She almost asked if they could afford it, but stopped herself. She didn't care if they could afford it. Just the thought of a hot shower and a soft bed perked her up. She pulled her shoulders back, stretching against the tightness, the knots of stress balled up in the middle of her shoulder blades. Yes, a hot shower and a good night's sleep would make things better. And tomorrow? Who the hell cared about tomorrow? She had to take one day at a time, one hour at a time.
Melanie saw the brightly lit Comfort Inn sign and then the inn itself on the left side of the road. She smiled, a sense of relief for the first time since this nightmare began. Maybe this is what people meant by an oasis in the desert.
"Don't pull up to the lobby. Park over there, away from the lights." Jared was back to giving orders. She didn't care. She just kept thinking of the hot shower and the cool sheets.
"When you go into the lobby don't give them your real name. And say there's only two of you."
"But won't they see us all come in to go to our room?"
"It looks like a motel. I think we can get in from our own door. If not, they usually have side doors. Once you have the key card we can get in through them." More lecturing, more telling her what to do. "If you have to fill out any forms with address and stuff, put California and say you're headed to Chicago."
"Where in California?"
"I don't give a fuck, Mel. Make something up. Jesus! I can't think of everything." He counted out eight twenty-dollar bills and handed them to her over the seat. "It shouldn't be more than this."
She looked at the rest of the money he still held in his hand. In the dim light of the parking lot she could tell there was more that four hundred dollars. She wanted to ask if
he had taken some cash from the convenience store. She quickly decided she didn't care about that, either.
The lobby was bright and cozy with a small sitting area to the right and a breakfast or snack area off to the side of the reception cubicle. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee accosted her as soon as she entered. She checked over her shoulder to see whether the Taurus was visible from the desk. Nothing. She'd done a good job parking it away and out of sight.
"God! That smells great," she told the young man behind the counter. He actually looked pleased to have someone to talk to. The parking lot was pretty empty.
"Help yourself. I just made a fresh pot. Will you be staying with us this evening?" he asked as he began rounding up the necessary paperwork.
Her mind was on the coffee. It had been so long, too long, since she had given it up.
"Ma'am? Are you needing a room for this evening?"
"Yeah. I mean, yes. I will be."
"Single or double?"
"Double. There are just two of us." She checked his face. Just? Why the hell did she say just? But he hadn't noticed.
She saw the small TV he had been watching on the counter behind him. She glanced at the wall clock. Not quite ten. The news would be coming on soon, and she didn't want to see any of it. Not now when she could blow it. She wondered how much he had already seen or heard. Was he supposed to be reporting in to the police if anyone suspicious showed up?And then she wondered what would make someone look suspicious.
"Smoking or non?"
His question interrupted her paranoia. "Non," she said out of habit, suddenly regretting that she hadn't taken that pack out of the farmer's car. She could use a smoke right about now.
"If you could just fill out this information. How will you be paying this evening?" He handed the paperwork to her, placing a pen on top.
"Cash," she said, filling in the blanks on the form, pretending that the process didn't require as much thought as it did. Melanie knew that the best policy was to let others do the talking. KMS was what she lived by-Keep Mouth Shut. Too much information and people looked at you more closely. She didn't need to be remembered. She knew how to blend in. That's what she needed to do now. Just look the part of a weary traveler.
"That's $74.90. Let me get your change. The coffee is complimentary, twenty-four hours a day. We have a free continental breakfast from six till nine-thirty available over in our breakfast area." He pointed across the lobby, then counted out her change, took the form, looked it over and set it aside.
She almost sighed out loud. Why was this so much harder than blending in with shoppers at the mall, and slipping out of stores with merchandise she hadn't paid for?
"Here are your key cards. Your room number is listed on the inside of this folder. And let me show you where it is." He pulled out a paper and showed her on the diagram of the hotel. "We're here. You just drive around back and the door is the fourth from the north. Any questions?"
"Can I come back for the coffee?"
"Oh, sure. Each room has a door to the hallway inside, too, so you don't have to go outside. I'll be here all night. I'll make sure there's plenty fresh for you." He gave her a genuine smile.
"Okay." She turned to leave. She stopped at the door and over her shoulder said, "Thanks." It was the first time in a very long time that she truly felt thankful.
CHAPTER 54
9:07 p.m.
South of Nebraska City
'Holy crap!" Pakula said, taking his first look as Sheriff Dawes held open the kitchen door to the farmhouse. The flood of white fluorescent lights inside seemed a harsh contrast to the darkness outside.
The mobile crime techs had beaten him to the scene. Darcy Kennedy and Wes Howard had secured the kitchen, yet Pakula couldn't help wondering how many from the crowd in the front yard had already trampled through. The body was slumped in the hardback chair, the head rolled back, exposing the gaping wound in the neck, a violent slash of red against the biue-gray skin. It was probably exactly as it had been found. He wondered if the guy's wife had walked in this very door.
"What about the car?" he asked the sheriff, who stayed in the doorway. When Dawes didn't answer, Pakula glanced back at him and realized the sheriff hadn't stayed back in order to give them room to do their work, but because he looked as if he might upchuck. The man stood well over six feet, tall and skinny, teetering back and forth on the heels of his pointed-toed cowboy boots. "Sheriff Dawes, where's the Saab?"
"Oh, it's still in the garage. Nobody's touched it. Keys are in the ignition." He seemed relieved to have something to concentrate on. "State Patrol told me they'd have roadblocks from here to Kansas City. There's an APB out for the Chevy. We'll get the bastards. Maybe before morning."
Pakula hated to discourage the sheriff's optimism. If that Chevy already had an entirely different set of license plates on it, they might slip through the roadblocks.
"You pulling a double shift, Wes?" Pakula walked a wide circle around the corpse, careful not to interrupt the techs' grid.
"I could ask the same about you." The kid smiled but didn't take his eyes from the fingerprint he was making appear on the counter next to the bloody butcher knife that had been bagged.
"Why bother tying the guy up? And why do you suppose he used a knife?" Pakula started asking questions out loud as he sorted the pieces.
"He wasn't out of bullets," Sheriff Dawes said from his sanctuary. "He used one on the gas station clerk up the road."
"And that's where you might think he'd want to keep quiet instead of risking someone hearing the gunshot." Pakula squatted in front of the corpse so he could be eye level with the wound. "Yet out here, where nobody can hear it, he uses a knife."
"Is he making a statement of some kind?" Darcy asked.
"You tell me." He stood up, rubbing his eyes and wishing this kitchen wasn't so fucking bright.
Darcy pointed to the gash that started up under the left earlobe. "He did it from behind, left to right, so he's right-handed. No big surprise there. There was a lot more force than needed, practically decapitated the guy. Definite overkill. The kind of stuff you'd find in a crime of passion. But I'm thinking he didn't know this guy."