They asked when I last saw Joy. I said Monday morning, when I drove her to the airport for her Houston trip. They asked why she was going to Houston. I said it was her company’s annual meeting, something top performers attended. It was supposedly her third year.
They asked about her luggage. I told them she forgot it, thinking I had grabbed it when I warmed up the car. We had to turn back, which ruined our breakfast plans, and then I dropped her at the airport.
They asked how often she traveled. Twice a year, I said. 2 weeks in February for the general meeting, 2 weeks in August for training in Indianapolis. They asked whether Houston hosted the general meeting every year. I told them no. Last year was Los Angeles, the year before that New York.
They asked if anyone might want to hurt her. I said maybe a client. Her company’s sales tactics were sketchy. People signed up for a free kids’ information kit, and Joy delivered it while trying to sell life insurance. Some people got upset.
Then they asked whether Joy could have been with someone in Vail.
I sighed and gave them a list of her colleagues. Maybe one of them knew why she had not been in Houston.
Eventually, they let me go. Phillips asked if I was heading home. I said no, I would find a motel.
I left the station with more questions than answers.
At the hospital, visiting hours were over. A guard told me I could come back at 7:00 a.m. I asked for hotel recommendations, and he joked that in Vail during ski season, cheap meant staying with relatives.
Back in the car, I remembered Joy’s belongings.
I checked the inventory list carefully. A prescription bottle of Percocet, left over from dental work, was missing. Why had she still been carrying it? Then I noticed her boots. Joy always took them on trips, and I remembered that she used to hide key cards inside them.
Sure enough, I found one.
Blank. No logo. No name.
I had a key.
I did not know to what.
Then I realized Joy’s phone was not listed in the inventory and was not in her purse.
That, strangely enough, was useful.
My neighbor Steven had developed a phone-tracking app after his partner kept losing his phone. Joy had lost hers often enough that I had installed it on her phone too. I opened the app, entered her number, and watched the map load.
I was 4 miles away from her phone.
I started the car and followed the directions up the mountain to a ski resort filled with luxurious lodges. I parked Joy’s BMW among the Lexuses and Audis, then walked toward the building the app indicated. Her phone was in room 114.
The key card did not work.
I climbed to the second floor and tried 214.
Nothing.
On the third floor, 314 opened.
I stood outside the door with the key in my hand, listening. Nothing moved inside.
I should have called the cops.
Instead, I opened the door.
The room was dark, lit only by the hallway behind me. I stepped inside and turned on the light.
The room felt wrong.
Too clean. Not professionally cleaned, but arranged. The bed was made, though the quilt hung unevenly. Joy’s suitcase sat on the bed, neatly packed. Her phone charged on the nightstand. Her laptop rested on a small table by the window. It looked like someone had tried to make the room appear untouched, but had not understood what untouched actually looked like.
In the bathroom, I saw damp spots on the sink. Soap in the shower. Towels neatly stacked, but wet at the bottom. Someone had tried to clean up without proper cleaning products.
Back at the bed, I pulled back the blanket. The sheets were wrinkled as if someone had slept there, but I saw no blood, no torn fabric, no obvious signs of violence.
I sat at the table and picked up Joy’s phone. She never used passwords, so I got in easily. As her laptop booted, I called my sister Beth and asked her to take care of Piper. Then I made the harder call to Jim, Joy’s father, and told him what I knew.
“I hope this is just a misunderstanding,” I said, trying to stay calm.
Jim sighed.
“Call me when you know more.”
Next, I called my cousin Hugh, a detective, and asked him to contact the Vail police. He agreed and said he would keep me updated.
Then I called the lodge and asked for Joy Rigby or Joy McIntyre.
No one by either name was registered.
Joy’s laptop finally booted. Her browser history and emails were wiped clean. Joy never deleted anything. On her phone, the text messages were gone too.
Someone was covering their tracks.
I opened her suitcase and found 1 business suit, 3 cocktail dresses, and a lot of lingerie.
This was not a business trip wardrobe.
By then, I knew divorce was likely. I just did not know yet how deep the rot went.
Part 2
I spent the night in the chair by the table because I could not bring myself to sleep in the bed.
In the morning, after a quick shower, I left the room with Joy’s phone and laptop, leaving the suitcase untouched. I got coffee and called Detective Phillips to report the key card. She asked me to meet her at the station in half an hour.
When I arrived, she greeted me and led me to her office. I handed her the key card. She looked at me for a moment.
“You look like a man whose world has collapsed,” she said.
“I think I’m going to lose my wife over this,” I replied. “I’d like to hear her explanation, but I doubt I can believe it.”
“Don’t lose hope yet,” she said.
Her face suggested I should.
I thanked her and headed to the hospital. Joy’s visiting schedule allowed me 15 minutes every 2 hours. During one visit, I stood beside her bed and stared at her, hoping she would wake up and explain everything in a way that made the world less ugly.
Dr. Benson came in and told me Joy was recovering, but he recommended transferring her to Denver for better rehabilitation. He mentioned the head injury and possible brain damage, but my mind kept circling the same questions. Why Vail? Why the wiped laptop? Why the lingerie? Why the room that looked staged?
I signed transfer papers and asked if the rest could be handled at St. Luke’s closer to home.
“Where is home?” he asked.
“Colorado Springs.”
He frowned, made a call, and returned with a changed plan. Joy would be transferred to St. Augustine’s in Colorado Springs instead. It was just as good, he said, and easier for family to visit.
I signed the new papers, visited Joy one last time, and left with tears in my eyes. At least it was normal to cry in a hospital. Anywhere else, people would stare.
On the way out of Vail, I called Jim with an update.
When I got home, my sister Beth’s Jeep was in the driveway, and Piper greeted me like I had survived a war. Beth took one look at me and knew something was wrong. I hugged her, told her I loved her, and everything came spilling out. I broke down mourning the end of a marriage that was not officially over but had already become a body I could not revive.
Beth stayed with me late into the night and tried to get me to eat. I was not hungry. I still had to tell Jim and Ivonne everything properly, and Beth came with me for that.
As I explained what I had found, I saw a shift in Jim’s face. He was no longer certain Joy had not wronged me. I had seen that expression on him once before, years earlier, before Joy and I were married.
Back then, Joy and I had been dating for several months when she canceled our weekend plans. I was annoyed, but accepted it. Then I heard Jim yelling in the background, telling her that son of a bitch had better meet him. Worried, I drove over.
Jim met me at the door furious.
“You’re no better than that other prick,” he shouted. “If you’re going to hurt my daughter, come at me.”
I was stunned.
“Hurt your daughter? What are you talking about?”
Joy and Ivonne came outside, and I saw Joy had a black eye.
“What happened?” I asked.
Jim shouted that I had struck her.
Joy quickly intervened.
“He didn’t touch me, Daddy. I had dinner with Garrett, and we argued. I walked away too angry and hurt to stay.”
Jim tried to apologize, but I told Joy we were done. I drove aimlessly until I found myself near Garrett’s place. When he opened the door with a smug grin, I punched him in the face. I kept punching until he stopped reacting, then kicked him a few more times for good measure. When I noticed moving boxes, I asked if he was moving. He groaned, and I kicked him once more.
“Happy trip,” I said before leaving.
At home, I iced my knuckles. Joy called, pleading, but I hung up. She kept calling for an hour before the phone finally stopped. Then my cousin Hugh called. He was the only one who called me Zeke, a family nickname from my middle name.
“Just a heads-up,” Hugh said. “CSPD got a call about Garrett Jimenez being in bad shape. He told the cops some big guy kicked his butt. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I laughed and said I had no idea.
“Be careful, Zeke,” he warned. “If someone connects you to this, it could get messy.”
The police showed up not long after, but I had my hockey gear laid out and scratches on my knuckles that looked like they came from a rough game. Since I played for a police-sponsored team, the officer seemed satisfied.
That Saturday, I skated hard. When I got home, notes were pinned to my door, mostly from Joy, but one from Jim apologizing for assuming the worst and asking me not to hold it against her. I called Jim and told him he had reacted the way any father would. It was not his fault Joy had not told him the truth.
He asked if I wanted to talk to Joy. I could hear her pleading in the background.
“No,” I told him. “She knew what Garrett was like, and she let you think I hit her. She ruined our plans so I wouldn’t see her face. I don’t have time for cheating women.”
Now, years later, in Jim and Ivonne’s house, the memory was back between us.
“I’m glad they brought her here, son,” Jim said after I finished explaining the present mess. “But I hope you’re not planning anything drastic.”
“No, sir. I’m not hiring lawyers yet. Joy has a lot of explaining to do.”
“Whatever happens,” Ivonne said, “we still think of you as family. I hope you won’t cut us out of your life.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
On the way home, Beth asked if I would be okay.
“Do I have a choice?” I said. “I’m not curling up and dying.”
“If she cheated, is there any chance you’d stay together?”………………………..
