number painted on the front of the building.
Thirty-three.
The same number as the rounds in Reel’s Glock’s oversize mag.
The other number that Robie had considered was seventeen, the model number of the Glock.
Thirty-three had obviously been the correct one. His coin flip was a winner. But it also made sense. The 17 model was standard. Reel had modified it with the extra-long mag.
His gaze next went to the sign in front of the motor court. Its background was painted white, with narrowly drawn black concentric circles emanating from the center, and the perimeter painted a bold red. The name of the motor court was the Bull’s-Eye Inn; the sign represented the bull’s-eye.
Cheesy, thought Robie, but maybe it had been original and catchy when the place was first built.
The red edge was what had drawn his attention, however.
He held up the photo he’d found in Reel’s locker. The picture of Reel and the unknown gent. The edge of red on the right side of the photo could be from the sign, if they had been standing next to it. More confirmation that he was in the right place.
Robie parked the car and got out and headed to the office. Through the plate glass he could see an elderly white-haired woman sitting behind a waist-high counter. When he opened the door a bell tinkled. The woman looked up from her computer, which was old enough not to be a flat-screen but still had the bubble butt the size of a small TV. She rose to greet him.
Robie looked around. The place didn’t appear to have been changed since opening day. It looked frozen in time from well before a man had walked on the moon or JFK had been elected president.
“Can I help you?” the woman said.
Up close she looked to be in her eighties. Her hair was delicate, cottony, her shoulders rounded and bent, and her knees didn’t look all that sturdy. The metal nameplate on her blouse read “Gwen.”
Robie said, “I was just driving through and saw this place. Quite something.”
“Original owner built it right after WW-Two.”
“Are you the new owner, Gwen?”
She grinned, showing capped teeth. “Honey, there’s nothing ‘new’ about me. And if I were the owner, I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to use a computer. I’d hire someone to do it for me. But I can always phone my great-granddaughter. She tells me what button to hit.”
“You have any rooms available?”
“Yes, we do. Not exactly the busy season for us. Most people come here to get closer with nature. But it’s a little cold to be with nature right about now. We do the best in the summer months, and late spring is pretty good too.”
“Is Room 17 available?”
She looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Room 17? We don’t have a Room 17.”
“But it looks like you have more than seventeen rooms.”
“Oh, we do. But it was the quirk of the original owner. He started with room 100 and worked up from there. Guess he wanted the place to sound a lot bigger than it was. We have twenty-six rooms, thirteen on each floor. That’s unlucky, come to think of it. Thirteen. But we’ve been here a long time, so I guess no harm, no foul.”
Robie had taken a shot in the dark with the number 17. If Reel had left him hidden clues he wanted to try all of them.
“Well, then give me whatever room you have available.”
She slid out a key for Room 106 and handed it to him after he paid for two nights in cash.
“There’s a pretty good place to eat in town called Palisades. That’s the nice restaurant anyway. You know, tablecloths and napkins made of something other than paper towels. They got stuff on the menu I’ve never heard of and couldn’t cook myself to save my life. But it’s real good if you got the money to spend, which most folks around here don’t. Now, if you’re economy-minded you can try the Gettysburg Grill one block over from Palisades. It’s just plain comfort food. Burgers, pizza, and fries. I’m partial to the Neapolitan shake they do. It’s real nice and only costs a buck.”
“Thanks.”
Robie was turning to go back to his car and get his bag when her words made him stop.
“Of course, there is a Cabin 17.”
He turned to face her. “A Cabin 17.”
“Guess I forgot to tell you about our cabins.”
“I guess so,” said Robie, looking at her expectantly.
“But it wouldn’t have done you any good.”
“Why is that?’
“Well,