It’s dark by the time I get on the road. Fortunately, the snow has been cleared from the streets, so the tires don’t slip too badly. I can only imagine Quinn taking this route last night, when the snow was really coming down. She didn’t have a chance.
I merge onto the highway and start driving north. I filled up my tank in anticipation of the storm, so I’ve got enough gas to get me well across state lines, but I don’t think I’ll need to go that far.
Only a day earlier, Quinn took this exact route in her attempt to escape. I imagine her gripping the steering wheel, her eyes pinned down the road. I’m the one who taught Quinn to drive. She was very responsible about it. She would sit in the driver’s seat, holding the wheel carefully in the nine and three positions, her shoulders stiff as a board. She passed the driving test on her first try, and the first thing she did was hug me.
I can find her. I know I can.
About an hour after I get on the road, my phone rings. I rifle around in my purse, searching for it with my fingers, but the first thing they come in contact with is the pocket knife. It’s Rob’s knife, which he uses when he goes fishing, but I borrowed it. I thought it would be a good idea to have a little protection handy. Just in case.
My fingers finally locate my phone. I pull it out of my purse without taking my eyes off the road. I glance down at the name on the screen.
It’s the police station.
I put the phone on speaker and drop it into the cupholder. “Hello?” I say.
“Claudia? It’s Deputy Dwyer.” “Hi, Scotty.”
There’s a pause in the other line. I wonder if I finally got to him by using his old nickname. “Listen, Claudia. Where are you?”
I freeze. “I’m… at home.”
“No, you’re not. I was just at your house and your husband told me you weren’t home. He said he hasn’t seen you since the morning and didn’t know where you are.”
“Oh…”
“Have you spoken to your husband recently?”
“No, I don’t generally get his permission when I leave the house.”
Scott ignores my jab. “So where are you then?
There’s no way I can tell him where I really am. “I just stepped out for a bit. To the grocery store.”
“I see.” He doesn’t sound like he believes me, but what can he do? Arrest me for not being home? “I’d be happy to meet you wherever you are. I’d like to speak to you.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “About what?”
Another silence on the other line. “I’d rather talk in person. Where are you?”
I press my foot down on the gas, my head whipping back as the car accelerates. “Did you find Quinn?”
“No. Not yet.”
I don’t understand why he wants to speak to me so badly. And I don’t like the idea of meeting him somewhere that isn’t the police station. Not for the first time since I discovered my brother-in-law’s dead body, I don’t entirely trust Deputy Scott Dwyer.
“Claudia—”
“I’ll let you know when I get home from the grocery store,” I say.
Before he can say another word, I hang up the phone. There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. What does Scott want to talk to me about? What was such a secret that he couldn’t tell me about it on the phone?
It doesn’t matter though. I’m not turning around and heading back home. I’ve come this far. I’m going to keep pushing forward.
An hour later, I’m getting close to the end of New Hampshire. This is where Quinn must’ve been when the police officer pulled her over for the broken tail light. I keep my eyes peeled for any area she might have pulled her car into. Now that the sun is down, any liquid left on the road is starting to freeze. I have to slow down to keep my wheels from slipping.
There’s no way she could’ve gone much further than this in a snowstorm.
And that’s when I see it. The tiny faded sign that I almost miss, but just barely catch.
Baxter Motel.
I don’t know why, but my gut is telling me this is where Quinn ended up. She would have been looking for something small and out-of-the-way. And this is around where she got pulled over, so she knew she had to get off the road.
As I turn off the highway, following an equally faded sign pointing in the direction of the hotel, I pass a police car going in the opposite direction. It looks like they had the same idea I did. I slow down as much as I can and catch a glimpse of the backseat of the car. It’s empty.
So they didn’t find Quinn at the Baxter Motel.
I pull over on the side of the road, debating what to do next. The police obviously searched the motel and didn’t find her there. Am I wasting my time?
But I still have that feeling. I think she would have stopped here.
I’m going to check it out.
