The hotel's fitness center lived up to its advertising and Heather's expectations. After forty-five minutes on state-of-the-art exercise equipment, she mopped sweat from her face and arms. An attendant brought her a complementary bottle of spring water and made sure she knew about the yoga classes and the spa. Heather thanked the eager young woman and gave a non-committal response to the low-pressure sales pitch.
She stopped at Steve's room and knocked. No response. It wasn't unusual they went their separate ways while at home, but this was different. When traveling, they kept each other informed of their location. But then, she hadn't told him of her plans to have an early morning workout.
A pang of guilt competed with a hint of resentment toward her father. Yesterday's phone call had not gone well. He said the acquisition had to take place. Rumors were circulating that another company was interested in the same mining company, and a bidding war loomed on the horizon. She'd lose the opportunity of the decade if she didn't ink the deal.
Instead of grabbing a shower, Heather made for the elevator. Once downstairs, she approached the desk clerk. "What would you recommend if I wanted to get an American-style breakfast?"
The desk clerk looked over the top of her half-framed glasses. "I have two recommendations. The first is J's Restaurant, here in the hotel. The second is the Slick Rock Bar and Grill, which overlooks the twelfth fairway at the Slick Rock Golf Course."
"Is that nearby?"
"It's off High Stirrup, about a mile from here." The clerk handed her a map and pointed with a pen.
"Let me make a call before I drive that far," said Heather.
Steve answered on the second ring. "Good morning. You're missing a great breakfast."
"Where are you?"
"At the Slick Rock Bar and Grill."
"How did you get there?"
"I hitchhiked."
Heather heard a muffled female laugh in the background.
"Stay where you are. I'll come for you."
"Take your time. Remember, this trip is part business, part vacation." Her phone went dead.
She returned to the desk. "I understand there’s a shuttle that services the golf courses. Do I catch it out front?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She pointed to a black SUV.
Something told Heather she needed to have more immediate transportation. “Is the concierge handy?”
The woman took off her glasses. “She’s assisting another guest at the moment. How can I be of service?”
“I’ll need a rental while I’m here. Something in an SUV would be preferable. The name's Heather McBlythe."
“I’ll have one delivered this morning.”
It didn't take long before a black shuttle bus ferried her to the Slick Rock golf course and its restaurant. The drive gave her time to wonder if the laughing female voice might have been someone at another table.
Like everything at the resort, the clubhouse, gift shop, and restaurant held a charm that enticed guests to relax and unwind from hectic schedules. The view out the windows of the sports bar and grill made her slow her pace and enjoy the scenery of rolling hills and a foursome of golfers enjoying the relative cool of an early morning round. After asking the hostess if she'd seen a blind man, she motioned her to follow and deposited her in front of Steve and a brassy blond about the same age as Steve. She took another look at the surgeon-augmented visage and added eight years to her original estimate.
"Have a seat, Heather. This is Bridget Callahan. We met last night, and she's been showing me around."
Heather didn't need to ask how Steve knew it was her. One of his heightened senses was that of smell, especially when a woman's sweat mingled with her perfume. "Excuse my appearance. As you can see, I've just come from the gym."
The woman brushed off the apology with a flip of the wrist that set two inches of bracelets jangling. "Honey, wear that tight yoga outfit as long as you can. Believe me, gravity will someday be your worst enemy.”
Bridget made a point of fingering a necklace with a gold nugget suspended well down the deep cut of a loud floral blouse. "Heather. You don't mind if I call you Heather, do you? Steve's told me so much about you, I feel like I've known you forever."
A tight-lipped smile gave enough of a positive reply that Bridget careened on. "Isn't Steve a dear?"
Bridgett's face lined with worry as she dropped the smile to something more natural. With concern accentuating the wrinkles on her sun-damaged face, she leaned toward Heather. "I know men, and this one's worried about you. He says you've lost your ability to relax."
Heather's gaze never left Bridget's face. With teeth clenched, she forced a smile. Under the table, she located Steve's leg and gave it a kick.
He responded with a chuckle, which caused Heather's anger to rise even more.
Without warning, Bridget rose. "Now that you're here, I can go to the spa. I have a hot date tonight and I want to do all I can to please him. Tootles until tonight, Steve."
Heather waited until Bridget strutted out of sight before she looked at Steve. "Tootles? Who says tootles anymore?"
"I can only name one person. What does she look like?"
It was time to have fun at Steve's expense. "Picture a geriatric Barbie trying to look like she and Ken are on their first date in fifty years."
"I was afraid of that. The clanging bracelets were giving me a headache. She must have taken a bath in perfume this morning."
Heather found it hard not to giggle.
Steve continued on. "And speaking of bathing, how was the gym and why didn't you take time to shower?"
"I was looking for a partner that went AWOL."
Steve took a sip of coffee. "I must admit, I was glad to get your call and even more glad when you showed up. She was trying to rope me into a massage. I'm not sure she meant for it to take place at the spa."
Heather kept covering her grin but couldn't contain a snicker.
Head down, Steve said, "She ambushed me last night. Before I knew it, she'd arranged breakfast and planned a secret outing for us tonight." He scratched his chin. "What's a good excuse? The flu? A stomach bug? Leprosy?"
"Face it, you're the main course for a cougar tonight if you don't come up with something more convincing than that."
The server arrived to take Heather's order.
"What did you have, Steve?"
"The hungry golfer. Eggs, bacon, pancakes and tasty fried potatoes."
Heather thought about the calories and threw caution to the wind. "Same for me, and coffee."
The two sat in silence as they nursed their coffee. A full minute of silence passed before Steve made an observation. "You're too quiet. What's wrong?"
She scrunched the cloth napkin on her lap. "My father called yesterday afternoon. He's convinced someone is after the mining company we're trying to buy. He told me to wrap up the deal by Monday or he'd do it himself."
Steve folded his hands. "What's your gut telling you?"
Heather filled her cheeks with air and let it out. "My gut is making more acid than a battery manufacturer. Something's not right, but I can't find it in any of the spreadsheets or financial statements. I've gone over the numbers dozens of times. The mine’s produced solid results and the latest test holes show potential for ten times the production."
"Where is this mine?"
"Montana."
"Have you seen it?"
"I have photos and a promotional video."
"Ah."
Heather crossed her arms. "There you go again with another 'Ah.' What does this one mean?"
"Did you rely on photos when you were a detective in Boston, or did you visit the crime scene?"
Heather’s eyes opened wide. "A good detective always goes to where the crime took place."
She pulled her phone out of a small pocket in her workout top and punched a name. "It's Heather. Call Tim and get to Horseshoe Bay as quick as you can. Pack for several days. We're going to Montana."
Heather's breakfast arrived and she all but inhaled it. With her mouth half-full she asked, "Sure you don't need my help this afternoon with the Voss clan?"
Steve settled his cup. "Nothing important is going to happen today. If the natives get rowdy, Marvin will be there to make sure they don't get out of hand. You have a lot to do if you’re going to Montana. Let’s get back to our rooms.”
The shuttle eased to a stop at the hotel. Steve waited until they were on the elevator before he said, "I've got it!"
“Got what?"
"We'll trade rooms. I didn't give Bridget my phone number, but she called me this morning on the phone in the room. That means she knows what room I'm in."
"Coward."
"I'll have enough trouble playing referee to the Voss children. I don't need Senior Citizen Barbie picking out a new dream home for me."