A fter dropping Tom off, Jack drove to TarStone Mountain Ski Resort. He slowly rumbled up and down the parking lot looking for a white Lincoln, then drove up to the entrance of the three-story hotel. He asked the horrified doorman to leave his cruiser where it was parked, stepped inside the bustling lobby, and walked past the line of patrons at the registry desk.
“Is Greylen MacKeage available?” he asked the clerk who spotted his badge and came over.
“No, sir, he’s not. But Callum MacKeage is available. Or I could page his brother, Morgan, if you prefer.”
Jack didn’t want to go to Gù Brath and chance running into Megan. “I’ll speak with Callum, thank you. Would you please call Greylen and ask him to come over here? And also give me a printout of your guest list that would include what they’re driving?”
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to do that, sir.”
“I’ll handle this, Derek. Thank you,” a gentleman said as he appeared in a doorway behind the counter. “Chief Stone, if you would come this way,” he offered. “And bring me that printout he requested, would you, Derek?”
Jack strode around the counter and walked past what could only be another giant MacKeage, though this one appeared to be several years Greylen’s senior. He looked as if he should have retired fifteen or twenty years ago, but here he was in a suit and tie, his physique that of a much younger man, his eyes sharp with intelligence.
What in hell was in the water around here?
“Chief,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Greylen’s cousin, Callum MacKeage.”
Jack shook his hand. “Call me Jack, please. It’s good to meet yet another member of Megan’s family. I asked your clerk to call Greylen to come here.”
“I already called him when Derek told me you were here. Grey’s on his way, and so is Morgan, his brother. Do ye have some news for us about Megan’s burglar?”
“I have a description of the car he was driving, and I’d like to see if he’s registered here.”
The door to the office opened and another giant walked in, this one a few years younger than Greylen. Jack decided he was bottling up the water from his well and selling it as a growth elixir.
“Chief,” the man said, extending his hand. “Morgan MacKeage, Megan’s uncle. Have you caught my niece’s burglar?”
Jack shook his hand. “Please call me Jack. As I was just explaining to Callum, I found out what the guy is driving, and I’m assuming he’s staying here.”
“Why?” Callum asked. “There are other hotels in town.”
“Because this is where I would stay if my target’s family conveniently owned a hotel.”
Both men narrowed their eyes at him. Jack sat down without waiting for an invitation, and looked around. He realized Callum had brought him to Grey’s office when he saw the pictures of all the girls when they were young. He stood up and walked over to look at one in particular.
“This is Megan. How old is she here?”
“Nine,” Morgan said, coming to stand beside him. “She’s sitting on Lancelot.” He waved at the wall of seven individual pictures of Grey’s seven daughters on horseback. “Each girl was given a draft horse for her fifth birthday. Their uncle Ian had a passion for the big, docile beasts.”
“I don’t believe I’ve met Ian,” he said, studying the other photos, immediately picking out Camry. Even as a kid, Jack could see she was a hellion.
“No, you haven’t. Ian left us nearly three years ago.”
“Sorry,” he murmured.
The door opened and Greylen walked in, carrying a computer printout. “What’s up, Stone?” he asked, walking around his desk and sitting down. “Ye have some good news for us?”
“No, I’m hoping you do,” Jack said, sitting across from him. “I’m looking for a guest of yours who would be driving a late-model, white Lincoln Town Car with New York plates.”
Greylen pulled a set of glasses out of his shirt pocket and studied the printout. A minute later he set the pages down on his desk and pointed to a spot on one of them. “Peter Trump, room 316.” He hit the intercom button. “Derek, could you please print out Peter Trump’s history for me, and also tell me when he’d scheduled to check out,” he asked, releasing the button.
“Trump has a history here? How do you know?”
Grey tapped his finger on the page. “We have a code for repeat guests, so we can reward their patronage.”
Jack leaned back in his chair. “Peter Trump is likely an alias. What did you take for an ID? Does it say?”
“Credit card,” Greylen read. “Which would be viable, or we’d have known it was fake when he checked in. We always run them through first thing, to hold the funds.”
Jack shrugged. “It’s easy to get a card under a false name. The good thing is, Trump doesn’t realize we know who he is or where he’s staying. It’s just a matter of my knocking on door 316 and asking him to come down to the station for questioning.”
To a man, the three MacKeages gave Jack scowls that would have made a bear tremble.
He immediately shook his head. “We’re doing this my way this time, gentlemen, and we’re doing it by the book. I have to show the selectmen I’m doing something to earn my paycheck. So far, it looks as if I’ve been running around chasing my tail. What’s Megan up to today?” he asked, standing up and heading to the door. “Has her mother let her out of her sight yet?”
“Megan was locked in the lab with Kenzie when I left Gù Brath,” Grey said, following him.
Jack pulled open the door, then turned and held up his hand to the three men following him. “I’m going up alone,” he said, checking his gun tucked in the back of his belt, under his jacket. “Just give me a master key card and point me to the stairs.”
He turned and nearly ran over Derek.
“Um…here are the printouts,” Derek said, handing them to Greylen. “And Mr. Trump left his departure date open-ended.”
“Thank you. Would you also get Chief Stone a master key?” Grey said, looking down at the printouts he’d just received. “Peter Trump has been here five times in the last six months. First time was August 23.” He looked at Jack. “Not a week after Megan got home.” He looked back at the printout in his hand. “He stayed two weeks. Then he was here again in early October, when he stayed one week. Then November and December. He arrived this last time on January 10.” He looked at Jack again. “That would be shortly after Megan went to work for Mark Collins.”
Jack took the key card from Derek, walked into the lobby, then turned back to the men. “The stairs?”
Morgan pointed to the left. Jack pushed through the heavy fire door, walked up two of the steps, then turned and bent down to peek through the tiny window in the door. Yup, the three Scots were scrambling in three different directions, apparently intending to cover his ass.
Jack turned and headed upstairs with a smile. Nothing like having a few giant Highlanders watching his back.
He made it partway down the hall of the third floor, then stopped with a muttered curse. His jacket was police issue. When Trump checked the peephole and saw Jack’s badge, he would likely start shooting through the door. He slipped off his jacket and tossed it on the floor next to the wall, pulling his gun from the back of his belt and holding it down by this thigh.
Greylen stepped off the elevator and walked toward him. “Let me knock on his door,” Grey said. “He should recognize me and not get suspicious.”
Jack nodded. It was a good plan. They walked to room 316 together; then Jack hung back and waited. Grey knocked, then knocked again, but nobody answered.
“Mr. Trump, are you in there?” Grey asked. “We’re having a water problem with the room below ye, and we need to check your bathroom, sir.”
Still nobody answered.
Grey reached in his pocket and pulled out his own master key card. But just as soon as he stuck it in the slot, Jack nudged him aside and opened the door while staying out of the direct line of fire. The door swung open into what appeared to be an empty room.