Page 45 of Do Not Disturb
It’s the standard information sheet. Name, contact information, address. I’ll have to make it all up.
The man ambles off, presumably to change the sheets on the bed, even though it’s unnecessary. I’m not going to spend the night here. I’m only going to stay long enough to get the information I need.
I make up a fake name, and scribble in some fake address in my most illegible handwriting. My name is Melissa Smith and I live in Jefferson, New Hampshire.
While I’m waiting for the man to return, I get out my cell phone. There’s another missed call from the police station. I don’t call Scott back. Not now, anyway. Maybe after I get back home.
Idly, I type into the search engine on my phone: Baxter Motel New Hampshire.
I didn’t expect to get any hits. Maybe a Facebook page with a link to a website “under construction.” But instead, my entire screen fills with stories about the Baxter Motel. And the one word present in every single result is “murder.” My heart jumps in my chest.
“All set, ma’am.”
I jerk my eyes up from my phone screen. That man is standing in front of me, even though I didn’t see him come back downstairs. I shove my phone back in my purse. Part of me wants to ask him if he knows that every single mention of his motel on the internet has the word “murder” in it. I have a feeling he does.
I swallow. “Thanks.”
He grabs the sheet of paper that I just got done filling out. He scans my details and rolls his eyes.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing.”
“You just rolled your eyes.”
He puts down the piece of paper on the desk. “You really want to have this conversation?”
“What conversation?”
“Your information is fake.” He shrugs. “It’s fine.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “What makes you so sure of that?”
“I used to live in Jefferson. You got the zip code wrong. Way off.”
I open my mouth, not sure how to respond to that. “I…”
“I said it’s fine.” He waves to indicate I should follow him. “Come on upstairs,Melissa. I’m Nick, by the way.”
I follow Nick up the stairs to the second floor. This motel could definitely use a new paint job, and it’s almost frightening how much the stairs creak as I walk up them. This motel could use a neweverything.
We pass rooms 201 and 202, and then we come to a stop in front of room 203. The door is still slightly open from when he must have changed the sheets. He drops the key into my hand. “Here you go.”
I glance over his shoulder, into the tiny furnished motel room. At the hard bed and the tiny TV, and the small window. “Do you have anything for dinner here?”
He shoots me an irritated look. “I can make you a sandwich.”
“Is it included with the price of the room?”
“I suppose it will have to be, since you didn’t even have enough money to pay for the room.”
I look down the hallway behind him, at the two closed doors. Rooms 201 and 202. Is it possible that my sister occupied one of those rooms? It’s time to find out. “Is anyone else staying here?”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “I respectyourprivacy. Maybe you could respect the privacy of the other people staying here.”
With those words, he turns and leaves me.
Wow, that guy really didn’t like me. I’m not sure why, because he seemed belligerent from the second I came into the motel. Maybe it’s not me. Maybe he’s having a bad night.
