Dead Man's Bluff

by Debbie Burke

  He loomed over the reception counter. The woman in her twenties wore a heavy mask of makeup with black-red lipstick. Perfumed air gagged him. “I’m looking for Tawny Lindholm. You said she left here about two-thirty. I need to know where she went.”

  The receptionist’s eyes flicked back and forth under thick lash extensions.

  Tillman pulled a ten from his wallet.

  “She left with a client who’s a regular.” She took the bill.

  “Who?”

  “Our client list is confidential. I could get fired.”

  He pulled another ten from his wallet.

  She quickly scanned the spa but no one else was there. “Her name is Nyala Obregon.”

  A fist tightened in Tillman’s chest.

  The receptionist went on: “She comes in every couple of weeks for her mani and pedi. I think she was waiting around until Ms. Lindholm’s massage was finished, like they were planning to meet.”

  “Did their conversation seem friendly?”

  She flicked at her acrylic thumbnail, black-red like her lipstick. “I guess. They chatted for a minute then walked out together.”

  “What direction?”

  “I don’t know. Another client came in and I was busy with her. I didn’t pay attention.”

  Tillman headed for the manager’s office.

  Twenty dollars had bought information that made his blood run cold.

  ***

  In the security office, the duty manager, the head of security, and Tillman watched as video replayed from various cameras around the hotel. Tillman pointed at the screen. “There. Stop it now.”

  The shot captured Tawny walking out the front entrance with Nyala Obregon. Another feed in the parking lot showed the two women from the rear, strolling on the sidewalk. The final shot caught the edge of them crossing the street toward the beach. The security man flicked through different cameras and angles but they had moved out of range.

  Nothing in Tawny’s stance or behavior indicated duress or trouble. Was she still investigating Smoky’s death? She refused to let unanswered questions drop. She kept digging until she uncovered the truth—one of many reasons why she was so good at her job. Since she’d started working for him, Tillman couldn’t imagine being without her help.

  But, even more, without her presence.

  Their days apart, when she was at her Kalispell home and he was in Billings, made him hollow. The emptiness of waking up without her beside him had grown unendurable. That had to change. He had to convince her to marry him.

  Outside, he found Smoky’s T-bird still parked in the valet lot. That meant she was likely on foot, unless she’d left in Nyala’s car. He flicked through his contact list to Nyala’s number and tapped it.

  She answered on the fourth ring. “Mr. Rosenbaum.”

  “Ms. Nyala, where is Tawny?”

  “We had a drink together at the Sandspur. I left her there about an hour ago because I had an appointment.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Cruising on a friend’s yacht. I’m a little surprised there’s cell reception this far from shore.”

  “Was she alone when you left her?”

  “Yes. The bar was practically deserted. We sat outside on the deck overlooking the Gulf. Maybe she’s still there. It’s a lovely view. She seemed quite entranced with a dolphin frolicking in the water.”

  “Where is the Sandspur?”

  “A few blocks south of your hotel. I suggested you might take her to swim with dolphins. It’s a delightful experience. Unfortunately, there’s not a facility in Tampa Bay but Orlando is an hour—”

  The call dropped. He redialed. No answer.

  The yacht she was on must have sailed out of range. Or Nyala broke the connection deliberately. From her breezy tone, he couldn’t judge if she was telling the truth.

  Just as well. Tillman didn’t give a shit about dolphins.

  He only cared about finding Tawny.

  Tillman drove the truck south to the Sandspur and hurried into the bar. A quick scan of the deck area confirmed she wasn’t there. He showed his phone photo to the bartender.

  The man sliced a lime into wedges. “I just came on duty about fifteen minutes ago. Haven’t seen her. But I think Manuel, the server, might still be in the kitchen.”

  Tillman barged through the swinging doors. Three workers were prepping food. He shouted, “Manuel!”

  Heads jerked up. A man wearing a chef’s toque approached Tillman. “Hey, you can’t be in here.”

  Tillman stood his ground. “Where’s Manuel?”

  A man emerged from a storeroom. “I’m Manuel.”

  Tillman pushed past the chef and held up his phone with Tawny’s photo. “Did you see this woman?”

  “Yeah, served her a couple of Margaritas. Another lady with her. Zinfandel.”

  “The other woman—was she tall, black, gorgeous?”

  An appreciative smile spread across Manuel’s face. “Oh, yeah, man, she was sweet. They both were. Ladies like that make it worth coming to work.”

  In his peripheral vision, Tillman caught the chef moving behind a prep table. “Did they leave together?”

  “No, the black lady left first. She ordered another drink for the redhead on her way out.”

  “Did the redhead say anything?”

  “Just thanked me. And she left me an extra five.”

  Yeah, that would be Tawny. “When did she leave?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe an hour or so ago. I was here in the kitchen for a while. When I went back outside, she was gone. Left most of her second drink.”

  “Which way did she go?”

  He splayed both palms. “Like I told you, man, I was inside. Didn’t even see her leave.”

  Tillman slapped a ten in Manuel’s hand, along with this business card. “If you remember anything or see her again, call me right away.”

  “Sure, man.”

  The chef had moved forward, closer to Tillman, face flushed, squinty eyes angry. Tillman asked him, “You got surveillance cams?”

  The chef whipped a carving knife from behind his back. “Who the hell are you?”

  Tillman snatched the man’s wrist, bent it backward, and kept pressing until the chef dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor. Tillman kicked it under the prep table, out of reach. A little more pressure forced the man to his knees. “I’m the guy who wants to look at your video footage.”

  The chef’s anger gave way to teeth gritted in pain. His words sputtered out in breathless gasps. “Ain’t none. Irma exploded a transformer. Burned up the electronics. Surveillance is down all around here.”

  Tillman looked to Manuel for confirmation. The server nodded.

  “Goddammit.” He released the chef’s hand and strode outside to his truck.

  He called 911. “I need to report my fiancée is missing.”

  ***

  An hour later, two officers knocked at the door of the hotel suite. Tillman explained he’d been in St. Pete while Tawny had a massage downstairs. She then went to the Sandspur with Nyala Obregon and disappeared.

  He recognized from the set of their mouths that they thought he was overreacting, even though they didn’t say so. One cop left to watch the hotel security video while the other stayed in the suite to question Tillman. Could Tawny have gone shopping or for a walk on the beach?

  Tillman shook his head. “She wouldn’t go without calling or leaving a message. But she left her phone here in the room.”

  “May I see it?”

  Tillman handed the device over.

  The cop noticed Tillman’s abraded knuckles. “What happened to your hands, sir?”

  Shit. He suspected Tillman had hit Tawny. “Heavy bag at the gym. Overdid it.”

  “You sure did. Bust any bones?”

  “No.” Goddammit.

  The cop read the text and Tillman caught the slight side movement of his eyes.

  I’m an asshole. Why didn’t you smack me across the mouth? I’l
l make it up to you.

  “Sir, was this message from you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds like you two had a disagreement?”

  “Minor.”

  He again studied Tillman’s discolored hands. “You know how the ladies are. You and I think it’s minor but, to them, it’s the apocalypse.”

  “No chance.” The jerk thought Tawny had walked out in a huff. But Tillman knew she wouldn’t. Not like that. If she wanted to end it—and, dammit, he’d given her enough reasons—she’d say it to his face.

  No. Something was wrong.

  They took the elevator to the lobby and met the second officer, who gestured with his chin to his partner. The two cops stepped out of earshot for a moment to confer then both approached Tillman.

  “Mr. Rosenbaum,” the first cop said, “you already confirmed with me that you and Ms. Lindholm had a disagreement, right?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not—”

  Cop Two broke in: “Sir, when you arrived at the hotel this morning, the valet and bellman said you were visibly angry and Ms. Lindholm was crying. Two other witnesses said the same thing and security video confirms that.”

  “She’s missing!” Tillman roared. “Something’s happened to her.”

  “Mr. Rosenbaum, we have to go on witness reports and video surveillance. Nothing appears suspicious in Ms. Lindholm’s activity. She left the hotel voluntarily in good condition under her own power. We can’t file a missing person report based on that.”

  Cop One leaned closer. “Sir, we understand you’re concerned but, based on experience, chances are she just went someplace to blow off steam. If she’s like my wife, she took your credit card and she’s probably charging up a storm. Most likely, she’ll be back soon and everything will be fine.”

  Tillman fought to control his anger. The cops had been ineffective in Smoky’s disappearance and now were equally useless for Tawny. He had to think of another way to find her. “You logged my call, right? It’s on record that I’m asserting she’s missing.”

  “Yes, sir. If she isn’t back in forty-eight hours, you can file a formal report then.” Cop One made a point of staring at Tillman’s knuckles again. “And, if she does remain missing, you will be the first person we talk to. Understand?”

  To keep from clocking the asshole, Tillman stalked out of the lobby toward the parking lot.

  Of course, that was their obvious conclusion. The spouse was always the first suspect in disappearance cases. If it would kick the lazy dimwits into searching for Tawny, he’d get himself arrested this minute. But that wouldn’t help. They’d spend hours sweating him instead of looking for her.

  He strode to his truck, brain racing. Why had Tawny met with Nyala? If Nyala was operating on behalf of her brother, Gabriel, Tawny was in danger. The prick must think Tillman had the Honus Wagner card. Had he abducted Tawny to trade for the card?

  If so, that meant a ransom call would come soon. Tillman had to figure out a bluff on Gabriel.

  And find Tawny.

  Chapter 19 – The Ship Has Sailed

  A rocking movement woke Tawny, along with the slapping noise of water against a hull. She smelled diesel fumes and the slight residue of whatever chemical that had knocked her out. Her head pounded. Her sleeveless tank and shorts stank of cigarette smoke. The hood had been removed but her vision remained blurry. She blinked to clear her cloudy eyes and took stock.

  She was lying on a bunk below decks on a boat. Woven nylon tie-down straps bound her arms and legs. One strap was looped through a wooden railing on the bulkhead to prevent her from getting out of the bunk.

  Opposite from where she lay, the sun shone through a narrow window above a dinette with built-in bench seats. From the angle of light, she guessed seven-thirty, close to sunset. She must have been out for almost four hours.

  The lack of engine thrum indicated the boat was drifting or lying at anchor.

  Footsteps sounded on the deck above her head. A hatch opened and a man came down the ladder into the cabin.

  She recognized Gabriel’s thug—the bulky guy she’d first seen kicking in Smoky’s ribs, then later when the men searched Smoky’s house.

  The smell of cigarette smoke drifted in with him. He peered at her. “Want some water?”

  Her lips cracked from dryness. “Yes.”

  He reached into an under-counter refrigerator adjacent to the dinette and took out a bottle of water. When he grasped her shoulder to pull her to a sitting position, she smelled rum heavy on his breath, even stronger than cigarette smoke. He cracked open the cap and put the bottle to her lips. She gulped greedily, downing half.

  What kind of tough guy worried about the thirst of his captive? Maybe he had a human side. If she could get him talking…

  She tipped her head away. “Thanks.”

  He looked a little surprised at her gratitude then recapped the bottle and set it on the table.

  She studied him, committing his features to memory. Mid- to late-forties, six feet, broad chest and shoulders, flabby midsection. A gray-streaked brown beard tried unsuccessfully to mask a double chin. A jock gone to seed but still powerful.

  “Why am I here?” she asked.

  He was expressionless, blasé, as if kidnapping was an everyday occurrence. “Waiting for your boyfriend to cough up Honus Wagner.”

  “He doesn’t have it. We don’t know where it is. It probably went down with Smoky when he drowned.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Kidnapping me is a stupid stunt. You’ll go to prison for life. And for nothing. We don’t have the card.”

  “I do what my boss tells me.”

  Change the tack. “What’s your name?”

  “Wally,” he answered.

  “Wally, how much is Gabriel paying you to take this chance?”

  “That ship has already sailed.” He grinned. An eye tooth was missing. “Get it? Ship has sailed?”

  A bad comedian. “Where are we?”

  “Past the twelve-mile limit.”

  Damn. They were in international waters. Even if Tawny escaped, she couldn’t swim twelve miles through sharks and God only knew what other dangers. She was screwed. “Is Gabriel on board?” Maybe she could convince him that they didn’t have the card. Would he risk a kidnapping rap for a fortune he couldn’t collect?

  “Nah,” Wally answered.

  “Where is he?”

  “He doesn’t give me his schedule.”

  “How does he get in touch with you? Ship-to-shore radio?”

  Wally ducked to peer out through the window at the setting sun. “He won’t need to. I already have my orders.” His gap-tooth grin turned sinister.

  The stark meaning of his words sunk in.

  He climbed the ladder to the deck and closed the hatch.

  It didn’t matter whether or not Gabriel got the baseball card.

  Wally intended to dump her at sea.

  Either way, her body would be feeding the fishes, like Smoky.

  Chapter 20 – Point Last Seen

  Raul and Jessica stood in the living room of the hotel suite while Tillman searched through Tawny’s roller bag that he’d placed on the desk. He pulled out her clean, folded clothes, looking for something she’d already worn for Churro to use as a scent article. The dog sniffed around the room, tail waving, excited to have a job.

  “How about these?” Tillman started to grab a pair of used panties.

  Jessica cried, “Don’t touch them! We need Tawny’s scent, not yours.” Using a baggie, she scooped the panties inside it then tugged Churro’s lead to bring him close. She held the baggie open for the dog. He buried his nose deep, snuffling the silky material. “That’s Tawny, Churro. Go find Tawny.”

  Tillman had called Raul out of frantic desperation, unable to think of any other way to track where Tawny had gone. He’d already canvassed businesses for blocks around, seeking security cam footage. Except for the hotel, which had a backup system, all were non-op from hurricane damag
e, as the chef at Sandspur had said.

  Her fate rested in the nose of a badly-behaved, adolescent dog. The thought strangled Tillman like a noose. But he had no other options.

  The dog pulled them out of the suite, down the hall, and stopped in front of the second of three elevators. When the doors opened, he smelled the floor and climbed on. They followed and descended to the lobby. There, Churro sniffed the air, trotted to the spa entrance, and raised his paw to scratch the door.

  When Tillman opened it, Churro pushed through, moving to a closed interior door. He sat in front of it.

  The black-lipped receptionist called, “You can’t bring a dog in here.”

  “Official business,” Tillman snarled. “Search and rescue.”

  “Oh.” She squinted suspiciously at Churro. “Isn’t that dog supposed to wear a vest or something?” Then she noticed Jessica, gripping the lead. “She doesn’t look like a handler, either.”

  Tillman moved to where Churro sat and tried the door handle. Locked.

  “Hey!” The receptionist jumped up from her stool and hurried to him. “Don’t open that door. There’s a client in there.”

  “Is this the room where Tawny Lindholm had her massage?”

  “Yes.”

  Tillman’s glare backed her off. She retreated to her desk. He grasped Jessica’s shoulder. “OK, this is good. It’s verification he’s following her.”

  The girl beamed.

  He wondered how the dog sorted out Tawny’s scent hidden in the stifling cloud of spa perfume.

  They started to leave but Churro pulled Jessica sideways to a small alcove with shelves full of folded sheets and towels. A laundry hamper sat on the floor. The dog zeroed in on that, running his nose up and down the woven wicker basket.

  The receptionist forgot her protests and now appeared interested in the dog’s work. “That’s where the used linen goes. He must be smelling the sheet she laid on.”

  Maybe, Tillman decided, the irritating, crotch-sniffing dog knew what he was doing, after all. He held the spa door open as Churro tugged Jessica at a brisk walk, across the lobby, out to the street.

  There, the dog hesitated, wavering.

  “He’s getting confused,” Jessica said. “The sun, the wind, people walking, cars driving by—they’re all stirring up the air and diffusing the scent.” She squatted beside the dog. “Find Tawny, Churro.”