"How many people?"
"Five, total. I figured them for two couples and one older guy, maybe somebody's dad."
"How long did they stay?"
She stroked the computer keyboard again.
"Three days," she said.
"Names?"
"Matt, if it wasn't you, I wouldn't give these names out."
"This is important, Chris. The girl is eighteen and her parents are worried sick."
A few more strokes.
"Linda and Larry Olsen, Yvonne and Patrick Walsh, and Jake Yardley. That was the older guy. He paid for everything in cash."
"Do you remember which name this girl used?" I asked, tapping the picture.
"No. Sorry."
"Addresses?"
"Yeah, but they're probably as bogus as the names."
"Got to check them out."
"I guess so."
She stroked the keyboard a few more times and the printer next to it came alive, spitting out a single sheet of paper.
"Here you go," said Chris. "The young people all have the same address in Athens, Georgia, and the older guy gave a Tampa address. The phone numbers are there too."
"Thanks, Chris. You've been a big help."
I left the office, stopping for a moment on the shell parking lot. The Gulf was turquoise and still, stretching to infinity. A lone pelican soared overhead, rising effortlessly on an air current, heading to the Gulf for breakfast. High cumulus clouds drifted lazily, and the smell of frying bacon rode the onshore breeze. I could almost hear it crackle in the quiet of the early morning.
This was truly a paradise. How could anything bad happen here? But bad things did happen in beautiful places, and we usually didn't see them coming.
There's a darkness lurking deep in the souls of us all. Our parents instill in us a modicum of civilized behavior and that usually keeps our baser instincts at bay. But sometimes that blackness seeps to the surface and a monster walks quietly among us. Because we are not attuned to evil, we don't see it rise up until it strikes us down without warning. I was afraid that Peggy Timmons had stumbled into the darkness and met the beast.
CHAPTER FIVE
I went home and called Laura in Atlanta. She confirmed that the address in Athens was the house in which Peggy had lived with her friends. The phone number was Peggy's cell. Laura had never heard any of the names I got from the Sea Club, and she couldn't imagine why Peggy would be with a man of Yardley's age. I told her I would keep looking and keep her posted.
I called the number in Tampa, not expecting much. A man answered.
"Is this Jake Yardley?" I asked.
"Yes."
I was surprised. I didn't expect to get a working number, much less Jake Yardley.
"Mr. Yardley, my name is Matt Royal. I live on Longboat Key. Were you here about three weeks ago?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
"Did you stay at the Sea Club?"
"Yes. Who are you?" He had a southwestern accent, probably Texas.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm trying to find a young lady who has disappeared. I've heard that you were with two young couples at the Sea Club."
"I was. What's the missing girl's name?"
"Peggy Timmons."
"Don't know her."
"She was using a different name. May I come see you in Tampa?"
"Sure. Coffee's always on."
He gave me directions to his house.
I called Logan to tell him what I had discovered, and that I was going to Tampa.
"Give me a few minutes and I'll go with you," he said.
We headed out to 1-75 and north to the Lee Roy Selmon Crosstown Expressway. We exited in downtown Tampa and drove onto Harbour Island, a dredged up spoil island that bordered the ship channel. Over the years, condominium apartment buildings that blocked the sun had sprouted from this recycled bay bottom. Jake Yardley lived in one of the penthouses.
He was a big man, maybe six foot four, and had the parched skin of one who made his living outdoors. He wore faded jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and boat shoes. His graying hair fell to the top of his ears. He was a handsome man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties.
I introduced Logan and myself, and Yardley invited us in. The condo was large, with an expansive view over Davis Islands and the Tampa General Hospital, to the bay beyond. The St. Petersburg skyline shimmered in the distance, the haze rising from Tampa Bay making it slightly opaque.
Yardley pointed to a sofa, and said, "Have a seat."
Logan and I sat.
"Can I get y'all a drink?" Jake Yardley asked.
"Not for me," I said.
Logan shook his head.
Yardley sat in a stuffed chair facing the sofa and waited.
"Mr. Yardley," I said, "I'm a lawyer on Longboat Key, and one of my client's daughters has disappeared. We have information that she may have been staying with you at the Sea Club about three weeks ago."
I handed him the picture of Peggy.
"Sure, that's Linda Olsen. She was there with her husband Larry."
"Did you know them from somewhere?"
"No, I'd just met them."
"Would you tell me how you ended up in a resort with them?"
Yardley readjusted himself in his chair. "Yeah, but I guess this'll sound a little weird."
He was quiet again, sitting there, rocking a little against the back of his chair. I was about to ask him again when he spoke.
"I'm a petroleum engineer by training. I worked the oil fields in Texas and Oklahoma for thirty years. And I got rich and retired to Florida. The American dream."
He smiled, but something crossed his face. Sadness, maybe, or regret. He continued. "Two months after my wife and I moved in here, she had a stroke and died. She'd just had her fiftieth birthday."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"We never had any children, not in thirty years of marriage. I've got no family to speak of, and no friends within a thousand miles. So, sometimes I go hunting for company. I find young couples that want to keep me company for a few days. I pay for everything. I know they're just humoring me and spending my money, but it gives me a reason to get up in the morning."
Logan stirred on the sofa. "Ever go hunting for young women alone?" he asked.
"No, sir. I always find couples. I'm not there for sex, and I don't want the women to feel like they're being hustled. The men either, for that matter."
I leaned forward, "Where did you find Peggy and her friends?"
Yardley was quiet for a moment. His silent stretches were a little disconcerting, but I was getting into the rhythm of it, and waited him out.
"In a bar in Sarasota. I overheard them talking. They were looking for a place to stay, so I bought them a drink and made the offer. They took me up on it."
"Just like that?" I asked. "Isn't that a little dangerous?"
Yardley smiled ruefully. "You have to understand. These kids are the lost ones. Most of them are on drugs of some kind, or they're drinking a lot, and their judgment isn't very good. Offer them a freebie and they jump at it."
"Then what?" Logan said.
"Then nothing. We went to Longboat Key and got the condo. I bought their meals and booze, and we spent the days on the beach. Then I dropped them off and came home."
"Where did you drop them off?" I asked.
"Robarts Arena. In Sarasota."
"Why there?"
"I don't know. That's where they said they wanted to go."
"What were their plans?"
"I don't know. They didn't mention anything."
"Did they say where they were going from Robarts?"
"No. I assumed they were going to hitch back to Georgia, but they didn't say."
"Did they have any money?"
"Don't know. I didn't ask."
Logan leaned forward on the sofa, his arms resting on his thighs. "Let me get this straight," he said. "You pick up four young people in a bar, wine and dine them for three days, don't have sex with any of them, and then drop them off without knowing where they're going or whether they have any money to get there."