The clerk, a bored-looking girl who was twirling her blond hair with her fingers, told me I was eight blocks south of the resort and then said, “All the hotels have maps on their brochures and reservation mailings, you know.” Smart-ass. I didn’t have a brochure or a reservation.
I found the Golden Breakers eight blocks north, just as the gas station clerk had promised. It was a hell of a building, too. A single-story lobby was bordered on each side by a sixteen-story tower containing the rooms and suites. On top of the lobby was a sundeck with a pool. Nice. I parked in the entryway and went inside. The sign indicated there were vacancies, so I decided I might as well stay at the Golden Breakers. I asked for room rates; while the figure was higher than I wanted to pay, it was also much cheaper than it would be a few months down the road, when tourism season hit its peak. It would be on John Weston’s tab, anyhow. I asked for a two-night stay and paid with my credit card, keeping an extra receipt for the expense account.
Once the bill was settled, I returned to the Contour and drove across the street to park in the hotel’s garage. For the first time I was thankful to have the little car. The parking garage had the lowest ceiling of any garage I’d ever been in, and I wasn’t sure my truck would have fit. Maybe everyone down here drove small sports cars. There would certainly be little need for four-wheel drive. I found a spot, took my suitcase from the trunk, and went back to the hotel. My room was on the second floor of the north tower. I took the elevator up, found the room, and went inside.
The hotel room was actually three rooms: a living room with a couch and television, a small but fully equipped kitchen, and a bedroom. Both the bedroom and the living room had sliding glass doors that opened onto a wide balcony overlooking the beach. I dropped my bag onto the couch and went out on the balcony.
The sun was shining, reflecting off the water and making the waves sparkle. Several people lay on blankets on the sand, working on their tans, and a group of kids were tossing a football back and forth near the water’s edge. Too cold for them to be swimming yet. A single boat with a bright blue-and-yellow sail was cutting through the water a few hundred yards off the beach. I leaned over the rail and looked down. The beach wasn’t very crowded, but that didn’t surprise me. It was too early in the year for family vacations, and there was at least a week still to go before spring break would bring the college kids down. I left the balcony door open to let the warm breeze in and went back inside. It was a beautiful day and I had a beautiful hotel room, but I was here to work. I took off my long-sleeved shirt and pulled on a thin polo shirt, then slipped the Glock into its holster at the base of my spine. I wasn’t expecting trouble, but Randy Hartwick had certainly attracted some in Cleveland, so I wasn’t about to go in search of his associates unprepared. I slipped the keycard for the room into my pocket and rode the elevator back down to the lobby. The receptionist saw me coming and smiled.
“Is the room satisfactory?”
“It’s amazing,” I said, and her smile widened, as if I’d just made her day. “But I have another question.”
“What’s that?”
“I was hoping to speak to the owner. Do you know where I might find him?”
She hesitated. “Well, Mr. Burks isn’t here. Is there something a manager could help you with? Can I ask why you want to speak to the owner?”
“Because I want to know who’s responsible for this dump,” I said, waving my hand at the gleaming lobby. Her smile disappeared, and I said, “I’m just kidding.”
“Oh.” Her smile was back in place now. Relieved.
“I need to talk to the owner about a mutual acquaintance,” I said. “Someone who passed away, I’m afraid.”
She put her hand to her chest. “Oh, no! Why, we’re really having some bad luck lately. Just two days ago a man called to tell our security chief that one of his close friends had died.”
This was the same woman I’d talked to on the phone. Possibly the nicest person in the world, and now I’d cast a shadow over her day twice in the same week. I was from Cleveland, though. She probably expected it.
“Hmm,” I said. “Yes, that is depressing. Now, do you have any idea where I might find the owner? A Mr. Burks, is it?”
“Yes, Lamar Burks. As I said, he’s not here today, and I don’t think he will be, but I could take a message for him.”
“Well, I was really hoping to find him today.”
She frowned. “I think he’s playing golf, but I don’t know which course.”
“I suppose I could call around and ask,” I said, and she smiled at me and shook her head.
“You’re in the wrong place for that. There are about one hundred golf courses within an hour of this hotel.”
“Yikes.” I drummed my fingers on the counter and thought about it. The receptionist was wearing a name tag that said REBECCA. Pretty name. Pretty face, too. Probably nice legs under that counter. What was I thinking about again? Oh, right, finding the owner.
“You said the hotel has golf packages available?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, maybe Burks plays those courses frequently. It seems like he’d be on pretty good terms with the management.”
“Good idea,” she said, sounding truly impressed, and I tried not to blush. Shucks. I’m full of great ideas, Rebecca. Having a few about you right now, in fact.
She crossed the room and pulled a brochure from the rack on the wall. I’d been right; she had been hiding some damn fine legs under that counter.
“It looks like we have packages with five different courses,” she said. “That would be a place to start.”
I took the brochure from her. “Mind if I use your phone?”
“I’m not supposed to let you use it, but I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Deal.”
She put the phone on the counter, and I began calling and asking the pro shops if Lamar Burks was around. I said it casually, as if I fully expected he’d be there, trying not to make anyone uneasy with my calls. On the fourth call, I found him at the Sweetwater Bay Golf Course.
“Yeah, Lamar’s around,” the man who answered said. “Hell, he’s been here all day. We’ve been trying to throw him out for hours.” Someone laughed loudly in the background. Nothing like a little fun in the pro shop, smoking cigars and talking golf all day while everyone else is working for a living. “I don’t see him right now, but he’s got a tee time in an hour,” the man told me. “He’s probably down at the putting green, maybe out at the range.”
“Thanks,” I said, “I’ll try to catch up with him.”
I hung up and smiled. “Success, Rebecca. Thanks for your help.”
She seemed to like my using her name. “You’re welcome. Should you need anything else, I hope you won’t hesitate to ask me.”
“I’ll probably have to hesitate,” I said. “Sweet, elegant women like yourself shouldn’t be corrupted by men like me.”
She smiled and ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “A little corruption never hurt anyone.”