Tourist Trapped (5 page)

So…my slimy brother-in-law smokes pot.

“Who the hell are you to strut in here and insinuate that Trent’s a druggie?” Her father’s face turned fire engine red. “My daughter and her husband disappear and the first thing you do is blame it on him?”

“Mr. Sloane, I didn’t mean to upset you; I’m just following up on the background I ran on them.”

“Background? Why you insolent little roach!” Her father leaned forward, as if ready to pounce. Like a grizzly attacking a bunny.

“Donny, calm down.” Miriam patted his leg. “I’m sure Chad is trying to be thorough—isn’t that what we want? Somebody to ferret out the facts? Give him a chance to get down to Cancun and see what’s happening.”

“Mr. Sloane, do you want us to be thorough and find your daughter, or do you want to hide behind some false illusion?”

“But drugs—geez.”

“Trent has his wild side. He could have been caught with marijuana when he was a teenager,” Miriam said. “Like Becky’s high school friend.”

Cooper shook his head. “The latest—”

“Let it go,” Amanda said. “Let’s avoid getting my father any more riled up.”

“Sorry, I’m thinking out loud. I apologize. It’s just that people don’t normally disappear in Cancun—not that I know of anyway. They seem to fall off cruise liners on a regular basis, but they don’t go ‘poof’ in the Yucatán. It’s damned peculiar.”

“Damned peculiar? Who do you think you are, Sherlock Holmes?” Amanda sipped her tea. She had to admit her dad married a superb cook and evidently her talents extended to beverages. The tea wasn’t instant and probably a pretty expensive blend. For all of her warts, the wench took good care of Amanda’s dad. “But Cooper, I do agree, it is odd they’ve vanished in Cancun. There must be a reasonable explanation—maybe they went to Playa del Carmen for a few days. Or Trent could have booked a place at Cozumel. Do they scuba dive or snorkel?”

“Becky loves it, but their snorkeling trip to Isla Mujeres was Trent’s first time,” Miriam said.

“Maybe he liked it so much he arranged a longer stay,” Amanda said.

“Was it their first trip to Cancun?” Cooper said.

“Becky’s gone down with Donny and me many times, but it was new to Trent,” Miriam said. “They normally visit us a couple of times a year, but this time they decided to spend their vacation in Cancun. Becky had worried about the cost, but Trent said he found a great last-minute deal.”

“How last-minute?” Cooper said.

“I think they had less than a week to plan,” Miriam said.

“Mrs. Sloane, how did you find out so soon that they were missing?”

“Call us Miriam and Don, Chad, please.”

“Okay…Miriam…what raised your suspicions so quickly that Rebecca and Trent were in trouble?”

“Well, I called Becky Saturday night and she told me about the surprise. Trent went out on the town, but she had stayed in, tired from the day at Isla Mujeres. She said they had a marvelous time and saw hundreds of fish while snorkeling. On Sunday night I called to find out what the surprise had been and couldn’t reach her. I followed up with an email and didn’t worry until Monday morning when I couldn’t get in contact. That’s when Donny urged me to call the hotel. They checked the room and said no one had slept there. We called the police and they promised to look into it.”

“And that’s about all they’ve told us,” her father said. “We need to get you down there to see what’s happening. I think the police are doing squat. Rebecca and Trent went missing on Sunday, so if they’re still alive, we need to find them.” He wrapped his arm around Miriam and kissed her forehead. “We need our baby girl back with us.”

Amanda suspected she and Cooper were heading into something messier than a stalled rental on a side road. Would they find Rebecca and Trent?

Alive?

SEVEN

Thursday December 10, Morning

Chad never imagined
he’d break in his passport on a trip other than finding his family, but there he stood, at the first-class counter, checking his bag for the trek to Mexico.

He marked off day number one thousand, nine hundred eighty-three since he last saw his wife and kids. Five years. Danielle, although suffering from severe depression, kept eluding the police and his investigator. Chad had picked up a passport a few years back, in case she hauled the kids over the border. Her relentless resourcefulness forced him to consider any possibility.

Chad knew they were all alive, but not much more. Who kept helping her? And why didn’t the kids try harder to escape? Jason was fifteen and Skye was thirteen. Why didn’t they call? He kept the same phone number, the same address. The house felt lifeless without them—especially after their Westie Maggie died—but he couldn’t risk moving, in case they showed up. Their bedrooms exhibited the same toys and sheets as the day they left. Homages to what had been.

Besides the house, much of his life hung in limbo. His only movement forward had been to finish law school. He had started part-time ten years ago and continued taking courses as he could. He dropped out when the kids went missing, but resumed after two years of trying to hold down a job while searching for his family. He decided the sooner he made it through law school, the faster he could earn more to hire his investigator full-time on the case. For the last six months, Vince spent day and night on their trail.

Chad feared Amanda would doubt his commitment to their caseload if she knew of his family ordeal. He had shared his story with the law partners who had interviewed him more than a year before, but they agreed to keep his situation confidential. Chad wanted to focus on work instead of his own drama.

He acknowledged the irony: out of the country, helping Amanda with her missing sister instead of chasing down his kids. But his job funded his search.

“Let’s stop for a coffee,” Amanda said, leading the way into Seattle’s Best.

“Why don’t we go through security first?” Chad stopped.

“I feel like a coffee. Now. Come on.” She grabbed the strap of his backpack and pulled him into the shop and past the counter. A young guy in a Ron Jon T-shirt, sporting a soul patch and pointy hair, sat in the corner. He straightened up when he spotted Amanda.

She took the chair next to the man and dug through her tote bag. “Cooper, sit.”

He obeyed.

“This is Ian Dunn, the photographer of our favorite Miami residence. Ian, this is Chad Cooper. He’s working the Harding case with me.”

The guy nodded and slid a brown kraft envelope across the table to Amanda. “Got some shots I think will interest you.”

“Chicago guys?”

“No. One from the Beltway.”

Amanda’s eyebrow shot up. “Really…a big dog?”

“Big enough.”

She pulled out a phone and handed it to Dunn. “From now on, call me using this. Here’s my number.” She grabbed his napkin and wrote down a series of digits Chad didn’t recognize. “And email to this account.” Again, not Amanda’s standard address.

“Goin’ stealth on this one?” Ian said.

“As much as possible. Harding’s a control freak and I think he’s in some pretty ugly S-H-I-T that he won’t want us uncovering. Best not take chances. Anything else on the corporation?”

“It’s out of the Cayman Islands.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me. How about names?”

“Nothing I can confirm at this time.”

Amanda and Chad wrapped up the rendezvous, went through security, stopped at Starbucks for an actual cup of coffee, and meandered down the concourse.

She slowed to check the front closure of her top-of-the-line leather briefcase. Chad couldn’t figure her out. In so many ways Amanda exuded pure practicality, but in others—such as her work clothes and accessories—the woman’s tastes ran expensive.

“I can’t believe I’m flying down to Cancun to play detective—and dragging you along with me: a guy who spent twenty-five years playing with computers and now’s a legal green bean,” Amanda said. “What was I thinking? I should have left you in Chicago to interface with our clients while I wander the tropics…or maybe not.” Her eyes narrowed. “What made you think to look up Trent’s arrest record?”

“I checked out both of them after Jasmine called Tuesday night. We need background if we’re going to know what we’re dealing with, right?”

“Did you find anything else?”

He handed Amanda his coffee, pulled his laptop from his backpack, and balanced it on his arm as they strolled to the gate. “Rebecca graduated from Lake Forest College with a degree in history and worked full-time in your dad’s office until she married Trent. Trent claims to possess a bachelor’s in business from my alma mater, Northern Illinois University, but he never attended the school.”

“Interesting.”

“After he married Rebecca, Trent joined your dad in the video store business. Before then, he managed a gas station. The police busted him for marijuana possession a couple of times in high school and again about six months ago, but those charges were dropped. It’s the one piece of information that might be linked to the disappearance. Maybe when he went out on the town in Cancun he decided to pick up some drugs and it spiraled downward from there.”

“You sound like a lousy murder mystery.”

“What’s your hypothesis?”

“I’ve got nothing.”

“Something else is bothering me.”

She cocked her head. “Do tell.”

“How quickly Don and Miriam suspected Rebecca and Trent were missing.”

“Nothing they said seemed odd—or how did you put it? ‘Damned peculiar.’”

“Although dedicated to the point that you live and breathe your job, I’m guessing you’ve taken one or two vacations—maybe even in Mexico.”

Darkness passed over her face like the shadow of a cloud. “I…I’ve been there a few times.”

“Think about it. You arrive, book an absurd number of activities through the hotel, and spend your time snorkeling, swimming or drinking yourself into oblivion—you’re never in your hotel room unless it’s for another round of sex. You lock up your phone in the hotel safe until the trip back home. No phone, no email, no interruptions. Are Rebecca and Miriam so close that she’d check in with her daily? Her forty-year-old daughter?”

Amanda shrugged. “I can’t tell you much about their relationship; I’ve spent the last thirty years denying their existence.”

“Calling the hotel and then the police so quickly feels a little…”

“Damned peculiar?”

* * *

Amanda’s first impression
of the resort’s massive, white exterior had been a collision of southern plantation and Greco-Roman. But the inside—it looked like a war between the Greeks, Romans and some tight-assed Victorian zealots.

“You’ve got to be kidding. This is Cancun, right? We didn’t take a side trip to hell, did we?” She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. It didn’t help.

Palm trees stood alongside Corinthian pillars. Ornate upholstered furniture posed beneath massive crystal chandeliers, and gilt-edged mirrors covered the walls. “Oh yeah, this is exactly the decor that comes to mind when I think of spending a week in the Caribbean.”

A cart-toting bellhop stopped in front of them. “Hola. Welcome to Fiesta Oasis Royale. Can I take your luggage?” He reached for Amanda’s suitcase.

She clutched the bag.
I can’t stay here—Trent must have reserved this place. If Rebecca shares even one gene with me, she has too much taste to book this horror.

“Amanda, give your bag to the nice young man.”

“I-I can’t.”

Cooper pried the suitcase handle out of her hand and tossed the piece of luggage on the cart. The bellhop labeled each item and handed the stubs to Cooper, who reciprocated with a ten-spot.

The young man explained they’d have to check in after three o’clock and then retreated with their suitcases.

“Boss, you’re acting a little strange.”

“Sorry, but this place looks as if the interior designer had…um…well…I don’t think they hired one.” She peered into a casual restaurant. “Are you kidding me? Is that the stuffed head of a bull on the wall? Are we in the Teddy-effing-Roosevelt version of Cancun? I was right—this is hell, isn’t it?”

Chad scanned the room. “Based on the impressive number of bullfighting posters on the wall, I think it’s a tribute to their heritage.”

“Great tradition, torture a poor animal for hours in front of a cheering crowd and then kill it. Not my idea of a spectator sport.”

“Should we touch base with the front desk?”

“Can you shoot me instead? My eyes are screaming in agony. I can’t bear this hideous interior.”

“Be careful what you ask for or you might find your head stuffed and on the wall next to the bull. You’ll survive. Besides, we’ll probably spend most of our time outside of this place.”

“I think they’d better rename this heap ‘Fiasco Royale.’”

They stopped at the desk and asked for someone who could help them find out more about Rebecca and Trent. A well-pressed gentleman escorted them to the fourth floor and unlocked the Adams’ room. It looked orderly. Not a wrinkle in the king-sized bed, no clothes in sight, the standard litter of tour brochures and souvenir pictures the only visible signs of disarray. A tall pile of photos in cheap frames indicated the couple wasted little time while in Cancun.

Cooper pulled out his camera and snapped pictures.

“This isn’t CSI; what are you doing?”

“Can’t hurt to take a few photos.”

She shrugged. “Guess not.” Instead of standing there, useless, she searched the suitcases and chest of drawers. Amanda didn’t find anything odd or out of place. She removed the photos from the souvenir frames to eliminate the bulk for hauling. She stuffed the pictures in her briefcase, along with the brochures and receipts.

Cooper stopped shooting and leaned over the bureau. “They left behind a pretty expensive camera.”

“Your point?”

“If you’re going on a surprise excursion, wouldn’t you want to take pictures?”

A chill traveled down her spine. “Now that is damned peculiar.”

EIGHT

Thursday December 10, Midday

The cheesy tropical
calendars didn’t do the Caribbean justice.

Chad dug his toes into the fine white sand and listened to the surf lap against the shore. The warm breeze carried exotic bird calls—and few bugs. Broad-winged, split-tailed frigate birds soared on thermals, hundreds of feet above the tables at the beachside restaurant. The aroma of grilled shrimp and deep fried fish mixed with the salty sea air, triggering hunger pangs.

He couldn’t stop staring at the ocean.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Amanda said.

“The water is incredible. It starts at the shoreline as a vivid aqua and then deepens to a dark royal blue,” Chad said.

“That’s quite a mouthful for a guy who recites colors based off of trees. I’m impressed.”

“It’s an impressive view.”

The wooden tables and chairs in the restaurant’s palapa sat in proud shades of green, yellow and blue. The vivid colors popped against the natural plank floor and high, thatched roof. Ke$ha’s “Tik Tok” blared, amping up the party atmosphere, as if it weren’t carefree enough. Between the restaurant and the ocean, red and white plastic tables and chairs shaded by canvas umbrellas peppered the beach.

“Um…the water…it reminds me of a sweater Jasmine wore this week…do you know where she got it?”

“Cooper, do you think I have time to catalog Jaz’s wardrobe?”

“Sorry, guess not.”

Amanda had chosen a table on the beach and Chad sat in a sunny spot, the legs of his Corona-logoed chair planted in the sand. He let his shoulders and arms bake, relishing the heat and slight humidity after Chicago’s frigid, dry December air.

His boss sat beneath a Coca-Cola umbrella on the other side of the table. Buckets of iced Coronas alongside mounds of lime slices populated many of the tables around them. Those without buckets were laden with oversized frou-frou drinks.

A sunglassed waiter in a yellow polo shirt, khaki shorts and a white baseball cap scampered through the sand and stopped at their table. “Hola, I’m Pepe.” He handed them menus. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Give us a couple of orders of fish tacos, chips with lots of guacamole and two regular, frozen Margaritas,” Amanda said.

“Bueno. Coming right up.”

Before Chad could think of a response, she said, “Their fish tacos and Margaritas are excellent, and you have to order guacamole every chance you get.”

“You have been to Cancun before.” Visions of an Amanda Sloane frolicking in the waves collided with the specter of the perpetually annoyed woman he encountered every day.

“I spent quite a bit of time here in a different life.” The shadow passed over Amanda’s face again. “In more recent years I’ve come down with my friend Lauren for long weekends when we needed to get away. We both enjoy snorkeling and roaming the ruins, so coming here is relaxing since we know it so well.”

A young girl and boy worked on a sand castle near the surf while a pair of adolescents galloped into the water and flopped down on air mattresses. Chad allowed himself memories from their family trip to Captiva Island. It had been merely weeks before Danielle emptied their bank accounts and abducted the kids. Everyone had such a good time—even his wife, which made the disappearance that much more difficult to comprehend. For a few days, the light had reignited in Danny’s eyes. A mix of exhilaration and pain filled Chad when he recalled her laughing as the boom had almost knocked him off the boat during a sailing lesson. Worth every angry bruise.

Danny had wanted a house full of children, but after Skye’s birth, they had trouble conceiving. She had begged him to see a fertility specialist, but Chad refused. They couldn’t afford it. He preferred to send his kids to quality colleges instead of throwing money at the chance of having another child. Why couldn’t she be content with two?

Then the miracle happened. Danielle became pregnant. She had radiated with such a mother’s glow her fellow teachers commented on how happy she looked. Until the miscarriage.

After she lost the baby, she fell into a severe depression and wouldn’t speak to Chad for days on end. A year later Danny still struggled. Sometimes she successfully fought the darkness to the fringes of her psyche, but other times, when she let her guard down, it engulfed her like nightfall eagerly awaits the fading of the last ray at sunset.

He would find them again. All of them.

The kids on the bone white beach squealed as the tide sloshed into the moat around their castle. Their parents shouted encouragement from a row of plastic chaise lounge chairs edging the shore. Ferries at the dock loaded up passengers and motored off.

So this is Cancun.

“Do you have a timeshare?” Chad asked.

“Is that question for me? Really?”

He tried to picture an overzealous sales rep dealing with Amanda. Either she’d walk out or if the foolish rep insisted she stayed, there would be blood. Lots of it, and not a single drop hers. “Oops, sorry. I hadn’t thought that equation through: Amanda plus timeshare equals no way in Hades.”

Pepe set down a basket of fresh tortilla chips and a bowl of guacamole along with two Margaritas in salt-rimmed glasses gleaming with condensation.

Chad tried the drink. The sweet-sour mix balanced against the tequila. He dipped a warm chip into the guacamole and stuffed it into his mouth. The savory avocado played against the sweetness of the tomato, and the smooth guacamole against the crisp of the chip.

“Is the food really this good or does everything taste better in Cancun?”

“The ambiance doesn’t hurt, but you need to know where to go.” She pulled out the stack of papers and brochures. “Darn it. I mixed up my stuff with theirs.”

Chad scanned some of the documents. “Are these your bank statements?”

“I got annoyed with my bank’s service fees, so I split my finances between a credit union and a new bank, and moved around some investments. I settled everything last week, but I’m still carrying around the paperwork. I haven’t had a chance to file it at home. I’d better lock these up in the room safe before I lose them.”

She separated her documents from the stack of sheets fluttering in the wind and they focused on the brochures and receipts from Trent and Rebecca. Names like Coco Bongo and Dady O covered the promotional material. “These are discos down the street from that horrid resort.”

Amanda retrieved the pile of photos from her briefcase. “Wow. This must have cost them a wad of cash—they bought pictures from every tourist trap within five miles. A half dozen discos, Señor Frog’s, Carlos ‘n Charlie’s, one of the catamarans, the jungle tour, zip-lining—how could they have done all of this in a few days? It’ll take us a week just to check out so many sites.”

She analyzed the receipts. “Here’s the slip for their trip to Isla Mujeres. That confirms what Mousy Miriam said. They also swam with the dolphins at the mall.”

“At the mall? You can swim with dolphins at the malls?”

“La Isla has an aquatic center that offers swimming with dolphins.”

“Whew.” He sighed, relieved of the image of poor dolphins spending their days under fluorescent lights in dinky above-ground swimming pools with a line of snotty-nosed shoppers pawing at the hapless animals, morning to night.

“But I remember photo ops with live parrots, if you’re desperate to interact with animals other than the late-night partiers.”

“No thanks, I’ll pass,” Chad said. Pictures, everyone wanted pictures. Did tourists relish their moments in Cancun, or did they waste time posing for photos, amassing a pile of mementos to haul back home? Like the dozens Rebecca and Trent had snapped. “Speaking of photo ops, if the resort has a business center, I can use it to print out pictures from the camera left behind.”

“Most resorts do; we can ask at the front desk when we check in. But first, after lunch, let’s visit the police station and find out what they know—hopefully they’ve uncovered some leads to pursue.”

“I’ll text Miriam to see if she knows anything more,” Chad said.

“You have her phone number?”

“Of course. If we’re going to find them, we need to collect as much information as we can. I have your parents’ phone numbers and email addresses and the contact information for Rebecca and Trent.”

“Did you try calling them?”

“Before we left your parents’ house and every few hours since.”

She sized him up while munching on a tortilla chip. “Cooper, you might be more help than just assisting with the caseload.”

“Amanda, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

* * *

In all of
her time in Cancun, Amanda had never before stepped into the police station. She and Cooper alit from the taxi near Plaza Kukulcan and entered the nondescript building. It bustled with men and women dressed in dark blue uniforms. She expected to find answers here, a reasonable explanation for the disappearance.

They waited on wooden chairs lined against the wall. Officers came and went. She reviewed her notes; not much to go on, so far. She regarded Cooper. Although still sporting obsolete eyeglass frames and a bad haircut, his appearance had improved. In a royal blue shirt and white shorts, even a nerd could pass for normal.

“Señora Sloane and Señor Cooper?” An officer called from a doorway. “Please come with me.”

They entered a large room, a sea of desks. He ushered them over to one in the middle. A handsome, swarthy officer stood and motioned them to sit. “I’m Lieutenant Rodriguez, assigned to the case. Can I ask your relationship to Rebecca and Trent Adams?”

“I’m Rebecca’s sister. Chad is a coworker who has agreed to help. Do you have any leads—have you found anything that might explain where Rebecca and Trent could be?” Amanda noticed Cooper had already written down the policeman’s full name and badge number.

The officer opened a thin manila folder. “We don’t have much to go on. A Miriam Sloane called our office on Monday, December seventh, and informed us that Trent and Rebecca Adams had gone on a ‘surprise’ excursion the previous day and could not be reached since. It also looked like they hadn’t been in their room overnight.”

“Did anyone at the resort give you more information—possibly on what the surprise was?” Cooper said.

“No, the couple didn’t book any trips through the hotel’s tour agencies.”

“Have you received pictures of the Adams couple from the Sloanes?” Cooper said.

“No.”

Cooper pulled a handful of photos from his backpack. “Here are pictures of Trent and Rebecca. Can you make copies and return the originals?”

“Very good, I’ll be right back.” The officer took the photos to a desk on the edge of the room.

Amanda wished she was nimble enough to kick herself in the ass. “Good thinking. Did Miriam give you those yesterday?”

“Yes, she offered me a few different pictures to choose from.”

Cooper picked up a frame that sat on the officer’s desk and showed it to Amanda. It looked to be a family photo taken at the bottom of a cenote. In the background, kids climbed a rock wall to jump into the natural pool. A stunning woman and two teenage boys posed with Rodriguez in the foreground.

The officer returned and handed the pictures to Cooper. “We scanned them into the system.”

“Nice looking family,” Cooper said, replacing the photo.

The lieutenant beamed. “Gracias.”

“Based on receipts and photos, Rebecca and Trent sailed to Isla Mujeres,” Amanda said. “You might want to investigate. They took the Sea Passion catamaran to the island.”

The lieutenant made a note in the file. “Muy bien. I’ll send an officer to check it out.”

“They also visited discos around The Forum, as well as Señor Frog’s and Carlos ‘n Charlie’s,” Amanda said.

“The standard stops. Very good.”

“How big is the contingent working the case?” Amanda said.

“I’m the lead and have two officers investigating.”

She realized, after another ten minutes of reviewing the facts with Rodriguez, they had little to go on. They thanked him and headed out the door, into the heat and clamor of traffic.

“I forgot my prescription sunglasses. I’ll need a cap. Think we can run over there for a minute?” Chad pointed at Plaza Kukulcan across the street.

Her gut turned. She didn’t mind venturing into the southern hotel zone to touch base with the police, but she refused to push her luck by hanging around a mall. “Instead of shopping here, let’s go to La Isla. You can buy a hat and I can check out Rebecca’s activities at the aquarium. That’s where they swam with the dolphins.”

“Great idea, I have to see this.”

Better to see dolphins than Miguel.

* * *

“How much help
do you think Rodriguez will give us?” Chad said as he followed Amanda into La Isla Shopping Village. Towering steel and canvas structures, engineered like mushrooms, shaded portions of the outdoor mall.

“Based on the progress he’s made so far, let’s just say I’m not exactly optimistic.” Amanda said, making her way through the strolling crowd.

Two stories above them, massive grids anchored long stretches of fabric, reminding Chad of Freemont Street in Vegas, but without the animation—or the slots.

Las Vegas. A spring about six years before, Danny accompanied Chad to a technical conference there. He had suggested she come along to relax by the pool and to shop while he attended the sessions. He’d join her for dinner and a show each evening. Chad hoped a change of scenery and some warmth and sunshine would boost her out of her gray days.

The first night had been wonderful. They took a cab downtown and wandered the old section of Vegas, dining on the twenty-fourth floor of Binion’s. Unfortunately the next day, once Chad left for the conference, Danielle had too much time alone with her thoughts. When he returned to their room late in the afternoon, he found the lamps and mirrors shattered and his bleeding wife, naked and shivering, wedged into a bathroom corner next to the toilet.

The defeated pair had flown back to Chicago the next day.

“Did the police report offer any information that we didn’t discuss?” Amanda crashed through his thoughts.