pickups at the airport yesterday afternoon," he said. The guests were all ladies," he thought to add. "One flight, as I recall, arrived at three-fifty. Another came in at four-twenty, and the last was coming in at five-fifteen. I could check and tell you which time your aunt was scheduled to arrive."
"I'd like the flight information, credit card numbers, and anything else you've got on all three women."
"I couldn't give you that information."
Oh, yes, he could. And would, she thought. She didn't want to put the manager on the defensive yet. She had too many other questions she needed answered first, and Cannon was doing his best to be cooperative.
"If all three women were coming in within an hour or so of one another, why would you send three separate cars?"
"Because this is Utopia," he answered. "We pride ourselves on excellent service. None of our guests should be expected to wait for another. That would be an inconvenience. So, you see, I was going to send three separate cars, but when all three guests canceled at the last minute, I notified the staff members not to make the trip. As it turned out, we had unexpected guests arrive at our desk last night, and they were thrilled that we had openings for them."
She filed the information away and immediately asked another question. "Did you have a problem with a water main yesterday? Or a broken pipe?"
"Water pipe problems? At Utopia?" He scoffed at the notion. "There weren't any problems. We have an excellent maintenance crew here, and they anticipate problems before they arise."
"You have to get your water from outside the spa. Did one of those pipes break?"
"No."
"What about a mountain house… a retreat?" she asked. "Does Utopia own such a place in the mountains for guests to use when there is a problem?"
His jaw clenched. "We don't have problems at Utopia," he insisted. "And the owners of Utopia don't have a mountain retreat. Clients who come to us stay with us. We don't parcel them out to other locations."
After he finished his explanation, he made a point of letting her see that he was checking his watch, then said, "If you don't have any other questions, I really must get back to work. Most of our clients who come for a week's stay are checking in today. It's going to become hectic. I wouldn't worry about your aunt," he added as he stood. "I'm certain she'll turn up soon."
He was blowing her off. Avery didn't budge from her chair. "May I have a list of your employees? All of your employees?"
"What do you want with it?"
"I'm looking for a specific name."
"I pride myself on knowing every one of my employees. Give me the name and I'll tell you if he or she works for Utopia."
"Edwards," she said. "The name is either Monk Edwards or Edward Monk."
Cannon didn't show any reaction to the name. He simply shook his head. John Paul, however, reacted as though she'd just
thrown a fiery torch at him. He jerked away from the door and moved to the desk with the speed of light. Planting his hands on the blotter, he leaned toward her and demanded, "How do you know that name?"
The look on his face gave her goose bumps. They weren't the good kind.
A chill of dread settled around her heart. "How do you know the name?" she countered.
"Answer me."
"My aunt called me from the Aspen airport. She left the message that she and two other women were being driven to a mountain house by a staff member from Utopia. She said his name was Monk Edwards. She also said the man had a British accent." Turning to Cannon, she asked, "Are there any employees-"
"With a British accent? No, I'm afraid not. Someone is playing a cruel trick," he said. "I did not dispatch a driver to the airport yesterday. Perhaps your aunt was… misinformed."
John Paul picked up the phone on Cannon's desk and began dialing. He turned away from Avery and spoke in a low voice, but
she still heard every word.
"Noah, it's John Paul. Yeah, well, what can I tell you. Stop trying to interrupt and listen. I'm at a spa called Utopia just outside of Aspen. Monk's back. Looks like he's taken on three this time. Must be going for some kind of a record."
Avery pushed the chair back and stood. She was reaching into her backpack when John Paul said, "You better call in the troops. We both know they won't find anything, but you should probably go through the routine anyway. It's too late," he added, his tone antagonistic now. "He's already got them."
He hung up and started for the door but stopped when she called out, "Where are you going?"
He kept walking. "I've called in some people who will help you."
"What people? The police?"
"No, the FBI." He paused at the door. "Noah's a friend of my brother-in-law's. He knows Monk real well. I'll let him explain it
to you when he gets here."
"Do you think the FBI will be able to locate my aunt?"
He didn't tell her that he thought her aunt was already dead and that the agents would eventually, with luck, be able to find the body… unless Monk had left her for the wild animals to dine on.
"Yeah, sure."
"Tell me the truth."
"Okay," he said. "I think they'll mess it up."
She was taken aback by the venom in his voice. "Why?"
" 'Cause they're FBI."
She left it alone. "Where are you going?" she repeated.
"I'll check out a couple of possibilities, but I doubt I'll find anything."
"And then?"
"Home. I'm going home."
If she had a gun, she would have considered shooting him in the foot. He was such a jerk. "You aren't leaving until you tell me what you know about Monk."
"Look, lady. There isn't anything I can do to help you now. I thought I had a head start, but I was still too late. I've called in help for you, so just hold tight and let them try to do their job."
As he left the office, Avery turned to Cannon. "I want the names, addresses, phone numbers, and any other pertinent information you have on those two other women traveling with my aunt… the two who canceled. If I don't get this information in the next two minutes, I swear to heaven I'll tear this place apart, and I'll make sure you're arrested for obstruction. Now get me that information."
She pulled out her FBI credentials and waved them in front of his face. Cannon blinked twice, then rushed to his computer to get what she demanded.
"This is highly irregular," he muttered as she grabbed her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and went running after John Paul. "Highly irregular."
Avery caught up with John Paul as he was walking past reception. The lobby was crowded with incoming guests now, and she had to cut around three separate groups to get to him. When she finally reached him, she grabbed hold of his upper arm and tried to make him stop.
The creep didn't even slow down. He just kept going, pulling her along as she held tight. She noticed he didn't walk around people. They got out of his way. She dug in and tightened her hold. If she'd had long nails, she would have broken every one of them. His skin was warm, indicating he was human, but his muscle felt like rock.
"Will you stop? I need to talk to you." Then, when he still didn't slow down, she added, "Please, John Paul. I need your help."
Ah, hell. She sounded as if she was going to cry. There wasn't a damned thing he could do for her, but she was too naive to
know that. She'd probably been sheltered from the real world all her life and couldn't possibly know how to cope. Like it or not, she was about to find out that life didn't always end happily ever after.
He felt sorry for her. Cursing under his breath, he finally turned to her. He thought about trying to soft-pedal the truth, but then decided she was going to have to deal with reality sooner or later.
"I can't help you."
"What did you mean when you said it was already too late? I heard you on the phone."