After the Palm Springs resort pic came the transcription of Amber’s message. I’d typed it out so I could refer to it easily. The date on the answering machine had said August 17. Three whole months after she had last been photographed. Three whole months before I’d heard that cryptic message. I wanted to blame my mother for that, wanted to believe she’d been too lost in her head to remember to tell me she had a message waiting. But it was just as likely she didn’t tell me because I hadn’t visited her in months, and what was the urgency of calling me to ask about a blue raincoat?
I tried not to think too much about the lost months. It would be too easy for the guilt to overwhelm me.
The message was the last time anyone had seen or heard from Amber. She’d simply vanished after that. When Joe had called a PR representative of Reeve’s to inquire about how he might get hold of her, he’d been given a scripted response: “Mr. Sallis and Ms. Pries have ended their relationship. We are unaware of Ms. Pries’s current whereabouts.” The woman wouldn’t even say when they’d broken up, but when Joe asked if Reeve was seeing anyone now, he’d been given a definitive no.
Reeve was photographed mid-September at an event with another woman and again at a Halloween party with yet another woman, both unnamed. These pictures started a new row on the bed. Next to them, I placed the paper that I’d written the statement from Reeve’s PR on. On another piece of stationary I wrote the newest information: James Pries murdered – October. This I held onto as I studied everything laid out in front of me, hoping it would connect with something, anything.
But no matter how I tried to look at it, I couldn’t get James Pries’s murder to fit. Amber called me in August. Reeve was seen dating others by September. Common sense put her disappearance between the call and the first event he attended without her. Her father’s death was after that.
But despite what I’d said to Joe, my gut told me it was relevant. When I returned everything to my file folder an hour later, the paper with James Pries’s murder was included.
I ordered brunch from room service and spent the rest of the day in my suite reading anything I could find about the Greek mafia on the Internet. I learned about the Philadelphia Greek Mob and all the key players. I hunted for any connections to the Sallis name. When I’d exhausted the topic, I ordered room service for dinner. Then I looked again for Amber, hoping for something I might have missed in previous searches.
And then Reeve. I scoured the Web for pictures of him, for articles. I read everything I found, even though I’d read it all before. Then I read it again.
When night fell and my eyes couldn’t stare at a screen another minute, I shut my laptop and peered into the mirror above the desk I’d been working at. “Well,” I said to my red-eyed reflection. “Time to face what you’ve been ignoring for the last twenty-four hours. I fucked up with Reeve.”
I’d told myself that I’d cooped myself up because I had to research. The truth was, I’d wanted to be in my room in case he’d called. I’d convinced myself he’d reach out, that he’d give me a second chance. Hell, to be honest, I wasn’t even sure what I’d done wrong. Too many years had passed since I’d last seduced anyone, and I just didn’t know what I was doing anymore. Didn’t that deserve another shot?
The idea that he might not give me one – that he likely wouldn’t – was unbearable.
I rested my face in my palm and willed the emotions to stay below the surface as I said the words over and over, “I fucked up, Amber. I fucked up.”
It was my imagination, no doubt about it – the words were even direct from a memory, and not new – but I heard her voice clear and soothing in my head. “This is only today. Tomorrow’s going to be something else entirely.”
CHAPTER 5
The next day, I revised my plan. Reeve may have wanted nothing to do with me, but Amber was still missing, and I was still determined to find her. There was less than a week before I had to be back at the studio in Burbank, which meant only a handful of days left at the Palm Springs resort. Though I didn’t know how long she’d stayed, I did know that Amber had spent some time here. Surely someone on the staff had to remember her? The trick was finding the right staff.
Along with my accordion file, I had stuffed a few items I’d worn for different shoots in the room safe including brown tinted contacts and a brunette hairpiece. The wig was professional and nearly impossible to detect, especially when I wore it under a hat, which I paired with a sundress over my swimsuit and headed out. First stop, the pools. Amber had always loved the water, almost as much as I did. She liked to drift and float and dry off by lying in the sun. Then repeat. Reeve’s pool was a lap-only pool except in the mornings when it was reserved only for him. I doubted there was any way he’d have let her splash around during his laps. Also, not only was his early swim time not the best hour for sunning, but Amber usually wasn’t even awake at that time of morning. Lucky for her there were six other pools on the property that were open all day. I decided to start at the one farthest away from my suite and work my way back.
The hotel didn’t provide lifeguards, so I set my sights instead on the towel boys. At pool number one, I sat in the hot tub for fifteen minutes first to make my approach seem ordinary. Standing in front of the attendant dripping wet didn’t hurt either. I was a woman who knew how to use her wiles, after all. My prep was wasted, though. The towel boy there hadn’t worked at the resort long enough to be helpful. I repeated the same routine at the second pool only to find that towel boy was new too. Pool three’s towel boy was a woman who grunted at me when I tried to talk to her. Pool four was the family pool – Amber wouldn’t have been caught dead in a place overrun with children. I went through the routine anyway, in case the towel boys rotated where they worked. Though that one had been there the summer before, he’d been working in housekeeping then.