Page 98 of Rage

“I just have a couple of quick questions for the director,” I tell her.

“Roger that.”

“Margaret?”

She turns to me, raises her brows.

“Use the phone, not the radio.”

The Club at Paint Creek is as elegant and stately after hours as it is during the day. The trees along the driveway are lit up with novelty lights. I take the same route Tomasetti and I did when we were here before. The parking lot is nearly vacant with only three vehicles and a pickup truck hitched to a cargo trailer, a lawn service logo emblazoned on the side.

I park next to the truck and call Mona. “I’m ten-twenty-three,” I say. “What’s your ETA?”

“Twelve minutes, Chief.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Roger that.”

I don’t expect some earth-shattering revelation to come from this impromptu meeting this evening. Service employees, particularly food servers, bounce from job to job. It’s entirely possible Wilma Borntrager worked here before her stints at the brewery and The Cheetah Lounge. Then again, Yutzy was in the photo with her; the other man didn’t look like some innocent bystander.

I formulate my line of questioning as I take the sidewalk to the front of the building. To my relief, the front doors are still open. I enter the lobby to chilly air and the aromas of eucalyptus and lavender. It’s so quiet I can hear my feet against the floor as I make my way to the front desk. Through the windows to my right, I can see the pool area and deck. Even from this distance, I discern the Club at Paint Creek logo emblazoned on the umbrellas. The front desk is vacant. There’s no perfunctory bell to ring, so I walk to the hall that will take me to Wingate’s office.

Warm yellow light slants out through the open door of his office at the end of the hall. Midway there, the sound of his voice reaches me. Talking on the phone. Something about membership and a long-running promotion.

I knock, peering inside. “Hello?”

Wingate sits behind his desk, the only light coming from the Tiffany lamp to his left. I don’t miss the quicksilver flash of annoyance on his face an instant before he beams a smile at me.

“Call you back,” he says to whoever’s on the other end of the line, and sets the phone in its base. “Chief Burkholder. What a surprise.”

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” I say as I enter his office.

“End of the workday is always a good time.” He motions me into one of the visitor chairs. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”

“Just a couple of quick questions,” I say as I settle into the chair.

He scoots closer to his desk, sets his elbows on the blotter. “Do you guys have any leads on what happened to Samuel Yutzy?” he asks.

“We’ve got a few things in the works,” I say, keeping it vague. “Still following up.”

A shadow of a smile crosses his features. “Everyone’s going to rest a hell of a lot easier when you make an arrest.”

“That’s a true statement.” A beat of silence and then I get to the point. “Mr. Wingate, was Samuel Yutzy a member of the club?”

He looks at me as if I’ve asked a silly question. “No.”

“While he was working on the landscaping contract, did he have access to your facilities or interact with any of the employees or members?”

“He usually ate lunch in his truck.” His brows pull together as if he’s trying to remember. “I may have given him a complimentary lunch or two. To show my thanks, you know. I appreciate a hard worker. Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to get the dynamics straight in my head.” I smile agreeably. I’m in the process of fishing my phone out of my pocket when a tap-tap-tap sounds on the door.

“Mr. Wingate?”

At the sound of the female voice, I look over my shoulder. A pretty young woman, a tray holding a bottle of sparkling water and a glass in her hands, enters the office. She’s wearing a shimmering sequin tank top and a black satin skirt that falls to mid-thigh. She’s blond haired with eyes as green as a cat’s. She’s decked out in gold jewelry, full makeup, and an artistic manicure that must have taken hours to paint.

A quick smile and then she sidles past and strides to his desk. “I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.” She slants an uncertain smile in my direction. “Or I would have brought two glasses.”