Page 18 of Cougar Point

“I don’t know exactly.”

Lucas took a second to absorb that. “You don’t know exactly,” he repeated.

“There’s a missing person’s report filed in Ohio, matches the description. Caucasian, blonde, thirty-seven years old.”

“Ohio?” Lucas repeated. “That’s a little farther out of state than I expected. What’s her name? How long’s she been missing?”

“Well, that’s the thing. She’s not missing anymore.”

Lucas rubbed his forehead. He felt the beginnings of a migraine. “Cooney, if she’s not missing, then she’s probably not the fucking body on the slab in there, is she?”

“The husband called the police when she didn’t show up after booking into a luxury hotel for the weekend. Then he called again saying he thought she’d been kidnapped. Four hours later he called to say she showed up at the house. There had been some big misunderstanding.”

“Still not following the connection. All we have is a blonde of about the same age that went missing a couple thousand miles from here and came home.”

“There was a picture with the report. It’s the woman we pulled out of the creek, I’d swear to it.”

SIXTEEN

The Semiahmoo Resort is situated at the eastern end of the peninsula on its own 130-acre tract surrounded by water. White Rock, BC, Canada, is just across the water about two miles as the crow flies but probably an hour by road. With White Rock on the north, Blaine and Drayton Harbors on the south, the resort seemingly spreads across the horizon with the pristine blue waters of Semiahmoo Bay as a perfect backdrop for a Hollywood set.

I’ve never been here before but it’s now on my vacation list. As soon as I can take a vacation. Which is never. The scenery is breathtaking. I wonder what Hayden would think of this place. Maybe I’ll take some days off if I can bring him with me. A sibling vacation. It would be like when we were on the run, but a lot more fun without the murder and panic and having nowhere to hide.

The inside of the resort is as beautiful as the outside. Hardwood floors gleam. The lobby has floor-to-ceiling windows looking toward a spectacular view of snow-covered Mount Baker. Rebecca introduces Ronnie and me as detectives from Jefferson County to the manager, Roger Whiting. He isn’tconcerned she has brought us to search the vacated room, or that we want to question the staff. Rebecca is part owner.

The thing I notice first about Roger Whiting is that he’s standing on a box when he steps down to retrieve a key for us.

“No one has been in the room, Miss Marsh.”

I ask, “Have the police come by?”

“No. They never write. They never call…” he answers, very deadpan, and makes me smile. That phrase is as old as the hills but I could get to like this guy.

Ronnie says, “A detective named Lucas is going to be calling.”

“I know Sergeant Lucas. He hasn’t been here either.” He reaches down and comes up with a silver tray filled with Biscoff cookies—the kind they serve on airplanes—and sets them on the counter. Roger sees me eying them.

“Would you like some, Detective?”

“Megan Carpenter,” I say. “This is Detective Marsh.”

“I know,” Roger says. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you here. Your mom said you’re a famous detective now.”

They chitchat but I’m fixated on the cookies. I’ve never been on an airplane, but Sheriff Gray went to a Sheriff’s Conference in Indianapolis once and brought some of those cookies back for the office. Picking up several packets I stuff them in my blazer pocket. Just to clarify our authority in case Lucas actually does come here, I say, “Mr. Whiting, we’re not here in an official capacity. We’re consulting for Rebecca if anyone with a badge asks.”

Roger feigns ignorance. “You were never here?”

Now I really like him, and so, I take a couple more packets of cookies. I wonder if these cookies go with box wine? Roger must be a mind reader and offers the tray again. It would be rude to refuse. I hope there’s none left for Lucas.

Ronnie says, “Roger, are there any staff here who worked the day my sister and mom checked in? And the next day?”

“One of our desk staff is off with a sick child so I checked your mom and sister in on Thursday afternoon. Let’s see…” His eyes look toward the ceiling. He returns from memory retrieval mode and says, “Mrs. Marsh went to the pool. Then she and Miss Marsh”—he nods at Rebecca—“had lunch in the restaurant.” He looks to Rebecca for verification then continues. “If you like, I can find out who your waiter was.”

Rebecca says, “It was Alan. He always waits on us when we’re here.”

“Ah, yes, Alan. I can call him in.”

“I’ll pay for his coming in on Sunday to talk to us. And I’d like all the staff that were here on Friday and Saturday to come in too. I’ll pay extra,” Rebecca offers.

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