Iced

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Behind the hotel was a manmade lake that was more a sprawling pond with ducks and paddleboats for guests. I retreated to the lake often, its soothing glassy surface lined with trees lining its edge was a calming salve. The slightly chilled morning air combined with the colors of the changing trees invigorated me, renewed my focus. Autumn was my favorite season. The blazing vivid colors painted the world bright and bold. It was contrary to my dark thoughts. I doubt if I got more than an hour of sleep, so I opted to go into work early but the beauty of the lake beckoned.

I didn’t have experience dealing with dead bodies or death in general, except for my mother’s passing when I was ten. I didn’t view my mother’s body at the funeral; I didn’t want that to be my last memory of her. Perhaps that’s why I’m so haunted by the lifeless stare I saw yesterday. I couldn’t help feel everything in my world had changed in that instant.

I was on my second circuit around the lake when I met Anete Kruze walking towards me, lost in her own thoughts.

“Anete, how’re you doing after yesterday?” She was the unfortunate server who walked in to find a Pastor Tom skewered on the ice swordfish.

“Oh, I did not see you, ma’am. I’m not due into work for a few minutes.” She looked at her watch, then glanced around while her hands fidgeted with her coat zipper.

“I understand. I needed to get outside a little too.” I said. She was pale and her eyes were blood shot.

I wanted to ask her if she saw anybody else in the room when she found the body but told myself the police would have covered that.

“Anete, if you need to talk to somebody about yesterday, the company can get you a few counseling sessions. You don’t have to face it alone.”

“I will be okay ma’am. I’ll be right as rain, don’t worry.” Her brow crinkled.

“Well, just know that if you have a hard time from what you saw, it’s natural. There’s no shame in talking to somebody. I’m sure Human Resources can get something set up for you.”

Rather than dwell on it, I planned on delving headfirst into work. But, I’d like to help Anete. I made a mental note to myself to see if we could bring in some counselors one day for any employees to consult. Anete scurried away, no doubt afraid to be late for her shift serving breakfast.

My office was located in the main hotel of the Colorado Springs Hotel and Resort complex of buildings. The entire property took several acres of land and was originally built in 1918. The hotel and restaurants with its impressive entry drive and man-made lake behind it were built first, then across the street from the hotel entry the pub and convention center with several shop spaces such as dry cleaners or flower shop were built. More specialty shops adjacent to the hotel were added like jewelry, art gallery, high-end clothing, golf pro shop, theater and playhouse, then to the south the championship golf courts stretch to the east, tennis courts, fitness center, and spa complex remain close to the hotel.

More luxury accommodations were built on the other side of the lake with a grand ballroom, then plush and private cottages were built on open space next to the tennis courts. It was a sprawling complex catering to every need with walkways, lush gardens, and landscaping throughout. But, my idyllic Shangri-La had been forever tainted with the violent spilling of blood.

Pastor Drake’s stabbing had taken place in the convention center, which was across the street from the hotel. I headed back to my office, grateful I wouldn’t have to see the convention center if I entered the hotel from the lake-side back entrance.

I was in my closet-sized office with its metal desk and laminate wood surface and two mismatched chairs, one for me and one for a visitor. Manager-in-training wasn’t glamorous. My desk surface had tidy stacks of work in progress, and my few decorating touches were reserved for framed posters of world famous resorts. I was wearing my usual blazer and skirt with a coordinating blouse, button earrings, and fine gold chain necklace.

I left my door open, needing to feel closer to the rest of the employees and normal flurry of activity. I needed to feel connected to the living rather than cut off with the door closed.

This also meant I could hear every bit of complaint or gossip, which was why I tended to close my door. Today the staff had plenty to talk about as they gathered in the hallway a few feet down from my office. Employee voices drifted to me.

"I heard that Pastor Tom was no saint. He preached about family and marriage, but he didn't practice it." Tamara stated in her twangy voice.

A self-assured male voice I recognized from the hotel maintenance staff chimed in. "Everybody says that about a pastor, especially one so outspoken and political. You can't believe everything you hear."

"I know somebody who was told by a girl at Tom's church how he showed too much interest in the teen girls then lost interest after a while. Cold hearted, like. It's the truth. I bet that's what got him killed"

"I still say you can't believe such talk. It's more likely he was killed because he was so outspoken about moral issues and our godless government." I could just envision maintenance guy's wide stance with arms crossed.

"Maybe elsewhere, but not here with more church organizations and Christian businesses per capita, except maybe Salt Lake City." Tamara countered.

They continued to banter back and forth, but I had tuned them out already. A thought had occurred to me. Would the fact that Pastor Tom died at one of our events damage our business, our bookings? I had been focused on the police eyeing me as the killer, but what about the hotel? Would it affect the reputation of the Colorado Springs Hotel and Resort long term?

The phone rang as I contemplated the ramifications. I heard a strong male voice when I answered.

“I need to cancel an event. I will be moving my Christmas event elsewhere.” The insistent tone didn’t allow for any discussion.

I looked up the details on the event and found it was for two hundred people.

“May I ask if you’ve found another venue for your event yet?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t begun calling.”

“I can finalize your cancellation, but once I do that I will be calling the organizations on my waiting list. The holiday season is usually booked far ahead of time.” I looked through the notes on this event. “I see you booked this back in January for this Christmas. Most venues of this size will be booked up already.”

I let that soak in for a bit. This really wasn’t the time to cancel without a solid backup plan. I was put on hold and after several minutes pacing and waiting the person returned.

“We’ll think of something.” The voice wasn’t as insistent or sure this time though. I just might have persuaded him.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I give you twenty-four hours before I process your cancellation and open this date up for people on the waiting list? If you find an available place, the cancellation will go through. But, if you change your mind, call me back before this time tomorrow.”

“Well...I’ll get back to you.” I may have saved that booking. As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again. I repeated the process three more times – pacing included, potentially saving all but the one. I even offered ten percent off to the hold-out, feeling it was better to lose a little money rather than lose a good client.

If I had doubted the impact of Pastor Tom’s death to the resort, I was positive now. I was about to get some on-the-job training, because we needed some damage control. I could put my mind on this and not the death, or my fears of being an easy scapegoat. Besides, this was part of my training, although I never expected this situation.

I talked with Chad and we spent a few hours devising some promotional campaigns to offset the potential lost business. I stopped pacing and felt better doing something constructive.

Then Claudia from Human Resources, and Chad included me as they developed a press statement expressing the hotel’s deep regrets to Pastor Tom's family and congregation of several thousand for their loss to be read at the press conference we scheduled to take place in a few hours. I took the opportunity to discuss with Claudia getting some counselors to come in and talk to the employees who worked the disastrous luncheon.

Within the next few days, she hoped to have counselors set up to talk with employees in a spare office at the hotel within the next few days.

I hadn’t eaten anything all day when we gathered for the press conference in a side room in one of the resort’s fine dining restaurants. Smells of Beef Burgundy, polished wood, and a salacious story at hand mingled as several reporters with microphones and two cameramen filed in.

Low murmurs filtered to us at the podium mixed with clatters and clinks from the kitchen and the occasional maître d's subdued instructions to wait staff as they prepared for the dinner crowd.

Normally, we would have held it in the convention center, but I contended the reporters would be busy trying to take pictures of the crime scene that still had yellow police tape cordoning off the room.

Claudia stood at the podium we had set up. She read from our statement, just like we had practiced. I looked out at the twelve reporters, surprised to see the major networks represented and the New York Times alongside our local news from Colorado Springs and of course Denver. The shining star of Pastor Tom had drawn a national audience with his book and radio show, and likewise his death now drew the press.

My gaze screeched to a halt at a woman with dishwater blond hair, brown eyes, and average height that seemed familiar to me. She looked my way and a sneer appeared on her face. Who the heck was she and why did she seem familiar?

We decided not to take questions, so when Claudia finished and thanked everyone for their attendance, the three of us escaped out a back employee door and met in Claudia’s office for chocolate rewards.

By the end of the day, we had a few more canceled events. But, I had developed autumn promotions to be placed in the local newspaper and some golf and vacation magazines as last minute additions before they went to press.

By the time I quit for the day I had stopped obsessing on the dead body. I was walking home to Resort Shadows townhomes, enjoying the mild warmth with a promise of approaching crisp autumn in the air. It occurred to me that it didn't take long for the world to rush headlong onward. Soon Pastor Tom Drake’s tragic death would be forgotten.

I had just reached the stairs to my townhome with keys in hand when I heard my name called. I turned to identify who had called me, hoping this wouldn’t take long.

When I turned I discovered my new neighbor walking towards me. He was about six inches taller than me. Now that I got a good look, I could see why Delores and Beverly were in a flutter, even at their ages.

He may not be a fireman like Delores drools over, but he was handsome, with shoulder length wavy hair that gave him a disreputable and dangerous aura, big hazel eyes with long lashes, a defined jaw that suggested inner strength more than stubbornness, broad shoulders, and muscular arms shown to perfection with a navy blue t-shirt and dark blue snug jeans. No sagging or faded jeans for this one. I was positive he’d find himself plenty of attention from the female residents of the Resort Shadows community. I had to keep from melting under the intense look he leveled at me that compelled me to tell him every fantasy I ever had. I mentally slapped myself.

"I was hoping you could help me." He drew closer and lowered his voice. "Please don’t direct me to Delores either." His lopsided smile was infectious. "She’s a dear, but I think she’s trying to set me up with her daughter."

I chuckled, "Oh, I would hate to deprive her of a chance to get to know you better. How’d you know my name?"

“I’ve been repeatedly pointed in your direction by Beverly. Please rescue me from the kind attention Delores insists on lavishing on me. If you reject me, you'll prove a heartless neighbor. I can't take any more pies or cookies and offers to meet her daughter." He was close enough for me to smell his cologne, a warm and spicy scent. Steady, focus.

"What can I help you with?" I realized I was smiling in response to his grin.

"How serious are the pet restrictions here?"

I had to think for a bit, get past his eyes, hair, and muscles. "No more than one large pet per dwelling I believe.” But, he likely already knew that. “I don't think birds or fish count. I don't know of a case where it has been challenged so I can't really tell you."

He leaned closer. "That isn't too bad. I can bring Roulette, my sheltie, home from my parents then." Seriously? Who names their pet Roulette?

"So what is it you do for a living Mr....?"

"Mason Sheridan." He captured my hand and placed a lingering kiss on it while those hazel eyes never broke from looking into mine. I had never had my hand kissed before, let alone looked at so intensely. I wasn't sure what to do. I felt heat rising in my cheeks and breathing was taking thought. My heart was pounding.

I became aware of my appearance. I wished I was dressed a bit more feminine than the champagne pink cashmere blouse, merlot colored raw silk side slit skirt and matching pearl necklace and earrings I had worn for work.

"I’m a photographer and sometimes..." still holding my hand he moved to whisper in my ear with that velvet voice, "I play high stakes poker." He stepped back but still held my hand captive. Well, that explained the name of his dog.

I bet the entire community would be talking about our intimate little meeting in the open. I could feel the eyes behind curtains watching us.

I took possession of my hand again, for it would have stayed there all night left up to itself. "What kind of photography?" I didn’t know what to make of the poker confession, so I was staying with the safer topic.

"Wildlife, scenery, underwater, some models and catalog work. You may have seen my work in several calendars or a few coffee table books."

I was at a loss for what to say. He photographed wild animals and models plus played poker. Somehow that just seemed like a television series that would be on the men's cable network so every man could live vicariously through him. I bet he dated models in-between hands of poker. How very Bond-like.

"Well Mr. Mason Sheridan it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’ve had a long day at work and must be going. I trust you and your Sheltie Roulette will enjoy Resort Shadows."

I had switched to my resort professional persona. I wasn’t in the market anyway. Brandon was my guy. I’d known Brandon since high school. Since he was my cousin Loring’s best friend, he was practically a member of the family. We’ve dated the last year or so. It’s very casual and I never asked for more. It’s been enough for me. Brandon had even offered to take me out tonight but I had convinced him I wasn't up to it.

Bond Jr. looked disappointed. "Of course. Beverly and Delores said something about a death at the resort while you were working. That must be very stressful." He bowed his head ever so slightly and then winked at me. He turned and walked back across the street to his townhome whistling. I could swear he was whistling the Bond theme “Nobody Does It Better.”

I’m more a Jason Bourne girl anyway. Truly.

I didn't have much of an appetite so I lost myself playing music on my clarinet for the evening. I immersed myself in a few classical pieces and then turned to smoky sensuous blues. Maybe I would watch a Bourne movie with some Mojitos. I had gotten mint.