Page 3 of The Lake of Lost Girls

He wore a generic, impersonal smile meant to charm. That was, until he looked at me. Then it faltered beforefailing entirely. He blinked; his frown deepening. When he hadn’t said anything after several long moments, I became irritated, good looks be damned.

“Sir, can I help you?” I repeated with a hint of impatience.

The man seemed to force a neutral expression. He met my eyes and the earlier awkwardness vanished. “Yes. I have a reservation, it was booked on the company credit card, but this young lady,” he paused to smile politely at Marnie, “says I need the actual card to check in. The problem being, I don’t have it with me. In my rush to get into town, I left it back home in Chicago.”

I turned my attention to the computer. “Let me have a look at your reservation. What name is it booked under?”

“Ryan McKay.”

I pulled up the reservation. “Ah, all right. It actually looks like you’ve already paid for the room, so it’s not a problem that you don’t have the card. It’s normally our policy that the card used to book the reservation be shown at check in, but as long as you have another form of payment for incidentals, we’ll make a note in the system.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect, thank you.” He retrieved his wallet and handed me his personal card.

Marnie was now checking in the family with the two out of control kids running around the lobby. They were getting dirty looks from the other guests. I pulled a couple packs of crayons and a coloring book from beneath the counter and handed them to the flustered parents. “Here, these are for the kids. They can sit over by the fireplace and I’ll have someone bring them some cookies and lemonade.”

The parents took them with visible relief. “Thank you,” the mom said, waving the kids over who took the crayons and coloring book excitedly. They hurried off to have a seat, out of the way.

I turned back to Ryan McKay who grinned at me. “Nicely handled.”

For some reason I felt myself blushing at the compliment. I smiled dismissively. “Um, Okay, um,” I stumbled.What was wrong with me? I coughed to cover my awkwardness. “You’re all checked in Mr. McKay.”

“It’s Ryan. Mr. McKay is my father,” he laughed.

“Here’s your keycard, Mr. McKay. You’re on the fifth floor. The elevator is across the lobby,” I said pointedly.

“Ouch, okay, I can take a hint.” He winced with a chuckle while taking the keycard from me. He picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. Before leaving he looked at me again, narrowing his eyes slightly. “This is going to sound strange, but do I know you?” He peered at the name tag on my shirt. “Lindsey … Lindsey what?”

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Realizing how his question sounded, Ryan held up a hand. “No really. I know that sounds like a line, but you look so familiar.”

My smile was now decidedly frostier than it had been before. It wasn’t the first pickup line I’d heard and unfortunately it wouldn’t be the last. You couldn’t be a female in the service industry and not be inundated with unwanted advances. I had learned the best way to handle it was to shoot it down … hard and fast. The worst thing was giving them any sort of opening.

“Unless you’ve stayed with us before, I doubt our paths would have crossed.” I handed him his printed receipt, never giving him my last name. “We hope you have a nice stay at the Bronze Monarch.” I turned away from him and let Marnie know I was heading back to my office.

As I walked across the lobby, I couldn’t help but feel eyes on me, watching me leave, and I knew that if I turned to look, it would be Ryan McKay.

CHAPTER2

LINDSEY

Present day

“LINDS, YOUR MOMand I are going out for dinner. You’re on your own to get yourself something to eat” My dad said, poking his head around my bedroom door.

I pulled my Airpod out of my ear and gave him a nervous smile. He had no idea he had caught me listening to the first episode of the Ten Seconds to Vanish podcast for the fifth time since its release. The new episode was due to drop over the weekend and I could barely contain my impatience.

“I’ll be fine, Dad. I’ll have some of Mom’s leftover lasagna.”

“Your mom told me to tell you that she made a casserole if you wanted it.” He peered hesitantly into my room. “And you know what she’d say about excessive screen time. Do us both a favor and read a book or something, otherwise I have to hear about it,” he laughed absently, indicating my phone with its lit up screen and the podcast graphic in plain view. Dad wasn’t one to lecture, or be too involved with my life in any way, which was in stark contrast to my mother’s hovering. Ultimately, they seemed to balance each other out.

I quickly flipped it over before he could see it. “I’m listening to a podcast, no eyes necessary.” I wanted to smack myself as soon as the truth left my mouth.

Dad raised his eyebrows. “A podcast? Which one? Maybe I’ve heard of it. I’m down, I hear stuff,” he joked.

“Oh it’s nothing exciting. Just a podcast on fancy hotels,” I lied, feeling awful at how effortless it was for me to do so. Lying to my parents wasn’t natural for me. We had an open and honest relationship, which made me feel ten times worse.

Dad made a face. “Sounds like a pass.” Dad and I didn’t share interests, so it wasn’t hard to put him off the scent.

“Not a sports car in sight, I’m afraid,” I teased. My dad loved muscle cars, particularly the bright yellow 1965 Mustang Boss 429 he kept parked in the garage and I had never seen him drive.

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