The Means by Douglas Brunt Page B

body?”
    â€œThe maid didn’t get an answer to the door so she called the manager. He found the body.”
    â€œWhat time was that?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWhen was the last time anyone saw Meadow Jones?”
    The guard turns a bit to look right at her. “Look, lady. I don’t know. And I’m not supposed to guess. I’m not supposed to talk about it. Everyone here has been told not to talk about it.”
    â€œSure. Got it.” Samantha takes a few photos with her phone to look at later and walks in the direction of the ocean and the outdoor bar. The pool is about a hundred feet long with an infinity edge and is lined with palm trees. The last twenty feet of the pool is given to two-inch-deep water so people can bring in a chair and sit with wet feet.
    It’s four p.m. so the pool area is in transition from serious sunning and casual drinking to serious drinking and casual flirting. Samantha orders drinks from two different waitresses, mentioning she’s a reporter, and is met with no information both times.
    She decides to stop introducing herself as a reporter and targets the most handsome of the bartenders.
    At the end of the pool is an area of sand with rows of lounge chairs. Beyond that is thick brush and on the other side of the brush is the real beach and the ocean. She walks the trail through the brush where she fixes her hair and reapplies makeup, then walks back to the Delano property.
    The outdoor bar has a straw-thatched roof and is by the sand and the corner of the pool. She concentrates on her approach to the bar even though she’s certain that the more she tries to look pretty the less she does.
    She makes sure to get the bartender’s eye as she approaches the bar. She feels like a twit. He’ll either laugh at her or find something interesting, but there’s no question there will be an impression of some kind. “Gin and tonic.” A more masculine drink will be better to order. Guys love girls who smoke cigars and drink gin and tonics.
    â€œComing up.” He smiles and makes the drink without ever looking at his hands. He keeps his eyes on his audience like a magician. “Tough day at the beach?” He glances at her fingers, confirms no engagement ring, and looks back at her eyes.
    He looks about thirty. Old enough that he must be a career bartender and young enough that his tan still looks healthy. A youthful tan is attractive but a tan on old skin makes people think only of wrinkles and cancer. He’s almost six feet with lean features and a lean body. “No, I just got here today. Beach day tomorrow.”
    He slides a gin and tonic across the bar to her still without having looked at it. It’s filled right to the rim and he knows this the way a gunslinger knows if there’s a round in the chamber by the weight of the gun in his hand. He thinks of himself as a sort of gunslinger. “Here with friends?”
    â€œA girlfriend.” This is true. Emily Rosen is the booker UBS assigned to travel with Samantha. Emily’s a twenty-four-year-old petite blond scrapper and Samantha likes her.
    â€œAre you staying here?”
    â€œI can barely afford the drinks here, let alone the rooms. We’re staying down the road.”
    â€œThis one’s on the house.” He raps the bar top with his knuckles.
    Samantha takes a sip. “What’s all the police tape for?”
    â€œI guess you’ve been traveling.” He puts both palms down on the bar and leans toward Samantha. “You know who Hugh Brooks is?”
    â€œThe actor.”
    â€œRight. He’s dead.”
    â€œThat’s awful.” Samantha can feel her own acting but knows everyone’s genuine response to this sort of news about a stranger can feel forced. “Isn’t he about nineteen?”
    â€œHe’s twenty-one. He and his costar girlfriend both just turned twenty-­one. Meadow Jones. Isn’t