This place might as well be called Hotel Hell. He’d spent the better part of yesterday fighting a fever and nausea. Law enforcement might not have caught up with him, but the influenza virus had. What’s more, a family had checked into the room next door to him at midnight and had banged around for a full hour before finally settling down. He’d just fallen asleep again when their baby woke at two o’clock and screamed for three straight minutes at the top of its lungs. The infant performed an encore performance at five o’clock. He’d barely closed his eyes again when his alarm went off at five forty-five, just in time for him to dress and be the first guest down to breakfast.
He relieved himself, splashed some water on his face, and slid into his jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. After more than a week in these same clothes, they could use a wash, but he had nothing else to wear while he ran a load of laundry. At least he’d been able to wash his underwear in the bathroom sink and let them dry while he slept commando. There was a Dollar General store only a mile from the hotel. Maybe he’d walk there and grab a few things, some clean socks and underwear, a shirt or two. He was tired of feeling trapped in this place. He could use some fresh air and sunshine, too.
He took the stairs down to breakfast again, surprised to find two other early risers already digging into the spread. Neither of them paid him much mind, more interested in filling their plates. He followed suit, loading a plate with scrambled eggs and toast and two raspberry Danish. Thank goodness that bug he’d suffered yesterday had passed quickly. His appetite was back.
As he returned to his room, he wondered how his partner in crime was faring. He’d waited to reach out, not wanting to do anything that might lead the police to him. But the police investigation didn’t seem to be leading anywhere, as far as he could tell. Soon, it should be safe to make a connection.