Club Dread (4 page)

JOE

Doing dishes is my least favorite chore in the world,
I thought as I carried another tub of plates and cups back to the kitchen. I dropped them into the giant soapy sink in front of Frank. We were on hour five of our busboy shift, and both of us were exhausted.

My apron was covered with food stains. Frank leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He'd forgotten that he was wearing giant yellow suds-covered plastic gloves, and he left a white poof of soap across his face. I would have laughed if I weren't so tired. The kitchens were huge and noisy, with people coming and going everywhere. We hid behind one of the giant dish-drying machines for a moment to check in with each other.

“Anything?” Frank asked. He tried to get the soap off his face, but all he managed to do was smear it around his hair. He looked like a melting snowman. He shook his head, and the suds went flying.

“Nope. The couple at table three is really happy with their room, but they wish they had gotten one with a view of the ocean. The woman at table seventeen is reading
Moby-Dick
. And the family at table four forgot to pack bathing suits. But that's about it. How about you?”

“We're almost out of milk and carrots.”

My job was to try and eavesdrop on the guests, to see if anything had been stolen recently or if anyone had seen anything strange. Frank was doing the same with the kitchen staff. So far we'd heard a lot of nothing.

“This is officially the worst cover ATAC has ever given us,” I said. “Couldn't we have been guests?”

“I guess they needed us to be on the inside.”

“Yeah, well…there had to have been something else we could have done. I
hate
doing dishes.”

“I can't believe Nancy's room got broken into,” Frank said, obviously trying to change the subject.

He was right. We needed to focus on what we were here for. The break-in at Nancy's room was the only lead we had.

Nancy text-messaged us right after they found their
room ransacked, but we were working and couldn't get away to investigate. No one had been hurt, and it didn't look like anything had been taken, but it had to be connected to our case. They'd moved Nancy, Bess, and George to another suite so hotel security could search the room. We needed to beat them to it…after we finished the never-ending pile of dishes.

“We have to get up to their suite and check it out,” I said.

“It seems like a big coincidence that Nancy's room got trashed. I wonder if someone suspects that we're investigating this case.”

“Investigating?” I scoffed. “All we've done is run plates back and forth for days. Someone would have to be psychic to know we're anything other than busboys. Maybe it's not a coincidence. What if there's a pattern we're missing? Maybe all the robberies occurred in certain rooms, or the guests who were robbed all checked in while the same person was at the desk or something. We need more information about the other guests who were robbed.”

Frank was about to say something, but he stopped and pointed behind me. Katlyn, the kitchen supervisor, was heading our way. She would have been really cute, if she wasn't perpetually yelling and frowning. Her perfect skin, big brown eyes, and curly brown hair made her look like a cartoon princess. Then she opened her
mouth, and you realized she was equal parts Cinderella and evil stepsister. I'd already tried some of my patented MoJoe on her, but she seemed immune.

“Hi, Katlyn. Have I mentioned how good that apron looks on you?” I smiled my brightest smile at her.

“Back to work—the two of you!” Katlyn roared as she ran past. I couldn't help noticing how beautiful her eyes looked when she was angry, but now didn't seem to be the time to mention it.

Frank shoved his arms back into the sink and started washing more dishes. I picked up my plastic tub and went back out to the dining area. Getting fired was probably the only thing that could make this situation worse.

Outside was a sea of happy, tanned faces. Was one of them going to be attacked next? The last person who was robbed was still in a coma. We needed to start figuring out this mystery, fast, before someone else got hurt.

Then I saw the manager of the Wetlands, Andrew Nikitin, sit down to eat and I knew exactly what to do. Matthias had introduced us to him on our first day. Nikitin had been going over spreadsheets on his computer, looking at records of all the hotel guests, for the last month. If the information we needed was anywhere, it was in his office. And right now, he wasn't there, which made it the perfect time to go get it.

I ran back into the kitchen, checked to make sure Katlyn wasn't looking, and dropped my tub of dishes and my apron at Frank's feet.

“Going to Nikitin's office—cover for me,” I said. Frank was too shocked to say anything before I took off running. I felt bad leaving him like that, but he'd be able to come up with an excuse, and my chance to search Nikitin's office wouldn't last long. You have to strike when the iron is hot, or when the dishes are dirty, or however that saying goes.

Once out of the kitchen, I slowed down and pulled my ID badge out of my pocket. The trick to getting into most places is to look like you belonged there. If I tried to sneak into Nikitin's office, someone would definitely stop me. But if I just walked in—well, someone might stop me anyway. But I had to try.

Thankfully, no one paid any attention to me as I walked through the lobby, past the front desk, and into the offices at the back. Nikitin's door was closed, but the lights were on. I listened for a moment at the door. If anyone had walked into the hallway while my ear was pressed up against the glass, I'd have been busted in a second. Luckily, no one came and the office sounded empty. I tried the handle and the door popped right open.

I shut the door behind me and locked it—just in case. Nikitin's office was mostly empty: a desk with a computer on it, two chairs, and a few shelves of books and
photos. The only light came from a lamp on his desk. There was no filing cabinet or loose papers anywhere.

As an eco-friendly resort, the Wetlands had tried to stop using paper entirely. It was a great move for the environment, but not so great for me—one of the best ways to get information was to look through the papers in office wastebaskets. Gross, but worth it.

I had maybe half an hour before Nikitin finished eating. I had to work fast.

The desk was completely empty of clutter. A computer, a lamp, a clock, and one stack of Post-it notes sat carefully arranged on the top. There wasn't even any dust. Inside, the drawers were neatly organized with supplies: staples, scissors, pens, pencils. It looked like a model desk in a showroom—not a single personal detail or anything out of place. I pulled the drawers all the way out and looked behind them, but there were no hidden compartments or envelopes taped to the bottom.

I was beginning to worry that I might have snuck in here for nothing. I turned to the computer. The screen was black but I could hear the hard drive humming. I moved the mouse and woke it up.

“Come on, give me something,” I murmured.

A log-in screen popped up. His screen name was already entered—A Nikitin. But the password field was blank.

I was in trouble. What would he choose as a password? I typed in “wetlands” and hit enter. A warning message popped up.

“‘You have entered an incorrect password,'” I read. “‘This computer will lock down after three more incorrect entries.'”

Uh-oh.
I tried again. “Andrew.” No luck. “Nikitin.” The warning appeared again, letting me know I had one more chance. I had to think. I looked around the office, hoping for inspiration. There had to be a clue here somewhere.

Maybe he had a middle name I could try? Or maybe it was just “password”? Or “manager”?

I noticed a framed photo, the only one on the wall facing the desk. It was right where Nikitin's eyes would focus if he was sitting at the computer. I walked over to look more closely at it. It was a picture of a much younger Nikitin, grinning and waving to the camera in front of a beautiful gold-and-brick building with an onion dome on top. Across the bottom of the photo was written
LENINGRAD
, 1993.

I raced back to the desk and typed in “Leningrad.” The computer whirred for a moment, and I crossed my fingers, hoping that wasn't the sound of it closing down for good. Then the desktop appeared.

“Yes!”

I clicked on the folder marked
HOTEL RECORDS
, and
it opened to reveal icons for spreadsheets and documents.

Jackpot!

But before I could open any of them, the doorknob rattled. Someone was coming in! I had just enough time to put the computer back to sleep before I heard a key in the lock. I dove beneath the desk.

The door closed. I tried to huddle as far back as I could under the desk, but if Nikitin sat down, there was no way he wouldn't see me. And since there was nothing else in the office, he was definitely heading my way. He must have been on his cell phone, because he paused by the door and started talking.

“Look, I'm telling you for the last time,” Nikitin said. “I don't think this is a good idea. I think we need to lay low for a while.”

Lay low?
What was he up to? And who was he talking to? It sounded like Nikitin was involved in something shady. Now I just had to avoid getting discovered so I could find out exactly what.

 

Suspect Profile

Name:
Andrew Nikitin

Occupation:
Manager of the Wetlands

Suspicious behaviors:
Wants to “lay low.” Also, as manager of the Wetlands, would easily have access to every room in the hotel.

Danger factor:
Seems pretty friendly. But if his job at the Wetlands ever fell through, he could be a strong man at the circus. Or possibly one of the elephants…

 

He started walking toward the desk, and I looked around desperately. There was no way out! I had maybe three seconds to come up with a plan. I felt something pressing into my back. A power strip glowed red behind me, and an idea hit.

I flipped the power switch and the room went dark. The computer fell silent. I held my breath and sat as still as I possibly could.

“Ugh. I think the power just went out in my office,” Nikitin said. “I'll call you back in a minute, I have to go check the fuses.”

Nikitin walked out. I took a shaky breath, counted slowly to five, and turned the power strip back on. I didn't want to leave any evidence behind. Then I ran out of the office as fast as I could. Our shift would be over by now, so I wasn't sure where Frank would be. Nancy and Bess were probably still investigating the spa, and George and Matthias might or might not be back from the swamp.

I went back out to the lobby, which was packed full of people, as usual. No one would notice me hanging out here. We needed to find out who Nikitin was talking to, and what he was involved in. But until we
knew, we had to be careful—there might be more people involved. I typed out a quick text message to Frank, Matthias, and Nancy.

 

Think Andrew Nikitin is in on the robberies.

May have accomplice. Be careful.

 

NANCY

Hotel security arrived at our suite before Bess, George, and I even had a chance to figure out if anything was missing. In fact, the place was so destroyed, it was almost impossible to tell if any of our belongings had been taken.

All of our luggage had been opened up and tossed around the room. The drawers had been pulled out of the dressers and emptied onto the floor. Someone had cut open the pillows and the mattresses, looking for who knows what. There were piles of stuffing and clothes strewn about the room. It looked as though a tornado had landed on Cloud Nine!

I wanted to search the room for clues, but it was impossible with the security guards there. We were allowed to
take our cell phones, purses, and bathing suits, but they asked that we leave everything else untouched until they had a chance to investigate the scene. A few minutes later, Andrew Nikitin showed up.

“I am so terribly sorry for this,” he said, looking ashamed. His head was bowed and his body stooped, making him look much shorter than he actually was. “Really, truly, you must accept my apologies on behalf of Mr. Thorton and the Wetlands. I don't know how such a thing could have happened. We will transfer you to another penthouse suite immediately. That is, if you will continue to stay with us. If not, we will of course pay for your lodging at any other hotel in the area.”

Leave now? Just when things were starting to heat up? No way.

“Thank you, but of course we'll stay,” I told him. “This wasn't your fault.” Bess and George hurried to agree.

“We'll have a new suite ready for you this evening, then, and all your stuff will be moved in by tomorrow at the latest. I apologize for the delay, but we do want to have the police look over everything for evidence. Procedure, you understand. Until then, everything at the resort is on the house—please, try to relax and put this terrible incident behind you.”

“Bess and I were thinking of going to the spa this afternoon,” I said.

“Excellent,” Andrew said, clapping his hands together. “I'll alert the staff that you're on your way.”

“Thank you!” Bess gushed.

We gathered up our things and left the suite. In the elevator, I sent a quick text message to Frank and Joe to let them know what had happened. This could be just the lead they were looking for.

“Maybe I should go with you to the spa,” George said. “If someone is on to us, we should stick together.”

“True. But whoever did this wasn't looking to hurt us,” I started, thinking out loud. “In fact, the room looks less like a break-in than like someone looking for something specific.” I didn't know what it meant yet, but this seemed important.

“I really do want to try the hover boats.” George sounded a little guilty, but wistful as well.

“Do it,” said Bess. “We're only here once. Just be careful and keep your eyes open. And if anything happens, call Nancy.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You shouldn't miss out on having a vacation.”

I considered saying something to her about Matthias. I still got a sour feeling from him. But George could handle herself, and it was probably just the strange circumstances under which I had met Matthias that made me mistrust him.

With everything settled, we split up. Bess and I got
out of the elevator on the second floor, where the gym and spa were located, while George continued down to the hover-boat dock in the hotel basement, where she had arranged to meet Matthias.

At the end of a long hallway, Bess and I found the entrance to the spa. A giant round doorway made of frosted glass sparkled in the light. The word “spa” was projected on it in colored lights, and the glass acted like a prism, sending a rainbow of words all around the hallway. It looked like the gateway to an ice palace.

“I have a good feeling about this,” Bess said.

She opened the door and we found ourselves on a platform high up in the air. A spiral staircase led down to the ground. The spa was a giant open room, three stories tall. The entire ceiling was made of skylights. One wall was made to look like a mountainside, with a sparkling waterfall descending from it into a deep pool.

All around, women lay in robes and bathing suits on plush beach towels. A few were swimming or standing under the waterfall. Other platforms rose at seemingly random intervals throughout the room, and atop them I could see women getting various services done.

Another woman greeted us at the base of the spiral staircase. Her hair was silver and cropped close to her head, and her face was deeply lined but somehow ageless. “Welcome to the Wetlands Spa,” she said. Her voice was cool and calm. “You must be Bess and Nancy.
I was told to expect you, and to let you know that all our services are the compliments of Jack Thorton. May I offer you some açaí juice and a robe?” She held out two glasses filled with deep red liquid. Bess and I reached out hesitantly to take them.

“Açaí is a tropical fruit, native to Brazil and South America,” she continued, as two assistants walked over to us bearing white robes. “Its sweet flavor and beautiful color have made it a popular drink in the region. As it is a swamp plant, we are experimenting with growing it here at the Wetlands as a nutrient-rich alternative to soft drinks and sodas. Enjoy.” With that, she drifted off to welcome another woman to the spa.

The juice was sweet and refreshing, and already I felt some tension drain out of me. I felt bad that Frank and Joe were cleaning dishes and clearing tables, but they
had
asked us to come here and investigate, after all. We finished our glasses and slipped behind two bamboo screens to change into the robes.

“I wish all of your cases needed to be investigated here,” Bess said. She rubbed the soft white cloth between her fingers. “Egyptian cotton,” she noted. Bess knew her fabrics. We removed our shoes and put them on the waiting racks.

I wasn't quite sure what one
did
at a spa, other than lounge around. And it seemed impossible to lounge and search for clues at the same time. I'd never even been
to a spa before. Bess, on the other hand, had been to her fair share and knew exactly what to do.

“I think I'll start with a manicure,” she said, looking at her fingers.

“And a pedicure.” She wiggled her toes.

“Then maybe a haircut and a massage. Or a facial? I hear the kelp and cucumber mask they do is to die for. And I've always wanted to try a deep-sea mud body wrap…”

One of the attendants overheard Bess and took her hand to lead her through the spa to the manicurist. Bess was still listing treatments she wanted to try as she went.

“Keep your ears open!” I whispered as she walked away. Bess winked. I knew I could depend on her to keep her wits about her, no matter how relaxed she felt.

I walked this way and that through the spa, unsure how best to look for information. The ground was soft and warm beneath my feet. There was almost no talking, except for a few quiet conversations in some of the seating areas. For the most part, the spa was a tranquil place. My cell phone vibrated in the pocket of my robe. I flipped it open to a text message from Joe:

 

Think Andrew Nikitin is in on the robberies.

May have accomplice. Be careful.

 

Andrew Nikitin! He had been in our room after the break-in. If he was involved…I wondered what Joe had discovered. And who Nikitin might be working with. Somewhere in the spa was the information I needed—I could feel it. I just didn't know where it was.

Noticing that I looked a little lost, one of the attendants came over to me. She was a young girl, maybe my age, with deep brown eyes, warm brown skin, and pitch-black hair to her waist.

“I'm Ciara,” she said. “Is this your first time here?”

“Yes. Does it show that much?” I laughed nervously.

“It can be a little overwhelming at first. Believe me, when I first started working here, I walked around for two weeks with my mouth hanging open. Especially when some of the celebrity guests would come through.”

An idea popped into my head.

“Actually, that's part of the reason I'm here,” I said. I leaned in and dropped my voice, as though telling Ciara a secret. “I heard that Jasmina used to come here. I'm her biggest fan!”

“Oh yeah, she used to be in here all the time. She was the sweetest thing in person. Used to come here after all her big concerts.”

“Was there anything in particular she liked?”

Ciara pointed up to one of the platforms that rose
from the spa floor. I could just make out an empty massage table at the top. “Ask for Petrovitch. Though I can't tell you what she liked about him.”

That sounded odd. But it was a lead, and I had to follow it. Perhaps this Petrovitch might be able to shed some light on what happened to Jasmina.

I climbed the long spiral staircase up to the platform. A very tall man stood at the top with his back to me.

“Petrovitch?” I asked.

He turned to face me. “Yes?” I detected an accent in his voice, but I couldn't make out where it was from.

“Hi,” I said. “I'm Nancy.”

He stood there waiting, his arms crossed. I tried again.

“I heard you knew Jasmina. I'm a huge fan of hers.”

He might as well have been made of stone.

“I, uh, wanted a massage.” I'd never had a massage before, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. Petrovitch didn't seem like the type to engage in idle chitchat.

He pointed to the table, and I lay down. His large hands touched my back, and I felt him knead the muscles of my shoulders as if they were bread dough. It felt unexpectedly good, but I couldn't get into it. I tried to relax, but my mind was on the case.

“You are very tense!” he said. “It's good to have a real challenge, for once.”

“Are most of the people here not very tense?”

“Ha! They wouldn't know tense if it bit them. All the guests here, with their money and their easy lives. They don't know from hard times.” As he spoke, Petrovitch seemed to get angrier and angrier, and his hands became rougher and rougher. In fact, the massage was becoming downright painful!

“They don't even notice us, the people who work for them—who do everything! We might as well not exist.” His accent became more obvious as he became more excited. He clenched his hands harder and harder on my sore muscles. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

“Ow!” I said. “Enough! Stop.”

My words seemed to snap him out of his anger and he stepped away from the table.

“I let myself get carried away. I am sorry. Sometimes, it is hard for me to work here. Please, let me get you something to drink.” He seemed embarrassed and stared at his feet while he spoke. Then he hurried down the spiral staircase before I could respond.

I lay there for a moment, my back aching. This massage had left me feeling worse than I had felt before he started. Petrovitch was the first unhappy employee I had met at the Wetlands. Was he angry enough to take out his feelings on the guests? Perhaps especially so on a rich celebrity?

I sat up and noticed that Petrovitch had left his
appointment book on the floor. I was alone on the platform. Glancing quickly down the spiral staircase to make sure he wasn't going to be back anytime soon, I picked it up.

Starting at the beginning, I found many entries with Jasmina's name, and some with her room number. Petrovitch must have also been seeing her outside the spa. I heard heavy footsteps climbing up the stairs. Petrovitch was returning. I turned the pages quickly, looking for any information that might be important. Finally, I found the last entry with Jasmina's name—on the night of June 23.

That was the night Jasmina was attacked!