Page 6 of His Road Dog

"Miss, you need to stay back." A policeman, holding a roll of yellow police-line ribbon, walked toward her.

Trying to see past everyone, she stood on her tiptoes. "Is that...?"

She landed on her heels and looked at the cop. He walked in front of her, stringing off the area.

"Excuse me." She followed him. "That's my motel room. Are the police inside my room?"

The officer set the tape on the ground, grabbed her elbow, and pulled her over to a police car. "You'll need to stay here." The cop motioned over his head and shouted, "Lewis."

Another cop jogged over, apparently 'Lewis'. "Yeah?"

"This is the woman from Room 7."

Lewis grabbed the butt of the pistol on his belt, keeping the weapon holstered. "Turn around and put your hands on the car."

"What?" She laughed at the comical way Lewis acted as if she was a dangerous criminal. "What's going—?"

He grabbed her elbow, turning her away from him. "Put your hands on the vehicle."

She dropped her purse and placed her palms on the door frame of the car. Looking over her shoulder, she gasped when the man patted her sides, working his way down. "What are you doing?"

"Miss, we need to ask you questions about what happened here today." The cop patted the inside of her thighs.

"Stop touching me." She shifted away from his hands. "I've been working. I haven't even been here all day."

"What time did you leave?"

Her heart raced, and she exhaled harshly. "Eight o'clock."

"Can we verify that with your employer?"

"Y-yes. I work at Sally's Style Barn." The policeman turned her around, and she hugged herself. "What happened?"

Not answering her, Officer Lewis said, "You have therightto remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have theright..."

Nicole gawked. Searching the area, she needed someone to help her. She'd done nothing wrong.

A stretcher rolled out of her motel room. A white sheet covered what she assumed was a dead body.

She pressed her hand to her chest. Interrupting Lewis, she said, "Who is that?"

It was only her staying in the room. Nobody should be in there. They could check the motel records.

Lewis removed a small notebook from his pocket and flipped the cover over. "Do you know Mr. Roy Guthrie?"

She gasped and looked at the officer. "Is that him?"

"Do you know him?"

"Yes. Yes..." She gazed off into the distance, where the paramedics loaded the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. "Is that him?"

"Yes, he was—"

"Oh, my God." She ducked under the police-line tape and hurried to the ambulance.

Halfway there, Lewis grabbed her arm, stopping her. She looked around frantically, not understanding what Roy was doing in her room and why he was under the sheet. On television, they always took dead people away on a gurney, hiding the face of the deceased.

Her knees weakened. She squatted, sitting on her heels and covered her mouth, sick to her stomach. This couldn't possibly be happening.

Roy had dropped her off at the motel last night after she'd gone to the biker party. He'd asked her when she would got off work because he usually picked her up. Why would he be in her motel room? How had he got in?

Officer Lewis pulled her off the ground and walked her toward the police car. Lightheaded, she couldn't grasp the severity of the situation—she'd seen Roy last night. The police acted like she knew what had happened.

A loud rumble broke through her panic. She looked out to the street.

Several bikers rode by, looking into the parking lot. Everyone seemed to know something was going on. It was her motel room. It was Roy.

And, she had no idea what happened.

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