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11
“This is your plan?” I look around at the wallpaper that was dated in the 1980s, the TV the size of a postage stamp, the bed that sags in the middle so steeply it reminds me of a taco shell. “Save my life by giving me bedbugs?”
Jack lifts the sheet to show me the mattress. “It’s clean, and it’s for one night. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I note that you’re not staying the night. Booked in at the Hilton, is that it?”
“I’ve got to get back to New York. There’s a meeting I need to attend.”
“Convenient. Come on, why are we here?”
He sits on the bed. It creaks loudly, but the smell that comes off it is at least fresh. The sheets might be old but they’re clean, which is more than can be said for the carpet. It’s more cigarette burns than fabric, as far as I can tell.
“I need you somewhere anonymous while I’m away, somewhere no one will think to look for you. There are only three motels near Grant’s Hollow and this is the cleanest.”
“That’s not saying much.”
“One night. I’ll be back in the morning. Keep the door locked.”
“Why? What’s going to happen?”
“Hopefully nothing, but it pays to be cautious. While I’m gone, I want you to stay in this room. You don’t let anyone in. You don’t go out.”
“What am I supposed to eat?”
He clicks his fingers. “Almost forgot. Back soon.”
While I was packing, he disappeared in his car, wouldn’t tell me why. I find out when he comes back into the room carrying two bags of groceries. “Should keep you going,” he says, dumping them on the tiny desk over by the window. “Remember, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Then why couldn’t I stay at home?”
“No one knows you’re here but me. No one will come looking for you.”
“I thought you told me you had three days until the deadline.”
“By tomorrow morning it’ll be two and there’s a risk your uncle will get antsy, send out another contractor on you. Think I’ve got cold feet.”
“It’s not my uncle that’s doing this, trust me.”
“I wish I had your certainty. He’s the most likely suspect, Clarissa.”
“I know what you told me, but you don’t know him like I know him.”
“Who stands to gain the most by killing you if it’s not him?”
“He’s the most bookish man you’re ever going to meet. A massive nerd, I mean seriously. He did the books for the famiglia, never touched a gun, never went on a job. He was frightened of blood, for crying out loud. One Thanksgiving, he was around and I cut myself slicing lemons. He passed out on the floor. It’s not him, trust me.”
“I’ll find out the truth when I get there. No harm will come to him if it’s not him, I promise.”
“Your promises don’t mean a lot to me.”
“When have I let you down?”
“You mean apart from walking out on me as soon as you’d come?”
“I mean, have I lied to you? Promised something I couldn’t deliver? I never promised you I’d stay that night. Never told you it was going anywhere. I never lied to you.”
“Kept a few things from me, though, didn’t you?”
