end of the storm was coming ashore. Winds of one hundred thirty miles an hour. Massive flooding from Port Lavaca to Port Isabel. Fifteen-foot waves. On the bright side, the rainfall should lessen by midday. The Spurs were playing tonight in game seven of the playoffs. Anyone who was still alive would have something to look forward to.
There was shouting in the room next to us. It sounded like Ty, Markie and Chase had gotten a second wind and Mr. Lindy was trying to referee. I decided not to interfere. They probably needed the exercise.
Head count: Maia seemed all right for the moment. Garrett and Lane were fine. The three college guys and Benjamin Lindy were next door.
"Alex," I said. "Did he ever come back?"
"Haven't seen him," Garrett admitted. "I thought for sure..."
He didn't finish. Even he looked worried.
I thought about Ralph Arguello, grinning in the raining classroom. Maybe you should just look around, vato.
"Imelda," I called.
She came to the doorway, her arms full of towels.
"Have you seen Alex Huff?" I asked.
"No, senor."
"Where is his bedroom?"
She looked down, hugging the towels to her chest. "Mr. Huff is very private about his room, senor. I don't - "
"I need you to show me."
Jose appeared next to her, breathing hard. His pants were wet from the knees down.
"¿Que pasa?" he asked his wife.
"He...he wants to see Senor Huff's room."
Jose frowned. "We will show him, then."
"I'll go, too," Garrett said.
"No," I said. "Stay here. Take care of Lane and Maia."
Garrett didn't look pleased, but the fact that I'd included Lane made it difficult for him to say no. Lane was curled on the bed, staring forlornly at the wall as if it would blow apart any moment.
"All right," Garrett said. "But, little bro, nothing crazy, okay?"
"On a night like tonight? Of course not. Nothing crazy at all."
Alex's room was just down the hall on the left. The door was locked, which was a first. I'd started to think nobody at the hotel ever locked doors.
"Alex!" I yelled.
No answer.
The noise of the storm was louder on this end of the hall. It almost sounded like it was inside his room.
I pounded on the door. Still nothing.
Imelda stood next to me, twisting her apron. Jose's body was turned away from me, like he was trying to evade me, though I wasn't sure why. It seemed odd that just a few hours ago, I'd thought of him as a man with a perpetual smile. That smile was long gone.
"You have the key?" I asked them.
Imelda's eyes widened. "Senor Huff is the owner. He told us never to enter without permission."
"You don't clean his room?"
"Never."
"But you have to have a master key."
"I...Back downstairs," Imelda said.
"Downstairs."
She nodded halfheartedly.
I looked at Jose. "You?"
"No, senor. I'm just the cook. I have no master key."
"Fine," I said. "I'll break down the door."
Jose tensed. Imelda started to say, "Senor - "
I put my shoulder to the door and smashed it open.
Inside, the room was a wreck. The window had been demolished, but the wood splinters and glass shards pointed toward the storm, as if something had been hurled out. A strip of torn red cloth fluttered from one jagged tooth of glass. The curtain was sprinkled with pink spots, like diluted blood.
I tried to come up with some other explanation, but I kept coming back to the same conclusion. Someone had been pushed out the second-story window. And whoever it was had been wearing a shirt the same color as Alex Huff's.
Chapter 26
Maia couldn't sleep. The pangs had passed, but they'd scared her worse than she'd let on. She lay on her side, trying to keep still. Lane Sanford was also awake. She was curled in the other bed with Garrett sitting at her feet.
"We used to have storms at the ranch," Lane said. "Once lightning hit a tree and it burned almost an acre. But I've never seen anything like this."
"Your family ranch?" Maia asked.
"No...Bobby rented the place."
Lane spoke his name like a cuss word she'd trained herself to say, a word proper ladies weren't supposed to know.
"You should get a restraining order," Maia said. "I'd be happy to help."
"I can't," Lane said. "Thank you."
Her tone was final. There was a secret there she wasn't ready to share yet. Abuse, probably. Something else, too - something Lane thought she couldn't bring to the police. The problem with working criminal cases so long: Maia could come up with a whole array of depressing possibilities, all equally plausible and horrible. And yet