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I hated to be redundant, but… “Come again?”
“Maple syrup. You came at the perfect time to try some of our tastiest local concoctions. Like maple ice. If you’re a fan of icees from the gas station, you’ve got to try these.”
“Um. Shame to miss that.”
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? What country are you from anyway? I can’t place the accent.”
“America.”
Rather than becoming offended, she laughed. Gaily. As if I wasn’t a rude fucker who’d invaded her happy hushed sanctuary at damn close to midnight.
“Point taken. I have a nice room for you. The last one we have with a fireplace. Good for a night like this.”
She leaned forward and tilted her head, peering over the counter at my hands. At least that was what I assumed she was looking at. Maybe my lack of gloves? Surely she couldn’t see the hole in my sneaker from that height. It wasn’t a big one. It hadn’t even been the shoe’s fault. I’d met a nail and lost. And stubborn fool that I was, I’d refused to stop wearing my favorite pair.
“No luggage?”
“A bag in the car.” I gestured vaguely out the door. “I wanted to make sure there was room for me before I brought in my belongings.”
“We always have room at The Hummingbird’s Nest.” Her voice was sober as she tapped her name tag. I’d not noticed it before.
And lookee there. It actually said that exact sentiment.
We always have room for you at The Hummingbird’s Nest. You’re not a friend, you’re family.
“I’m not even a friend, but I’ll take the goodwill. Let me go get that bag—”
“You haven’t finished checking in yet. I’ll send my assistant out to retrieve it for you.” She pressed a button on the phone. “Yo, Hamilton, we’ve got a live one.”
My eyebrows lifted. Was she truly having someone get my bag or would my rental car end up at the bottom of the lake, never to be found again?
Was this small town really like the one in the Richard Marx song? I was a bit west of the setting of that one, but there were crazies everywhere. Possibly ones with shiny blond curls and doe eyes.
A talk dark man in a business suit—at midnight?—came down the sweeping staircase a moment later. He said nothing to Sage, just cocked his head at me. “Vehicle make and model? And may I have the keys?”
“You say hello first.” Sage let out a long breath. “He’s not new here, but he acts it. Oliver Hamilton, this is…what’s your name?”
“Rory.”
“Last name?” When I hesitated, she tapped her keyboard pointedly. “Unless you’re checking in with an assumed name, I’ll find it out on your credit card. Unless you only have cash. Hmm. You don’t seem like the miscreant sort. Are you in trouble with the law?”
“Don’t mind my wife. She claims I’m the one with no manners, but sometimes she puts me to shame.” Oliver held out his hand and I gave him the keys.
“Blue Honda parked in front of the flagpole at the white house down the street. Bag is in the boot. Trunk,” I corrected automatically.
He nodded, moving in close for an instant as he passed me. “But if you touch a hair on her head while I’m occupied, I’ll use your own vehicle to end you.”
Two
I coughed into my fist. Weren’t small towns supposed to be welcoming? I was pretty sure implied death threats didn’t count as hospitality.
Oliver stepped back and smiled. “Have a pleasant evening. Enjoy your stay.” The door shut behind him.
“Payment method, please.”
I handed over my card. “Your husband seems nice,” I said carefully.
So did Ted Bundy.
