“Hi, Mom. There was a fire, but I’m okay,” Amanda said.
“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” Charlie said, fetching extra towels and a bedspread. Larry sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress. He hadn’t really cared about the cabin. What he did care about was the urn containing Marjorie’s ashes—which was now safely in a corner of the hotel room—and the value of the property. He had already been in touch with his insurance agent and discovered he would get what he had paid for it.
“I guess I’m a free agent now,” he told the hotel owner.
There was a knock on the wall beside him. Amanda was in the adjoining room. Larry had asked to be put next to her. Whoever had tried to kill her had now tried to kill them both. He was worried about her.
“At least you got your car, right? You can go wherever you want,” Charlie said.
“If only it was that easy.”
Larry picked up his phone, called Amanda. “Everything okay?”
The hotel owner stood listening. Larry waved him away. Charlie left, smiling, closing the door softly behind him.
“They gave me clothes,” Amanda said. Her voice was hoarse, and she sounded upset. “These are not the kind of clothes I would ever wear, Larry.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’ll see.”
“Everything else okay?”
“Gertrude sent more food than I could ever eat.” She paused.“I called my parents. They might call you. They’re weird like that. I told them it wasn’t your fault. And that we’re working with the police down here.”
He looked down at his own care package. For him, Gertrude had included a bottle of whiskey. “I’d be happy to talk to them, if you like. Of course they are worried. Of course they are.”
“They still treat me like a kid. A special-education kid.”
She had never said those words before.
“Any parent would worry in this situation,” he told her. “It’s been twice now someone has tried to hurt you.”
“I didn’t tell them about the first time.”
“Oh. Okay.” He didn’t press. She was right—she was an adult. But still, he wished she had told them.
“My hair feels strange too. Like plastic.”
“It probably got a little singed. We can find a way to get you a cut.”
She yawned, and he could hear her jaw cracking.
“I’m going to take a nap now,” she said.
“I’ll be right next door.”
A few hours later, Larry met the constable in the front office. All the little dings and scrapes and burns that hadn’t been apparent earlier were now. His face was ruddy with heat exposure, making his sunburn from Arizona even worse. Most of his hair had been singed off, it turned out.
“I’m going to find Ike Tressler. He’s our primary suspect,” the constable said.
“You have more than one?” Larry asked, drinking the vile coffee Charlie provided.
“Well, not really.” It was raining. The hotel appeared to be empty, as usual. Some things never changed. The constable looked out the officewindow. “Shit. That newspaperman is here. You going to talk to him, Larry?”
“I have a feeling that article is what sparked this in the first place,” Larry said. “So to speak.”
Amanda came in, her hair wet from the shower. Charlie had given her a pair of scissors to cut off the burnt ends. She had done a fairly remarkable job of trimming her hair herself. It now swung above her shoulders, in a shorter bob.
