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“Does it look like she’s here?” Gracie screeched. “And it’s your fault for coming back without her.”
“She’s a grown-up. What was I supposed to do? Besides, isn’t that deputy guarding her? He followed us to the hospital in his police car. Maybe she’s with him.”
Gracie said, “Tell me again what she said when she called you.”
“‘I’ve got another ride.’”
“But she didn’t say with who? She didn’t specify the deputy?”
“No.”
“Call the sheriff’s office. Ask.”
“You know, keeping tabs on Kerra isn’t in my job description.”
Gracie placed her hands on her hips. “Your next job description could be cleaning the crapper.”
He slunk away to make the call.
His fellow crew member weighed in. “Maybe she’s with that guy. The one with the sweet truck.”
The possibility that Kerra was with John Trapper made Gracie uneasy. She remembered how irate he’d appeared when he practically mowed her down outside Kerra’s room. “Did you see him at the hospital?”
“No. The doctor made his excuses for not being at the press conference.”
“Uh…” Travis the desk cler
k cleared his throat. “When you say the guy with the sweet truck, do you mean Mr. Trapper?”
Gracie turned to him. “Speak!”
He nervously wet his lips. “He’s got a room here, too. It’s in the other wing. I can’t remember exactly which number, but if you come back to the office with me, we can call it.”
After they trooped out, Harvey Jenks took the first deep breath he’d taken in minutes.
He had heard the harpy terrorize the kid into unlocking the door and then had stood motionless and breathless inside the closet of Kerra Bailey’s room during the ensuing discussion, which seemed to have lasted forever.
Somebody, probably the skittish motel employee, had conscientiously turned out the light as they went, so the room was in darkness when Jenks moved soundlessly from his hiding place.
His plan had been to be waiting inside the room for Kerra Bailey when she returned.
His plan was now screwed.
The closet had been a tight fit for him, but he thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t been discovered. He crossed to the door, opened it a crack, and made certain that the coast was clear, that the TV people weren’t yet making their way back from the motel office, then slipped out.
Although he wasn’t too worried about anyone seeing him leave. The weather was keeping motorists off the roads. Even if he were spotted by a passerby, so what? He was a deputy sheriff. One would assume he was guarding Kerra Bailey.
Inside her room?
If challenged, he’d come up with a rambling explanation that would sound plausible to a civilian even if it was nonsense. But he returned to his car confident that his break-in and breakout of Kerra’s room had gone unseen. He slid behind the steering wheel and pulled out his cell phone.
His call was answered with a brusque, “Done?”
“She didn’t come back.”
“What?”
“I was in place. All set. Except she didn’t come back from the hospital with the TV crew.” He related the rest of the story. “Narrows down to her being with the deputy. Or Trapper.”
