Eye of the Beholder (28 page)

“Help yourself. I'll go check out the bedroom.”

“Remember, don't move anything,” he said as he
disappeared into the small office.

“Don't worry, I've read enough mystery and suspense novels to know how to do this. I'll be careful.”

She walked down the hall and stopped in front of an open door. There was enough of Shadow Canyon's perpetual twilight coming through the windows to reveal a bed and a chest of drawers.

A squeak sounded behind her. She jumped and swung around so quickly she nearly lost her balance. Another dose of adrenaline poured through her, making her palms go cold.

“Trask?” she whispered.

“What?” His voice came softly through the open door of the office. It was accompanied by another squeak.

She realized that what she had heard was the sound of a metal file cabinet drawer being opened.

“Nothing.” She exhaled deeply, tightened her grip on the flashlight, and stepped into the bedroom.

Her first impression was that there was nothing out of the ordinary. The bed had been made. The closet doors were neatly closed.

She used the flashlight to illuminate the titles of the volumes on the nightstand.
Dimensions in Our Lives. A Daily Journey Through Dimensions. Losing Weight the Dimensions Way.

“You're really into this Dimensions thing, aren't you, Liz?” she whispered.

She crossed the room to the closet and cautiously opened the doors. The flashlight beam revealed a large gap between a pair of dark blue slacks and a little black cocktail dress. It was as if someone had
grabbed all of the garments that had hung between the pants and the dress and yanked them out of the closet.

As if someone had packed in a huge hurry.

There was also a large, empty space on the shelf above the rod. It looked to be about the right size for a suitcase.

Turning, she walked quickly into the adjoining bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet and aimed the light at the shelves. They were virtually empty. Only a box of ear swabs and a half-filled bottle of mouthwash remained.

She went back through the bedroom and out into the hall. She stuck her head around the doorway.

“I think you're right,” she said. “It looks like Liz not only left in a hurry, she intends to stay gone for a while. A bunch of clothes and all of her toiletries and cosmetics are missing.”

Trask did not look up from the contents of one of the file cabinets. “Something scared her off, all right.”

“The guy with the knife, probably.”

“Maybe. The only thing we can be sure of at the moment is that it's going to be impossible to get Strood to take this seriously. There's no hard evidence that anything's wrong here.”

She realized he was fully occupied with Liz's files, so she turned and continued to the end of the hall.

One of the shoji screen panels stood open. Her stomach flip-flopped when she realized that the panel had been left in that position by the intruder. It was proof of her story but not the kind that Strood would buy.

The dim light of the Shadow Canyon dawn filtered through the pale drapes of the meditation room.
Nothing had altered here. The rose-colored crystal sat in the same position on the low table. The pillow was exactly where it had been the last time she was in this room.

She played the flashlight beam around the small chamber. It splashed across the crowded bookcase. A chill of awareness went through her.

Trask came up quietly behind her. “What is it?”

“I'm not sure. This room feels different.”

She ran the flashlight over the bookcase again. The various Dimensions titles still stood packed together on the shelves. She was about to give up when it hit her.

“The journal is gone,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

She turned slowly to look at him. “Liz's Dimensions personal journal. It's gone. If she hasn't been back, then
he
must have taken it.”

“The guy with the knife?”

“Yes. But why on earth would he do that?”

“Beats me. What's a Dimensions personal journal?”

“It's used for recording your progress toward a heightened state of peace and serenity. You get one when you take a course at the Institute. Liz's was sitting right there on top of that bookcase yesterday. Now it's gone.”

“What kind of stuff would she record in the journal?”

“I don't know. A journal is supposed to be a very personal thing. It's a sort of diary. Liz probably used it to jot down her feelings about her meditation exercises.”

“How about the name of her personal meditation guide?”
Trask asked thoughtfully. “Would she have written that down?”

Alexa swallowed as she realized where he was headed with that question. Liz's personal meditation guide could well have been the last person to see her before she disappeared.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Now that you mention it, she might have made some reference to her guide. Oh, lord, Trask, it's just the kind of thing that she
would
have put into a personal journal. Do you think it was one of the Institute's meditation guides who chased me with that knife?”

“No way to know. But if all he took was Liz Guthrie's journal, there must be something in it he wanted.”

“Do you realize what this means?” Alexa spun around to face him. “If we can find out who her personal meditation guide is, we'll have a handle on this thing.”

“Maybe. But in the meantime, some interesting new questions have been raised.”

“What do you mean?”

Trask held up a buff-colored folder. “According to the contents of this file and some of the others in her office, Liz and Dean Guthrie not only continued to sleep together after the divorce, they invested together.”

“What?”

Trask smiled with the grim satisfaction of the hunter who has sighted prey. “It looks like they were partners in several ventures. Apparently they decided not to let a little thing like a divorce spoil a good financial relationship.”

Alexa felt her mouth go dry. “Were they both
involved in the new Dimensions Santa Fe project? The one you said Guthrie wanted to pull the plug on?”

“Probably.” Trask tucked the folder under his arm and led the way down the hall. “There are no records on that particular venture. The guy who took the journal probably took that file, too. Hell, he could have taken several files. There's no way to know.”

“You're overlooking the possibility that Liz herself took some of her files with her when she left yesterday.”

“True.” The gem-hard gleam in Trask's eyes did not waver. “There's one more thing I haven't mentioned. If she and Guthrie were partners in the Dimensions project in Santa Fe and if that partnership was structured the same way their other ventures were, then a very interesting fact emerges.”

“Which is?”

“Liz Guthrie now controls everything Dean Guthrie left behind, including his investment portfolio.”

Alexa absorbed that. “Maybe someone got rid of Dean because he knew that Liz would inherit and he figured he could control Liz.”

“You're getting very good at this conspiracy theory stuff. I may have to promote you.”

“To what? Head Conspiracy Buff? No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Trask tightened his grip on the folder and started toward the door. “But as far as I'm concerned, everything in this file just adds weight to the evidence against Webster Bell. He's got motive and he's got opportunity. He's also got plenty of minions out there at the Institute.”

“I know this doesn't look good for Bell.” Alexa hurried after him. “But I
have a hard time picturing him as a murderer.”

“Maybe that's why he gets away with murder. But if I'm right, I can tell you one more thing.”

“What?”

Trask glanced back over his shoulder. “Liz Guthrie may have bigger problems than having her personal finances controlled by Webster Bell.”

“What's worse than having your money controlled by a weird metaphysical guru who wants you to pour all of your cash into his Institute?”

“Getting murdered by a weird metaphysical guru who decides he doesn't need you around anymore,” Trask said.

Alexa chilled. She paused to close the door. “There would be no point in killing Liz. If you're right, she's the goose that lays the golden eggs. If something happens to her, there won't be any more eggs.”

“There would be lots of golden eggs for Dimensions if Webster Bell has managed to persuade Liz to leave everything to the Institute in her will.”

A sense of dread settled on Alexa as she went down the steps. “People do stuff like that, don't they? Put foundations and universities and trusts and things into their wills?”

“All the time.”

“Maybe that's why she took off for parts unknown.”

“Maybe,” Trask agreed. “Disappearing would certainly be the logical thing to do under the circumstances. At least until she gets her will changed.”

26
 

Trask walked into the hotel lobby shortly after ten and found it thronged. The milling guests were preparing to board a gleaming bus parked in the circular drive. A placard in the front window of the vehicle announced that it was bound for a tour of local “Hot Spots.”

Only in Avalon would the words
hot spots
refer to points of metaphysical interest, Trask thought. In any other resort town the phrase would imply a scenic tour of trendy bars and nightclubs.

“'Morning, Trask.” Pete Santana greeted him with the jaunty smile of an innkeeper with a full house. “I've been looking for you. Thought you'd like to see this.” He raised his hand to reveal the newspapers he held. “We've got full-page feature spreads in both the Phoenix and the Tucson papers. They love us.”

“Let me see those.” Trask took the papers from him. Both were folded back to the articles on the resort.

A NEW JEWEL IN AVALON'S CROWN

Trask ran his eye quickly down the column until he spotted the words
Art Deco.
Then he paused to read more carefully.

Trask stopped reading and refolded the papers. A single paragraph in a daily newspaper noting the hotel's collection was not going to be enough for Alexa. She needed more than that to make her big comeback.

He handed the papers back to Pete. “Looks like we're off and running.”

Pete grinned. “You can say that again. They called the resort a desert fantasy. We're getting a fresh surge in convention bookings.”

Trask inclined his head to indicate the crowded lobby. “Looks good.”

Pete studied the guests with undisguised satisfaction. “The Avalon Spring Festival is a huge draw, of course. We opened at the perfect time. Avalon is hot and getting hotter.”

“Dad was right all along.” Trask started toward the staircase. “It was just his timing that was off. It always was.”

He went up the steps to the second floor and walked the length of the west wing to the door of his suite. He exchanged winks with
Dancing Satyr
as he opened the door.

“You're looking better every day.”

He let himself into the room and went straight to the desk to check his messages. There were three from the Seattle office. He listened to them, concluded they were of minor nuisance value only, and erased them.

He took the time to grind some of the dark-roasted beans from his precious stockpile and made himself a decent cup of coffee.

Then he picked up the phone and dialed Phil Okuda's number.

Phil came on the line immediately.

“It's Trask.”

“I was afraid of that,” Phil said dryly. “I still haven't got a lead on Liz Guthrie, if that's what you're calling about. She's definitely trying to hide.
None of her friends have heard from her. There's no close family. Looks like she's using cash only, not credit cards or checks or anything else that can be traced easily.”

“Can you find her if she's living on cash?”

“Sure. Just takes a little longer, that's all.”

“Put some extra people on it, Phil. I think we need to get to her fast.”