“Great. It’s all yours,” I said.
I make no big deal about these things. I’m a strong, independent woman, not an idiot. I know when it’s time to turn the task over to a cop; someone with a gun, a nightstick, a pair of handcuffs, and a paycheck. He did a cursory inspection while I followed close on his heels, feeling like a cartoon character with slightly quaking knees. If a mouse had jumped out, I’d have shrieked like a fool.
He glanced in the closet, behind the bathroom door. He moved the shower curtain aside, got down on his hands and knees and looked under the bed. He didn’t seem any more impressed with the place than I’d been. “Never been inside one of these before. I believe I’d take a pass if it came right down to it. Doesn’t Ms. Boden believe in heat?”
“I guess not.”
He got to his feet and brushed the soot from his knees. “What kind of money does she get for this?”
“Thirty bucks a night.”
“That much?” He shook his head with amazement. He made sure the windows were secured. While I waited in the cabin, he made a circuit of the place outside, using his flashlight beam to cut through the dark. He came back to the door. “Looks clear to me.”
“Let’s hope.”
He let his gaze settle on my face. “I can take you somewhere else if you’d prefer. We got motels in the heart of town if you think you’d feel safer. You’d be warmer, too.”
I considered it briefly. I was both keyed up and exhausted. Moving at this hour would be a pain in the ass. “This is fine,” I said. “I didn’t see any sign of the truck on the way out. Maybe it was just a practical joke.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. World’s full of freaks. You don’t want to take something like this lightly. You might want to talk to the police in the morning and file a report. Wouldn’t hurt to lay the groundwork in case something comes up again.”
“Good point. I’ll do that.”
“You have a flashlight? Why don’t you take this tonight and you can return it to me in the morning. I got another in the car. You’ll feel better if you have a weapon.”
I took the flashlight, hefting the substantial weight of it in my hand. You could really hurt somebody if you whacked ’em up the side of the head. I’d seen scalps laid wide open when the edge hit just right. I felt like asking for his nightstick and his radio, but I didn’t want to leave him denuded of equipment.
I held up the flashlight. “Thanks. I’ll drop it off to you first thing.”
“No hurry.”
Once he was gone, I locked the door and then went through the cabin carefully, doing just as he’d done. I made sure the windows were locked, looked under every piece of furniture, in closets, behind curtains. I turned the lights out and let my eyes adjust to the dark, then moved from window to window, eyeing the exterior. The black wasn’t absolute. There was a moon up there somewhere, bathing the surrounding woods in a silvery glow. The trunks of the birches and the sycamores shone as pale as ice. The evergreens were dense, shapeless, and compelling against the night landscape. I should have gone to another motel. I regretted the isolation, wishing that I could find myself safely ensconced in one of the big chains-a Hyatt or a Marriott, one with hundreds of identical rooms and numerous in-house security. In my current situation, I had no phone and no immediate neighbors. The rental car was parked at least a hundred yards away, not readily available if I should have to make a hasty exit.
I leaned my forehead against the glass. From out on the highway, I could catch flashes of light as an occasional car sped by, but none seemed to slow and none turned into the motel parking area. Times like this, I longed for a husband or a dog, but I never could decide which would be more trouble in the long run. At least husbands don’t bark and tend to start off paper trained.
I remained fully dressed and brushed my teeth in the dark, barely letting the water run as I washed my face. Frequently, I paused, listening to the silence. I took my shoes off, but kept them by the side of the bed within easy reach. I crawled under the covers and propped myself against the pillows, flashlight in hand. Twice, I got up and looked out the windows, but there was nothing to see and eventually I felt calm return.
I didn’t sleep well, but in early morning light, I felt better.
I was blessed with a full three minutes of hot water before the pipes began to clank. I walked out to the highway into a morning filled with icy sunlight and air clear as glass. I could smell loam and pine needles. There was no sign of the panel truck. Nobody in a ski mask paused to stare at me. I had breakfast at the Rainbow, taking a certain comfort at the mundane nature of the place. I watched the short-order cook, a young black girl working with remarkable efficiency and concentration.
Afterward, I returned to Selma’s.
Her sister-in-law, Phyllis, was in the kitchen. The two of them were working at the breakfast table, which was covered with paperwork. File folders were spread out, lists of names on legal pads with removable tags attached. I gathered they were determining the seating for some country club event, arguing about who to seat by whom for maximum entertainment and minimum conflict.
“Nawp. I wouldn’t do that,” Phyllis said. “The fellows like each other, but the women don’t speak. Don’t you remember that business between Ann Carol and Joanna?”
“They’re not still mad about that, are they?”
“Sure are.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Well, trust me. You seat them together, you got a war on your hands. I’ve seen Joanna throw one of those hard dinner rolls at Ann Carol. She bonked her right in the eye and raised a welt this big.”
Selma paused to light a cigarette while she studied the chart. “How about put her at Table 13?”
Phyllis made a rueful face. “I guess that’d do. I mean, it’s dull, but not bad. At least Ann Carol wouldn’t be subject to an attack by flying yeast bread.”
Selma looked up at me. “Morning, Kinsey. What’s on your plate today? Are you about finished in there?”
“Almost,” I said. I glanced at Phyllis, wondering if this was a subject to be discussed in front of her.
Selma caught my hesitation. “That’s fine. Go ahead. You don’t have to worry about her. She knows all this.”
“I’m drawing a blank. I don’t doubt your story. I’m sure Tom was worried about something. Other people have told me he didn’t seem like himself. I just can’t find any indication of what was troubling him. Really, I’m no better informed now than when I started. It’s frustrating.”
I could see the disappointment settle across Selma’s face.
“It’s only been two days,” she murmured. Phyllis was frowning slightly, straightening a pile of papers on the table in front of her. I hoped she had something to offer, but she said nothing so I went on.
“Well, that’s true,” I said. “And there’s always the chance something will pop up unexpectedly, but so far there’s nothing. I just thought you should know. I can give you a rundown when you have a minute.”
“I guess you can only do your best,” Selma said. “Coffee’s hot if you want some. I left you a mug alongside that little pitcher of milk over there.”
I crossed to the coffeemaker and poured myself a cup, taking a quick whiff of the milk before adding it to my coffee. I debated whether to mention the business with the panel truck, but I couldn’t see the point. The two of them were already back at work and I didn’t want to have to deal with their concern or their speculation. I might net myself a little sympathy, but to what end?
“See you in a bit,” I said. The two didn’t lift their heads. I shrugged to myself and moved into the den.
I stood in the doorway while I sipped my coffee, staring at the disarray that still littered the room. I’d been working my way through the mess in an orderly fashion, but the result seemed fragmented. Many jobs were half done and those I’d completed hadn’t netted me anything in the way of hard data. I’d simply proceeded on the assumption that if Tom Newquist was up to something he had to have left a trace of it somewhere. There were numerous odd lots of paperwork I wasn’t sure how to classify. I’d piled much of it on the desk in an arrangement invisible to the naked eye. I was down to the dregs and it was hard to know just where to go from here. I’d lost all enthusiasm for the project, which felt dirty and pointless. I did have six banker’s boxes stacked along one wall. Those contained the files that I’d labeled and grouped: previous income tax forms, warranties, insurance policies, property valuations, various utility stubs, telephone bills, and credit card receipts. Still no sign of his field notes, but he might have left them at the station. I made a mental note to check with Rafer on that.