Chapter 22
When Michael walked into the resort conference room at five thirty that morning after getting not much more than three hours
of sleep, Ryder was already sitting at his computer, hollow-eyed and pale with dark circles under his eyes.
“Did you sleep?” Michael asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Some,” Ryder said. Michael didn’t know if he believed that. “I’m tracing Garrett Reid’s last seven and a half years. I think
I found something interesting in Scottsdale, where he worked at a resort for a year right after he left Los Angeles. A suspicious
death.”
“Suspicious? Not a homicide?”
“The ME ruled it inconclusive, possible accidental drug overdose. But the suspicious part is that the deceased was the CEO
of a Seattle-based tech company with no history of drug use, and the bartender told detectives that he had been flirting with
an attractive woman in the bar.”
“Security footage?”
“It’s not in the information I could access,” Ryder said, “so I left a message for the local detective, but it’s not even three in the morning there.”
Ryder gestured to a closed whiteboard. “You can check what I’ve added to the board and what I’m still missing, but close it
up when you’re done. I don’t want staff to see where we are.”
Michael opened the two doors and looked at the timeline that Ryder had created. He took a photo with his phone, then closed
it. “This is good,” Michael said.
“Catherine said Garrett didn’t meet his partner here. That they have too much trust built up for this to be a new relationship.
Which suggests that he met her somewhere between Los Angeles and here.”
The timeline was almost complete, but there were a few gaps.
Seven and a half years ago, Garrett had left Los Angeles for Scottsdale, Arizona, where he worked for fourteen months at an
exclusive resort. Catherine had spoken to his supervisor, who refreshed himself with Garrett’s file. Good employee, rarely
tardy, no serious complaints from staff or guests. He hadn’t remembered him personally. At the time, Garrett worked as a bartender.
Next to that entry, Ryder had written:
Dennis DeMarco, 48, from Seattle, Washington, died of asphyxiation from possible accidental drug overdose in his suite. Reid
left two weeks later.
“But the police didn’t rule DeMarco’s death a homicide.”
“Still under investigation, but a cold case and not getting any attention,” Ryder said. “I want to know if Reid worked the
night that DeMarco died.”
“If he did, was he the one who told police the CEO was flirting? Would he have known the woman? Or was this how they met?”
Michael wondered out loud.
After Scottsdale there was a six-month gap before Garrett ended up working as a bartender at a hotel casino in Las Vegas.
That gap could have been because of hospitality closures in 2020.
He was there for a year, then had a brief stint in Dallas before taking a maintenance position at a major convention hotel in Nashville, which lasted just over two years.
After, there was a year-long gap before he took a job as a bartender in New Orleans.
Ryder had a question mark and Texas written during that time gap.
“Does it seem odd to you that he moved back and forth from bartending to maintenance?” Michael asked.
Ryder shrugged. “He has experience in both. Maybe it’s whatever position they were hiring. I’ve reached out to each of the
supervisors to get a copy of his application. Especially the first job in Scottsdale—they would have asked for references
or previous employment. Brian gave us his application for the Shoals, but the only references were his supervisors in New
Orleans and Nashville.”
“It’s a good thread,” Michael said, though he sounded more confident than he felt. How was this deep dive into Reid’s background
going to find Matt and Kara? Each day—each hour—they didn’t find them, the chances of their survival went down exponentially.
None of the victims had lasted more than four days.
Ryder glanced at Michael, looked as if he wanted more reassurance, but Michael didn’t have anything left in the well. He was
already walking an emotional thin line. “Anything you need, let me know,” Michael said. “I’m meeting Mrs. Thomas in a few
minutes. She’s an early riser.”
He left before Ryder could say anything else. Michael didn’t want anyone to tell him they would find his missing team members,
and he didn’t have any optimism to share. He had to keep working, gather information, do everything feasible to locate them.
Action would find them. Hope wouldn’t get them anywhere.
Mrs. Thomas was waiting for Michael in the lobby as they had arranged. She was in her early sixties with dyed red hair and pale blue eyes. Trim and tan, she wore white cotton pants and a filmy blue blouse over a white tank top. “We can use an office to talk,” he suggested.
“No,” she said with a smile. “It’s a beautiful morning, I think we should sit outside.”
She put her arm through his as if they’d been friends for years, and escorted him through the lobby to a small private patio
on the other side of the restaurant. A short brick wall separated them from the sand.
“I was very surprised to have a message from the FBI this morning.”
“And I was surprised that you responded so quickly. Thank you.”
“I’m a morning girl, always have been. Born and raised on a farm in North Texas.”
Michael didn’t want small talk, but if he was rude she might not talk at all. As if sensing his tension, she leaned back and
asked, “So how can I help the FBI? Is it about the man who was arrested on Friday?”
“Partly. We’re talking to several guests about what they saw and heard over the last week. You had a conversation with Kara
Quinn—she was going by Kara Costa—at the gym one day last week?”
“The cute little blonde girl? Oh, yes, what a sweetheart. And I never guessed that she was a police officer!”
“Word travels fast,” Michael said.
“Well, everyone was talking about it on Friday, and Mr. Valdez was very forthcoming when I asked him what was going on, then
I talked to Kara again on Saturday.”
“Oh?” Michael asked. He hadn’t known that.
“Yes. She was getting coffee. An early riser, like me. I was reading the paper in the lobby because it was a bit cool. I really enjoy how the resort has a physical paper—I hate reading on those screens. Anyhoo, she said hi. I asked her to sit, said that Mr. Valdez told me she and her partner had arrested one of the employees. I wanted to know more, but she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.
I asked about her partner—she said he was sleeping in, but they were going to the sheriff’s office.
I mentioned they didn’t have any time off?
I mean, they were here for a whole week or more—longer than me!
And didn’t they get a break? She said they were taking tomorrow off to enjoy the resort before going back to Virginia. ”
“When you first met Kara, you asked her about her job.”
“Well, that was before I knew she wasn’t a lawyer.”
“What I mean is, how did you learn that she was a lawyer, before the arrest?”
“Oh. Well, gosh, let’s see. I saw them on the beach when I arrived last week. I may have said hello or something—but then
a couple days later we were in the locker room at the gym, and I commented about how hard she was working out. I like yoga,
keeps me limber as I creep toward sixty-five. And she said yoga annoyed her and she didn’t like how painstakingly slow some
of the stretches were. I liked her bluntness! So we talked. She said her husband was a lawyer. I said my husband, God rest
his soul, had been a county prosecutor for thirty years. She said they were both in private practice—it’s how they met, on
the job. And I asked what kind of law, and she said her husband did tax law and she handled contract law. I told her that
sounded more boring than yoga and she laughed. Later, the three of us had drinks in the bar by the pool—I really thought they
were married. They were so cute together.” She leaned forward, added almost conspiratorially, “You know, I think they really
have feelings for each other. I can tell. The way he looked at her when she wasn’t looking?” Mrs. Thomas sighed. “But that’s
probably discouraged if they work together.”
Michael didn’t share Matt and Kara’s relationship status, but asked, “I’d like you to think back to the gym and the pool bar—not what you talked about, but who you saw.”
“Is this about the guests, the honeymooners, who were killed?”
“You heard about the murders?”
“Of course—several guests have talked about it, but staff hasn’t said anything. The Delmonicos checked out yesterday because
Mrs. Delmonico freaked out, was talking about three couples who went missing and were killed, and that an employee had been
arrested while trying to abduct two more people. It’s a shock, but you all caught him, so I thought she was overreacting—I
read the newspapers, all the women were pretty blondes, and Mrs. Delmonico is not only not blonde, but not very attractive,
though she tries, bless her heart. That wasn’t very nice of me to say, was it?”
“I can’t fault an honest opinion, Mrs. Thomas.”
She smiled. “They weren’t very nice people, but that’s no excuse for me being rude.”
Her face paled. “Why are you asking all these questions about Matt and Kara if they arrested the kidnapper? Are they missing?”
“Yes, they were taken late Sunday morning. That’s why I want to find out if you saw anyone who acted overinterested in them
when you were having drinks. Staff or guests, male or female.”
She was thinking, but her expression suggested that she was thinking too hard, and Michael didn’t want her to make something
up just to please him—it had happened before, especially in friendly interviews.
So he said, “Maybe not while you were talking, but you are observant—maybe you saw someone watching them, or paying too close
attention to what Matt or Kara were doing. Anything odd or unusual or that gave you pause.”