Layover

by David Bell

  I waited as he approached me.

  “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked.

  Years of hotel stays had made me cautious. I’d heard all the cautionary tales about people being robbed, but if this guy was going to commit a crime, why would he do it in the middle of a bright morning? Farther down the hall, a cleaning crew pulled sheets and towels out of rooms and stuffed them into a laundry cart. We were hardly alone. I felt certain if I screamed, one of the maids would come and whack the man with a broom.

  He wore a light jacket, a ball cap, rimless glasses, and a toothless smile. He looked to be in his mid-forties, trim and fit. His knuckles were large, his hands giant. He wore Timberland boots like he intended to hit the trail at any moment.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  “Yes, I think you can,” he said.

  I pulled the door almost shut, the key card still in my hand, and waited.

  He nodded to the room. “Maybe we want to talk in there,” he said. “It’s more private.”

  “What do we need to talk about that’s private?” I asked. “I don’t even know you.”

  But I should have guessed.

  He said simply, “Her.”

  32

  The man followed me into the room. I stood as he looked around, almost like he expected to find someone else inside, waiting, and when he saw nothing, he sighed, his disappointment heavy in the small space.

  “Do you want to sit?” he asked, as though it was his room and I was the interloper.

  “No.”

  He shrugged, his face giving me a “suit yourself” look. “Mind if I do?”

  Without waiting for my answer, he settled onto the bed closest to the bathroom, the one Morgan and I had slept in. The covers were still mussed, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He sat with his knees spread, his giant hands resting on his thighs.

  “Do you know where she went?” he asked, not exactly one for formalities.

  I almost laughed at his audacity. “Hold it. I don’t even know who you are.”

  He stood up and came closer, held out his huge hand. “Simon Caldwell.”

  He left me little choice. I reached out and we shook, his grip strong. “Joshua Fields.”

  “Nice to meet you, Joshua. And I’m sorry to barge in on you like this.” He returned to the bed and sat, the springs squeaking under his weight. “Well, not really sorry. I think you can help me. And maybe I can help you. I sure hope so.”

  His voice was deep and commanding. He looked like a guy used to getting his way, the kind of kid in high school who would have perched at the back of the bus and lobbed gross things at the freshmen in front. He also looked certain of his right to be in my, or Morgan’s, hotel room.

  And he’d said the magic word: “Her.”

  “Well, now that that’s out of the way,” he said. “So. Morgan. Where is she? Did she leave town? Or what?”

  “Hold on.”

  The man, Simon, wore an expectant look on his face, like he’d paid admission and I was there to provide him with whatever information he wanted. His smug entitlement irritated me, and I regretted letting him in the door, although I wasn’t sure I would have been able to keep him out.

  “What do you want with her?” I asked. “And how do you know her?”

  Simon tilted his head. He looked surprised that I would ask questions. He must have assumed our conversation would be one-way. He’d ask, and I’d answer.

  “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, do you?” Simon scratched the side of his face, then rubbed his chin. “I’m sure she told you quite a tale. How did you meet her anyway? Are you her boyfriend? It looks like . . .” His eyes traveled over the bed, the mussed covers. The second bed obviously hadn’t been slept in. “Well, it looks like you two know each other pretty well.” His face turned sour. “Oh, jeez, don’t tell me you love her. Is that it?”

  “Okay, I’ve had enough of this.” I took out my phone. “I can call the front desk. Or the police. I want you out of here.”

  Simon waved his hand at me, signaling me to put the phone away. “Not that,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t bother them. Not yet anyway. There will be a time for that.”

  I had to give him credit. He had a way of knowing how to redirect me, to keep me curious.

  “You’ve got to tell me something. You’ve got to tell me why you’re looking for her. What do you want?”

  “Okay. Okay.” He spread his hands wide, a calming gesture that failed to put me at ease. “You want to know the truth, here we go. I’m sure she told you all about her job, right? About the app and the way she didn’t get her bonus or whatever she thought she was entitled to.”

  Then the clouds started to part. I understood. She felt cheated by the company she worked for. She told me she’d confronted the owner of the company. And now this guy wanted to talk to her. For what purpose?

  To reach an agreement?

  To bring her back?

  To apologize? To tell her to stay the hell away?

  “You’re her boss,” I said. “You run the company.”

  “Nope.”

  So I waited, but he didn’t add anything.

  “So who are you?” I asked. “A lawyer? Someone here to pay her off?”

  “My brother owned the company. He’s the reason I’m here.”

  “Owned? He sold it?”

  Simon paused, his eyes moving away while he took a deep breath. And then he looked at me again.

  “Owned, as in my brother is missing. And I think Morgan knows where he is.”

  33

  Kimberly entered the station on Wednesday morning carrying her bag, which was stuffed full of the reports and crime scene photographs she’d been studying the night before. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t look at them once she went home, that she’d just bring them with her for safekeeping or in case some amazing brainstorm hit her in the middle of the night.

  But she knew she’d lied to herself.

  She’d opened the bag as soon as she walked in the door of the town house, taking advantage of the late-night quiet and using the papers to distract herself from the fact that Maria wasn’t there.

  She’d woken up on the couch with the papers spread around her, a string of drool on her chin. She’d showered quickly, missing the sounds of Maria’s laborious morning routine, and left for work as quickly as she could, hair still wet, coffee steaming in her travel mug. The October morning was beautiful, the sun luminous, and she felt a little like a prisoner newly released, amazed by all the beauty in the world she’d been missing with her head buried in Giles Caldwell’s disappearance.

  A tired-looking Brandon stood by his desk. She guessed he’d been kept awake by an unhappy baby, and that brought Kimberly’s mind back to Ashley Clarke. Kimberly wasn’t sure where to fit the information Ashley had provided into the grand scheme of things. Two missing people—boss and former employee. And they’d both disappeared over the same weekend. Except one of them—the employee—had been seen back in Laurel Falls around the time of her boss’s disappearance. And that had happened when she was supposed to be living an hour away in Nashville.

  Maybe she was just passing through, stopping to get gas like anyone else.

  So then why not talk to her friend? Why run off like John Dillinger?

  “Rough night?” Kimberly asked.

  Brandon looked her over, taking in the wet hair, the no-doubt dark bags under her eyes. “Speak for yourself.”

  “Touché.”

  Kimberly filled him in on what Ashley Clarke saw at the gas station.

  “And Morgan just drove off?” Brandon asked. “Without saying anything?”

  “Not a word. None of her other friends in town had a story like that to tell. They all said she moved away and hadn’t been in close touch. It sounds like she was
a bit of a loner. She just told them her mom was sick when she left, and that was that. They’d get the occasional text, check in with each other on social media. Some of them talked about getting together but never really did.”

  “So why was Morgan here?” Brandon asked, presumably knowing I had no answer to the question. “And this was Thursday night she was at the gas station?”

  “Yup.”

  “And the last time Giles was seen at work was . . .”

  “Thursday afternoon.”

  Brandon whistled. “Did this Ashley know of any, um, deeper connection between Morgan and Giles?”

  “Nope. But I like the tactful way you expressed that.”

  Kimberly started to sit at her desk.

  “Don’t get settled in,” Brandon said.

  “Why? I’m desperate to settle in. I’m desperate to finish this coffee. And then have some more.”

  “Coffee you can have. But no settling. Steven Hatfield called. He’s back in town and says you can go see him anytime. In fact, he’s eager to talk. He even said he’d come here if we wanted.”

  “No, that’s okay,” she said, dropping her things on the desk. “I’m happy to go to the office again. You never know what else might come up there.”

  “Want me to tag along?” he asked.

  “No, I’m good. What’s happening around town?”

  “We’ve got volunteers searching,” Brandon said. “The State Bureau of Investigation is canvassing again. The Public Information Office is hammering the airwaves and the Internet with announcements about Giles, hoping someone saw something.”

  “Good.”

  “Have you heard anything more from the mayor?” Brandon asked.

  “Not much. She only called me twice last night. The second time at ten fifteen. I feel like a chew toy, and she’s the energetic puppy. We’re coming up on forty-eight hours since Giles was reported missing.” Kimberly made a quick inventory of what she needed. Coffee. For sure. To go. She nodded at Brandon. “Thanks, friend.” She started to go but then stopped. “Hey. Is the baby okay?”

  “Yes,” he said, but he groaned. “They do start to sleep consistently at some point, right?”

  “Eventually,” she said, walking away. And she didn’t feel quite so sad about missing a night with Maria. Instead she felt a spreading glow in her chest, the recollection of how fast the kid was growing up and how much fun most of it had been. And how many more memories were still to come. I’m raising a woman, she thought. And a pretty decent one at that.

  And she was potty trained. And liked to sleep. Big pluses.

  Kimberly went outside, enjoying the chance to have the sun on her face again. The city sedan she drove was comfortably warm, so much so she cracked the window, letting a rush of air inside, and drove the ten blocks to the TechGreen offices with the wind drying her hair. The company occupied the top floor of a new complex south of downtown, a modern structure with restaurants and coffee shops on the ground floor and a view of the city from the top. TechGreen had started gaining national attention, occasionally getting written up as a tech company to watch. Who knew something like that could happen in Laurel Falls, Kentucky? Kimberly remembered a Steak ’n Shake opening in town when she was a teenager, and the line of people who’d shown up on the first night. How far the town had come . . .

  Kimberly also knew a successful tech company couldn’t maintain a sterling national reputation if the town seemed unsafe, if the cofounder of that company disappeared under mysterious circumstances. She could imagine Laurel Falls being featured on a future episode of 48 Hours. The little Kentucky town with the big secret . . . The thought made her shiver.

  She stepped off the elevator into an open-concept office. No walls separated the coworkers. No cubicles. She saw large computer monitors and lots of young people in horn-rimmed glasses wearing T-shirts and tight jeans perfectly rolled up above lace-up boots. She heard witty banter and music by bands she could never identify.

  She introduced herself to the young man at the reception desk, and when she said her name, his eyebrows rose. She was apparently expected.

  “I can take you right back to Steven,” he said.

  As they walked, he offered her a coffee. She held up her stainless steel travel mug in reply. “I’m covered.”

  “Oh, wow, look at that,” the kid said, as though he’d never seen such a thing before.

  Steven Hatfield stood up when Kimberly walked through his open door. She recognized him from the local news and the occasional coverage of TechGreen. His curly salt-and-pepper hair and loose sweater gave him the air of a college professor, someone you’d expect to be lecturing on the civil rights movement or American involvement in Vietnam. She pegged him at about the same age as Giles Caldwell, around fifty. He held out his hand, which felt smooth as Kimberly shook it, and his soft blue eyes caught the artificial light from above.

  “Thanks for checking in, Mr. Hatfield,” she said. “I’m glad we’re going to get a chance to talk.”

  “I got back to town late last night,” he said. “I thought I was needed here. Everyone is shaken.”

  “Do you mind?” Kimberly closed the office door without waiting for his answer, shutting out the noise. Despite what Steven said, no one in the large space seemed particularly perturbed over the unknown whereabouts of Giles Caldwell. She’d been in the office yesterday, conducting interviews before anyone really knew what was happening. The mood seemed the same. Life went on. Duty called.

  Hatfield resumed his seat.

  “Barbados? Isn’t that where you were?” Kimberly asked.

  “Right. With my family. A little getaway while my kids were on fall break. Then I got called about this. Is Giles really missing? Missing, as in no one knows where he is?”

  “It looks that way,” Kimberly said. “He didn’t come into the office on Friday. But my understanding is that’s not unusual for him, is it?”

  “He doesn’t come in every day, no.”

  “And he doesn’t always tell people he’s not going to show up. That’s the sense I’ve gathered from your employees.”

  Hatfield nodded. “That’s true. On a day-to-day basis, Giles doesn’t need to be here. So he goes his own way sometimes. If he misses a couple of days, it isn’t a big deal. Did something happen to alert you to his absence? How did the police get involved?”

  “His brother contacted us on Monday. He hadn’t been able to reach Giles over the weekend, and then he wasn’t at work again. The brother called us, so we went to the house. No sign of a break-in. No blood or anything like that, but some things were out of place. The neighbors didn’t see or hear anything, although it’s a quiet neighborhood. No alarms went off, no nine-one-one calls.”

  “Oh, crap. Oh . . . just . . . I don’t know what to say. I don’t. Had he been robbed?”

  “We’re not sure that’s a factor. Not much was missing.”

  “So you really think . . . I mean, this looks suspicious to you. Is that what you’re telling me? It’s not just . . . I don’t know. A misunderstanding?”

  “Do you think Mr. Caldwell would up and leave this way? And not tell anyone?”

  Hatfield shook his head, his curls bouncing a little. “No. I haven’t heard from him since I left. But he and I have an understanding. If one of us goes on vacation, the other handles everything. No need to bother someone unless it’s an emergency.”

  “So you don’t know where he is. And you haven’t heard from him. Do you have any reason to think someone would harm him?”

  Hatfield looked perplexed. He lifted his hands above the desk, then dropped them. He looked around the room, as if he could find an answer there. The creases in his brow grew deeper and deeper. Kimberly followed his eyes, checking out the space. Abstract art prints hung on the wall. A wire sculpture sat on a bookcase. No awards or plaques. They didn’t fit the vibe of TechGre
en. If something good happened, they’d just tweet about it. “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Disgruntled employees?”

  “We always have those. But no one who would hurt him. I don’t think.”

  “Competitors? Your company is doing pretty well.”

  “We have a lot of competitors. Not many in town. None who would . . . Are you thinking someone . . . I mean, could it be that someone . . .”

  Steven Hatfield couldn’t bring himself to say the awful words. His features trembled at the thought. Murder. Death. Killing.

  “We’re trying not to speculate. Do you think something else might be going on?”

  “No, I don’t.” His hands rose and fell again. Kimberly wanted to give him a pen or a fidget spinner, something for the man to grab hold of. “Sometimes he talked about retiring. He mentioned selling and moving on. He wants to travel, do other things. He likes boats. He likes the water. But . . . just disappearing would be odd, even for Giles.”

  “Even for him?”

  “He’s an . . . unusual guy. With a sharp mind and his own way of doing things.” Hatfield settled on clasping his hands together on the top of the table. Kimberly noticed he wore a Bulova watch and a titanium wedding band. “Anyone will tell you that I’m better with people, and Giles is better . . . behind the scenes. He can be short. He doesn’t understand social cues. The give-and-take that the rest of us engage in. It’s not natural to him.”

  Kimberly sipped her coffee and waited.

  Hatfield went on. “If an employee made a mistake here, he’d tell them. Directly. Harshly. If someone got a haircut that didn’t look good, he’d mention it. He just didn’t take the time for the social niceties the rest of us agree to use.”

  “That’s an easy way to piss people off, right?”

  Hatfield remained silent, his lips pressed tight.

  “Mr. Hatfield?”

  “Okay, yes, he pissed people off, Giles did. He . . . I’m reluctant to talk about these things because they make Giles look so bad. But he hasn’t committed a crime here, has he?”