past the offices. The outdoor pool area was crowded with swimmers and sunbathers. At the tiki bar I saw Dillon and a tall young man on duty. Dillon was serving a cocktail with a fancy looped straw to one of the few customers gathered around the bar. Either she didn’t notice me as I passed, or she was heeding my warning not to make so much as eye contact with me.
Walking by the office doors I hesitated and glanced through the glass panes. An older couple stood at the counter talking to a young man wearing a resort polo shirt. I could also see a couple of disembodied heads behind the counter that obviously belonged to other employees busy at their desks, but nothing much else.
Pushing open the corridor’s glass doors, I noticed the high ceiling was made of glass panels, and it was nearly as bright as the outdoors. Palms and other tropical plants grew along the borders of the stone walkway. Parrots and cockatiels and smaller colorful birds chirped and squawked and flitted about the lush foliage, and I wondered how the establishment kept the feathery critters from crapping on the customers. Maybe they didn’t.
I followed the signs to the spa and entered through double glass doors. A well-toned, attractive woman around thirty dressed in a tight Palmetto Royale T and white shorts greeted me with a practiced smile. Christ, did they ever hire any other types around here?
“Good afternoon, sir! How may I help you?”
I checked the name tag: Maryann. What the hell happened to her parents’ imagination? “Hi,” I said and handed her the certificate. “I thought I might try a massage.”
Maryann glanced at the certificate and dropped it in a basket on the counter. “Certainly, Mr. McClellan.” She handed me a flyer from a loose stack beside the basket. “It’ll be just a few minutes. Why don’t you have a seat over there and make yourself comfortable. In the meantime, would you like a complimentary drink?”
What the hell; I decided to go for broke. “Dewar’s on the rocks?”
Another big smile from Maryann. “Certainly.” She picked up a receiver, punched in a number, and said, “Dewar’s on the rocks, please,” and hung up. “We’ll be right with you, Mr. McClellan.”
A couple of minutes later another smiling resort clone appeared through a side door. She sashayed over and placed a tumbler of Scotch and a couple of napkins on the table beside my chair. I didn’t bother to check her name tag. “There we go!”
I already had a five-spot ready and laid it on the small tray she was carrying. All these comps were breaking my bank.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “Please let me know if I can get you anything else.” With that, she retraced her path through the door.
I leaned back in the plush chair and sipped my drink while I looked at the flyer Maryann had given me:
You will soon enjoy thirty minutes of relaxing Swedish Massage Therapy, compliments of the Palmetto Royale Casino & Resort. We are certain you will find it an enjoyable and beneficial experience.
For a nominal fee our highly trained professionals offer the following healthful massage techniques to help ensure your stay at the Palmetto Royale is the most rewarding and pleasurable possible.
The flyer went on to list Aromatherapy, Hot Stone, Deep Tissue, Shiatsu, Thai, Reflexology, and other massages, with a description of each. Prices varied according to the technique and time involved. The one that grabbed my attention was the Royale Deluxe, described only as The most intense, pleasurable and satisfying experience we offer. I was half-tempted to give that one a try, but at two hundred bucks for an hour my imagination would have to do.
I’d just knocked back the last of the Dewar’s when Maryann announced that they were ready for me. I followed her through a door and down a long hallway with several rooms on either side. We stopped at Room 7. Lucky me. Maryann tapped lightly on the door, and a tall blonde goddess appeared. What else should I have expected? She stood there smiling and looking me over with big blue almond-shaped eyes. She was decked out in a white halter and shorts. Oh, and a pair of white sandals that my eyes finally worked their way down to.
“Isabella, this is Mr. McClellan. He’s here for our complimentary massage.”
Isabella offered her hand. She had long slender fingers, perfect for a concert pianist. With digits like those I figured she could make some really beautiful body music. I took the hand and was surprised by the firm grip. I guess it comes with the territory. She arched an eyebrow. “Must I call you Mr. McClellan?”
I caught my breath. “Andrew will do just fine.”
Isabella smiled. “Welcome, Andrew.”
Isabella spoke very good English, but there was definitely an accent that I didn’t quite recognize. My best guess was Latina. That probably accounted for the dark complexion that didn’t appear to be the result of baking for hours under the sun.
Maryann made some sort of throaty noise to get my attention. “I’ll leave you two now. Would you care for another drink, Mr. McClellan?”
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
Maryann put on her smile. “If you change your mind or need anything at all, just let Isabella know. She’ll take good care of you.” With that, she left the room and closed the door behind her.
Before I could wonder what was coming next, Isabella opened a stainless steel cabinet, grabbed a plush white towel from a shelf, and handed it to me. “I will step out of the room for a moment while you undress to where you feel comfortable. You may lie on this table when you are ready.” Good English, but a bit stodgy. She pointed to a stout table with thick padding covered in what looked to be genuine leather dyed a deep burgundy. “What kind of music do you wish, Andrew?”
Music? I hadn’t thought of music as being part of the massage experience. “Why don’t you choose,” I said. Before I realized it, the sound of soft jazz was flowing from surround-sound speakers, and Isabella had disappeared through a door at the far wall.
I stood in the center of the room holding the towel. During my twenty-four-year career in the Marine Corps I came under enemy fire many times, but I don’t recall ever being as nervous as I was right then. What the hell, it wasn’t like I hadn’t been naked in front of people a thousand times before. I kicked off my deck shoes, pulled my shirt over my head, and dropped my shorts. I debated and then decided that keeping my skivvies on would show Isabella that I had a touch of decorum. I draped my clothes across a chair and set my shoes on the floor beside it. Then I hopped onto the table, stretched out on my back, and covered myself with the large towel. After a couple of deep breaths I was able to relax a little, knowing everything from my shoulders to mid-calves was safely concealed.
A moment later the door opened and a smiling Isabella approach
ed carrying a clear bottle that I assumed contained massage oil. She asked if I would please turn over on my stomach and place my face in the cradle at the head of the table. As I started to move she reached for the towel and turned her head away, for the sake of my modesty, I guessed.
I relaxed as best I could as Isabella folded the towel down past my waist. When she saw my skivvies she made a little “tsk-tsk” with her tongue. “Do you wish to keep these on, Andrew?”
My pulse was starting to pick up speed. “Does it matter?”
“I will not be able to do the massage as well, but it is up to you.”
“Go ahead,” I said, meaning for her to begin the massage. In a flash the towel was gone and my skivvies off in one smooth motion, leaving me basking in all my glory.
“I see you have scars,” she said, lightly touching the exit wound from an AK-47 on the back of my left shoulder and then the shrapnel wound on my left calf. “I will be most careful to work around these.”
Isabella draped the towel across me and folded it back somewhere in the vicinity of my butt crack. For the next several minutes she put those practiced hands of hers to work, stroking and kneading my shoulders and back, massaging the oil deep into my pores. Several times she discovered knots in my muscles and attacked them with deep pressure and well-placed karate chops. A bonus, I guess, and damn, it hurt so good.
Then she turned her attention to the backs of my legs, rubbing and stroking and squeezing her way down my thighs and calves to my feet. Next, she grabbed each leg in turn, lifting and stretching and kneading the tightness from them.
The old gluteus maximus awaited. Isabella warmed another squirt of oil between her palms and went to work. I tightened up like an over-wound clock spring. “Andrew, you must relax to get the benefit,” Isabella said with a slight giggle.
I took a deep breath, exhaled like a pinpricked balloon, and relaxed. At least I tried to. The feel of Isabella’s hands rubbing and squeezing my butt, and those slender fingers gliding along my crack and drifting dangerously close to the family jewels made relaxing all but impossible. She giggled again. “I will need two hours to make you relax.”
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