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I’d been here exactly once—fifteen years ago for my senior prom.
Saguaro Springs also offered golf memberships, spa services, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, and had three bars and two restaurants for members and resort guests.
Arizonians loved their golf. My dad tried with all of us, but only Lu and Jack took up the sport. Jack to socialize and hang with friends, Lu because she was competitive and liked to win. So did I—which is why I didn’t play golf.
When Brittney first hired me and I researched Logan, I learned he had bought the resort three years ago with an investor group that included two retired baseball players and a former Arizona congresswoman. They’d gotten a steal because the previous ownership group had mismanaged it. They’d done major renovations and apparently it was now in the black. No small feat. I didn’t know how hands-on Logan was, but he maintained a townhouse on the far side of the golf course that he used for friends and family—and now himself.
Even though temperatures were starting to creep up, it was still a respectable eighty degrees at ten in the morning, so the morning golfers dotted the landscape with their twosomes and foursomes, covered carts providing relief from direct sun when needed.
I hesitated, bumps rising on my skin, telling me someone was watching me. Could just be someone playing golf, maybe someone I knew, maybe staff. I looked around the area a second time, didn’t see anyone acting suspicious or staring at me.
A private patio led to Logan’s door. Putting aside the odd feeling, I knocked.
Logan came to the door. Dark circles under his eyes told me he hadn’t slept much. “Did we have a meeting?” he asked, confused.
“I wanted to check on you. Everything okay?”
He motioned for me to follow him inside. The ground floor of the townhouse was a single room set up as an office, with sliders that looked out at the golf course. He went up the stairs and I followed. The second floor had a large great room, full kitchen, and what appeared to be two bedrooms off the living area. A small deck in the front, a larger one in the back. He’d been working at the kitchen counter—his laptop was open beside three phones, and a stack of what appeared to be proposals, all bound and professional. The one he seemed to be in the middle of reading was neither bound nor professional-looking, but had a clear sheet cover like I used in school for essays.
“You’re busy,” I stated the obvious.
“Just going over potential projects.”
“I really don’t understand what you do.”
He shrugged. “A lot of different things. These,” he waved to the stack, “are ideas that people want funded. Most are blah. But I’m considering one of them.”
“And you just give them money?”
“A bit more complicated than that, but close enough.”
He sat on the couch; I stood by the window and looked out. A foursome was fifty yards away, two men and two women, all over sixty. They were doing more talking than golfing.
“Is Jennifer okay?” Logan asked. “Did she talk to the police?”
“All went well,” I said. “And Jack will stick with her until we know more about the threat from her father—or from Brad Parsons. Have you talked to Brittney?”
“Last night when I told her I wouldn’t be home. She’s been calling and texting me all morning.”
“Can I see?” I asked.
He pulled yet another phone from his pocket and handed it to me. Nineteen phone calls between yesterday at three—about the time I was talking to Logan at his office—and this morning. He’d answered only the first call yesterday, and made one outgoing call to Brittney last night at seven, right before we left Bisbee.
I opened his text messages with Brittney. Most were from her. There was a slew of them yesterday asking when he was going to be home, insisting that they needed to talk, that she had a bad feeling something was wrong. It was after that series that he had called her. After the call, she texted him multiple times asking why he wasn’t picking up his phone, she was worried, she was going to call the police if he didn’t talk to her right now. He’d responded once at 10:10 p.m.
I’m tired and have an early morning meeting. I will talk to you tomorrow.
She responded immediately.
I love you, baby. I miss you.
He hadn’t responded. Yep, he definitely believed that Brittney was involved with Brad Parsons.
Then the messages started up again this morning, along with several unanswered phone calls.
I handed him back his phone.
“I called Gavin last night after the conference call with Jennifer,” Logan said. “I told him everything—he needed to know because Desert West is his business, and he needs to protect himself and his employees. He and Ron had already taken some steps, but they’re hiring a forensic auditor—someone recommended by your mother—who should be able to figure out exactly what happened and how much money was stolen. I hope they’ll be able to prove that Parsons did it. He’s not answering Ron’s calls.”
