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Jack Barton was the other hotelier catering to tourists, but his location was two miles outside of Jubilee and geared to the budget tourists. He’d bypassed the restrictions that came with doing business with PCG Inc., the corporation that owned the land on which Jubilee was built, and bought land on the highway outside of their holdings.
He’d built tiny cabins for family sleeping accommodations rather than just another high-rise hotel, and this past year, he’d expanded his camping area for RVs and travel trailers. Come next spring, he was planning to develop an on-site water feature of some kind. Maybe a large pool with a water slide and a concession area. He was the new kid on the block but determined to suck up some of the profits from the Devons and the Caldwells.
His living quarters were in the attached log house at the back of the office. He’d just come up front to open the office and check new online reservations when the door opened and two men in dark suits walked in. Before he could speak, they flashed their badges and introduced themselves.
“Mr. Barton, I’m Special Agent Howard, and this is my partner, Special Agent Pickard. We need to ask you some questions.”
“Of course. Take a seat,” Jack said, and then frowned. “So. The FBI? What’s going on?”
“We just have a few questions. It won’t take long.”
Jack shrugged. “Ask away.”
“Do you do long-term rentals in your tiny cabins?” Howard asked.
Jack frowned. “What do you mean by long-term?”
“Someone renting on a monthly basis,” Howard said.
“Not in the tiny cabins. I’d have to check registration about the camping areas.”
“Would you do that, please? We’ll wait,” Pickard said.
Jack turned to the computer, pulled up registration records, and began scanning through the list. “I have one campsite registered to a college student who’s been here since the first week of July. He spends most of his time in the woods studying something or other.”
“What’s his name and where’s the campsite located?” Pickard asked.
“Kevin Vanzant. He has a travel trailer set up at Campsite 22 at the north end of the property.”
“How do we get there?” Howard asked.
“Just follow the road in front of this office and take the north fork that goes into the forest beyond the cabins. The sites are numbered. Stay on the main road and you can’t miss it.”
“Would you be willing to rent one of the cabins on a monthly basis?” Howard asked.
Jack shrugged. “Sure, but there’s no price break for a long-term rental. Cabins are $125 a night and sleep four. A mini-kitchen/living/dining area. A single bathroom. One queen-size bed downstairs. Twin beds up in the little loft.”
“Do you have problems with people who leave without notifying you, or people who skip out without paying up?”
“Occasionally, but they all leave a credit card number at the office when they register, so we just charge them and email them a receipt.”
“We’re going to need a list of those names from this past July to date.”
Jack frowned. “That will take some time.”
Howard nodded. “We want to visit Campsite 22 and talk to Mr. Vanzant, so we’ll stop back by the office on our way out, okay?”
“Yes. I’ll have the list for you then,” Jack said, and was already searching back files as he heard them drive away.
***
Pickard was driving toward the RV park, and Howard was riding shotgun.
“What do you think?” Howard asked.
“If this Vanzant dude seems sketchy, I think we need to get an undercover agent in here. According to the info I have pulled up here, when Biggers first attacked Rachel Pope, she was still living at home with her mother. Biggers has been in prison for four years. He wouldn’t know where Rachel was now, and why would he care? I think somebody sent him for this specific kid.”
Howard nodded. “I agree, and I think our undercover needs to be female. If there’s a branch of the trafficking ring working out of this isolated tourist attraction, a single female suddenly appearing on her own should be the lure we need to catch them in the act.”
