by Jim Heskett
The man shook his head and said, "nope. Got a lot of bungalows to visit and not a lot of time. But, I wanted to tell you that we are meeting in the main hall in a few minutes. Ms. Overton has a big announcement, and she would like everyone present. I know it’s early, but we want to get ahead of the story, as it were.”
“The story?” Harry asked.
“Sorry, everything will make sense after the announcement. We would appreciate it if we only had to do this one time, so everyone in the retreat center is aware of the situation and knows what the proper next steps will be.”
Layne and Harry promised the man they would hike over to the main hall in a few minutes, and then they sent him on his way.
"What do you think it is?" Harry asked.
"I think they're going to tell us the roads are shut down. That access in and out of the SMRC is suspended for everyone.”
Harry mused on this for a few seconds, and then he slowly nodded. "This is bad."
Layne didn't say anything, and he didn't have to.
17
Just as he’d suspected, the roads had shut down. No access in or out of the retreat center. With everyone gathered in the main hall, Victoria had made the announcement to a state of general unrest. Despite the promises she’d made about how excellent the snow plows were in the area and how this was a common occurrence, and no one should be worried, everyone was worried.
She kept her announcement brief and warned there would be no Q&A afterward. Still, people spoke up. Many of the retreat guests pointed out that weather forecasts indicated more snow would be on the way. A lot more snow. Combining this news with the fact that a guest had passed away not even twenty-four hours before, no one seemed too excited to resume their meditation sessions.
Layne hovered at the edge of the room, taking in the collective feeling of everyone’s reactions. He kept thinking of the angle. How Victoria could twist this situation to her advantage. If she’d had Rudy killed, that was. Layne still wasn’t sure, and he didn’t maintain much faith that a big break in the investigation was on the horizon.
As the meeting broke up, Layne bumped into the flirty woman outside the bathrooms, and she positioned herself between him and the door outside.
“Remember me?” she said, wearing a knowing grin.
“Of course. Janine.”
“All this business with the snow and the roads being all messed up. It’s so crazy. I’ve never been snowed in anywhere before.”
“I’m sure we’ll all be fine. They’ll get it cleared out in a day or two.”
“If you say so, Mr. Colorado Man. You must be the expert. Do you chop wood back home?”
She reached out and squeezed his bicep right after saying the last line, and Layne pulled back a little, just by reflex. The woman was laying it on a bit too thick. Next would come an invitation to go on a moonlight hike, or maybe she would skip that and nod her head toward her bungalow.
Layne didn’t know her game yet, but he hoped Harry could get the dirt on her soon. Something about this woman didn’t sit right with Layne.
Across the room, Harry stood by the door, rolling his eyes at this frantic flirting session. Pretending to check the time on his wrist, which bore no watch.
“If you’ll excuse me, Janine. I have to get going.”
“Sure thing, just don’t run away, okay? I’ll be at the after-dinner party, I mean, if it’s still on. I’ve got a dress I’ve been saving, and I might wear it tonight.”
“Sounds good. Maybe I’ll see you later.”
He left her there and trudged back to his bungalow with Harry. The wind outside whipped so fiercely, Layne had to force the door shut, and a dusting of snow covered the carpet in a two-foot radius.
“Holy crap,” Harry said, unwrapping a scarf from around his neck. Once he’d shed his outer layers, Harry retired to his bedroom and tried to connect to the internet.
Layne paced back and forth across the living room. Trying to think of next steps. Attending sessions, making mental notes on other retreat guests? It didn’t seem like a viable plan anymore. They were on the fourth day of a seven-day stay. Nothing but dead ends and dangling leads so far.
Plus, he was due to pick up his daughter at the Denver airport in four days. Missing that date with Cameron would break his heart. It might also break hers.
In the late afternoon, Layne decided that Rudy’s room definitely needed another visit. At least, to make sure Layne had covered his tracks and there wasn’t anything leftover pointing to him. Sure would be a convenient way to get Layne out of the picture since Rudy had died so soon after his previous break-in.
Layne pilfered a cupful of bleach from the housekeeping closet in the main lodge and a few clean white hand towels. And then, when it was dark, he got to work.
He spent a considerable amount of time in the shadows, observing the bungalow. While Harry hadn’t yet been able to hack into the security camera feed network, he’d said there was no new traffic in that area since the Mounties had been here. No new surveillance streams had been added in the last twenty-four hours.
When Layne felt assured, he pushed ahead. He entered the building the same way as before, with a simple microcomputer hack of the door lock. Inside, he spent a few moments inventorying all the things he might have touched or come near. Even though he’d been wearing gloves and a tight cap, he had to consider flakes of skin from his face or neck. Leaving no trace was a much harder proposition than it might seem.
Better to bleach as much as possible and be sure.
As he made his way around the bungalow, erasing his tracks, Layne tried to puzzle through what he knew. He’d been attacked at random, by some anonymous guy who had been absent from the SMRC since the incident had occurred. At least, Layne hadn’t been able to ferret out anyone fitting that description, aside from a single glimpse out in the woods that had gone nowhere.
Director of the center Victoria Overton knew all about the fight, and she had triggered Layne’s instincts that she was up to something. Maybe what she was up to involved Rudy’s sudden and seemingly accidental death.
There were two options for Rudy: either he was, or he wasn’t involved in the human trafficking business. If he wasn’t, then his death didn’t fit inside any predictable logic. Unless it truly had been an accident.
No. Layne refused to believe in the possibility.
In the bathroom, he paused at the edge and observed the room. There were nonslip mats in the tub. Handrails on either side. A curtain he could have easily grabbed to prevent him from sinking.
An accidental slip and fall seemed unlikely.
But, if Rudy was involved in the business, then his death could have arrived for any number of reasons. The most likely explanation was that one of his superiors knew Layne was surveilling him. Two birds with one stone: take out Rudy, who might be compromised, and also pin the killing on Layne, to keep him out of the picture.
Victoria could be that superior. Running a trafficking game out of a benign-seeming meditation center? It made sense to have employees in the business trek up to the remote mountains as a way of conducting untraceable meetings.
But, Victoria had emerged in a squeaky clean fashion from prior background checks.
Also, it seemed unlikely that Victoria, a respected business owner, would go to such lengths to frame Layne for a crime. Especially since the RCMP had been here and gone with little fanfare.
So who was pulling the strings on all this mess?
18
Serena stood outside the Planet Java diner on Washington street. On the first sunny day since she’d arrived in Seattle, the cool air contrasted the warm sunlight on her face.
She checked her phone one last time to verify the address on the picture she’d taken of the business card from the stolen wallet. This was the right place. 1950s-themed diner with art deco booths and pictures of Elvis and Betty Boop on the walls. Servers decked out in poodle skirts and roller skates.
She tucked her hair up under a S
eattle Supersonics cap, pulled it low, and entered the diner. She checked the compact in her purse to make sure the blue contacts were sitting on her eyes properly. Ready to go.
Right away, she spotted her targets. None of them was the same guy whose wallet she’d pickpocketed at Voxx coffee, but three other security guards from the card game. They were at a table in the back corner. Two of them facing away, only one looking in her direction. The visible guy was the same one she’d backhanded with an elbow and knocked into the door on her way out. Fortunately for her, his face pointed down, shoveling hash browns into his mouth.
A hostess flashed a flawless smile at Serena. Bright red lipstick and enough eyeliner to rival an Egyptian princess. “Just one?”
Serena pointed to a booth near the table occupied by the three men as ancient music dribbled from hidden speakers. “Can I have that booth?”
The hostess consented, and Serena trailed behind her, keeping the hostess’ body between her and her targets. She slid into the booth and lifted the menu to her face to help the sound of their conversation echo toward her better. Then, she positioned the chrome-laden napkin dispenser to act as a mirror so she could watch them to match each voice with a face.
“That’s what I’m saying,” said one of them. “If we don’t draft a new quarterback, then all that money we’re spending on the O-line won’t be worth shit.”
“Whatever. The hottest QB in the draft can’t do anything if he gets sacked on every play. It’s symbiosis, home-slice.”
“Symbiosis, my dick. It all comes down to the quarterback. If he sucks, it doesn’t matter how good the rest of the team is.”
They all three continued their loud argument, and Serena positioned her phone on the table, with the Notes app loaded and ready to go. Just in case the conversation moved on from football.
For a long time, it did not. They broke down almost every position on the Seahawks, both offense and defense. As a Dallas Cowboys fan, Serena found their conversation especially excruciating. They powered through their brunch as Serena ordered a grapefruit and water with lemon. Ten minutes blurred by, and then fifteen.
Her phone vibrated several times, jiggling on the table in silent mode. A stream of text messages from her next-door neighbor, who was presently cat-sitting for her. When she saw his name, her eyes jumped wide, but then she relaxed when she saw the content of the first message. He was merely reporting another bit of neighborhood gossip. Someone in their building had a habit of leaving McDonald's food wrappers in the hallway, and the neighbor thought he had narrowed down the list of suspects. He sent her three pictures of various people from their building while they were in the parking lot at different times, each of them holding takeout bags from McDonald's. The photos had been digitally zoomed, taken from a long distance. Almost like real surveillance photos.
She grinned at his adorable attempt at tradecraft, to expose this illicit crime. His evidence was circumstantial at best, but she admired the effort. Also, she knew he was ramping up to ask her out on a date, and she wasn’t looking forward to telling him no. She was never home enough to date anyone. Even having a cat was a bad idea, but she couldn’t get rid of the only man in her life. The cat had been grandfathered into Serena Rojas’ tiny circle of friends.
She texted back a smiley face and told him to keep working on the case. The final picture in the text chat was her cat, resting on his back, paws in the air. She stared at the pic, a grin widening her face.
Finally, something interesting happened at the table behind her. Serena knew when the conversation shifted, because their voices, previously raucous and loud, lowered.
“Z says he’s having a problem with the loan officer.”
“With Chafetz?”
“Yeah.”
Serena noted the letter Z and the name Chafetz. The server came by to take her plate, but Serena shooed her back. She frowned and cruised away on her roller skates, giving Serena the stink eye as she barreled through a set of swinging doors into the kitchen.
Serena tilted her head, trying to point her ear as their voices grew even quieter. Over the doo-wop music twanging from the overhead speakers, she could barely hear anything spoken at a normal volume.
“He said he’s been late twice now and isn’t holding up his end. But you know how it is. It’s not just about the money when it comes to Z. For him, it’s all about the honor and respect and a whole bunch of other shit that doesn’t put food on my table.”
“Does he want someone to pay him a visit?”
“No, no, no. Not like that. If we spook the little Jew, then this can go all kinds of sideways. He needs a light touch.”
“So what does the man want us to do?”
“I didn’t say he wants us to do anything. Just that Z has been a little concerned. If something comes up, I’m sure he’ll let us know.”
The conversation then shifted back to the Seahawks, and the server dropped off their check. Daphne flipped a twenty dollar bill on the table and stood up. She wanted to leave the diner before they did so they wouldn’t get a chance to notice her face on their way out.
As she left, she studied the name on her phone. A loan officer named Chafetz. Whether it was a new piece of the puzzle or a dead end, Serena would have to take the risk, either way.
19
In the evening, Layne and Harry meandered through the post-dinner mixer, mingling and sipping their drinks. Although Layne didn’t drink often and preferred Colorado's microbrews when he did, he sipped an apple cider because that was the best he could get. He’d rather not be here at all, but with everything happening over the last two days, he figured visibility would earn him some insight. That’s what he hoped, anyway.
The general state of the room leaned somewhere between unease and anxiety since the roads were still impassible and the snow had been dumping all day long. Retreat guests still chatted, but the conversations were abrupt and strained. People seemed suspicious of each other.
Layne tried to catalog and track every detail he could. Unmask new clues or find something to lead him to a new piece of evidence.
Harry sipped his whiskey sour and asked Layne, "think we’ll be stuck here for a few more days?"
"I heard something about snowcats," Layne said.
“Seems like evacuating all the guests by multi-passenger snowcat—even the big ones with lots of room—would be a tricky operation. All these people and their luggage? That’s a lot of trips.”
“I agree. They’re going to stall us on the transportation, hoping the snow will clear up so they can get regular vehicles operational on the roads. I’m expecting some bread and circuses to keep us distracted.”
Nearby, a woman in a fancy dress tossed her head back and cackled. She stroked the arm of the man next to her as she laughed. Layne marveled at how easily the conversation about Rudy Costello had abated, and not even two days had passed since his death. Maybe people were tense, but they were no longer broken up about one of their own dying semi-publicly.
Perhaps it was because Victoria Overton, the retreat center's director, had done everything possible to keep the populace moving forward. Unlike the first few days, where she was hardly ever seen, she had been like a hawk on campus today. Always skulking around, injecting herself into conversations, trying to keep the mood light. It made sense to Layne, since this was such an expensive retreat, that she would want people to feel safe. To make them want to return next year, and to open their wallets when it came time for future donation pledge drives.
Harry nodded across the room. “That woman you asked me to look up, Janine? She’s over there.”
“Did you get anything on her?”
“Not yet. Still working on it.”
“What’s the holdup?”
Harry wrinkled his nose. “Same as it has been the whole time I’ve been here. No WiFi and cell reception that blinks in and out constantly makes it hard to keep up a hotspot. It’s worse since the weather turned. Webpages don't load half the time. I’m doing wh
at I can, but it just means it’ll all take longer.”
“I understand. It’s not as if I’m doing any better on my end, so I’m not blaming you.”
“Hmm,” Harry said, rubbing his chin. “That’s generous, because I’m definitely blaming you.”
Layne snickered. “It’s good to work with you again, Harvey. It’s been too long.”
They clinked glasses together. Harry excused himself to use the restroom, and Layne hung near the bar, since his apple cider was dwindling, and he figured another wouldn’t hurt him. All he had left to do this evening was to make a late night video call to Cameron during her breakfast time in Paris.
Only three more days until he could see her. The desire to kiss his daughter's cheeks and hug her pressurized his thoughts like carbonated water in a bottle. He would need regular video chat recharge intervals between now and when he could see her in real life.
As Layne sipped his drink, the slender and tall brunette Janine sauntered over toward him. “Despite all your protestations about being an introvert, you made it.”
“I did make it. And I never claimed to be an introvert. I’m just not much for fancy social gatherings.”
“Fair enough, Leonard. So, how are you doing this fine evening?” She leaned against the bar next to him, her slinky dress glittering and reflecting the light shining down from the chandeliers above in this lodge. "Can you believe the snow is still coming?”
Layne shook his head and shrugged, not sure what to say. He knew, of course, that she'd been flirting with him during their hasty and small conversations between sessions, even before she’d formally introduced herself. But, he had thought little of it. Just a woman on vacation from Florida, looking to get laid. That didn’t interest Layne.
As he drained the last tangy bits of his drink, he set it on the counter at the edge of the bar. “It is what it is.”
“Very wise,” she said, with a flirty grin tossed in at the end for good measure. Layne glanced down at her hand and noted a wedding ring there, which she hadn’t been wearing before. Not once in the last few days had she sported jewelry on that particular finger.