The Resort Read Online Free PDF Page B

gourmet cuisine. Lowell often made fun of her penchant for documenting every moment in their lives on film, but the truth was that he admired her dedication. He sometimes wished he had that sort of focus, no pun intended, but he was terminally lackadaisical about such things, and if Rachel hadn’t been so committed to recording their trips and gatherings and family milestones, the entire pictorial depiction of their life together would have consisted of a roll of honeymoon photos and a few blurry baby snapshots.
    He’d been afraid that they would be underdressed for the occasion in their shorts and light summer shirts, but to his surprise everyone, save a few elderly couples, was similarly attired. The food was formal but the atmosphere was not, and he decided that he could get used to resort living pretty easily. There seemed to be none of the pretensions of city life—it was like upscale Orange County without the emphasis on appearance—and that appealed to both the epicurean and egalitarian impulses within him. Though there were only a few other children in the dining room, neither he nor Rachel felt out of place here with their kids, and that too was nice.
    Afterward, they walked back to their room along a winding gravel path outlined by low solar-powered lights. The sun was down, but the western sky retained a trace of orange that delineated the far horizon. Big black beetles tottered on too-thin legs across the path before them, attracted by the lights, and here and there could be heard the staccato scuttling of lizard feet on sand.
    Rachel snapped a photo of a silhouetted saguaro, then made the four of them pose before a burbling Mexican fountain at the junction of two trails. It was night, but the temperature was still high, and Lowell was sweating as they made their way down the path. Below on the desert plain, he could see the glow of occasional ranch houses, and far away across the open country were clusters of lights of the towns they’d passed through on their way here. Somewhere to the south, behind the black bulk of the Catalina Mountains was Tucson.
    They met an elderly couple walking arm in arm just past the tennis courts who greeted them with a friendly “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” but other than that they were alone, and Lowell found himself wondering if there were bobcats out here. Or coyotes. There were undoubtedly rattlesnakes, and probably a whole host of nocturnal predators with which he wasn’t even familiar.
    Next time, he thought, they’d skip the trail and take the paved sidewalk. At least after dark.
    The path ended at the small paved lot where the guests of Building Five parked their vehicles. They passed between a Suburban and a Land Cruiser, then walked along the open corridor toward their rooms. Bugs flew in and out of the light, moths and assorted flying insects bumping arrhythmically against the glass of the porch lamps next to each room door. Lowell took out his key card, ran it through the reader. A green light winked on, and he pushed open the door.
    Or tried to.
    The door gave less than an inch before stopping with a loud metallic rattle. The interior bolt lock was engaged.
    â€œWho’s there?” a man’s gruff sleepy voice shouted from inside.
    Lowell nearly jumped in shock.
    Rachel did jump, and the panicked kids ran back down the corridor to the relative safety of the parking lot.
    Lowell pulled the door shut, an action that sounded absurdly amplified in the still night air.
    â€œI’m calling security!” the man yelled.
    Lowell didn’t know what to do. “You’re in our room!” he called out. He glanced over at Rachel, who looked back at him with confused, frightened eyes. He expected the door to open and to be confronted by an enraged Broderick Crawford look-alike, but instead his announcement was met with silence. Had the man gone back to sleep?
    â€œThis is our room! You’re in our room!”