The sound of the knock makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I just stand there for a moment, unsure what to do. I don’t really want to open the door right now.
But maybe it’s Nick with my dinner. I should check.
My phone buzzes on top of my bed. I glance over at the screen. It’s the police station again. I let it go to voicemail.
After another moment of hesitation, I pull the door open. I almost gasp with relief when I see there’s no one there. I look down—a plate containing a sandwich is lying on the ground. The sandwich has been hastily assembled—the top slice of bread is barely on top of the sandwich. I pick up the plate and examine my dinner. It is a turkey sandwich, nothing more and nothing less. No mayonnaise, no lettuce, no tomatoes. Just dry turkey and bread.
But it’s free. Beggars can’t be choosers.
Then again, I wonder if it’s safe to eat. This guy who owns the motel, Nick Baxter, may very well be a cold- blooded killer. And it’s clear he doesn’t think much of me. Maybe I shouldn’t be eating anything he gave to me.
I raise my eyes, and that’s when I notice the door to room 202 has cracked open again. It’s open just enough that both watery blue eyes stare out at me. She startled me before, but now I’m ready for her.
“Can I help you?” I say.
The door swings open further. Now I can see that the blue eyes belong to an elderly woman. She has long white hair and a deeply creased face. When she speaks, her voice is like sandpaper. “You are feistier than the other one.”
I suck in a breath. This woman saw my sister here. Maybe they even talked. I drop the plate on a dresser inside my room and step into the hallway. “What other one?”
Her ancient lips curl into a smile.
“What other one?” I say, louder this time. And then she slams the door in my face. Great.
I want to say to hell with her and get out of here, but I can’t do that. Quinn was here. I have a feeling Quinn spoke with this woman, and maybe this woman knows something. I’ve got to talk to her and figure out what she knows. Then I can leave.
I grab my purse and step across the hallway. I knock firmly on the woman’s door. There’s only silence on the other side. So I knock again.
“Excuse me?” I say. “I’d like to speak to you.” Silence.
“Please.” I bring my face closer to the door. “Listen, the truth is… I’m looking for my sister. I think she was here. Can you help me?”
The silence behind the door is endless. Finally, I hear locks clicking open. The door creaks as loudly as the stairs as it swings open. The woman is standing there in a long, white nightgown, peering up at me.
“You say you are looking for her?” she asks me.
I squeeze my hands together. “I want to know what happened after she left the motel.”
“Do you?”
I nod. “Can I come in?”
Her eyes narrow at me for a moment, but then she steps aside. My heart is racing, telling me this is a mistake, but I keep moving. I enter the old woman’s room and allow her to lock the door behind me.
