Killjoy

  “Do you have any idea how many Edwardses there are in the United States?”

  “Monk isn’t such a common name, though . . . unless it’s just a nickname.”

  “Okay,” Margo said. “Give me your room number at the spa in case I can’t reach you on your cell phone.”

  “I’m not staying at Utopia because my reservation was canceled. I’m leaving anyway,” she added. “Carrie said she was staying in a house owned by the spa. I’m hoping she’s still there. If she’s not . . .”

  “Don’t borrow trouble. Your aunt probably lucked into something much cooler than the spa. She’ll get in touch with you. You’ll see. And I’ll get right on that search for a Monk Edwards or an Edward Monk.”

  Margo had just hung up the phone when it rang again. The call was from the department head reminding her that she still hadn’t turned in her vacation forms. She spent ten minutes finding and then filling out the forms between interoffice business calls, then had to hand deliver the papers to Human Resources. She didn’t get a chance to run the search for Avery until midafternoon.

  After she typed the first name Avery had given her and hit the search key, she called out to Lou and Mel as they were heading to lunch and told them about Carrie. Each man had a theory as to what had happened to Avery’s aunt. Lou was sure she went back to L.A.—they all knew the woman was a workaholic and obsessive to boot—but Mel thought she had probably hooked up with a business associate out in Colorado and called the hotel and left a message for Avery, but the spa had misplaced or erased the call.

  “I never get my messages when I stay in a big hotel,” he said.

  “She probably found something better to do than sit in a mud bath all day and forgot about Avery,” Lou suggested.

  “Carrie wouldn’t be so thoughtless,” Margo argued. “She and Avery are really close.” She happened to turn back to her computer screen and noticed the alert flashing. “What the . . .” Scrolling down, she saw in big, bold letters, the priority code. She shouted to Mel and Lou again as she frantically read the information.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Margo jumped up and started running to Carter’s office.

  Chapter 9

  MR. TIMOTHY CANNON, DRESSED FOR THE TROPICS IN A white Palm Beach business suit, stepped into the office and introduced himself. He was a dapper gentleman with a soft, prissy voice.

  “Have you been able to locate your aunt yet?”

  Just then John Paul walked inside. Avery watched him shut the door and then lean against it. When he folded his arms, she noticed the faint scar, about two inches long, on his left forearm. How could she have thought he was an actor? How could her instincts be that off base?

  She forced herself to focus on the manager. “No, not yet,” she said. “May I ask you a few questions?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Cannon sat down in the chair facing his desk, crossed one leg over the other, and began to straighten the crease in his pants with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Do you always send a staff member to the airport to pick up your guests?”

  “Yes, we certainly do. We don’t want our guests to be inconvenienced by having to find transportation on their own or carry their luggage.”

  “Did you send a staff member to the airport yesterday?”

  Cannon smiled. “I see where you’re heading. You’re wondering about the rash of cancellations, aren’t you? It’s so unusual, you see, to have a last-minute cancellation at Utopia. The rooms are booked months in advance, but some of our more prominent guests do have last-minute schedule conflicts, and we try to be accommodating.”

  “What do you mean by a ‘rash of cancellations’?”

  He looked surprised by the question. He obviously thought she already knew about them. “I had scheduled three separate pickups at the airport yesterday afternoon,” he said. The guests were all ladies,” he thought to add. “One flight, as I recall, arrived at three-fifty. Another came in at four-twenty, and the last was coming in at five-fifteen. I could check and tell you which time your aunt was scheduled to arrive.”

  “I’d like the flight information, credit card numbers, and anything else you’ve got on all three women.”

  “I couldn’t give you that information.”

  Oh, yes, he could. And would, she thought. She didn’t want to put the manager on the defensive yet. She had too many other questions she needed answered first, and Cannon was doing his best to be cooperative.

  “If all three women were coming in within an hour or so of one another, why would you send three separate cars?”

  “Because this is Utopia,” he answered. “We pride ourselves on excellent service. None of our guests should be expected to wait for another. That would be an inconvenience. So, you see, I was going to send three separate cars, but when all three guests canceled at the last minute, I notified the staff members not to make the trip. As it turned out, we had unexpected guests arrive at our desk last night, and they were thrilled that we had openings for them.”

  She filed the information away and immediately asked another question. “Did you have a problem with a water main yesterday? Or a broken pipe?”

  “Water pipe problems? At Utopia?” He scoffed at the notion. “There weren’t any problems. We have an excellent maintenance crew here, and they anticipate problems before they arise.”

  “You have to get your water from outside the spa. Did one of those pipes break?”

  “No.”

  “What about a mountain house . . . a retreat?” she asked. “Does Utopia own such a place in the mountains for guests to use when there is a problem?”

  His jaw clenched. “We don’t have problems at Utopia,” he insisted. “And the owners of Utopia don’t have a mountain retreat. Clients who come to us stay with us. We don’t parcel them out to other locations.”

  After he finished his explanation, he made a point of letting her see that he was checking his watch, then said, “If you don’t have any other questions, I really must get back to work. Most of our clients who come for a week’s stay are checking in today. It’s going to become hectic. I wouldn’t worry about your aunt,” he added as he stood. “I’m certain she’ll turn up soon.”

  He was blowing her off. Avery didn’t budge from her chair. “May I have a list of your employees? All of your employees?”

  “What do you want with it?”

  “I’m looking for a specific name.”

  “I pride myself on knowing every one of my employees. Give me the name and I’ll tell you if he or she works for Utopia.”

  “Edwards,” she said. “The name is either Monk Edwards or Edward Monk.”

  Cannon didn’t show any reaction to the name. He simply shook his head. John Paul, however, reacted as though she’d just thrown a fiery torch at him. He jerked away from the door and moved to the desk with the speed of light. Planting his hands on the blotter, he leaned toward her and demanded, “How do you know that name?”

  The look on his face gave her goose bumps. They weren’t the good kind.

  A chill of dread settled around her heart. “How do you know the name?” she countered.

  “Answer me.”

  “My aunt called me from the Aspen airport. She left the message that she and two other women were being driven to a mountain house by a staff member from Utopia. She said his name was Monk Edwards. She also said the man had a British accent.” Turning to Cannon, she asked, “Are there any employees—”

  “With a British accent? No, I’m afraid not. Someone is playing a cruel trick,” he said. “I did not dispatch a driver to the airport yesterday. Perhaps your aunt was . . . misinformed.”

  John Paul picked up the phone on Cannon’s desk and began dialing. He turned away from Avery and spoke in a low voice, but she still heard every word.

  “Noah, it’s John Paul. Yeah, well, what can I tell you. Stop trying to interrupt and listen. I’m at a spa called Utopia just outside of Aspen. Monk’s back. Looks like he’
s taken on three this time. Must be going for some kind of a record.”

  Avery pushed the chair back and stood. She was reaching into her backpack when John Paul said, “You better call in the troops. We both know they won’t find anything, but you should probably go through the routine anyway. It’s too late,” he added, his tone antagonistic now. “He’s already got them.”

  He hung up and started for the door but stopped when she called out, “Where are you going?”

  He kept walking. “I’ve called in some people who will help you.”

  “What people? The police?”

  “No, the FBI.” He paused at the door. “Noah’s a friend of my brother-in-law’s. He knows Monk real well. I’ll let him explain it to you when he gets here.”

  “Do you think the FBI will be able to locate my aunt?”

  He didn’t tell her that he thought her aunt was already dead and that the agents would eventually, with luck, be able to find the body . . . unless Monk had left her for the wild animals to dine on.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I think they’ll mess it up.”

  She was taken aback by the venom in his voice. “Why?”

  “’Cause they’re FBI.”

  She left it alone. “Where are you going?” she repeated.

  “I’ll check out a couple of possibilities, but I doubt I’ll find anything.”

  “And then?”

  “Home. I’m going home.”

  If she had a gun, she would have considered shooting him in the foot. He was such a jerk. “You aren’t leaving until you tell me what you know about Monk.”

  “Look, lady. There isn’t anything I can do to help you now. I thought I had a head start, but I was still too late. I’ve called in help for you, so just hold tight and let them try to do their job.”

  As he left the office, Avery turned to Cannon. “I want the names, addresses, phone numbers, and any other pertinent information you have on those two other women traveling with my aunt . . . the two who canceled. If I don’t get this information in the next two minutes, I swear to heaven I’ll tear this place apart, and I’ll make sure you’re arrested for obstruction. Now get me that information.”

  She pulled out her FBI credentials and waved them in front of his face. Cannon blinked twice, then rushed to his computer to get what she demanded.

  “This is highly irregular,” he muttered as she grabbed her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and went running after John Paul. “Highly irregular.”

  Avery caught up with John Paul as he was walking past reception. The lobby was crowded with incoming guests now, and she had to cut around three separate groups to get to him. When she finally reached him, she grabbed hold of his upper arm and tried to make him stop.

  The creep didn’t even slow down. He just kept going, pulling her along as she held tight. She noticed he didn’t walk around people. They got out of his way. She dug in and tightened her hold. If she’d had long nails, she would have broken every one of them. His skin was warm, indicating he was human, but his muscle felt like rock.

  “Will you stop? I need to talk to you.” Then, when he still didn’t slow down, she added, “Please, John Paul. I need your help.”

  Ah, hell. She sounded as if she was going to cry. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do for her, but she was too naive to know that. She’d probably been sheltered from the real world all her life and couldn’t possibly know how to cope. Like it or not, she was about to find out that life didn’t always end happily ever after.

  He felt sorry for her. Cursing under his breath, he finally turned to her. He thought about trying to soft-pedal the truth, but then decided she was going to have to deal with reality sooner or later.

  “I can’t help you.”

  “What did you mean when you said it was already too late? I heard you on the phone.”

  “I’ll let the FBI explain. Do you have someone you could call to come and sit with you? Some family member or close friend who could take care of you?”

  Avery stopped abruptly. God, he was callous. “You think my aunt is dead, don’t you?”

  He didn’t immediately answer her, but the way he was looking made her think he was trying to judge if she was strong enough before he said anything. Was he worried she’d become hysterical?

  “I’m not going to fall apart. Just answer me.”

  He took a step closer. “Yes,” he said. “I do think your aunt and the other two women are already dead.”

  She let go of his arm and stepped back. “Why? Why do you think that?”

  “Isn’t there anyone you could . . .”

  “Call?” she snapped. “Aunt Carrie and Uncle Tony are my only family, and I’m not going to scare my uncle half to death the way you’re trying to scare me until I have all the facts. Tell me how you know this Monk.”

  “Miss Delaney?”

  Oliver was calling to her. She turned and saw the clerk holding up a house phone and beckoning her.

  It couldn’t be Margo, she thought. Her friend would have called her on her cell phone. Who then? Carrie . . . Maybe Carrie was on the line. Avery was suddenly so frightened, she couldn’t catch her breath. Please, let it be Carrie.

  She dropped her backpack as she sidestepped a couple. She was in too much of a hurry to pick it up. As she neared the counter, Oliver said, “The caller says it’s urgent.”

  John Paul followed with her backpack. He saw her grab the receiver, then heard her say, “Carrie?”

  “Sorry, darling girl. It isn’t Carrie.”

  Jarred by the endearment and the whisper-soft voice of the woman on the line, Avery asked, “Who is this?”

  “Who I am isn’t important at the moment, but your Carrie is, isn’t she? We have her. Would you like to see her again?”

  The voice was muffled. Avery didn’t think she had ever heard it before.

  “What have you done with her? Is she all right? If you hurt her . . .”

  “Stupid girl, be quiet and listen,” the woman ordered. “I’m only going to say this once, so pay attention. Three lives depend upon your cooperation. I’ve left a manila envelope on the counter with your name on it. It’s right there, on your left. Ah, don’t turn around,” she said in a hushed croon that made Avery’s skin crawl. “If you see me, all the rules will change and your poor, poor Carrie and her new best friends will have to pay the price.”

  Avery stiffened. “Where are you?” she whispered.

  “Here,” the voice answered. “I’m watching you. You want to look, don’t you?” She laughed. “Don’t be a killjoy and ruin my game. Pick up the map, Avery. That’s my girl. See the nice watch? Put it on. Now.”

  Avery picked up the man’s Swatch athlete’s watch and quickly slipped the band over her hand.

  “That’s it,” the woman said. “Now open the map and find the little red X I’ve marked for you. Hurry now.”

  Avery propped the phone on her shoulder, opened the map, and began to search for the mark. She dropped the phone as she leaned forward, trying to see a glimpse of a face in the reflection of the shiny granite wall behind the counter.

  John Paul reached around her and picked up the phone. She grabbed it from him.

  “Clumsy girl,” the voice chided.

  “I’m sorry.”

  John Paul watched Avery closely. The color had drained from her face, and she had a white-knuckle grip on the phone. He couldn’t stop himself from putting his arm around her, concerned now that whatever she was hearing was going to be too much for her. He wasn’t any good at comforting women—he’d actually never attempted it before—but he felt obligated to try.

  “Oh, isn’t that sweet,” the voice was syrupy now. “Is he your lover?”

  She was so rattled she couldn’t think. “Yes . . . no.”

  The woman laughed. “Who is he?”

  “No one.”

  “Oh?”

  Avery said the first thing
that popped into her head. “He’s an actor. He worked . . . works for Carrie in commercials. I’ll send him away.”

  “No, no, don’t do that. He’s in the game now, darling girl. By now he knows you’re having trouble finding Carrie. We don’t want him asking questions or calling the police. Besides, he’ll have more fun on the treasure hunt with you. But no one else. You say one word to anyone, and we’ll know it. From the time you hang up this phone, we’ll be monitoring your progress. You’re going to tell the manager Carrie called and everything’s fine. Then you’re going to take your cell phone out of your purse and drop it in the fountain on your way out of the hotel. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take your boyfriend’s cell phone. Let me see you do it.”

  She turned to John Paul. “Give me your cell phone.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  She repeated what he’d said into the phone.

  “We’ll know if you’re lying. It really doesn’t matter, though. You won’t be able to get a signal where you’re going, but I still want to see you get rid of your phone.”

  “Yes, I will. Is Carrie all right? Is she—”

  “She’s fine . . . for the moment. Do what I tell you to do if you want her to stay that way.” The tone of her voice turned hard and brittle, yet there was an underlying edge of excitement there as well. “Have you found the red X?”

  “Yes, I see it.”

  “Follow the directions I’ve written at the bottom. You’ve got exactly two hours to get there.”

  “But it’s at least a three-hour drive from here. It isn’t possible. It doesn’t look like there are any roads once we get—”

  “I said two hours,” the woman interrupted. “One hundred and twenty minutes, Avery, and not one minute more. Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Yes, but what if we don’t make it in time? What if we’re late?”

  The woman laughed. “Boom.”

  Chapter 10