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She’d been carrying it for days now. She only wished she had given it to Tracy Waters instead.
She was alone in the dark, just like she always was. But now it was time to go to work.
* * *
• • •
“I wrote a note to Janice about the door to number one-oh-three. There’s something wrong with it. It keeps blowing open in the wind, even when I lock it,” Johnny said.
Viv’s mind was still reeling over Tracy’s murder. She watched Johnny leave, then sat at the desk and pulled out her notebook.
Nov. 29
Door to number 103 has begun to open again. Prank calls. No one here. Tracy Waters is dead.
The ghosts are awake tonight. They’re restless. I think this will be over soon. I’m so sorry, Tracy. I’ve failed.
There was the sound of a motor in the parking lot. It cut out, a door slammed, and Jamie Blaknik walked through the door to the office. He was wearing his usual jeans and faded T-shirt under a sweatshirt and a jean jacket, his hair mussed.
“Hey, Good Girl,” he said. “I need a room.”
Viv blinked at him. He was so real, snapping her out of her fog of a dream. He smelled like cold fall air and cigarette smoke. A lock of hair fell over his forehead. He dug into his back pocket, peeled a few bills out of a folded-up wad, and dropped them on the desk. Then he pulled the guest book toward him, picked up the pen, and wrote his name.
“Quiet night, huh?” he said as he wrote.
“I guess so,” Viv said.
He finished writing, put down the pen, and smiled at her. She felt herself go warm from the shoulders down, all through her chest and her stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt warm. Maybe it was the last time Jamie had smiled at her. She really liked his smile. Maybe some girls wouldn’t look twice at Jamie, but his smile was really, really nice.
“You’re staring at me,” he said, breaking the silence. “Not that I mind.”
She blinked, then leaned back in her chair. She pulled open the desk drawer with the room keys in it. “Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed.
“It’s nice,” he said, taking the key from her. “Come knock on my door if you need me, Good Girl. The invitation’s open as always.” He turned and walked out. Her eyes followed him of their own accord, the easy way he moved, the way he looked in his worn jeans. I’m going to die a virgin, she thought.
But that was a weird thought, because she was only twenty, and she wasn’t going to die.
The time was eleven forty-five.
* * *
• • •
At twelve fifteen, the silence was broken again. It wasn’t the door to 103 banging in the wind this time; it was actual banging, someone pounding a fist on one of the doors. “Helen!” came a ragged male voice. “Helen!”
Viv grabbed her purse, put her hand on the hunting knife. She edged to the office door, looking out the window. She could only see wet, hard rain coming down, spattering the concrete. The angle didn’t let her see the man who was pounding the door.
She put the purse strap over her shoulder and edged the door open, looking out. There was a man standing on the walkway, banging his fists against the door to 112. “Helen!” he shouted. “If you’re in there, you bitch, open the fucking door!”
Viv put down the purse with the knife in it, because she recognized him. It was Robert White, the man who was cheating with Helen. Except he didn’t look like his usual self right now. Instead of a crisp, handsomely aging businessman, he was bedraggled now, his salt-and-pepper hair mussed and damp in the cold rain. He wore khakis with spattered cuffs and a zip-up nylon jacket. He banged on the door again, shouting and swearing, but when Viv stepped out onto the walkway, he paused and looked at her, his eyes lighting up with recognition.
“Where is she?” he said in a voice that was ragged with shouting. “Is she in there? Tell me the truth.”
Viv shook her head. “She isn’t here.”
“Bullshit,” Robert said. He looked around. “Her car isn’t here, but I’m not fooled. She got dropped off by her husband, didn’t she? That god-awful bitch.”
Viv rubbed her sweating palms on her jeans. She wished that Jamie hadn’t gone to his room, or that he would hear and open his door. “Mr. White, I don’t—”
“So you remember my name.” Robert turned and took a step toward Viv. “I guess you remember everyone who comes here, don’t you? You know all of their secrets. Including mine.”
“That isn’t true,” Viv said.
“Sure it is.” He took another step toward her. “Did you know about it from the beginning? Did Helen tell you? Or did you just guess?” He looked at Viv’s expression and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t tell you. She’s too smart, too criminal. Why would she tell the little mouse working at the motel about her blackmail scheme?”
Blackmail? Viv pictured Helen, her easy confidence and her short, stylish hair. Marnie saying, Damn, that woman is cold. And, Sounds to me like that bitch is going to get put out on her ass. And for what? A few nights with Mr. White in there?
“I don’t know anything about blackmail,” Viv said. If Helen was setting up Robert to blackmail him, why was her husband having Marnie follow her?
“‘I don’t know anything about blackmail,’” Robert said snidely, mocking her. “That’s a likely story. You’re so innocent, right? You just sit behind your desk and watch a man like me get fucked—and I don’t just mean in bed. You watch Helen and her husband pull a number on me like it’s a TV show. ‘Here’s the scene where she lures him to the motel. And here’s the scene where someone takes pictures of them.’” His expression changed as an idea occurred to him. “Who took the photos? Those fucking photos of me and Helen that were sent to my goddamn office? It was someone at this motel, wasn’t it?” He took another step toward her. “Maybe it was even you.”
Viv shook her head. She’d had it wrong. She’d thought that Helen was the one being investigated, that she would lose her marriage and her easy life. But Helen and her husband must have arranged it. They must have arranged the photos for blackmail. If they were running some kind of con, that was why they’d used an intermediary to hire Marnie—to keep Marnie in the dark.
Viv wasn’t about to give Marnie away. Not to anyone, and certainly not to this enraged man. “I didn’t take the pictures,” she said, her voice coming out surprisingly calm.
He was still coming closer to her. She could only back up so much before she was in the office, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him in the office with her. “Those photos got sent to my office,” Robert said. “My assistant handed me the envelope. For God’s sake, she’s worked for me for a decade. If she’d seen what was inside, my career would be finished—which is what Helen wanted, isn’t it? For my assistant to see the photos and the blackmail letter.”
