I watched the sky lighten and turn gray. I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. Sheila was still in bed, curled on one side, the worn blue blanket drawn to her chin. I got up and stretched. Man, I felt stiff. Everything ached, especially my lower back, from hours of sitting in the cold and nodding off in the chair.
Yawning, I grabbed soap and a towel out of my suitcase, then left the room and headed down the hall to the bathroom. Most of the denizens of the hotel were still sleeping. You could hear them snoring through the thin doors.
The bathroom was cold. Frigid air rushed in through an open, narrow window. Despite the fresh air, the bathroom stank of urine and clogged pipes; the once-white tiled floors were grimy, and a fat water bug crawled lazily along one wall. The toilet lacked a seat and the bowl carried some substantial flecks and stains. I decided not to use it.
Outside, someone treaded heavily down the hall. There was a knock on a door, sharp and insistent. Some sleepy female guest, sounding puzzled and dazed, answered. Whatever passed next was lost to me as I turned on the water, waited for it to go from rusty brown to clear, and dipped my hands in it to wash my face. As I cleaned up, I tried to figure out what Sheila and I should do.
One thing I had to do was call Sam. That was for sure. Perhaps Mercer had a phone. And I had to get a message to the Bernards.
Throwing my towel over one shoulder, I made my way back to the room. I could see from a distance that the door to our room was ajar. My heart sank.
“Sheila?”
I ran the last couple of steps, kicked the door wide open, and rushed inside. The bed was unmade and empty. Sheila’s small weekend bag was there, but she was gone and so was the satchel carrying the money.
A slip of paper rested in the folds of the sheet. This note was typewritten and smeared with blood: Ditch Price. Come downstairs. Bring the dough. Now.
I pounded down the stairs and out the hotel’s front door. No sign of Sheila. No cars parked out front with a passenger. No sign of a struggle. Nothing.
I ran back inside. Mercer herself was on duty. I slapped the note on the desk and shoved it under her nose. “Did you deliver this?”
Mercer arched an eyebrow as if she just knew I hadn’t spoken to her in that tone. “Maybe.”
“Who gave it to you?”
She shrugged. “Can’t say. Got a bad memory, you know? Gets that way with the stress and strain and all. So many people. So many probl—”
“Yes, yes, I get it!”
I raced upstairs, realizing to my horror that I’d left the door wide open. I prayed that my purse was still there. It was. I snatched it up, returned to Mercer, and pulled out a fiver. I grabbed her fat hand and pressed the bill into it.
“Now, tell me.”
Mercer unfolded the bill, scrunched up her mouth in disappointment, then shrugged and pocketed the money. “It was a gentleman. Very nicely dressed. Said he’d wait for her outside, and he did. She come right down fast after getting that note, so she must’ve wanted to see him, don’t you think?”
Shit. “You got a pay phone?”
“That’ll be a quarter up front.”
Highway robbery, but I paid. She dragged a phone from under her desk, put it on the counter, and shoved it toward me.
I moved the phone a bit further away, turned my back on her, and made the call.
Sam answered on the first ring. “Delaney.”
“It’s me.”
“Lanie! Where have you been? Blackie and I have been looking all over for you.”
In short, terse sentences, I filled him in on the letter Sheila received, the further instructions, her confession that the kidnapping was a fake, and what had happened that morning.
“She’s gone,” I concluded. “And she took the ransom with her, all of it.”
“Shit.”
I braced for what I knew would come next.
“Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?” I started to answer, but he cut me off. “Don’t bother. It’s obvious.”
“I’ve got to call Blackie,” I said. “You were right. I should’ve done that to begin with.”
“Let me take care of it. You go home.”
I took another step away from Mercer and forced myself to lower my voice. “I can’t go home. I have to get over to the Bernards and explain everything.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Lanie, you’re too close. You said the Bernards don’t even know about the second letter. By now they must have realized that Sheila’s vanished, but they don’t know why. And they know the money’s gone too. Last thing we need is for you to arrive and tell them what’s happened.”
“I’m the best person to make them understand—”
“Understand what? That you let Sheila walk into a trap?”
“I let—”
“That’s how they’re going to see it. They’re going to blame you, maybe even hold the paper responsible. They’re certainly not going to talk to you.”
“I’m the one person they might talk to.”
“Only to call you every name in the book.” His voice was hurried, intense. “Anything they might say will be colored by their reaction to you personally. Go home.”
“But—”
“Back. Off.”