“Speaking of not forgetting, you have an amazing memory. And a fan.” I glanced over my shoulder, to where the drugstore attendant stood, a dust cloth in hand. She held it to the window and stared at us.
Brynner looked down. “I have no idea who she is.”
“Butyou—”
“Her name tag said ‘Tamara.’ Benton’s the only school for twenty miles, and she’s way too young for me.”
The ease with which he lied frightened me, as did how calmly he admitted to it. “I wasn’t aware there was a woman who wasn’t your type.”
Brynner looked old with experience, if not years. “I don’t— Never mind. Follow me.” He got back in the truck, waving to the lone police car sitting in the square as we pulled out of town.
The biggest thing about the Big 8 motel was the sign. Not the rooms, of which there were exactly eight, or the ice maker sitting outside, which was just a freezer with ice cube trays in it. A lone soda machine sat beneath flickering fluorescent lights, while moths danced overhead.
Brynner got out ahead of me, headed into the office. By the time I made it out of the car, he and the owner were laughing and joking.
When I stepped inside, the owner took his hat off and offered me his hand. “Welcome, ma’am. Pleasure to have you at the Big 8.”
He glanced over to Brynner. “How many hours you need it for?”
Hours?
“Grace is spending the night,” he sputtered. “I’m not. She’ll need the weekly rate.” Brynner’s face turned deep red in the cheeks, flushing clean to his chest.
A look of recognition lit up the owner. “Right. Room number eight is clean and ready.”
Brynner spoke before I could. “No. Put her in one. Eight has two side windows anything could crawl through, and I don’t like her having to walk all the way down there.”
The owner shook his head. “One’s occupied till ten thirty. I could have it ready by eleven, eleven thirty if you want me to wash the sheets.”
“Number eight is fine,” I said, taking the key. “I can walk myself all the way there. Good night.” I clopped out the door and down the broken concrete walkway until I came to room eight. The key turned easily, and despite my fears, nothing furry scurried across the floor when I turned the light on.
The tired burgundy carpet didn’t have stains as much as the stains had tired burgundy carpet. I flounced on the bed and immediately rolled to the center, sagging into a mattress with a taco-shaped indentation in the middle. Field pay, I reminded myself over and over. I thought about calling the care center, but I’d been gone only one day. Not even one day.
Tomorrow, I’d earn my money and make sure if similar opportunities came up, Director Bismuth would call me first.
Outside, Brynner’s truck roared to life, and headlights flashed in the window as he backed up. Tires crunched through the parking lot gravel, and then aging brakes whined. A door opened, followed by bootsteps to my door.
Would he really dare knock on my door? What exactly would he expect?
After a moment, the boots retreated, the truck door slammed, and Brynner roared off into the night. My heart slowed, until the throbbing in my ears subsided, replaced by confusion. So I did the best thing I could, crawling into bed determined that the next day would go better. Smoother. Right.
I woke only once, disappointed but not surprised to find that the motel room had rats. Outside my window, something small scratched back and forth, gnawing something. I threw a shoe at the wall, and it skittered away. That’s the last thing I knew until dawn.
Nine
GRACE
Dawn came early in western New Mexico. Without mountains to hide the sun, it split the plains like a giant, fusion-powered alarm clock. After a shower with depressingly little hot water, I changed into the “Bentonville” T-shirt I bought and the spare clothes Aunt Emelia lent me.
I hung my BSI field badge from my neck, just so folks would know I wasn’t some floozy. I was here on official business. When I opened the motel door, the ground beneath my feet crunched. A line of white crystals crossed the door, under the window, and ended in a mound by the brick wall.
Salt. A line of salt across my doorway. Was this what Brynner did last night? The man lived on superstitions.
Down at the office, I roused a sleepy teen who looked irritated to be alive.