Page 55 of Best Offer Wins
“Uh, thanks,” I stammer, forcing a weak smile. “Guess I’m a little on edge. I can’t seem to get any bars and I’m trying to find my Airbnb.”
“Happens all the time out here,” she says with a laugh. “Come on in, I’ll let you connect to the Wi-Fi.”
I’m so grateful I could cry. Who is this angel of Appalachia—and most critically, how fast can she lead me to Dottie?
I follow her into the antique store, a bell over the door jinglingas we enter. The place has the musty, dusty scent of an attic. It’s a single room, jam-packed in every direction.
Baskets and rusty metal bins form precarious towers atop old farm tables. Stacks of framed artwork fill the seat of a bulging, striped sofa. A collection of taxidermy on high-up shelves—ducks and squirrels, deer and coyotes—encircles the whole space.
“The Wi-Fi is HCAntiques, you should see it now,” says the woman, adjusting a spindle-backed chair that hangs from a hook in the ceiling. “Password is mountainair, one word, all lowercase.”
I squeeze in next to the junk on the striped sofa, relief surging through me as my phone connects. A text from Ian dings first:Hey babe, let me know if you made it ok.
Then my inboxes start to populate, the messages stacking up like chips during a winning hand of poker.
My stomach drops when I see that Jordana has forwarded something from aNew York Timesreporter, who apparently only reached out to her after I didn’t respond to him sooner. I spot his original message buried at the bottom of my inbox. They’re planning a “36 Hours in DC” and they want to feature Causa.
I got back to him myself,Jordana has written, but why aren’t you all over this???
So sorry!I respond.Somehow he got stuck in my spam filter.
Shit.
But at least I’ll have somewhere to sleep. Among the J.Crew sales and Athleta ads cluttering up my Gmail is the jackpot I was counting on: a response from the Airbnb host.
Hi Margo,
The cabin’s ready for you. Address is 1800 Black Bear Dr. The lockbox is to the left of the front door, code is 8409. And yes, it’s also available tomorrow night if you need to extend your trip.
Thanks!
Steve
“Find what you needed?” the woman asks, as I rise from the sofa.
With the Airbnb squared away, I can finally get back on mission. My pulse picks up.
“Well, partially…” I say slowly, the excitement building. “I’m actually in Hidden City because I’m trying to find a young woman named Dorothy Ross. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I thought you might know her.”
“Huh.” The woman sniffs. “Can’t say that sounds familiar.”
Her confusion seems authentic. But she probably just needs a little time to think—I forge ahead.
“Are you sure?” I press. “Maybe you know her as Dottie?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry, don’t think I can help you.”
Why is she being so difficult? If she would just take a goddamn minute to mull it over, surely something would come back to her. Is shetryingto rush me out of here? If she thinks I’m giving up that easily, she’s in for a rude fucking awakening.
“Listen,” I say, the fury at a low simmer, a faint throbbing behind my eyes, “I really think Dorothy has some connection to this place and if you would only—”
The groan of the back door interrupts. The woman turns toward it: “Ah, come on, Lily,” she scolds gently. “You know you need to clean those off better before you bring ’em inside.”
I suck in a breath.
Lily.
DorothyLilianRoss.
