Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

The Semiahmoo Resort is situated at the eastern end of the peninsula on its own 130-acre tract surrounded by water. White Rock, BC, Canada, is just across the water about two miles as the crow flies but probably an hour by road. With White Rock on the north, Blaine and Drayton Harbors on the south, the resort seemingly spreads across the horizon with the pristine blue waters of Semiahmoo Bay as a perfect backdrop for a Hollywood set.

I've never been here before but it's now on my vacation list. As soon as I can take a vacation. Which is never. The scenery is breathtaking. I wonder what Hayden would think of this place. Maybe I'll take some days off if I can bring him with me. A sibling vacation. It would be like when we were on the run, but a lot more fun without the murder and panic and having nowhere to hide.

The inside of the resort is as beautiful as the outside. Hardwood floors gleam. The lobby has floor-to-ceiling windows looking toward a spectacular view of snow-covered Mount Baker. Rebecca introduces Ronnie and me as detectives from Jefferson County to the manager, Roger Whiting. He isn't concerned she has brought us to search the vacated room, or that we want to question the staff. Rebecca is part owner.

The thing I notice first about Roger Whiting is that he's standing on a box when he steps down to retrieve a key for us.

"No one has been in the room, Miss Marsh."

I ask, "Have the police come by?"

"No. They never write. They never call…" he answers, very deadpan, and makes me smile. That phrase is as old as the hills but I could get to like this guy.

Ronnie says, "A detective named Lucas is going to be calling."

"I know Sergeant Lucas. He hasn't been here either." He reaches down and comes up with a silver tray filled with Biscoff cookies—the kind they serve on airplanes—and sets them on the counter. Roger sees me eying them.

"Would you like some, Detective?"

"Megan Carpenter," I say. "This is Detective Marsh."

"I know," Roger says. "It's been a while since I've seen you here. Your mom said you're a famous detective now."

They chitchat but I'm fixated on the cookies. I've never been on an airplane, but Sheriff Gray went to a Sheriff's Conference in Indianapolis once and brought some of those cookies back for the office. Picking up several packets I stuff them in my blazer pocket. Just to clarify our authority in case Lucas actually does come here, I say, "Mr. Whiting, we're not here in an official capacity. We're consulting for Rebecca if anyone with a badge asks."

Roger feigns ignorance. "You were never here?"

Now I really like him, and so, I take a couple more packets of cookies. I wonder if these cookies go with box wine? Roger must be a mind reader and offers the tray again. It would be rude to refuse. I hope there's none left for Lucas.

Ronnie says, "Roger, are there any staff here who worked the day my sister and mom checked in? And the next day?"

"One of our desk staff is off with a sick child so I checked your mom and sister in on Thursday afternoon. Let's see…" His eyes look toward the ceiling. He returns from memory retrieval mode and says, "Mrs. Marsh went to the pool. Then she and Miss Marsh"—he nods at Rebecca—"had lunch in the restaurant." He looks to Rebecca for verification then continues. "If you like, I can find out who your waiter was."

Rebecca says, "It was Alan. He always waits on us when we're here."

"Ah, yes, Alan. I can call him in."

"I'll pay for his coming in on Sunday to talk to us. And I'd like all the staff that were here on Friday and Saturday to come in too. I'll pay extra," Rebecca offers.

"Miss Marsh. Your money is no good here. Let me see." Again his eyes drift to the ceiling. "Let's see. Connie is here this morning. She cleaned and resupplied your rooms both nights. And then there's the night manager."

Ronnie says, "I'd like them to come in if that's doable. They might remember more in person."

"Of course. I'll arrange it. And I'll be here if you need me."

Take-charge Ronnie says, "I'll need the key to the room. And we'll need a place to do the interviews."

Roger hands Ronnie a brass key. "You can use Packer's Cafe for the interviews. I'll have someone come and make you coffee or whatever you need. I don't think there are any guests in there, but if they are, you can use the conference room on the second floor." He gives her a key card.

Rebecca puts her hand over Roger's. "Thank you, Roger. This means a lot to me."

"It's the least I can do. Mrs. Marsh will be fine. I'll say a prayer for her and for you. Is there anything else?"

"Not this minute," Rebecca says. "Send whoever you can find to Packer's one at a time, please. I won't forget your help."

Roger blushes and gets on the phone to call his employees.

Ronnie says, "I'll go to Mom's room. Rebecca, you and Megan can interview the staff. Let Megan do the talking. When I'm done, I'll find you at Packer's."

We agree. I'm not used to this side of Ronnie but I'm glad she's running the show. It will give her something to do besides worry. And it will assure Rebecca that Ronnie is the right one for the job.

Ronnie says, "If I miss something, Megan, please jump in."

"You've got this, Ronnie."

"But if…?"

"You're the boss."

Ronnie heads for the stairs, and Rebecca leads me to Packer's.

Packer's is an upscale café. One entire wall is floor-to-ceiling glass looking out toward Drayton Bay. In the distance is a ramshackle building that reminds me of an abandoned timber mill. Rebecca says it was a salmon packing operation. Hence the name Packer's, I guess. Roger was correct about the café being unused except for a lone man sitting by one of the windows banging away on a laptop like the keys are a whack-a-mole arcade game. He doesn't even notice we're there. He reminds me of one of those wannabe writers hanging around Starbucks, taking up a table and drinking free refills. I don't recognize him so he's probably no one. Then again, I don't read a lot.

Rebecca pulls the velvet-encased barrier chain across the entrance and latches it. We're stuck with the Pulitzer Prize guy but he's off in his own world. If he wakes up, he'll hopefully see the chain up and leave. Or I can yell, "FIRE!" Nah. He's actually kind of cute, in a nerdy way.

Rebecca and I take a table facing the entrance and wait. We don't have to wait long before a middle-aged woman in an honest-to-God maid's outfit, complete with white cap, sees us and ducks under the barrier.

"Connie?" I say, and she nods. Her expression is concerned, like she's been called to the principal's office or is being audited by the IRS. I stand and take her hand. "Let me assure you that you're not in any trouble. We just want to ask some questions." She doesn't relax. I try again and soften my expression with a smile. "I'm Detective Carpenter and this is Rebecca Marsh. Have a seat."

"I remember you, Connie," Rebecca says. "Thank you for coming so quick."

Connie sits and I can hardly shut her up. The only pertinent information she has is that she cleaned Victoria's room on Friday somewhere around two in the afternoon. She cleaned it extra special because they all knew who Victoria was. She kept sneaking shy glances at Rebecca as if she were in the presence of royalty. She said she was instructed not to clean the room later by the manager and hasn't been in the room since.

My gut tells me there's more and she's covering it with her incessant chatter. "Connie, it's very important for you to be straight with us. Did you see anyone come or go from that room?"

She looks down and I can barely hear her response.

"Can you say that again?"

Rebecca says, "It's okay to tell us, Connie. My mom is missing and anything you know might help."

She peeks at me and then looks down again. "I clean the rooms starting just before noon but Mrs. Marsh is always up early and having breakfast with you." She looks at Rebecca. "That morning I thought she wouldn't mind if I straightened up a bit so I went in and cleaned. Then a few hours later Roger said to leave the room alone."

"Did you know my mom was missing?" Rebecca asks, and then looks at me. "Sorry."

"Go ahead and answer, Connie," I say.

"Not then. I told you I cleaned the room around two o'clock, but it was before noon. Roger doesn't want us in the guest's rooms before noon. And when Roger told me not to go in the room, I thought maybe I'd done something wrong, so I didn't tell him I'd already been in there. When I found out from Roger that she was missing, I kept quiet. I was afraid I'd messed up something. I'd get fired if I did something that was evidence or whatever. I'm real real sorry. I hope you find your mom, Miss Marsh. She's such a sweetheart to all of us."

"Connie, what was the room like before you cleaned? I need all the detail you can remember," I say.

"The covers weren't down like Mrs. Marsh had slept there. I guess Mrs. Marsh could have slept on top of the covers but hardly anyone ever does because they're afraid we don't clean them." She hurriedly says, "But we do."

Myself, I never sleep on the duvet. I pull it off on the floor where it belongs.

"I'm sure you do a thorough job, Connie. Go on."

The dam breaks and the rest spills out. She has a good memory. She went in the room a couple of hours before Roger told her to stay out. Rebecca would have been on the back deck waiting for her mom at that time. There was an empty champagne bottle lying on the floor. She put the bottle in the trash, then cleaned the room. She took the trash away and threw it in the bin outside. If she can be believed, she hadn't touched anything else. She hadn't seen the note on the floor outside Victoria's room. I took Connie's contact information and let her go.

With Connie gone I ask, "What time did you have dinner with your mom Thursday night, Rebecca?"

"Maybe seven or eight. Then we went to her room and sat on the veranda and talked. There wasn't any champagne in the room. I'm sure of it. Mom is not much of a drinker. And when I looked for her, I went to her room and there was no bottle of champagne. Unless it was in the trash. I didn't think to look there. Connie said she threw the bottle away so I wouldn't have known."

"Maybe she ordered another bottle that night after you left the room?"

"I'm sure she wouldn't have."

I call the front desk. Roger answers.

"Mr. Whiting. This is Detective Carpenter. Is Connie still around?"

"She's right here. I'll put her on."

She answers in a hesitant voice. "This is Connie."

"Detective Carpenter, Connie. I just need to clarify something."

"Okay."

"You found a champagne bottle on the floor. Do you remember if there was anything left in the bottle?"

"Yes."

"There was some left?"

"Not much though. Is it important?"

"How many glasses for the champagne were in the room?" I'd forgot to ask that question.

"There were two. But now that I think of it, they hadn't been used."

I mull that over and then ask if there's anything else she can recall that might be helpful. You'd be amazed how often that "anything else" question bears fruit.

She hesitates for a second. "Well, there was one other thing. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I didn't think it was important enough to mention because you asked about unusual things. This isn't unusual."

"Tell me." Before I strangle you.

"It's probably nothing. People are always coming and going."

"Tell me."

"It's just, I didn't think it was worth mentioning. I was getting some ice and I ran into Missy. She always likes to make sure I'm doing everything right. Anyway, when she was talking to me, we saw a guy and a woman going out of the downstairs back door. I just saw them for a second. I thought the woman was a little drunk, the way she was draped around the guy."

"Were they guests?"

"I don't know. Maybe. They could have checked in before my shift. It's not a totally unusual sight so I didn't pay much attention." She stops and considers. "Do you think it could have been Mrs. Marsh I saw with the man?"

I fight back the excitement. "Can you describe them?"

"I only saw them for a second. He was taller than me. White. Dark sunglasses. Long hair with a ball cap. I'm sorry. That's all I know. I'm horrible with descriptions. Oh yeah. He had acne. I remember because my cousin suffered with it in high school."

I ask her a few more questions, but that's all she can recall. I let her go and make a note to ask her colleague Missy about it. Perhaps she'll have a better eye for detail.

"Miss Marsh," a young man says from the entrance. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"Come in, Alan," Rebecca says with a smile. "Have a seat."

"Let me get you some coffee first. Roger keeps a pot going for day shift. He said you might want something to eat. I'm not much of a cook but I make a mean grilled cheese." Without waiting for an answer, he goes behind the counter and through the batwing doors into the kitchen.

Alan is quite hot in his tight cut-off shorts and tie-dyed shirt. He couldn't be more than eighteen years old, beach-boy blond hair, dark tanned, perfect white teeth, in shape and knows it. I give Rebecca a look, and she turns red in the face. "You and him?"

"He's nice to me because of Mom."

I seriously doubt it. At twenty-six years old, Rebecca is an attractive older woman to this younger horny stud. I saw the way he looked at her. Lust was in the air. Hormones were on overdrive. Not that I noticed his perfect tight little…Hey, I've got a steady boyfriend, but I'm not dead. "None of my business."

"What are we going to ask him?"

"Same as Connie. Did he see your mom with anyone? Where did the champagne come from? How late was he at work? If he saw her, what was her mood like. That kind of stuff. I'm not hungry yet. You?"

She shakes her head and goes to the counter to tell him just coffee is fine. The writer dude looks over at her annoyed that we're making noise. If he does it again, I'll give him something exciting to write about.