Killjoy (13 page)

He didn’t take the hint and go away. Deciding to ignore him—no small feat considering his size—she continued to hunt for her phone. She finally found it on the very bottom and pulled it out. Oliver began to shake his head. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“There are no problems at Utopia, but the use of cell phones on the premises is frowned upon.” Having said that, he pointed to a black-and-gold sign propped on the counter near the corner.

She flipped open the phone’s cover, pushed the speed dial to Carrie’s cell phone, and said, “Then I guess you better start frowning.”

John Paul liked her response. Spunk, he thought. What a surprise. The plastic California girl with the too-blue-to-be-true eyes had a backbone.

Carrie’s voice mail came on after the first ring, which meant the phone was either still being recharged or she was out of signal range. She called Uncle Tony next. He answered, and the second he heard her voice, he proceeded to give her hell because she hadn’t called before her aunt left for the spa.

“You know how she worries when she doesn’t hear from you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Have you talked to Carrie since she left L.A.? Has she called you?”

“No, but I don’t expect to hear from her. We said good-bye in L.A. She wouldn’t let me ride to the airport with her,” he said. “And I promised her I wouldn’t bug her at the spa. She’s there to relax and think about her . . . priorities. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you, though. Give her a call and be sure to tell her I send my love.”

Her uncle didn’t know she was at Utopia. Avery was about to explain her last-minute decision to join her aunt but then changed her mind. She didn’t want to get Tony upset over what she still hoped was just a colossal screwup.

“If she doesn’t answer her phone, don’t fret. She’s probably just getting a massage or something.”

The lobby was becoming crowded. A raucous and loud group of twelve came into the hotel. Avery put her hand over her ear as she asked, “Tony, were there any problems at work? Has the office called you?”

“No,” he said. “Are you expecting trouble? I talked to Jeanie this morning. Everything’s good,” he said. “Star Catcher isn’t going to fall apart in two weeks. When you talk to Carrie, tell her to stop worrying.”

“Yes, I’ll tell her,” she said. “I’ll call you later, Tony. Love you.”

She ended the call and looked at Oliver. “I’d like to speak to your manager.”

Oliver looked offended by the request. He stiffened and his voice turned snippy. “I assure you Mr. Cannon will tell you the same thing I just did. We’re booked to capacity. It’s a misconception to think that we hold back rooms. I’ll be happy to assist you in finding suitable lodging in Aspen. Nothing will compare to Utopia, of course, but you could take advantage of our day spa treatments. I’m sure you’d enjoy our stress-relief hot-stone massage. It’s quite invigorating.”

His tone was grossly condescending. She wasn’t interested in his damn massage. She wanted to find her aunt. Keeping her irritation in check was difficult, but she managed it. She had never used her job to get around obstacles before, and she wasn’t about to start now, but the urge was nearly irresistible. Oh, how she would have loved to pull out her ID and flash it in front of Oliver’s face. He’d sure as certain stop being so snippy then, wouldn’t he? She couldn’t do it, though, because it wouldn’t be honest, acting like a full-fledged agent when she actually worked in the basement keyboarding all day. Besides, it wasn’t a real FBI badge, and anyone with half a brain would know it.

She suddenly realized she was projecting her frustration and anger on the innocent clerk. Oliver was simply doing his job. Maybe Carrie had lost track of the time. She might have met a famous movie star at the mountain retreat and didn’t want to leave.

That had to be it. Her aunt was busy networking and had forgotten to call. Avery clung to the possibility because it was all she had. Her anxiety didn’t go away, though. Why had Carrie canceled her reservation at the spa?

“I really need to talk to your manager.”

Oliver didn’t move.

John Paul said quietly, “Do as the lady asks.”

“Mr. Cannon went downstairs to the mailroom to see about a package.”

“Go get him and tell him that John Paul Renard is back and wants to talk to him again. We’ll wait in his office.”

It wasn’t what John Paul said but how he said it that got Oliver moving. He stepped back from the computer, turned, and jogged down the corridor.

John Paul didn’t give Avery time to ask questions or argue. He started shoving her things back in her backpack, then grabbed her hand and pulled her along. “Come on. I know the way.”

“I can handle this, Mr. Renard. You don’t need to—”

“Call me John Paul.” He led her behind the counter, then down a long, red-carpeted hall.

She jerked away from him and dug in her heels at the door to the manager’s office.

“All right. I want some answers,” she demanded. “First of all, exactly how do you know my aunt?”

He had his own question. “Why didn’t you tell your uncle that your aunt is missing?”

“I don’t want him to worry. I’m not certain she is missing.”

“Then where is she?”

Good point. Carrie was probably drinking mimosas on top of a mountain somewhere having a fine old time. And making Avery nuts worrying about her. No, Carrie would never be so thoughtless. Something was wrong.

“I don’t know where she is, but I’m going to make some calls and find her.”

“Why would she cancel?” he asked. “The clerk said a woman called—”

“The hotel must have screwed up our reservations. You don’t need to hang around. If you’d like to leave your phone number, I’ll make sure Carrie gets it. She’ll probably come strolling into the lobby any second now with some outrageous excuse.”

She didn’t believe a word of what she’d just told him, but she hoped he would buy it and go away.

“Then I’ll wait with you until she gets here.”

She gave up. The man was more tenacious than she was. She would find out what his agenda was after she located her aunt.

Ten minutes later, she was sitting behind Mr. Cannon’s art deco desk in his spacious wind tunnel of an office overlooking the serenity pool. The overhead ceiling fan was on low and making a clicking sound with each rotation. The noise reminded her of Mrs. Speigel. The sweet old woman made the same sound when she spoke because of her ill-fitting false teeth.

Cannon also had another fan perched on top of his black lacquered filing cabinet, but that one was going full speed. All the papers on his desk were weighted down with gold sphere-shaped paperweights.

“Cannon’s taking too damned long. While you make your phone calls, I’ll go find him,” John Paul said. “You stay put.”

Avery waited until he’d left the office and closed the door before she dialed her home answering machine. She hoped Carrie had left her a message explaining her absence, but that wasn’t the case. Then Avery tried her office voice mail, and there wasn’t a message from her aunt there either.

Now what? In desperation she called the pen. Maybe, just maybe, Carrie had talked to Margo or Lou or Mel.

Margo answered the main line. “I’m so glad you called, Avery. You’re not going to believe this. I called your neighbor’s caretaker like I told you I would—”

“Margo,” Avery interrupted. “You can tell me later. I’ve got a problem here, and I need your help.”

“You need to hear what I found out,” her friend insisted. “Mrs. Speigel broke her hip.”

Avery’s nerves were nearing the breaking point, but she knew that she was going to have to wait until Margo finished talking about Mrs. Speigel before she’d let her get a word in.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She broke her hip two weeks ago, and then she got pneumonia. She almost died,” she added. “But Marilyn, the lady who takes care of her, told me the antibiotics are finally working, and it looks like she’s going to recover. That’s pretty amazing considering the fact that Mrs. Speigel is in her nineties.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She rubbed her brow as she asked the question.

“Don’t you get it? Mrs. Speigel couldn’t have snuck her car out. She was in the hospital. Someone stole her car, and whoever it was was in such a hurry to get out of the parking garage, he or she almost hit you.” Before Avery could comment, Margo enthusiastically continued. “The car was abandoned on M Street. It was illegally parked, so they towed it. Marilyn told me that it would break Mrs. Speigel’s heart if the family sold her car. Even though she never drives it, she feels independent having it in the garage. Marilyn uses it to take the old lady on errands. Aren’t you happy to know Mrs. Speigel wasn’t trying to kill you?” she added with a laugh.

“Margo, I need help. Stop talking for a minute and listen. My aunt’s missing.”

She filled her in on the information she had, then said, “There’s a man here waiting to talk to Carrie. He won’t tell me how he knows her or what he wants. He’s the strong, silent type. Run his name through the computer, will you? There’s something about him. His name is John Paul Renard.”

“What do you mean, ‘There’s something about him’?”

“He says he’s a carpenter, but he doesn’t look like one.”

“What’s a carpenter supposed to look like?”

“Come on, Margo. See if there’s anything in the system.”

“I’m typing in the name right now. Are you looking for parking tickets or something?”

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” she admitted. “He’s got this air about him. When I first saw him across the lobby, I was sure he must be an actor, but later, I noticed the way he was watching the people coming and going. He might be . . . dangerous. I think he could be.” She sighed dismissively. “I’m probably overreacting because I’m so worried about Carrie. It isn’t like her to take off like this. Just look up the name, okay?”

“Jeez, Avery. You think he’s a criminal?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Whoa.”

“What? You found something?”

“Oh, boy, did I. Your John Paul isn’t a criminal.”

“He’s not my John Paul.”

“He used to work for the government. Wait, I’m scrolling down. Whoa. Get this. His file is classified.”

“Classified?” She wasn’t prepared to hear that.

“I’m trying to access . . . ah, here we go. I could lose my job for this, and so could you.”

“I know. Just tell me what you see, okay?”

“Renard was in the Marines. Honorable discharge,” she added. “He was recruited while he was still a Marine according to the file.”

“Recruited for what?”

“I don’t know. It just says ‘special branch operations.’ There’s a bunch of numbers and initials, but I don’t know what any of it stands for.” She read the information to Avery as she scrolled down. She stopped suddenly, then said, “He’s taken a leave of absence.” Then, a few seconds later, she sighed loudly into the phone. “It won’t give me any more information. That’s all I can get because I don’t have the necessary clearance. Hold on. I’m pulling up an old photo ID. Ah, here we go.” She whistled.

“What?”

“I think I’m in love.”

“Get serious,” Avery said. She described John Paul to verify.

“I think it’s the same guy. He’s from Louisiana. He has family there. His brother-in-law is an attorney for the Justice Department.” She read a few more personal facts and then said, “It looks like he went on quite a few missions when he was a Marine. Wait a minute, here’s something interesting. It says one of the missions involved rescuing some hostages in the Middle East, but get this, Renard carried out the assignment despite the fact that he’d suffered a compound fracture of his left arm.” Margo was silent as she scrolled through the rest of his record; then she said, “Beyond the Marine duty, it won’t tell me anything. Do you want me to go to Carter? The man intimidates me, but I’ll do it if you want me to. I’m sure he could get into Renard’s file.”

“No, don’t ask him. At least, not until I think about it.”

“What’s going on?” Margo asked. “What does this Renard want with your aunt Carrie?”

“I don’t know. Listen, Margo, when Carrie called me from the Aspen airport, she said there was a driver there from the spa waiting to take her and two other women to a mountain retreat for the night. Carrie said the spa had trouble with a broken water pipe or something. The driver’s name was Monk Edwards . . . or Edward Monk. I’m not sure which. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got. I remember Carrie also said the driver had a British accent. Run the name through, and if you find anything, call me on my cell phone.”

“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.