Disappearance in the Desert: Jessica Thorpe novels, #2

By William Wresch

A former lover, the president of a Swiss bottling company, comes for Jessica. He proposes, and she travels with him to Dubai to be his wife and to help set up a new branch of the company. But she is not the only woman who wants him. Tricked into visiting a desert village, she is held while the other woman plots to take her fiancée. Jessica must get free before her man is lost to her forever. Her route to freedom may run through a man of the desert.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Wresch
• Release date: Aug 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463147573

William Wresch

I have three sets of books here. The first is an alternative history of the US, envisioning how things might have gone had the French prevailed in the French and Indian War. That series comes from some personal experiences. I have canoed sections of the Fox, and driven along its banks. I have followed the voyageur route from the Sault to Quebec and traveled from Green Bay to New Orleans by car and by boat. My wife and I have spent many happy days on Mackinac Island and in Door County. The Jessica Thorpe series is very different. It takes place in the tiny town of Amberg, Wisconsin, a place where I used to live. I wanted to describe that town and its troubles. Initially the novel involved a militia take over of the town, and it was called "Two Angry Men." But both men were predictable and boring. I had decided to have the story narrated by the town bartender - Jessica - and I soon realized she was the most interesting character in the book. She became the lead in the Jessica Thorpe series. I restarted the series with a fight over a proposed water plant with Jessica balancing environmental rights and business rights. I put Jessica right in the middle of a real problem we are experiencing here in Wisconsin (and most other places). How badly does a tiny town need jobs? How much environmental damage should we accept? The third series changes the lead character. Catherine Johnson solves mysteries. She also travels. It took her to many places I have been. The last several books take place in Russia. I admit I have no idea what is motivating the current madness there. Catherine looks, she tries to help, she struggles. What else can any of us do?

Book preview

Chapter 1

Three Good Men and a Desert

I may be the luckiest woman in the world. Or the unluckiest. I have loved three good men. Marvelous men. Strong, kind, loving. Perfect in so many ways. I had them. I lost them. All three. Lost. I miss them. But I also cherish the moments I had with them. Dubai? They got me there. To love and adventure. A place I couldn’t have found on a map. But they got me there. And loved me. Three good men.

May I tell their stories?

Let me start with Matteo Schweig. Doctor Matteo Schweig, engineering Ph.D., president of Nature’s Flavors, a huge Swiss corporation. He’s not the man who got me to Dubai, but he did so much for me. He was my boss, and he was my lover. He taught me how to waltz. Wow, the man could waltz. He put a hand at the small of my back and I started flying. I think back to those nights, and I have to smile. He was a dream lover.

Our connection? Another Siss company had come to my town at the northern tip of Wisconsin. Water. In a world ever more desperate for water, we had plenty. A huge corporation arrived, started building a bottling plant, and things got complicated. I’ll spare you the details. In the end, another Swiss company – Matteo’s – finished the plant. I was hired to deal with HR and public relations. Yes, I was a high school drop out (pregnant at sixteen), but nine years as a bartender meant I knew everyone in town. And, yes, I danced with Matteo and one thing led to another. So suddenly I had an office job and a Swiss lover. Life was good. Very good.

There was one complication – I lived in Wisconsin; he lived in Switzerland. How did we make that work? Well, Matteo was CEO of the company, so he was able to bend a few rules. He didn’t even have to bend them too far. Since I was HR director at my plant, there was some logic to training me on some of the technology our plant uses. If I understand the technology better, I should be better able to hire the right people.

That’s what we told anyone who asked. But the company does not employ stupid people. They knew I was flying back to training in Bern so I could be with Matteo. And you know what? I don’t think anyone objected.

I flew over in October. We had last been together in August when he had flown to Amberg for the plant opening. So, just two months since my last nights in his bed. Sixty days. It felt far longer.

My training flight? Green Bay, Chicago, Frankfurt, Bern. Three transfers, twelve hours. Then there was immigration, customs, luggage, all of which took time and energy. I tried to clean myself up a bit in the Frankfurt airport, but I knew I looked shopworn. I had worn an elegant black dress plus heels, pearls, and a smile. But, as I stepped out into the reception area, I had to wonder, does he still want me?

He was waiting for me. Mid-forties, good hair, square face and square body, he looked like the rock you built a civilization on. And he was waiting for me. I studied his face as I took the final steps toward him, mentally crossing my fingers. It had been two months since my last time with him. Did he still want me? I kissed him and whispered in his ear,

Please tell me you still love me.

I love you more than ever.

I had my arms around his neck, and I refused to let go for a very long time. And here’s what matters – he let me. No rush, no impatience, no need to move here or there. I think he would have stood with me hanging on him forever. And that told me far more than any words.

Eventually we dealt with the luggage and found his car. He gave my three large suitcases a look.

Are you moving here?

Ball gowns take up room.

He smiled and carried two cases as if they weighed nothing. I rolled the third to his car. I could see it was daylight, but I had no idea of the time. In a perfect world it would be night so we could go straight to bed. No such luck. But I kept him occupied as he drove home. He might have to keep his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road, but I could put my hands anywhere I could reach with a seat belt on.

He got us home in one piece, and we carried my bags up to his bedroom. There I decided I needed a shower, and he needed to help with my zipper. It’s an old ploy, but it works one hundred per cent of the time. I had my arms around his neck, and my lips kissing his cheek while he unzipped my dress. By the time he was down near my hips, I knew I wouldn’t be showering alone. We left a trail of clothes behind us as we headed for the shower. That led to his bed and a very nice Welcome Jessica Party for two.

He let me nap after that, one very tired, but very happy lady.

I woke when the maid sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the hair out of my face. Ist zex. Ulrike spoke no English. She had just said something about sex. Why? She was pointing at the clock. It was six. Oh, I get it. Sex was six in German. Nice language – they have sex twice a day.

I rolled out of bed. Ulrike had laid out my clothes for me. I put on some underwear and then sat down at the wife’s dressing table to work on my hair and makeup. Ulrike sat next to me like that was part of her job. And she did suggest a little more blush, and she helped with my hair. Is that part of maid training in Switzerland? She then helped me with my dress. I was pleased to see she had pulled out the ball gown I had worn the night Matteo had seduced me. Good choice. She then put the pearls around my neck and gave me a big hug. I was ready for my man.

What did my man have waiting for me? He must have heard me come to the top of the stairs, because he stood at the bottom, looking up at me, and waiting. The look said everything. At the bottom of the stairs I grabbed his neck, he grabbed my ass, and we stayed locked together.

What did we do that evening? We sat together in front of the fireplace while Ulrike got dinner ready, we ate by candlelight, then we danced, then we went to bed. But that description leaves out what really mattered – his arm around my shoulders when we sat together, his smile across the dinner table, his hand at the small of my back when we danced. I can’t tell you how happy I was.

I had arranged my travel so I arrived on a Saturday. I wanted a Sunday with him. How did we spend it? We walked through his orchard and his vineyard. We held hands. We sat under a tree and drank some of his wine. The wine hadn’t improved, but we sat close, and I loved every drop. What is October in Bern like? It was still fairly warm. I wore one of my cotton dresses and put a sweater over it. That was enough. What stands out is the colors. The trees were turning, but there were multiple species, so there were multiple colors. And since Bern is surrounded by rolling hills, there were color displays in every direction. We walked, and I looked at the colors. We sat, and I looked at the colors. We drank wine, and I looked at the colors. He kissed me, and well, I looked at him.

In the evening, we went back to the hotel where we had first danced. I wore my ball gown. He wore a smile. We ate, we drank wine, we danced. You sometimes wonder if you can ever equal that first night. We did. I was much more relaxed, and frankly, much more in love. We talked about this and that, we held hands, we smiled a lot. When he took me home, we loved a lot.

Chapter 2

I Learn to Fix Bottling Machines

Monday was my first day of training. I wore blue jeans, tennis shoes, and an older shirt. Matteo drove me in but he said Ulrike would come to get me when class ended at four – I would want to get home and change before dinner. There were several classrooms on the second floor of his office building. I found mine, picked up a huge binder from a pile by the door, and found a chair. I was first to arrive.

How do I describe my four weeks of training? The company has plants all around the world, so it conducts training in the local language. Nice in theory, but this class was filled with me and seven guys from Australia. They seemed to understand each other. I didn’t have a clue. The trainer was a nice middle-aged guy who could have been a college professor. Very patient, but limited in his English. He used power Point slides, so we could read the main points, but if anyone asked a question there was the double accent problem – Australian and German. A few times I was able to translate between the accents, but often I was just as lost as everyone else.

Did that mean the class was a waste? Not at all. The first week was about safety. The plant in Amberg bottles the local water. The first step is to make the plastic water bottles. Molten plastic is hot – really hot. Be careful. The extrusion screw builds up lots of pressure. Things can burst. Be careful. Essentially, he wasn’t letting us anywhere near one of these machines until we understood the dangers and had adopted safe techniques. As I am hearing this, I am thinking back to my job as HR director. Training was one of my jobs. Had I ever done safety training? No. Ouch. Not so good, Jessica. I took lots of notes and tried to think through how I would turn this information into simple training back home.

Week two? The instructor divided us into two teams of four and gave us two machines to pull apart. Our job was not just to put them back together, but to find any worn parts that should be replaced. He would not tell us how many defective parts were on each machine, but we were to replace only what was needed. We lost points if we missed a part that should go, or pulled a part that didn’t need to go. Cool challenge. He was having us inspect, but also measure wear, and calculate tolerances. There might be two millimeters of wear on a part. Was that okay?

The team of four Aussies was done early every day and took off for beers around three. My guys wanted to race with their buddies (and go drink with them), but I took it step by step and measured everything, and then compared what I found to recommended tolerances. In short, I was slow and boring. My three Aussies put up with me until about three thirty, and then they were off to drink. I stayed until four.

Here’s where I say I won first prize on Friday. That’s certainly what I expected. And we did win, but it turned out to be pretty undramatic. We missed one part that needed replacement and replaced none unnecessarily. The other team missed two parts and replaced two unnecessarily. Given all the parts we had gone through, the difference was not that much. Oh well. At least we won.

Class the third week was similar to the second in that we were in teams again, only this time we were to build a machine from scratch. Each team got a pile of boxes, just as we would if a new machine arrived at the plant. Our job was to build it. Once again, my team was slower. I read the assembly manual. We followed it exactly. The other team finished at three each day and went off for a beer. Our guys decided to have some fun, so they added half a dozen machine parts they had found somewhere. Come Friday, both machines ran, but theirs had extra parts, which confused them and confused the instructor. They got marked down half a grade, while my guys laughed.

Class the fourth week consisted of field trips. They had a small bus that took us to different plants near Bern. The primary idea was for us to study maintenance logs and talk to people about their experience. Since the only water plant I had ever seen was ours in Amberg, I really appreciated the chance to see these other facilities. What did we learn about maintenance? That some people keep good logs, and some people don’t. We also learned which three parts go first. Both were useful pieces of information.

Okay, so probably more about extruder maintenance training than you want to know, but I need to make it clear – I really did go to the training, and I really did take it seriously. Okay? Now for the real reason I was in Bern – the nights and weekends.

Class ended at four. The Australian guys all wanted to invite me out for a beer. Funny how their English was now very clear when they were trying to get me to come along with them. I declined. Ulrike was waiting for me down the street, and we went straight home.

Back home, Ulrike led me upstairs, pointed to my shower, and then turned the bed covers down. Zex, she said, meaning after my shower I could rest until six. Sounded like a good idea to me. I took my shower, slipped on a night gown and got into bed. Jet lag was working on me big time the first week, and I guess I just got in the habit for a nap the other weeks. Given how we spent our evenings and nights, afternoon rest was not a bad idea.

Ulrike got me dressed each evening. There was a reason I had arrived with three huge suitcases – I had come prepared. Yes, I had jeans for class, and a few cotton dresses for daytime, but I had nothing but satin for evenings. I get large paychecks (not huge, but certainly lots bigger than I got tending bar), and I had weeks to prowl Amazon, so I came with almost two dozen gowns. They were different colors, and different skirt lengths, but they all had the same basic features – lots of me visible up top, and lots of flare in the skirts. Off the shoulder looks, spaghetti straps, thin straps, all with deeply scooped necklines. Lots of me to see. Floor length skirts, knee length, shorter skirts, all flared so they moved when I moved. I move my hips, and the skirt keeps going.

So did the gowns work? Let me describe our evenings. Matteo got home a little after seven. We sat in front of the fireplace and talked, and then we had dinner and talked, and then we danced and talked. Okay? Three basic locations around the house – a huge old farmhouse. We talked. Yes. And the conversations were good. But when we sat by the fireplace or danced, he held me. Always. He kept a hand on me, his arm around my shoulders. He had big hands, and warm. And they brought me to him.

Dinner? He had a formal dining room. We sat across from each other. There was a chandelier and wall sconces, but those lights were barely on. The real lighting came from a candelabra. Candlelight. A girl’s best friend. I glowed. He looked. We talked, and he looked at my face, but his eyes slid down my neck, my chest, my breasts mounding from their satin embraces. He looked. I smiled. I knew where his hands would be soon enough. Every evening. There was food, pork I think, but there was wine, and his look. I sat, back straight, shoulders squared, happy with what I saw on his face.

Matteo took me out one night for dancing, but most nights we ate at home. And I didn’t mind. I loved his house, I loved him, I loved sitting in front of the fire with his arm around me. I told him about class, showing off what I had learned – teacher’s pet. I was rewarded with bonus points when we got to bed. I think I was getting an A in the bedroom. I know he certainly was.

Each weekend he had a surprise for me. The first weekend we drove up into the Alps. He had rented a room at a small inn on a small lake. I am not sure I can describe how beautiful it was but let me try a couple key points. The lake was a mirror. It was so sheltered there was almost no wind, so if you looked at it you saw a reflection of the mountainsides, now all covered in fall foliage. Take the best fall colors you have ever seen, and then double them as they are reflected off the lake. That was the view we had as we walked, and it was the view we had from our room – which was the other special feature. It had glass doors that opened out onto a small balcony where we could sit, drink wine, hold hands, and look at the view. I have no idea what a room like that costs, but it was worth every Swiss Franc.

For two days we took walks, ordered room service, sat on the balcony, and bounced around a huge bed. I held his hand, I hugged him, I lay on top of him, I pulled him on top of me, I kept his arm around my shoulders. I wanted to touch him and have him touch me, and that just went on and on. I didn’t want to press him, but my constant thought was, can we come here again? And again? I loved every moment there.

The second weekend we went hiking in the Alps. Ulrike packed a lunch and gave us a thick blanket. I knew what I wanted with that. We climbed up one trail or another, stopped at a meadow around lunch time, ate a sandwich, and then laid out on the blanket. I immediately took my favorite position, my head between his shoulder and chest, and I watched the Alps rise and fall as Matteo breathed. The colors were amazing, as was his arm, warm across my back. The combination was so wonderful I found myself kissing and crying. Why am I crying? I have no idea. I held him, he held me, I cried and told him how much I loved him. He let me hold him like that for a very long time. The man has patience, even for a woman who can’t explain why she is crying.

The third weekend was our last full weekend. Where did we spend it? Back at the inn on the lake. When he pulled into the parking lot, I started with a string of Thank yous that went on as we checked in, as we walked to the room, as we put our bags down, and as I pulled him onto the bed. We didn’t get around to room service until late that night. Did I pick the right man or what?

At the end of the fourth week, we stayed in town. What did we do? We waltzed of course. We went to the hotel we had been to the night we met. We ate a good meal, and then we waltzed until the band was done for the night. At that point Matteo stuck a bunch of bills in the band leader’s hands, and we danced for another hour. After each dance I stood in front of Matteo and enjoyed the look on his face. He looked at my eyes, and he looked at my chest, and I was happy he was enjoying both. Near the last dance he whispered, "I have learned a new English word – I adore you." I jumped into his arms. On the ride home he repeated it, and I started crying. What else could I do?

That night we had a long conversation in bed. He was on me, but he held his weight from me, his face hovering above mine.

Jessica, stay here. There are many jobs for you here. You would be a great trainer. You even speak Australian. Short joke, I guess.

And you will find me an apartment for when your wife is in town?

I won’t divorce her. We are Catholic. And she doesn’t deserve it. She comes up here to an empty house. We have no children, and I work long hours and travel much of the time. In Italy, her family home is filled with crying babies, running children, an endless stream of people coming and going. Dinners seem like shouting matches. I hate it, she loves it. So, she lives there, and visits me two weeks out of every ten or twelve. It is a strange marriage, but it is our marriage.

In Amberg I have two daughters, both with boyfriends who may soon be husbands. Grandchildren may be on the way.

You can fly there any time you wish.

Ask me again next time I am in Bern. Keep asking. Eventually the answer will be yes.

I said that. Stupid woman. I had once told him I was a simple woman. I’m not. I am stupid. I held him, I loved him, the right answer, the only answer, was yes. If I had just said that one word, things might have gone so differently. But we all think there will be another chance, another day, until there isn’t.

We made love, of course, and held each other all night. In the morning, I was all over him in the shower. Give me soap, and warm water, and a naked man, and I go a little crazy. I must have been crazy. I held him tight; I had my mouth all over him, and never once did I say the one word I should have said. I never said yes.

We got dressed quickly enough. Ulrike had me all packed. She had laid out my usual traveling dress – the black satin. Matteo held me and brought the zipper up so slowly he drove me crazy. I leaned into him, my arms around his neck, waiting for him to pull the zipper back down. I bet he was tempted. He held me tight, and long. Neither of us said a word. I didn’t want to let go, and neither did he. Good man.

I wanted to drag him back into bed, but the flight schedule would not allow it. So, we did what people do. We pulled bags out to the car, we drove to the airport, and we said we loved each other. I had my hands all over him, and he complained about what I was doing to his driving, but I didn’t care. I wanted him now, planes be damned. Unfortunately, the planes won out. I kissed him as long as any woman has kissed a man, and then got on my plane.

Chapter 3

Alone in Amberg

So, what do you do in Amberg after a month in Switzerland? First, you try not to cry. I struggled on the airplane and finally decided I can cry myself to sleep every night from missing him, or I can feel happy for having had a month with him. The situation is the same either way – I’m here, he’s there. So why spend my days crying? I held myself to that approach all the way back to Green Bay, and even as I walked back into my trailer with a month’s worth of mail, most of which had gotten crushed in my mailbox. Be strong, Jessica. Keep your head on straight, Jessica. I rolled my bags in from my SUV, got the first one unpacked, then I laid my head down on my bed and watered my pillow. Thank God for jet lag. I was too tired to cry more than a few minutes before I dropped off to sleep.

Sunday, I dealt with my tears by staying busy. I drove down to the Wausaukee IGA and got groceries. I made myself an early lunch. Then since it was Packer season, I did what every other normal Amberger did – I drove to the Amberg Bar to watch the game and drink beer. Who do I find there? Clark. I grab the stool next to him, order a beer, and put my elbows on the bar same as everyone else.

You missed some good games, he says.

I am sure I did.

Is he the one?

Oh yeah.

You moving there?

No.

That makes it tough.

This isn’t a Disney movie. It doesn’t all work out. But even if I just see him one month every year, I will die a happy girl.

Glad to hear it.

At that point the Packers kicked off, so all conversation in the bar stopped. The Bear receiver got the ball a couple yards deep in the end zone and tried to run it out. All eleven Packers hit him at the seven.

Are you old enough to remember when the Bears were any good? I asked.

Nobody’s that old.

So it went for the next three hours. Nobody paid much attention to the score. It was never close. By the second quarter more people were watching two guys play pool. I ended up drinking two beers and leaving during the fourth quarter. I had mail to sort through and bills to pay, and much as I loved the Packers, watching them play the Bears wasn’t exactly riveting.

Monday morning, I was up at the plant by eight. I carried in the big maintenance training manual I had been given, and my notes on safety training. I stepped into my office and found Hannah sitting at my desk. Hannah was Swiss, young, nominally an administrative assistant and a bit of a maid back at the lodge the Swiss executives shared. She seemed a bit embarrassed to be caught at my desk, but I didn’t mind.

Hi.

Welcome back. Hannah immediately stood and came around the desk. Janos asked me to sit in for you.

Good idea. How did it go?

It was pretty quiet actually. I got bored and spent a lot of time playing solitaire on the computer.

From time to time, I do that too. I put my binder on my desk and sat in my chair.

One of these nights would you come over? She had lowered her voice. I would like to talk with you about Theo.

Sure.

And Hannah left, probably to Theo’s office. He was one of the Swiss engineers and the love of her life. I assumed they were still together. I logged into my computer and began dealing with old emails. These days, any absence is punished by an email avalanche. I spent the rest of the morning working on my backlog and was still not done.

As I worked on emails, I wondered if Janos would stop in and start harassing me. He was the Swiss engineer running the plant. Talented, aggressive, and always hot to trot. I could see he was in his office, but he left me alone. Good. At noon I took a walk through the plant to see if things were going okay (they were), and then I drove