A Merry Christmas Anniversary Mystery Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #9 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series)

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Carol, I’m tired and cranky. I’m also worried about Max and Charlie, Frank, and Jack. Do I have to put you on the list now too? Should I call 911 and report a cookie overdose?” Carol giggled, then replied with one of the odd squawks uttered by Liza Doolittle.

  “Argh! Yer no fun a’tall, you ain’t.” Then she straightened up and added, “Hardy Hart can be reached by phone or email in a professional tone. Do you prefer one or the other, or would you like both?”

  “I’ll take both—text them to me, okay?”

  “Coming right up,” Carol replied. I heard a ping on my phone. “Why are you trying to contact the harlequin?”

  “I hope he can speak ‘bot’ to Tidbit and find out where the cufflink came from. Maybe Hardy can tell Tidbit to fetch or get the bot to show him where he found it. Let Hardy squeeze his skinny body through the bot tunnels if that’s what it takes.”

  “What if Max is being held in the hotel somewhere?”

  “If I believed that, I’d have Jack and Frank on it. For all I know, Tidbit swept it up from under the bed in Max’s suite or found it under a table in a restaurant. Maybe the bot brought it to me because it’s all that’s left of Max after he was burned to ash in the tunnel blaze.” That was a horrible thought.

  “It isn’t smudged with blood or smoke, is it?” Carol asked.

  “Eew, no!” I responded. “I doubt it came from anywhere near the blast, but who knows? Jack and Frank are still waiting to get into the tunnels and check out the control room. The fire must be out because the Marines from Twentynine Palms can get close enough to drill into the safety hub from up above.”

  “The aerial television coverage didn’t last long. A Marine helicopter chased the news copter away. The reporters on the ground are griping about not being able to get closer. The entire area has been cordoned off by armed soldiers and police.”

  “That’s not going to make Charlie’s press conference go any smoother,” I snapped.

  “As the helicopter left, the Marines were dousing the fire with white foamy stuff. I’m sure you’re right that the fire’s out.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s cool enough to enter the tunnels or that the air is breathable. I’m glad Jack and Frank are cautious,” I added.

  “When you call Jack to tell him Max has been kidnapped and is being held somewhere at the resort, get him to give you more details about what’s up with the fire and rescue squad. Especially if they’ve made progress getting into the safety hub.”

  “If Max has been kidnapped and is being held at the hotel, why isn’t his tracker working? A kidnapper might know to remove the battery in his phone and dump it, but who would be able to block the guest tracker?”

  “I bet Hardy could,” Carol instantly replied. That shivery feeling came back.

  “You may be right, dang it. So far, Hardy hasn’t done anything deceptive. In fact, according to Larry, he was helpful to them this morning. I will call Hardy’s supervisor before I call Hardy. Maybe he’s as big a kook as Bobby Bush, but Hardy Hart seems on the level from what you’ve dug up.”

  “If by ‘on the level’ you mean roaming around, doing backflips, dressed as a Christmas harlequin when he’s been hired as an engineering intern,” Carol quipped.

  “True."

  "Do you want me to give you Hardy's supervisor's name, or do you want me to call? That's already on my 'to-do' list." When Carol told me the supervisor's name, I recognized it.

  "That's my friend--acquaintance is more like it. Call him, please, and tell him I asked you to do it. Let's hope Max is in the bunker, and that’s why his tracker isn’t working. None of the trackers are working for the control room team member or Max's guests, so maybe they're all in there.”

  “I'll call Hardy's supervisor,” Carol said. “You need to save your strength until Charlie arrives.”

  “I might need my every bit of strength after he shows up depending on what condition he’s in. I just heard another disturbing story about Charlie from a reputable source.”

  “Come on, you can’t leave me out of the loop,” Carol said. “Besides, it can’t be worse than the concerns Rita passed along to you.”

  “The newest angle on Charlie’s trouble is that his problems are psychological, and he’s in crisis. His behavior is damaging his personal life as well as his career.”

  “Aha! The wife tells all,” Carol guessed. “Charlie goes from crook to kook.”

  “It’s not that simple, and I need to speak to him myself. I don’t mean to be dismissive about the kook thing. Whatever Charlie’s behavior means, he needs help,” I offered. “Did you reach Charlie’s Executive Assistant to see if Bobby Bush is a familiar name or person to her?”

  “Theda’s off for a few days, so her sub is going through Charlie’s appointment calendar to see if she can spot the guy’s name.”

  “Shoot! Text me if you find out anything new about Bobby Bush.”

  “Will do! Promise you’ll call me pronto if you have more good news.”

  “Girl Scouts honor,” I said and searched for the number from my colleague in the Innovation and Engineering Department.

  As I did that, I stood up and stretched and ran to apologize to Shirley for being holed up in the office. Many of the remaining guests had left, and the lobby was almost empty. Shirley was sipping tea sitting next to a young woman. When they spotted me, they both held up their teacups.

  “Want a cup? We’re celebrating that almost all our guests are safe if there’s more trouble in New Arcadia. Not everyone was able to pack up and go as fast as we asked them to. Now that security has told us there’s no immediate threat, we’ve told them to take the time they need.”

  “I’d love a cup of tea. Point me in the right direction, and I’ll fix it—there’s no need for either of you to get up. I’ve been on the phone almost nonstop, so I can use a walkaround before I make my next call.”

  “Help yourself to whatever you’d like in the kitchen. There’s a single-shot beverage maker with your choice of coffees or tea. Cups and mugs are in the cupboard above it.”

  “Thanks,” I said and hustled off. As soon as Shirley spoke, I felt daffy. I knew where and what she was talking about since I’d been here several times before. There's a fully equipped kitchen on the premises. Built on a smaller scale than those in the hotels, it was adequate. This one was used for catering meetings and special events like our wedding held here a year ago.

  A wave of nostalgia swept over me as I recalled how lovely the ceremony had been. The flowers, the blend of Christmas and wedding decorations, the family and friends who’d joined us…it all came back to me in a rush. I had the urge to call my one-year-husband and tell him how much I love him. That didn’t happen, though, because the back entrance to the kitchen flew open just as I’d caught a whiff of my Earl Grey tea.

  “Lunch is served!” Larry announced as he marched into the kitchen, pulling a cart filled with trays behind him.

  “Christmas quiche, salads from our gardens, as well as cookies and ice cream for dessert,” Linda added as she gave his cart a push and dragged a second cart inside.

  “I’m starving, but you have enough food there to feed an army,” I said, staring at the trays and trays of food. “Most of our guests have left!”

  “You’ve got hungry staff, security guards, and police officers, don’t you?” He asked.

  “Yes—we’ll have to feed the guards and officers in shifts. Some transportation service team members may prefer to eat here that go out for fast food once they hear what’s on the menu. Let me get a headcount and see if Shirley wants to eat before the place fills up again.” I sipped my tea and took off with Larry trailing after me.

  “Shirley, Larry’s here with lunch and wants guidance about how many mouths there are to feed and how to set up for lunch. Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “I sure am,” she replied, standing up and grabbing the hand of the young woman who’d been sitting beside her. “Who’s ready for lunch,” Shirley asked
.

  Hands went up around the room, including half a dozen remaining guests in the room. Dress in his Christmas chef garb, which included a chef’s hat in red, the traditional white chef shirt, and pants printed with Max’s cartoon ‘Twelve Elves” on them. He counted hands and got things moving.

  “Shirley, if you show everyone except for the guests to the Catmmando Dining Room, we can begin serving lunch.” She motioned for the staff to follow. Frowns appeared on the guests’ exhausted faces just as Linda appeared with takeout containers. Another team member was behind her with beverages in bottles and a few smaller brown cardboard containers.

  “We want you to have lunch, but we don’t want you to miss your rides,” Larry added. “The Christmas Quiche has cranberries and sausage in it as well as the usual milk, eggs, and cheese. If you can’t eat those items, we have salads with tempeh and miso dressing. Just tell Linda which box you want.”

  Larry paused, and when I looked up to find out why, one of the biggest men I’d ever seen was standing in the lobby. He had to be nearly seven feet tall, and he was muscular too. There was such a serious expression on his well-worn face that everyone in the room stared.

  “At ease, everyone,” Jessica said as she stepped from behind him. “Peter March is on our side.”

  “I’d love to have one of the salads if you can spare one,” Peter said. “I skipped lunch to squeeze in this meeting.”

  “Georgie said I brought enough to feed an army,” Larry quipped, eyeing me. “Are there more like you on the way?”

  “Not that I know of—unless you’re planning to feed the Marines from Twentynine Palms,” Peter replied and walked straight toward me with his hand outstretched.

  “I gather you don’t eat quiche,” Larry continued.

  “Nope! I don’t eat anything with a mom or a face—I’m vegan.” With that, Peter grunted in what must have been laughter. “I’m glad you’ve got an option for me, chef.”

  “Nice to meet you, Georgie,” Peter said as I took his enormous hand and shook it. It was hard and calloused. Up close, I could detect a sliver of a scar on his face and a more jagged one on his neck—perilously close to his jugular vein. “Jessica tells me you’ve had a challenging day. Is there somewhere we can talk while we eat lunch?”

  “Yes,” I replied as everyone began to move again. Linda distributed the takeout lunches to the guests in a flash. Her tray was nearly empty. “Let’s get our lunches from the kitchen.”

  Shirley, who hadn’t made her escape quickly enough, made eye contact with me. Then she moved back into the lobby.

  “Candy, will you please see that everyone gets seated around the table in the dining area? I’m going to have my lunch out here with our remaining guests,” Shirley offered.

  Georgie, why don’t you meet in the planning room? There’s a table where you can all spread out a bit more,” Shirley suggested.

  “Ted has your drinks and cookies for dessert,” Larry interrupted. “I’m afraid those are made with butter, but we can get you fruit if you want that instead.”

  “Fruit, please,” Peter remarked.

  “Shirley, will you let me know if Charlie arrives. He may want to join us for this meeting.”

  “Will do.”

  “Also, Larry wants to feed the security and police officers on duty. Who’s the point person? Even if Larry puts takeout boxes together for them, I don’t know if they should all be eating at once.”

  “Larry, that’s thoughtful of you. Hang on and let me check.” Shirley nodded for me to get going as she hustled to the door and hollered for Dan Shively. I knew the name. He’d been in our security division for years before stepping into management here in New Arcadia.

  “I’ll bet your food for you,” Linda said. “I know what room you’ll be in. Do you and Jessica want the quiche?”

  “I do,” Jessica responded.

  “Me too,” I added. “I should eat fruit like Peter, but cookies and ice cream, please.”

  “I have a sorbet that you can eat, Peter, if you want it. It’s cranberry vanilla and mostly fruit, so vegan.”

  “I’d love it!” Peter said.

  “I’ll have the sorbet,” Jessica added. “And cookies.”

  “Settle in, and I’ll be right back. Do you want me to bring you beverages?”

  “Let us check first. I’m sure there’s bottled water in the minifridge,” I said. “Other soft drinks, tea, or juice. There’s a coffee machine in there. I’m going to need more caffeine soon.”

  “Okay. I won’t be more than a few minutes,” Linda said as she strode toward the kitchen.

  “I can’t believe you’re not going to try the sorbet. That sounds delicious,” Jessica commented. We made our way down a short hall, turned, and continued to a small, well-appointed room with a table that could seat a dozen people.

  “I saw Larry’s favorite chocolate sitting out on one of the tables. We can ask, but I’m betting he’s done something wonderful with it in his ice cream.”

  “Did I make the wrong choice?” Jessica asked.

  “I’ll share mine,” I said and then switched gears the moment we were inside the room.

  “Spill it, you two. What’s up?”

  “Frank sent us the garbled audio recording from the minutes before the blast,” Peter said. “Before the mayday, someone was already trying to communicate that there was trouble. Apparently, they were expecting visitors, then someone asks, ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Max?’”

  “They’re not calling out,” Jessica added. “Peter thinks some alert person opened an audio channel, hoping to be overheard.”

  “What are you doing here could mean the person asking recognized the person, doesn’t it? Did they use a name?”

  “The conversation wasn’t long, and there are obvious gaps in the sequence of communication. Rather than answering the questions, a man says, ‘no questions.’ Then we hit a gap until we hear ‘there’s no need for a gun…not safe…equipment.’ A woman says, ‘Tell him not to touch that,’ which we presume is another member of the control room team asking the first man to stop a second man from doing something to the controls. Scuffling sounds are followed by several shots,” Peter added.

  “Can you tell if the bullets injured someone?” I asked, growing more anxious.

  “No, but if one or more of the bullets hit the control room equipment, that may have caused the problem that led to the explosions. The mayday call comes soon after,” Peter replied. “We also assume Max wasn’t shot because someone yells, ‘Max, go, don’t come in here. We all need to get out now!’ Then there’s the mayday call, followed by silence.”

  Jessica was about to say more when Linda entered the room with our lunches. She took one look at my face and assumed the worst.

  “Oh, no! Who’s dead? Is it Max?” Her tray tipped, and we all sprang into action to grab its contents before items slid off. “I’m sorry. This has been a stressful day. I’m wrecked.”

  “We didn’t come to tell Georgie who’s dead because we don’t know that. What we do know is that someone’s alive,” Jessica added.

  9 Hardy-tested, Hardy-approved

  “There I go again,” Jessica moaned as soon as she’d spoken. “I’m not used to all of this hush-hush, need-to-know stuff. As soon as one of my friends or I learn something, we share it with everyone else. How do you people get anything done during an investigation?”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Linda said as I put ice in a bucket, pulled beverages from the minifridge, and stuck them in the ice. “Not even Larry. Especially not Larry. He’s a great chef and a nice guy, but he’s like a two-legged foghorn.”

  “What Jessica’s saying is that the rescuers have heard signs of life from inside the safety hub near the control room,” Peter said. “We don’t know who that is, so none of us is going to say anything more until they complete their work. Besides, whoever’s in there isn’t out of the woods yet. Depending on how many people have taken shelter, and how long it takes to
reach them, we can’t be certain their oxygen supply will hold out.”

  “Oh, please,” Linda said. “There must be a way to get air to them. Drill a hole or something!”

  “That’s what they’ve been trying to do, Linda,” I said. “That must be how they determined someone in there is still alive.”

  “Yes, but it’s taken hours to pierce the outer hull enough to rest a tiny sensing device on the secondary shell,” Peter added.

  “Then go in another way,” Linda insisted.

  “They’re working on that too,” Jessica responded. “Frank says the control room is damaged but not obliterated, so there’s a team trying to get in from that side. To do that, they’ve suited up in hazard gear. They don’t want to burn their way through the door into the safety hub until they’re sure there’s nothing leaking that could spark a fire or another blast.”

  “I get it,” Linda said, nodding and wearing a sad frown.

  “The engineering team has figured out that the emergency protocol was executed. That another reason to hope everyone in the control room was able to get into the safety pod before the blast occurred,” Peter added.

  “Do they know there’s an attempt being made to rescue them?” I asked as we took seats around the large table.

  “Yes,” Peter said. “They were able to register a sound on the interior hull, and that got a rhythmic response.”

  “What do you mean—like Morse code?”

  “Not like it, but actual Morse code,” Peter replied.

  “Then they can get more information about who’s in there and if anyone has been injured or shot,” I said, becoming more excited as I spoke.

  “That’s what they’re doing, but it’s slow-going using. Unfortunately, the team doing the drilling has to stop to communicate with the survivors. That means they face tough decisions about how much time to spend gathering information. They have EMTs and ambulances on standby in case anyone’s been injured.”

  “Where’s Hardy?” Linda suddenly asked. “Ask him to help get that door open. He’s a genius whiz kid who finished college when he was sixteen before he went to M.I.T. He’s already working on his second master’s degree.”