Jenna followed the line of her finger and then turned back to her. “Is Agnes still here? We’d like to speak to her.”
“Yes, she lives in the staff quarters. Do you need to speak with her now? I’ll send her right along.” The receptionist went to pick up the phone.
“Just a minute. We’ll talk to her later. You mentioned being on duty last night. Did you see anyone with Miss Storm before she left for her chalet at midnight?” Kane took out his notebook and pen.
“Oh, yes, I did. She was chatting in front of the fire with the author of the Black Rock Falls series.” The woman waved someone toward the desk. “Here she is now.”
Jenna recognized the author at once from the image on the back of the book covers and offered her hand. “Sheriff Jenna Alton. Thank you for putting our town on the map.”
“It’s surreal meeting you, Sheriff, and this must be Deputy Kane?” The blonde woman smiled broadly. “You’re just as I imagined. This is my niece, Rachal Whitley.” She indicated to a young woman beside her. “I’m guessing you’ll want to know when I last saw Dakota? We all came together, same flight. I was attending a book signing out of Wild Woods, Oregon. Last night we had dinner together and I went to my room around ten. She was making notes and drinking hot chocolate in front of the fire when I last saw her.” She frowned. “I hope nothing bad has happened to her. As a literary agent, she has her enemies.”
“Explain.” Kane removed his gloves and leaned on the counter.
“Well, she is an excellent agent and subsequently receives a ton of submissions for representation, but she can’t sign everyone and people get disappointed by rejection.” The author opened her hands and sighed. “Such is life.”
“Oh, Auntie, you never say a bad word about anyone do you?” Rachal rolled her eyes. “The problem with Dakota is that she’s a nasty person. None of her PAs have lasted more than a month or so, and how many husbands has she had—five, or is it six? There would be so many people out there apart from authors she’s upset and who hate her. Honestly, she had her entire house decorated by a New York designer and then blogged he’d ruined her home.” She shook her head. “Okay, so she claims she’s ultra-busy when she declines an author’s pitch, and rather than contacting the authors with a personal note, her secretary sends out a form rejection letter.” She sighed. “Everyone knows what she’s like. For heaven’s sake, she insists people call her Miss Storm. It’s no wonder she gets awful feedback.”
“Is this normal practice for agents?” Kane looked interested. “The form rejection letter?”
“Most agents send out more cordial rejection letters. I’ve spoken to Dakota about this, but she’s not one to be tactful.” Rachal sighed. “It’s not just about writing a story. Many authors consider their work as ‘their baby’ and take rejection very personally. Their submission might represent years of hard work, and one single word of encouragement would go a long way.”
Amazed, Jenna nodded. “Yes, but there must be a ton of writers who’d never have a hope of being published.”
“I would never say never. Writing is a compulsion, and it takes time to learn how to present a manuscript in a way that makes it attractive to an agent o
r publisher. Dakota never offers any help and makes it worse by adding their names to a list on her rejections page. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be after getting one of her caustic form rejection letters?” Rachal smiled at Jenna. “Although, a formal rejection might have been nicer in my experience. You see, the only other agent I ever approached replied with one word: meh. Whatever that means.”
“That’s water under the bridge.” The Black Rock Falls series author laughed. “Rachal’s type of thrillers wasn’t to her particular taste, but she has Dakota now.” She chuckled. “As a bestselling author, she can laugh now, but rejection and criticism are part of the job.”
“I’m sure the agent who rejected Rachal regrets missing out on their percentage of her income.” Jenna smiled. “You obviously need a tough skin to be an author and yet you seem so normal.”
“We’re all normal.” The author smiled warmly. “For me, sharing my stories and meeting my readers is the charm.”
“I’ve read all your books.” Jenna patted her backpack. “I was planning on heading down to the book signing this morning before Dakota went missing.”
“Don’t worry. You go and find Dakota and I’ll be happy to autograph your books.” The author smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”
Jenna pulled out the books and piled them on the counter. “Thank you. That’s so kind of you.”
“Is Miss Storm your agent too?” Kane was making notes.
“Mine? No. We’re just friends. I don’t have an agent.” The author smiled ruefully.
Pulling herself back to the missing woman’s case, Jenna straightened. “It was great meeting you. We’d better go speak to the manager about locating Miss Storm.” She indicated to the manager’s office door. “If you leave my books here at reception, I’ll collect them when we’re done here. Thanks again. Keep those books coming.” Reluctantly, she walked across the foyer and knocked on the door.
The door opened wide. A tall thin man with graying wavy hair and what might be called “fashionable stubble,” or he’d neglected to shave the untidy growth on his face, stood to one side and waved them into the room. Jenna unzipped her jacket, the heat from the log fire defrosting her cheeks. “Mr. Brightway, I’m Sheriff Alton and this is Deputy Kane. Could you run us through the incident this morning?”
Brightway repeated what the receptionist had said verbatim. Jenna took in his concerned expression. “And you’ve searched the resort for Miss Storm?”
“As well as we can possibly search a place this big. I’ve checked the CCTV footage and she left the hotel at twelve-twenty and headed for the chalets. There’d been a few guests before her but the majority left for their chalets around ten. She’s not on the footage during the night and hasn’t returned here this morning. My people did a sweep of the area and we’ve made countless announcements, but no one has seen her since last night.”
Jenna glanced at Kane and caught his concerned expression. “So, the CCTVs cover only the entrance to the resort? Why aren’t they over the entire complex?”
“Snow. It builds up, frost covers the lenses. It gets very cold up here. The camera here is in the lobby. It’s inside and covers the entrance and right out to the parking lot.” Mr. Brightway shrugged. “It’s the best we can do.”
“How many fire exits do you have?” Kane looked up from his notes. “I assume there’s a staff entrance as well?”
“Eight fire exits and all have alarms, so I’d know if anyone used them, and the staff entrance is the back door to the kitchen.” Mr. Brightway pushed a hand through his hair, obviously irritated. “The door from the lodge to the kitchens requires a passkey. It is clearly marked as a staff entrance with a sign above the door. I doubt the guests would take much notice of it. Anyone accessing the staff entrance from outside would need to know the code for the keypad. The passageway the staff uses runs beside the kitchen and opens into a mudroom, where the staff can change their shoes and leave their coats.”