Chapter 2

MILLIONAIRE OWNER OF LOURDES AEROSPACE MURDERED IN HER HOME. . .

CAMILLA LOURDES OF MILLION-DOLLAR AEROSPACE COMPANY FOUND DEAD. . .

THE OWNER OF DETROIT’S BIGGEST AEROSPACE COMPANY WAS SHOT DEAD IN HER HOME. . .

Colleen read every article that was written with those headlines or anything remotely close to it. In the last seven days, she stalked the internet like an addict searching for any leads involving the case; looking to see if the police confirmed someone was in the room with Camilla Lourdes when she kicked the bucket. A memorial service has already been held for her after her body was cremated by her family as she wished. So, Camilla was gone physically, but she still haunted Colleen’s dreams.

Liz snatched the phone away from her hand. “Goodness, Colleen! You’ll go mad if you continue like this.”

Then, the taxi driver pulled over in front of the twelve-foot silver steel gate of the resort, effectively shutting what was going to be another round of Colleen nagging about how guilty she felt.

“We’re here, ma’am.” The man looked at them through the rear mirror of the car. “Would you like me to help you with your bags?”

“Oh yes. Thank you.”

Together, they helped the man pull out the two massive items of luggage in the boot before appreciating him once again and paying him off.

“Okay, Colleen. I am only going to give this speech to you one last time,” Liz started sternly when the taxi driver was out of sight. “Camilla Lourdes was shot for reasons we do not know. And it just so happened that we were there when it happened. I wouldn’t call it unfortunate, because then we wouldn’t be here today if we weren’t at her house. We didn’t kill her. We’re not guilty. So please, stop continuously making me feel like crap. Yes, it feels wrong, but as I have always said, no one will find out what we did if we do not say anything. If you go around digging too much and being overly curious, people will begin to suspect you. Stop obsessing over her death, will you?”

Face flat, Colleen was mute.

“Let’s just make the most of our three weeks at DESC. Let’s focus on ourselves. Can you at least do that? For me?”

Slowly, she shook her head in affirmation. Liz was right. They really had nothing to do with Camilla’s death.

Hand in hand, they passed through the steel gate of the resort which was owned by Camilla’s son, Andre Jacques Lourdes, who has quite the reputation in the City and beyond.

Harbor Bridge Resort and Spa was, simply put, magnificent. Considering that it was summertime and the place was known to be sizzling during the summer, Colleen and Liz didn’t expect anything less when they stepped into the large surroundings capable of housing at least thirty massive buildings.

In awe, they made their way to the reception which was twice the size of a park. Although it was enormous, the lobby managed to have a cozy feel that made them feel welcome and perhaps at ease. They showed the smiling blonde their acceptance mail and underwent some routine checks.

“Welcome to Harbor Bridge Resort, ma’ams. And congratulations on getting into the Detroit Entrepreneurship Summer Camp,” the woman said after the check was complete. “You’re just in time for the second tour of the resort if you would like to.”

Colleen and Liz exchanged looks before saying in unison, “No, thank you.”

“Alright. The briefing will begin in about thirty minutes in the main hall on the first floor. Give me a few minutes to ring the key cards to your room.”

Five minutes later, Colleen and Liz were handed two keycards each.

“If you have trouble finding your way around the resort, you can d******d our directional app or scan the QR code over there to get it. Our hotlines are listed there as well, so if you need anything, please place a call. Do have a wonderful stay at Harbor Bridge.”

As they moved away from the tiled counter separating them and the receptionist, they marveled at how expensive the place is, wondering how much it would cost to book a weekend here.

“I can’t believe they have an app just for directions,” Liz muttered to herself, chuckling. “What’s your room number, Leen?”

Colleen turned her card over and answered, “East Wing. Room 128. Yours?”

“Oh, bummer. I’m on the West Wing. 82.”

“Pfft. Do they hand the numbers randomly or is the universe just against us?”

“It’s alright. At least we’re still in the same building.”

She turned to give Liz a weird look. “This place could very much pass as a town. There’s no way we’re seeing each other ‘accidentally.’”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. How far can the East wing be from the West wing?”

Ten! Ten minutes far. That was the answer. After following Liz to her room, she went on to hers, which was surprisingly a ten minute walk. The room, her room, was enormous. Probably the size of her entire flat, which wasn’t worth all the hassle the landlord has brought upon her in the last few weeks.

A moderate-sized bed was pushed towards the wall of the room and a brown sofa with a small table was adjacent to it. In front of the bed hung a television and a cabinet. There was a terrace that opened up to the beachside. At least she was lucky on this one. Liz’s terrace overlooked a basketball court filled with sweaty men dunking and gawking.

Colleen laid her luggage on the floor and zipped it open. She had on her a white fermont top with sleeves that covered her up to her elbow, and a pleated skirt long enough to pass her knees. Her curled-up copper hair dropped the length of her back. To finish up the classy look, twisted hoop earrings adorned her ears. Colleen ditched the wedge sandals she had come into the resort with, deciding to settle for something more comfortable; a half-covered shoe.

By now, it was almost time for the briefing which was going to be happening in the main hall of the first floor, that is, a couple of floors below her room. As she strutted through the hallway, maneuvering the Harbor Bridge directional app, she stumbled across someone she knew.

Who said you’d never bump into familiar faces accidentally? Right! It was Liz. The same Liz who had told her not to panic, everything would be fine if only she shut her mouth.

Well, right about now, Colleen was beyond panicking. Who she was staring at was one of the many people who submitted their application to Camilla Lourdes at the gallery a couple of weeks ago.

Selena was her name if she could recall correctly. Selena was there when Camilla rejected both Colleen and Liz. Selena was the last of the five candidates Camilla chose. She had told three of them that she could only take one and, unfortunately, it was Selena who got the spot.

How was she supposed to explain that she got into DESC when applications were full and closed?

As she neared her, Colleen used her eyes to search for an escape.

Lucky for her, a door leading to heaven knows where was just a few steps away from where she had been transfixed for over five seconds. In the speed of light, she hurried through the door, making sure to leave it slightly ajar, enough for her to peep at Selena as she walked past the door, into the main hall. The very hall where she and Liz would be in just a few minutes from now.

Things were already beginning to fall apart barely thirty minutes after their arrival. How could they possibly make it through three whole weeks?

Colleen breathed out a sigh. Liz would handle Selena, she hoped.

It was now she took in the surroundings of the place she had gone into.

Her eyes widened to saucers when she found the line of urinals across from her. As if that wasn’t enough proof that she was in the men’s toilet, there had to be a man, hands tucked into his pockets, watching her with furrowed brows as she peeped through the door.

Worse of all, it wasn’t just any man. It was Mr. Detroit as some articles have described him. The son of the major benefactor of this entrepreneurship camp, Andre Lourdes.

Colleen couldn’t have been more embarrassed in her entire life. For what was nearly two minutes, neither of them spoke. Andre enjoyed watching her squirm on the spot as she looked for how to explain being in the men’s room.

To his dismay, it was short-lived. Colleen dashed out of the toilet and into the main hall, hoping not to ever see him again.

But how could she possibly hide from the man organizing this camp?