up, as I found his name neatly scrawled as the last guest to arrive. I was grateful to see the Cassidys meticulously filled in the name of one guest per cabin, probably the one paying the bill, followed by how many people were sharing the room, the date of arrival, and the date of departure. I skimmed over the list, noting the ones marked as having checked out.
After scanning over the columns, I came across the only one noted as having left the lodge yesterday. The writing was neat and concise, unmistakable. Howard Thomas + 2 guests, Cabin 3. Great. So our culprit was Howard Thomas or one of his guests. The registry didn’t make note of any addresses or phone numbers, and the records for whatever payment was accepted must have been kept somewhere else.
I put the book back and pulled open the desk drawers to see if they kept receipts or anything else up here. The only things I could find in the drawers were a lot of pens, Post-it Notes, manila folders with inventories and order forms for stuff in the dining hall and cabins, and lots of dust. Yuck. Nothing useful, nothing that gave me any more clues how to track down Howard Thomas.
Damn. It had been a long shot—most people aren’t trusting enough to leave anything related to business finances out in the open—but I’d really been hoping to find something up here. The full name was better than nothing. I’d call Sara in the morning and ask her to run a trace.
Just as I had carefully tidied up so nothing would look disturbed when the Cassidys came out in the morning, George’s voice drifted from the hallway opposite the dining area. As quietly as I could, I ducked back down, squeezing under the desk in hopes of going overlooked.
“… and they don’t know who you are. No, Pops kept quiet; he’s just really concerned you’re going to pull that cowboy shit again. Stay away until they’re gone, okay?”
What the hell was this?
“No, genius, they already suspect he’s covering for you. Stay out of sight until they’ve gone back to the city, okay?”
He listened to whatever the response was on the other end of the line and walked off somewhere, the sound of his voice fading and leaving me sitting on pins and needles waiting to see if he had stopped somewhere that he might spot me when I came out of hiding. He’d gone quiet, listening to the other end of the conversation, so I wasn’t sure exactly where he was.
Just as I was edging my way out from under the desk, I had to stifle a scream as something slammed down on the counter right above my head. George was right behind me, on the other side of the counter.
“What the hell do you think we’ve been doing? Look, that girl he’s dating—she said she was a P.I. Pops didn’t give your real name, but it’s only a matter of time before she starts nosing around and figures it out. Enough with this high school shit. Either stop dicking around and kill him or go back to the city until they’re gone.”
My heart was pounding so hard, I was positive George must be able to hear it echoing through the cavernous room. He laughed at whatever the response was, and the wood above me creaked as he put his weight on it, maybe leaning against it.
“Nah, I don’t want to go out there with that new blood they dragged with them. I’m going to bed in a few minutes. You coming over for the game next weekend?”
The rest of the conversation couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes but felt a lot longer, and had nothing to do with me, the Sunstrikers, or anything to do with the lodge. My heart gradually eased in my chest as they discussed mundane matters like the upcoming World Series. My money was on the Yankees, of course.
They talked long enough for cramps to settle into the arches of my feet and my lower back from staying crammed under the desk so long. Fear of discovery was enough to keep me absolutely still. After an age, George finally said good-bye and tossed the cordless phone on the counter. I had to stifle a gasp as it thunked across the wood over my head. He yawned and wandered off, his footsteps echoing in the quiet dark.
I waited longer than was probably necessary to make sure George wasn’t coming