Elsie drove away from Denny’s on autopilot, rehashing the conversation she’d had with Brigitte in her head. Clearly, Taylor was holding out on them. She hadn’t mentioned anything about the meeting that she and Desiree had attended in the prior week. A bright girl like Taylor should have been a wealth of information. Why had she neglected to mention the interview at Denny’s? To confirm that the woman at Denny’s on Thursday was the same Dede who drove them out of town on Friday night? Why not mention her distinctive hair color? Her Southern drawl?
Something was whispering in the back of Elsie’s brain. A connection was just out of her grasp. What was it? What was she missing?
The sign appeared on the opposite side of the road: Rancho Motel. Daily/Weekly/Monthly Rates. Kitchenettes. She couldn’t miss it; since they widened the highway, the sign nearly leaped off the curb.
Elsie had almost reached the courthouse before she remembered. A car tearing out of the Rancho parking lot, with Alabama plates. Driven by a red-haired woman, on the day Mandy was found in the motel room, beaten like a dog. That car had nearly sideswiped Elsie in the lot.
As Elsie circled the town square and headed north, she dug in the console of the car, hunting blindly for loose change. She knew she’d need to offer up a bribe if she wanted Mandy to talk. And she was determined to make her talk, to back up Elsie’s suspicions. That Mandy knew the connection between the Rancho incident, and Desiree’s disappearance, and Taylor’s involvement, and the red-haired woman at Denny’s—who had to be Dede. And Tony. Tony, with Marvel Modeling.
When her hand unearthed a fistful of quarters and dimes, she smiled. She could afford a trip to Jiffy Go.
After she parked across the street from the Battered Women’s Center, she dropped the coins in her purse before she trotted across the street. Inside the lobby, she was disappointed to see that June wasn’t in her usual spot. Instead, the desk was occupied by a woman in her twenties, bent over a paperback book.
Elsie strode to the desk. “Hi. I’m Elsie Arnold, with the county Prosecutor’s Office. I volunteer at the center on the weekends.”
The young woman folded the corner of the page and closed the book. “I’m Jeanette.”
“Hey. I’m looking for Mandy. She’s been staying here this week. Room 18, I think.
Jeanette wore a loose-fitting blue sweater; the sleeves were so long that she had to push them up before she turned to operate the computer on the desk. “Last name?”
A wave of impatience started to build inside Elsie’s chest. “Not exactly sure. But I know her, I swear; I’m the one who brought her here.”
Jeanette stared at the computer screen, frowning. “I don’t see a Mandy.”
Elsie stepped away, scanning the empty lobby. “Where’s June? June knows who I’m talking about.”
“She comes in at five. You can come back then.”
Elsie headed for the stairway. “I’ll go check in on her. I know where she is.”
She hustled up the stairway, her shoes making the wooden treads creak. Jeanette’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs, but she ignored it, and marched up to Room 18.
The door was ajar; but she knocked anyway. When she didn’t get a response, she pounded on the door with the side of her fist.
“Mandy? You awake? It’s Elsie. Want to go for a ride?”
She pushed the door slightly; the hinges complained, screeching like an ancient soprano in the church choir. Sticking her head through the door, Elsie repeated: “Mandy?”
The room was deserted. The narrow bed was unmade, the sheets shoved to the side, as if someone had left it abruptly. Elsie stepped inside, heading for the closet and jerking open the door. It was empty.
Jeanette appeared in the doorway, her face pink with indignation. “You can’t just barge in here like this. We have a policy.”
Ignoring her, Elsie walked into the minuscule bathroom, barely large enough to hold an ancient sink and toilet, and a rust-stained bathtub. A sliver of miniature soap sat in the soap dish. Other than that, there was no sign that Mandy had ever occupied the room. Not even a toothbrush was left.
Thinking aloud, Elsie said, “She didn’t have any money. No belongings, not even a coat, as far as I know. The last time I saw her, she was wearing flip-flops on her feet. In November.”
Jeanette stood in the bathroom doorway. “If you don’t leave immediately, I’m going to have to call someone.”
Elsie shut the bathroom door in her face; she didn’t want to argue. As it clicked shut, she was inches away from the only evidence of her stay that Mandy left behind.
The hospital gown hung on a hook on the back of the bathroom door.
The door swung open with a strong push. Elsie didn’t back away in time; the heavy wood clipped her on the forehead.
“Damn,” she howled as she bent over, clutching her head. “Shit.”
Jeanette backed away a step. “Are you all right?” she asked, apologetic.
“No, I’m not all right.” She rubbed the sore spot, inspecting it in the age-speckled mirror over the sink. “You almost cracked my head open.”
When she emerged from the bathroom, Elsie saw that an audience had assembled inside Room 18. Three of the residents were standing in the doorway, watching the show.
Peggy Pitts stood in the front. Elsie noted the raw spot at the front of her scalp; an injury inflicted by Mandy, she surmised.
Touching her forehead with careful fingers, Elsie eyed the three women before asking, “Do any of you all know where Mandy is?”
Three sets of eyes darted from her gaze. No one answered.
Elsie said, “She was here on Saturday; I talked to her. Did she take off? Did anyone see anything?”
A wan woman in her thirties with birdlike features spoke first. “I didn’t really know her. She kept to herself.”
Elsie pinned Peggy with a gaze. “Peggy, you had a run-in with her.”
Peggy’s face was blank. “Yeah.”
After no more information was forthcoming, Elsie said, “When’s the last time you saw her, Peggy?”
“Today. This morning.”
Elsie struggled to keep the impatience from her voice. “What was she doing when you saw her last?”
“Leaving.”
There was a heavy silence. Elsie turned to Jeanette, who answered the unspoken question with a shrug. “I didn’t know. June didn’t say anything.”
Elsie focused again on Peggy, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Did you tell anyone? That Mandy was taking off?”
“Nope.”
Elsie shook her head in dismay. “Why not?”
“She asked me to keep quiet. So, I did.”
“But why?”
“Just being a friend.”
Then Elsie noticed Peggy Pitts wore a white men’s T-shirt with a front pocket. Inside the pocket, she could make out the outline of a crumpled pack of Parliaments. And a pink Bic lighter.