I
left Vegas late morning under a cloudless, pale-blue sky and planned to retrace
my route back to Boise, Idaho. To my surprise, the Bellagio concierge had been
helpful. Cande, a bouncy Latina new on the job and eager to impress, listened
intently as I outlined my search for Embry Hamilton who had vanished seven
years ago on a road trip to Vegas from Boise. Embry had reservations at the
Bellagio, but had never shown up. Cande informed me she had a degree in
hospitality with a minor in computer sciences and would do some research in her
records.
The next morning while eating breakfast in a booth at
the fountain in the hanger-like lobby, Cande slid in across from me with a
broad smile. She informed me she had found an email sent to the concierge desk
seven years ago with a request to pass to Embry’s friend.
In the email, Embry noted he was tired and stopping for
the night at the Alamo Inn on US 93 in Nevada. He said he was in room 30 and gave
the Inn’s phone number. I sat back recalling there was no record of any email
to the Bellagio. Embry’s friend claimed he never showed. Perhaps the email was not passed. Cande shrugged when I asked her if the email had been forwarded. She
informed me seven years ago the management information system was not so well
developed.
“Back then it was hit or miss.” She said, looking at
me.
Cande commented that at least the email showed that
Embry had made it as far as the Alamo Inn, about 150 hundred miles from Vegas. We
looked at each other and I could tell that Cande was intrigued with the
mystery. What happened to Embry
Hamilton?
By early afternoon, I was turning into the Alamo Inn,
an L-shaped collection of 50’s-style cinder block rooms. There were a few
vehicles in the parking lot, but no one about. I parked and followed the
numbers down the inverted L, turning right at the extension and stopped at room
29. There was no room 30.
Instead I found a concrete foundation for a room next
to 29, indicating that room 30 might have been torn down. As I pondered the
situation under a gray sky and stiff breeze, I heard the gravel crunch and
looked to see a large man coming toward me. He had a round, red face, was
dressed in a white sweat shirt and baggy khakis, a large stomach sagged over
his belt.
He gave me a friendly smile and asked if I wanted a
room, introducing himself as Dennis. We shook hands and I quickly filled him in
on my search. “Seven years ago Embry claimed to have stayed here in room 30,
but there is no room 30.” I concluded.
Dennis informed
me he had owned the Alamo for six years. That the former owners, Bob and Bess
Bradford, had a problem and room 30 suffered as a result.
“What
happened?”
“It’s
complicated.” Dennis replied.
He then
went on to explain that the former owner Bob had yearned to drive in the
September Nevada Silver Classic, the 90 mile road race on State Route 318, which
closes for the occasion. On an impulse, Bob took the couple’s life savings of
$75,000 and bought a Ford Shelby Mustang GT 500 to participate in the race.
“When Bess found out what he had done she was irate and
went crazy.” Dennis said with a laugh.
He explained that Bess grabbed the car keys, ran out into the parking lot and
jumped in the Mustang intending to drive it into the Pahranagat Wildlife Refuge
behind the motel.
Dennis paused and stared at the spot where room 30 had
stood. He looked at me, saying that Bess lost control of the muscle car as it smoked
across the parking lot and ran it into number 30, demolishing the room
completely.
We stood in silence, huddling in the chill. It occurred
to me the race was run at the time Embry was in the area. Possibly Embry had
been in the room when Bess went berserk. I suggested my thought to Dennis who
shook his head, dismissing the idea.
“Bob and Bess said room 30 was empty at the time.” The
heavy man replied and then shrugged. “On the other hand…”
Dennis let the unfinished sentence hang and I asked what
he thought the couple would do if Embry had been in the room. The current owner
gave a sigh, saying the couple would have taken the remains into the refuge and
buried Embry in the Pahranagat Foothills.
Was it possible that this bizarre incident at the Alamo
was the answer to the riddle of Embry Hamilton’s 7-year disappearance? Was it
that simple?
Or was there
something else?
