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Milo
MILO FOLLOWED THE GPS down the mile-long driveway leading to the Evan's Pier Resort set along the deforested eastern side of Blue Horse Ridge in Xavier county. He pulled into the parking area at the rear, rubbed away the condensation on the inside of his windshield and looked around the perimeter of the building. The back of the structure was rather nondescript with a dark brown rustic façade that blended into the landscaped acreage and two glass doors near the loading dock. There were vehicles coming and going from the linen service, waste pickup, and restaurant wholesalers. Milo recognized some of the names from their suppliers list at Moe's Tavern.
He waited for the last of the trucks and vans to drive away before he parked the car and got out. The higher elevation caused a light mist in the air and a coolness that caught him by surprise. He buttoned his collar and scanned the length of the property. It was much larger than at first glance with multiple smaller structures built into the hillside that connected to the main building through arched bridges and rough-hewn log stairs.
Jules had overheard the men say they would be meeting that evening in the resort’s conference center. Milo wasn’t sure what they had in mind concerning Wyman’s, but there was only one way to find out. He grabbed his black chef's coat from the back seat and buttoned it down, pushed his cap down tight along his ears and tucked a dishcloth over his shoulder to hide his logo.
He passed by a few wait staff smoking along a designated break area off to the side. He waved casually at them and they nodded back. If anyone asked, he would simply say that he was filling in for someone and then try to blend into the flow. He was familiar enough with kitchen action to pull it off. Once he got past the door, he could slip away to the conference center. It would be a tricky maneuver, but he felt confident. If there was one thing he was accustomed to doing, it was making himself invisible. He opened the glass door on the right and stepped inside.
The kitchen was far bigger than anything he had seen before and operating at a level of managed chaos beyond his experiences. No one noticed him as he slipped through the lines looking for an easy exit to the main dining room. Suddenly, someone looked up and caught his eye. Milo picked up a mop from a bucket near a back wall and started frowning.
“Hurry up and get that cleaned up. The last thing we need is a lawsuit from one of the guests.” The guy barked from across the room and went back to work.
“Right. I’m on it.” Milo rushed along the wall to the exit and into the corridor. He glanced around to get his bearings and caught a glimpse of the cluster of uniformed staff handling all the front of house demands. The place was immense and glitzy. He wished that he had more time to take it all in. He resisted the temptation to reach in his pocket for his phone and take a few pictures to show Jules later.
The brass candelabra were suspended from the ceiling with clouds of floral arrangements showering down like wispy alien creatures. The fan-shaped windows gave the room a multi-dimensional effect with an incredible view of Mount Pierpoint and the Verdoon tributary that snaked through the woodlands below. It was spectacular. One day he would bring Jules to a place like this. It could happen.
He carried the mop to a restroom that he spotted along the far side wall and stashed it in one of the stalls, then walked out to the massive open reception area at the main entrance. Wow, this place is crazy. Luxury cars and limousines lined the circular driveway as if on a conveyer belt that reached all the way inside the first floor of the building. Valets awaited and rapidly attended to each visitors’ baggage, then drove the cars back outside to a designated enclosure. Milo found the bank of elevators and rushed into one just as the door closed. He was in luck; the directory was embossed in brass on the inside wall of the elevator and he pressed the button for the Chabon Conference Center Level.
His heart started racing as he exited the elevator and inched along the hallway. He noticed more people in the impeccably tailored guest services uniforms coming out of a set of double doors. Each time the door swung open, he could hear the voices of a group of men. He tested each door in the hallway as he walked toward the room. They were all locked, except that main one so it had to be the right place. He reached in his pocket and took out his cellphone and turned off the alerts. Then he started the memo recorder app, tucked it carefully into his waist band, and pulled his jacket down to cover it. The next time the door opened, Milo sneaked past the staffer and held his breath as he joined the room.
There was Mayor Thompson and several others that he recognized from the QG Casino grand opening. He glanced around, then got busy clearing the tables and loading carts along with the others. One guy noticed his coat was black instead of the house scarlet red with gold piping. Milo shrugged and rolled his eyes.
“That happened to me,” the guy whispered. “Took forever to get my size. Talk to Ron and he'll rush it through for you.”
“Got it, thanks.” Milo nodded and moved on to the next table. Eventually he made his way to the mayor's party. The man looked up, gave him an odd sideways smile, then tapped on the side of his glass. Milo found the wine bottle and started to pour. Someone snatched it from his hand and shooed him away. He stepped back and continued to clear away dishes, utensils, and soiled napkins, lingering as long as possible near their conversations.
Eventually, several of the men stood in unison and headed toward the balcony to smoke. The meeting was breaking up and each man went his own way down the stairs to the parking lot. Milo took that as a cue to leave and worked his way toward the back wall, slowing weaving between the tables and wait staff until he was in the hallway again. He stopped near the window at the end of the floor and looked outside. He saw his reflection in the glass and noticed how much sweat was dripping from his forehead down his cheeks to his collar.
He reached for his cellphone and said a quick prayer. Everything had recorded. He let out a deep sigh. Now, he just had to get out before someone noticed him again. He tucked away his phone and dashed into the emergency stairwell and rushed down the stairs. He reached a locked door across the stairs on the next level and couldn't continue down any further. He went through the door to the third floor guest area and looked for the elevators. Before he could turn, he heard someone call to him. It was the last voice he wanted to hear.
“Excuse me. We're done with our tray. Can you take our cart away, please?” It was Randall pushing a service cart out of a guest room.
“Oh no, God no.” Milo whispered and turned his back.
“Hey, I'm talking to you. Is there a problem?” Randall approached him. Milo turned and faced him. “Good God man, what in the world are you doing here?”
“I'm just picking up some part time work, that's all.”
“There's only one thing wrong with that answer.”
“What's that?”
“You're lying.”
“Okay, okay. If I tell you why I'm here, do you promise ...”
“No deals, Milo. Talk to me.”
“Alright, then. I wanted to find out what's been going on with the mayor and those guys trying to get their hands on the campgrounds. They just had a meeting in the conference center, and I listened in on some of the conversation.”
“Mayor Thompson’s here? Right now?”
“Yeah. You gotta promise not to tell ...”
“If Traci found out that you were up here spying on the mayor, she would throw her shoe at you. Then throw the other one at me for not telling her about it first. Believe me, I won’t say a word. I don't want to deal with any of that right now.”
“Do you want to know what I heard them say about Wyman’s and the bodies they found in the cabin and ...”
“I think I already know. The plan is they'll cause enough trouble for everybody that it’ll dry up revenue at Wyman's and force a sell off of the property and assets for next to nothing. By the time the investigation is done, and Traci is cleared, it would be too late. She'd lose everything and they could swoop in and take over. Unless they're stopped.”
“Right. That's exactly what they're up to.”
“Problem is, how can we prove it?”
“I got it all right here.” Milo pulled out his cellphone.
“Incoming,” Randall said and lowered his head.
“What?” Milo pivoted around and saw Traci walking toward them with a scowl on her face. “Uh oh,” Milo whispered.
“Yep, Hurricane Tracinda,” Randall said under his breath.
“What's going on?” Traci asked Milo and looked directly into his eyes, constraining herself from raising her voice.
“I was just ...”
“Do you work here now? You got a second job? How are you going to handle that and prep for college?” She fixed her eyes on Randall. “Did you know he was working here?”
“Traci ... angel, listen.”
She stepped back and folded her arms. “If you needed extra money, why didn't you come to me and ask for it? Or, Randall. Did you ask Randall? Did he ask you? Did you tell him 'no' and then didn't tell me?”
“Tracinda, calm down. Nothing like that happened.”
“I should take this back to the kitchen.” Milo said and reached for the cart. Randall grabbed his arm and gave him a side-eye.
“I've got to get to the Zen-Way Silent Tea Ceremony,” Traci said and narrowed her eyes at them. “It's starting right now. We'll talk about this later.” She stormed away muttering, “I don't understand why nobody tells me anything anymore.”
Milo dropped his head and whispered, “I think I know why.” He looked up at Randall who returned the glance with a chuckle.
“I just wanted a quiet little vacation.” Randall rubbed his forehead, looked at Milo and they both nodded. “I saw a car with Ray Winston's license plate in the parking lot when we arrived. Was he part of that meeting, too?”
“No, I don't think so. If he was in the crowd, I didn't see him.”
“I can’t help but believe that guy’s behind all this somehow. Alright, well you better get going before one of the staff catches you. We'll talk back at Wyman's.”
“Okay, thanks for not saying anything just then.”
“No problem.” Randall watched as Milo pushed the service cart to the end of the hallway. “Hey, one sec.” He caught up with him. “Traci's got me eating some kind of tofutti balls, kibble made out of tree bark and all kind of squirrelly stuff while we're in this place. If you could hook me up with some of Moe's honey wings with the cajun rub and ...”
“A side of cole slaw? Sure, I can. You know we got these new takeout bowls with boiled shrimp, lobster, sausage, corn, potatoes ...”
“Don't play with my emotions, man. If you slip one of those in here, it would save my life.”
“I got you.”