FIFTEEN
The wood complained with every step as Roxy thudded down the stairs. I stood at the top of the staircase, holding the banister to keep from swaying. I looked down to see her reach the counter and repeatedly hit the small gold bell until Sarah came out from the back.
“Hello ma’am—”
“Who’s been up in our room?”
“No one. Joan won’t even come until eleven tomorrow to start cleaning—”
“Then who, do you suppose, slipped this into the door?” Roxy slid the postcard across the counter.
Sarah scanned the card. “I have no idea—”
“Someone clearly intended for this to spook us, and I’d like to know who. Right now.”
“Ma’am, I have no idea. I’ve been in the back all night, and only locals live here—”
“Then which of those locals would have done this? Would you like me to complain to the owner?”
“I’m really sorry this upset you. I would move you to another room, but there aren’t any left.”
Roxy leaned on the counter. “I’d like to speak with the owner.”
“Ma’am, please, I need this job….”
“And he’s going to can your butt if he hears someone has been harassing one of your customers while you were on duty.”
Even from my vantage point from above, I could see Sarah nervously brush back a strand of her hair. “Please, I’m so sorry….”
“You’re from around here. Tell me who lives here.”
“I’m not local.”
“When we checked in, you said you knew everybody in town.”
“I do know most people in town. Or, at least, I’ve learned their names and faces over the past six months or so.”
Even though I couldn’t see her face, I knew Roxy’s eyebrows were rising. “Then I suggest you tell me which of these faces went by our room tonight. I’m a lot meaner than I look, and I’m aware, right now, with these dark circles under my eyes, I look pretty frightening.”
“I need this job,” Sarah blurted out.
“Well, I’d like to speak with your boss, Sarah… whatever your last name is.”
When the girl burst into tears, Roxy shook her head. “Oh, for God’s sake, here….” She reached into her purse, bringing out some Kleenex. “Why are you so worked up—?”
“You don’t understand… if you go to the owner and he fires me, I have nowhere to go.” She wiped her eyes. “And I can’t tell you my last name because I don’t know what it is. Who’s going to hire someone who doesn’t know their last name?”
“Listen, I’m full up with drama, trust me. Clearly, this is getting me nowhere. But I’m serious. I will find out who left this postcard, and if I get another one, I will track down this owner and seriously chew some ass. Comprende?”
The girl nodded, and Roxy gave her the rest of her Kleenex packet. “I don’t suppose you have surveillance video of the hallways or who’s come in the front door?”
The girl shook her head.
“What does it mean, ‘Where the Water Falls’?”
The sound of my voice surprised both of them. I must have come down the stairs so quietly they didn’t hear.
Sarah exhaled in an attempt to compose herself. “I asked the same thing of the old timers when I first saw it. When the first settlers came here, they said the creeks were so shiny they looked like argentum, which I’ve since learned is Latin for silver. And when the snow melted, there were so many little waterfalls leading into the creeks that it became a way to try and lure others to visit in the spring.”
“And how many of these old postcards are conveniently lying around town?” Roxy waved it in the air.
“I haven’t seen one in a while. Listen, I’m really sorry—”
“We’ll figure it out.” Roxy took me by the arm. “But I’m dead bolting our door tonight!”
Roxy muttered all the way up the stairs and loudly shut the door as we entered our room. I went to stand before the window.
“Well, don’t know if you heard her say it, but that girl says she doesn’t know who left this,” Roxy said. “She said they don’t keep surveillance.”
I stared into the dark. “Ten minutes ago, I was wondering if I was wrong about everything.”
“Just to play devil’s advocate, couldn’t it be somebody worried about two old broads who could be stuck here in a snowstorm?”
“I don’t think anybody in this town is concerned about our welfare.”
I thought about telling her about the connection I thought I’d made to the Researcher’s poem. But the idea of explaining to Roxy the theory, and thinking about how she would certainly respond with sarcasm, made me very tired.
“Should you call Tom?” she asked, digging through her bag for the nightgown we bought at the airport.
“I tried as we were coming up the stairs. Couldn’t get a signal out. Can’t send a text either. Might be why there’s been no calls or texts. Oh God, I hope nothing’s happened that has Anne panicked. If she can’t reach me, and Tom can’t, it may prompt him to ask police for help tracking me down.”
“Lynn, I have to tell you, this scares me a little. I don’t like this note. Should we call the police? Go make a report?”
“And tell them what exactly? Anyone who hears what we’re doing would think we’re the crazy ones. Especially if they’ve seen the news.”
“I thought we were crazy too,” Roxy said, holding out the postcard. “Until this.”
I took the postcard from her. “Even if they can’t get ahold of me, and they try to trace us, I don’t care. I’m not leaving until I know if William is here.”
“I would say I’m hormonal, but that ship sailed long ago, so I guess I’m just hankering for some guilty pleasures,” Roxy said as the Suburban rolled down the street. “I’m going to need some Doritos,”
“It’s 8:15 in the morning,” I replied, wincing. It was still bright outside, even with the endless gray skies. I looked down at my phone. No calls or texts, either to my phone or Roxy’s. Clearly there was no service here. There was no doubt Tom would start worrying. We were running out of time.
“I don’t want to go back into that bar, even for decent food. So when you can’t have scrambled eggs, you have Doritos, and I saw some in the window of that general store. Climbers, was it? Why don’t you bat your eyes at that old man and get us a free bag to go with my free Diet Coke from yesterday?”
“That old man is probably younger than us.”
“Look, we’re already here. One perk of this town is you can be anywhere in two seconds.”
I slid out, feeling a bit ridiculous that we drove instead of walking. But from here on out, we would be driving the rest of the day, trying to map out a plan. As I once again stepped in the store, the tobacco smell reminded me of Daddy. Had he been in this town as well? Looking for me?
“Well, this is my lucky week,” the man said with a smile, still perched at the counter.
“Good morning. I hope you have coffee.”
“That, my dear, I have plenty of.”
“This isn’t for me.” I slid the bag of Doritos across the counter.
“Hey, whatever gets you through the day.”
“Can you make it two cups?”
“Don’t break my heart and say that you’re here with your husband.”
“Just here with an old friend.”
“Still on the search?” he asked, pouring the coffee.
“Back at it today.”
“Like I said—don’t get your hopes up. If the wind blows in a different direction, I’m usually the first to know.”
I studied the man’s face. “I don’t suppose you tried to warn me of the storm with a postcard stuck in my door last night?”
“Somebody warn you about the storm in a note? Around here, warning about snowstorms is as common a greeting as good morning and good night.’”