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“Is there anyone who’d go to Bangor today?”
Gray Beard just sighs heavily.
“Right. Got it.”
My brow furrows. Shit, I need a place to stay.
“There’s not a hotel or anything in town—”
“There’s Laurie’s place. The Northeast Motel, two streets north.”
I glance outside through the dingy window at the rain pouring down.
“I don’t suppose…”
“Taxi situation hasn’t changed in the last three minutes.”
Fuck this town.
After poundingthe rest of my drink and then bolting through a deluge of rain, I’m running the corporate card Chuck gave me to use on the trip—the same one that bought my plane ticket and the taxi to Cape Harbor—at the dingy Northeast Motel.
Laurie, the owner, seems to be of about the same pleasant, outgoing disposition as the bartender back at the Calm Shack. But she does take cards, mercifully.
Utterly soaked, my hair clinging to my face, I shuffle into the motel room and slump against the door. I drop my bag and eye the bed, but my nose wrinkles.
It’s just one night. One night here and then you can get back home.
I exhale slowly as I shove my hair out of my face.
The phone on the bedside table instantly jangles, making me jolt. I frown as I kick my soaked boots off and shuffle over to answer it.
“Hello?”
“How’s my story?”
I blink. It’s Chuck.
“Mr. Garver…” I frown, shaking my head. “How did you—”
“I’ve been trying to call you for the last twenty-four fucking hours, Melody,” he grunts.
I glance at my soaked bag, which I haven’t even touched since I staggered back to shore.
“When the corporate card just pinged at a motel, I called the front desk and had them direct me to your room.”
I exhale.
“Right, and I’m so sorry. I should have checked first about using it for—”
“Forget it. How’s my story going?”
I make a face, thinking of my single-minded plan to get the first car out of town tomorrow, and the first plane back to New York.
“It’s…”
The dismal trail off has Chuck sighing heavily.
“Fuck.”
