He nodded, appearing unconvinced and as smug as ever. “It’s okay. I get it. Now I know where you were sneaking off in the middle of the night.” He flashed another grin.
I forgot about my crime scene story strategy. “You saw me last night?” My mouth gaped wider.
“I’m a bit of an insomniac. But it’s like I said. You don’t have to worry.” He straightened the starchy white collar of his shirt. “I make a living keeping secrets.”
I stepped close enough that I could hiss and still be heard. “I’m not worried about you keeping any secrets, because you have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re full of hot air.”
“Feisty.” His raised eyebrows clearly showed that he didn’t believe me. “I look forward to getting to know you this week, Gabby.” He snapped his arm up and glanced at his watch. “Now, I’ve gotta say that I’m late for my workshop. Don’t tell my boss. Oh right, that’s me!”
I let out a fake laugh, one that quickly ended as soon as Derek walked away.
Our conversation wouldn’t leave my thoughts quite as easily. Riley? A partier? Those words didn’t compute together in my brain.
Riley was the good boy who always went to church every Sunday. Who read his Bible every morning. Who turned to prayer right away when things got tough—and even when they didn’t.
Riley was not a partier. Certainly he would have mentioned that at some point during one of our conversations.
But now that I thought about it, we didn’t really talk much about his past. I knew he’d grown up in a Christian home, so I just assumed he’d always stayed on the straight and narrow. He just seemed like the type to never wander off that path.
Oh yes, Riley and I were going to have to have a talk. There were more layers to that man than I’d guessed. In all of my investigations, there was one person whose background I’d never thought about looking into.
Thankfully, I had a lifetime to investigate this case.
CHAPTER 8
“Are you here for the tour, ma’am?”
I swung my head toward the concierge, a woman who was probably in her early thirties and wore her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, a look that didn’t in any way compliment the unflattering, standard-issue suit. She stood behind a desk with a granite-countertop that came to her chest and had numerous brochures neatly organized on top.
“The tour?”
She nodded. “Of Allendale. One of our historians will walk you through the property and explain the historical significance of each section of the building. Most find it enlightening.”
The tour sounded downright boring to me. But maybe it would give me some insight to the place and wouldn’t look as weird as me wandering around aimlessly. “I’d love to go.”
A group of seven other people joined us at the desk. Then a man with a monocle and a tweed suit called for our attention. A monocle? I had no idea people used those anymore. All he needed was a pipe and he’d fit my every stereotype of the type of person who frequented places like this.
“I’m Jefferson Willis.” He tugged at his jacket lapel and addressed everyone pensively. “My family has worked at Allendale for three generations. It’s my pleasure to guide you through our wonderful facilities.”
We began our tour at a brisk pace. The guide rambled about how more than one-hundred years ago a man named James Allen, who’d at one time owned a coal mine, had forever changed the fate of Healthy Springs when he opened a resort here that soon became a playground for the rich.
The resort fell into some hard times around the Great Depression, and the family lost ownership. Twenty years ago, it was sold to some big corporation who still owned it to this day. The Allens, however, like many other families, still worked here at the resort.
The natural springs were said to have healing properties that lured the “who’s who” of the world here. Presidents had campaigned from the porch. Generals had taken breaks from battles in the springs. The rich had bought rooms so they could stay year-round. Blah, blah, blah.
We passed ballrooms, one of the original horse and buggies that had carried dignitaries, and shrines with pictures of the place when it had first begun.
My mind was not on anything the historian was saying, though.
No, my thoughts were on Jackie-O.
For her to have been kidnapped here, only hours after arriving, someone would have to plan very carefully. The kidnapper would have had to know about this trip, when Jackie was arriving, that she’d go hiking, and that she’d go hiking alone.
They’d had to know that no one was in her room when they ventured inside to leave the ransom note.
They’d had to know that she was loaded and that one day’s time was adequate for getting a large amount of cash like the ransom had demanded.
There were a lot of variables in that scenario that could have easily gone wrong, I mused as we started upstairs, passing some of the guest suites.
What had Riley said? That Jackie was an Assistant District Attorney. She was the one who put the bad guys behind bars. Had someone she’d put behind bars been stalking her, waiting for just the right minute to exact their revenge? Perhaps her abductor was someone who wanted to teach the family a lesson?
I shook my head. Something just didn’t seem quite right about the situation to me.
What if one of Riley’s old law school buddies was somehow involved in this whole fiasco? Lane had been engaged to her. What if he didn’t like seeing her with someone new? Derek was a self-proclaimed playboy. Those malpractice attorneys seemed like they could twist and turn anything to get what they wanted. Would he have gone as far as to kidnap an old classmate?
None of my theories made sense. Not yet. First, I needed more information.
I heard the door open not far away and someone say, “I’m just going to go on a walk and stretch my legs some.”
I glanced back, and Clint appeared in my view.
Clint.
He was leaving his hotel room and walking in the opposite direction.
I made a split-second decision and slipped away from the tour group to run after him. “Clint!”
He slowed and turned to face me. Grief lined his eyes, as well as uncertainty.
I sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. “I’m not sure if you remember me. Gabby St. Claire.”
He nodded, glancing behind me before meeting my gaze again. “Yeah, I remember.”
I pulled a hair behind my ear, trying to collect my thoughts. “How are you?” I fell in step beside him as he started down the hallway at a lazy pace.
He shrugged. “As well as you can imagine.”
“Anything new on Jackie?”
He shook his head. “We’re just counting down the time.”
“In case I haven’t said this, I’m really sorry.”
He nodded and stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. “Thanks.”
“Look, I know this sounds weird, but can I ask you a few questions?”
He stopped and stared at me. “About?”
“About Jackie.” I locked gazes with him, hoping he could see the sincerity in my eyes. He stared at me as if trying to determine if I was trustworthy or not. When I thought he was going to refuse, I offered, “I was a professional investigator for a while. I may be able to help.”
Finally, he nodded. “I guess.”
We started walking again, though I had no idea where we were going. We were ambling aimlessly, I supposed, but that was okay with me. “Who knew she was coming here this week?”
“Everyone in her office back in Atlanta, I suppose.”
“Was there anyone in particular she was having trouble with? Maybe someone she argued with? Someone who threatened her?” We reached the stairs and started down them.
“What are you getting at?”
“I was just thinking about it, and someone had to know she was going to be here. They had to follow her from her home.”
He glanced at me and squinted. “So, you think so
meone from Atlanta is behind this?”
I shrugged. “I think it’s someone who knew her.”
He stayed quiet for a moment. “One of her colleagues is here this week. His name is Doug Matthews, I think.”
We reached the lobby and kept walking until we were outside. Warm sunlight hit us. Clint threw his head back and soaked it in for a moment, looking desperate for some sort of relief from the agony he had to be experiencing.
“Did she ever have any problems with Doug?”
Clint shook his head. “I don’t know. She didn’t talk about work a lot, especially not with me.”
“When did you guys get here?”
“Me and Jackie? We got here Saturday evening. Why?”
I ignored his question. “How about the rest of the Georgetown gang? When did they arrive?”
He rubbed his chin. “Derek and Lillian got here at lunchtime yesterday. That Jack guy probably came an hour later. Then you and your guy. Lane must have come when we were looking for Jackie.”
“Did you talk to anyone yesterday? Have lunch together?”
He stared at me a moment. “Do you think one of her friends is behind this?”
“I’m not thinking anything. I’m just asking questions.”
His hand moved from his chin to his cheek, the rubbing motion becoming more vigorous. “We chatted with Derek and Lillian in the lobby. That’s when Jackie said she wanted to go on a hike.”
“She didn’t invite her friends with her? They haven’t seen each other in years.”
“I dunno, man. They’d just gotten here and hadn’t even unpacked. That Lillian lady was wearing a suit—on a Sunday, and she hadn’t been to church.”
“Why didn’t you go with Jackie on the hike?”
“I fell from a ladder three months ago and broke my ankle. It hasn’t been the same since. Besides, there was a race on TV. I hung out at the bar to watch it.”
It sounded like he had an alibi. But what about Derek, Lillian, and Jack?
“What do you do for a living, Clint?” I leaned against one of the massive columns and watched as the valets scurried to help people arriving for their stay.
“I work construction.” He snorted. “I know. I’m terribly out of place here. I almost didn’t come. Now I kind of wish I hadn’t, and that I’d tried to convince Jackie to do the same. Maybe none of this would have happened then.”
“How’d you meet?”
“I was installing a new tennis court in her backyard. She thought I owned the company, but I was really just a peon.” He chuckled. “When she found out the truth, she forgave me. We were inseparable after that.”
“I know this must be hard on you.”
He picked up a rebellious piece of grass that had sprung up between the bricks and tossed it into a nearby rose bush. “Jackie’s mom doesn’t exactly like me. I just had to get out of that room with her and her new ‘man friend’ for a while. They’re driving me crazy, and they keep looking at me like I’m second-class. I’ve never exactly had their approval.”
“That’s hard. I can understand where you’re coming from.” I could. Maybe no one had ever said that to my face, but I still felt it. Riley always said it was only in my mind, but I didn’t one hundred percent believe him.
Clint looked at me and raised his chin, as if I passed some kind of brotherhood test. “At least there’s one person here this week who doesn’t think I’m no good because I get my hands dirty for a living.”
“People who get their hands dirty for a living are some of the best people I know. Honest, hardworking, bone tired at the end of the day. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
He scuffed his feet against the bricks for a moment before looking up. “Thanks for listening, Gabby. I’ve got to get back to the firing squad inside, though.” He found a gum wrapper in his pocket, pulled out a pen, and jotted something down. “Here’s my phone number. If you hear anything, let me know.”
I shoved the paper in my pocket. “Is there anything else I can do?”
He frowned. “Just wait.”
“I’ll pray also.”
He nodded. “I’m not so sure God wants to do anything for me. I’ve messed up pretty bad.”
“You might be surprised. I know I was.” There couldn’t ever be truer words spoken.
He pointed inside. “I’m going to get back now. Thanks again for the talk.”
I watched him shuffle back inside.
I prayed this all would turn out well. But I had a strange feeling it wouldn’t.
CHAPTER 9
I grabbed lunch at the little market, having no desire to sit by myself in the massive, swanky dining hall. Riley had a lunchtime workshop today and couldn’t meet me, so I was on my own. I found a little wrought-iron table outside overlooking the pool area and sat down with my ham salad sandwich, some chunks of cantaloupe, and a bottle of water.
I could have seen a movie and bought a round of coffee for all of my friends for the amount this meal cost me. At least at breakfast you just signed this little paper, and the hotel charged your meal to your room bill. It was a lot less painful that way.
At least, until you got the bill.
Something jabbed me in the rear, so I reached into my back pocket, and pulled out Jackie’s phone. I’d forgotten I’d stuck it in there.
I hit the button and the screen lit. Several missed phone calls caught my eye. I pulled out my purse, found some paper and a pen, and jotted the numbers down. I really needed to return this to Clint, but I wanted to get some information first.
I tried to figure out Jackie’s code, so I could see what other interesting information might be on her phone. I couldn’t crack it, though.
I sighed and stared at the numbers instead. There were three that repeated several times. One had to be Clint’s, the other Jackie’s mom, and the third . . . I wasn’t sure.
I found the scrap of paper where Clint had jotted down his digits, and I compared it to my list. Interesting. I saw his number listed there twice.
Twice?
I’d expected him to try to call her uncountable times. Like, every five minutes or something.
But, no, he’d tried to call at 6 and then again at 7.
If I was worried about someone, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from calling as much as I could.
Out of curiosity, I pulled my own phone out and dialed the other number. The phone rang and rang. No answer. No machine. No voicemail.
Interesting.
I dialed the third number. Before the first ring was finished, a woman answered. Breathless. Hopeful. Strained.
I knew whose number this was.
Mrs. Harrington’s.
I mumbled that I had the wrong number, apologized, and hung up.
So, whose number was this third one? Whoever it was had tried to call at 1:30—that would be before Jackie left—and then again at 2 and 2:30.
Using my smartphone, I did a quick search on the area code. I blinked at what I saw. Healthy Springs.
Someone local had tried to call Jackie. Or what if it was . . . someone here at the hotel?
I gulped down the rest of my lunch, stuffed Jackie’s phone back in my pocket, threw away my trash, and hurried inside. I was going on a hunch and a prayer.
I approached the concierge. “Excuse me, I’m trying to figure out who’s been trying to call me from extension,” I glanced at the paper in my purse, “1241. Do you have a list of extensions?”
“I don’t even have to look that one up. That’s the extension of our courtesy phone.” She pointed to a lone phone nestling on an intricate shelf on the other side of the lobby.
I tapped the marble-topped desk. “Excellent. Thank you.”
The information wasn’t really excellent, though, because that courtesy phone number meant that anyone could have been trying to call Jackie.
***
After I freshened up, I went back downstairs to meet Deanna. She waited for me in one of the chairs in the grand entryway. She said n
othing when she saw me, and instead stood and nodded for me to follow. I quietly did just that. She was probably worried about getting in trouble because, in the short time since I’d known her, that was all she’d worried about. Finally, we turned off from the main hallway into a quieter one in the West Wing of the facility.
I looked behind me. It was just us. No witnesses.
“If anyone asks, you’re a friend,” she mumbled. “The management doesn’t exactly smile on the staff mingling with the patrons, if you know what I mean. It’s more like the peons mingling with royalty. It’s not supposed to happen.”
“Understood.” I hurried to keep pace with her.
“Did you find out the information?”
“I did. Ajay is single. Definitely.”
She let out a little squeal before quickly composing herself. “That makes my day. My week. My year!”
“So, are you going to approach him now? What’s your grand plan?”
Deanna gasped and threw a glance behind her. “Are you crazy? I could never do that. I’m not that kind of woman.”
I didn’t even bother to ask what the point of finding out his status was then. Maybe she just needed the information to feed her crush. I’d done some crazy things under the influence of infatuation before. “Did you get any sleep? You were wide awake only five hours ago at breakfast when I saw you.”
“I’ve learned to live on four hours.”
I did a double take and quickened my steps. “Four hours? Are you crazy?”
She shrugged and threw a long curl over her shoulder. “I’m used to it by now.” She stopped by a door and locked gazes with me. I half expected to need a retinal scan to get into the room. “In here.”
I slipped inside. Floor to ceiling monitors and computers filled the room on two walls. A security guard sat behind the desk, staring at the screens and looking bored to tears.
He looked our way as Deanna approached. “Ricky, this is my friend I told you about.”
The man, who was probably in his late-twenties with thinning blond hair, raised his chin in hello. “Wassup?”
Deanna nodded toward me. “Someone’s causing her trouble, and we’re hoping you can help.” She paused and cocked her head as if reenacting a Sunday night crime drama. “Off the record, that is.”
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