Page 31

That off-kilter feeling tilts a little further. “You don’t have to put it like that.”

She slides her phone back into her purse and doesn’t say anything.

It’s a relief, pulling up to the Mountain Thistle Motel. It’s been around since the forties, but it’s surprisingly well-kept despite being so far away from any of the main tourist arteries, with its neat little arrangement of buildings clustered among the pines. The Vacancy sign glows crimson as I pull up to the front office.

“Jesus Christ,” Penelope says, the neon from the sign casting her face in shadows. “This looks exactly like the Bates Motel.”

“Good thing you’ve got me here to protect you.” I say it without thinking, then immediately regret it. But she smiles anyway.

“I think I could take old Norman,” she says.

I grin at that. “Wait here.”

When I step out of the car, that cold, heavy dampness is even stronger, and I spot a few wayward flakes drifting on the wind. Good timing, I guess, although it drives home a point I hadn’t really let myself dwell on, which is that I’m going to be spending the night with Penelope. Really spending the night, too. Not like last night, where I let her sleep in my bed while I secured the Gas and Go and then sat with my phone in the back room, the only light coming in from my monitors, so I could read up on Nicholas Wolrath and plan his murder.

I pop open my trunk, peel back the covering, and grab one of my fake IDs at random. My mask is nestled in there beside them. No weapon, though. My weapon I’ll select when I get there. Better to use something on site than get caught hauling an axe around.

The bell over the front door dings as I step into the front office. There’s a guy in his twenties behind the counter, shaggy-haired, sound from a video blaring out of his phone. He barely glances at me.

“Need a room,” I say. “I can pay in cash.”

“Cash?” He looks up, frowning a little. God, traveling under the radar was so much easier in the twentieth century.

“Just one night,” I say, pulling out my wallet. “I’m paying up front.”

“Uh, okay. I’ll still need an ID, though.”

I hand over the fake one, keeping my promise to Penelope. Not that it really matters. My real ID wouldn’t tie back to Penelope, either, even if she does get herself arrested at that party.

Especially if the party gets canceled because they find Nicholas Wolrath’s intestines strung like streamers from the pine trees.

I smile pleasantly at the check-in guy as he types in the name and address, which is an apartment in Boulder I’ve never even been to. I keep my exterior calm, but inside, I’m thinking about murder. One thought always begets the next. Maybe I don’t want to gut Nicholas Wolrath. Maybe I want to puncture his lungs so he drowns in his own blood, just like Mary did after that cruel, pointless surgery his ancestor performed.

“Unit one oh two,” the guy says, sliding over a keycard. “Eighty-seven dollars.”

I pay him and go back outside. More snowflakes dance around in the grey light, and when I climb into the car, they leave wet streaks on the windows.

Penelope’s still in the passenger seat, and when she looks over at me as I sit down, there’s a split second where I see Mary again. Mary, then Penelope. My chest tightens.

“All good?” she asks.

“That guy thinks I’m staying here alone.” I toss her the keycard. “Just one. See?”

“Thanks.” She squeezes it as I pull the car around the side of the buildings to park in front of room 102. There aren’t many other cars in the parking lot. There never is.

“God, I hope it’s warm in there,” she says.

“It’ll be warm enough.” I kill the engine, get out, grab her suitcase from the trunk, along with the backpack that I filled with a few changes of clothes. You can never be too careful.

Penelope goes straight inside, leaving the door cracked for me. I follow her and find her sprawled out on her back on the bed. Bed. Singular.

I drag the door shut behind me and turn the lock. Penelope drops her head to look at me.

“Yeah, he definitely thinks there’s just one person staying here,” she says wryly.

“You said you didn’t want anyone to know you were here.”

“I know. It’s fine.” Penelope sits up, watching me as I set our bags over in the corner. The heat’s already turned on, dry and rattling from the unit beneath the window.