ISLID QUIETLY OUT OF BED, CELL PHONE IN HAND, AND TIPTOEDto the window. As I reached toward the curtain, I heard footsteps again, this time receding. I pulled the curtain to the right. There was no one in sight, but the window allowed me only a partial view of the parking lot, not the walkway on either side of my unit.
I used the room phone on the bedside table to call the front desk. It rang five times, ten times, twenty, as if each ring was being sucked into a black hole. Finally, a man answered, his voice surprisingly chipper.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“You’re the desk clerk?”
“I’m Dale, the night manager. Sorry about the delay, I was emptying trash in the dumpster out back.”
“Were you walking in front right before that? I could hear someone on the other side of my door.”
“Hmm, that wasn’t me. A guest checked in a few minutes ago. That’s probably what you heard.”
“Are they in a room right near mine?”
“A couple of doors down. I wouldn’t worry. We don’t have any trouble in these parts.”
Really?I guess he didn’t follow the freaking news.
I thanked him for his help and returned to the window, teasing the curtain back again. There was nothing to see.
Maybe the footsteps I’d heard had belonged to the late-arriving guest, but why had he or she lingered by my door? What if the killer had discovered my whereabouts in addition to my number and was skulking around out there?
I didn’t drift off to sleep until well after two, and when I stirred awake around seven, I felt ragged. Before showering, I cracked open the door and surveyed the scene. A white Camry was now parked directly in front of a unit four doors down from mine, confirming that another guest had indeed shown up last night. But that didn’t explain the lingering.
I was desperate for coffee and food, and before I headed to my meeting with Kayla, I stopped at the small café in the village I’d eaten at my first night here. The place was almost full by the time I arrived and smelled comfortingly of morning joe, maple syrup, and buttered toast. I made a beeline for the only table available by the window and ordered an omelet and coffee.
I was savoring my first slug of brew when I noticed that Hank Coulter, his jet-black hair gleaming in the sunlight, was sitting five or six tables away with four other guys around the same age. His back was mostly to me, but he must have sensed my eyes on him, because he unexpectedly turned and surveyed the room, slowly stroking his chin.
It didn’t take long for his gaze to settle on me. I caught a flicker of recognition in his eye, but he offered nothing to acknowledge my presence, not even a quick nod.
It would be smart to have a conversation with Coulter—after all, he would have been on the police force at the time Amy and Page disappeared, perhaps even chief at that time—but it didn’t seem wise to muscle in on the breakfast with his bros. I decided to watch for him to leave and corral him then. Though I would have to brace myself for a possible tongue-lashing. He would have heard from his contacts that I’d played junior detective and had gone to Sunset Bay yesterday without alerting the cops about the phone call.
But corralling proved to be unnecessary. As I was about to dig into my omelet, Coulter rose from his chair and headed in my direction. His plaid shirt looked to be the size of one of those tartan blankets you see at tailgate picnics or tossed over a leather chair in a man cave. I was sure he was going to take down a couple of juice glasses or mugs as he snaked his large frame between the tables, but his thighs seemed to read the space like sonar, and he cleared the area without a mishap. Two diners saluted him with “Morning, Chief.”
“Mind if I sit?” he asked when he reached me.
“By all means,” I said.
He lowered himself into the chair across from me, making the wood groan in protest. “Pardon my ignorance, but do you say your nameWiggins?”
“Weggins, actually.”
“My apologies then, Ms. Weggins.” His tone was oddlyfriendly. Maybe he was simply toying with me before whipping out the lash.
“Not a problem.”
He smiled, running a hand up and down the front of his shirt.
“Well, I want to make sure I’ve got it right, because everyone in this town owes you and Alice Hatfield a debt of gratitude. That retreat center was far enough away from the main search area that I’m not sure anyone would have thought to check there.”
Okay, this was not what I’d been expecting.
“I appreciate you saying that, but it wasn’t anything heroic. I was just following up on a tip.”
“I spoke to Alice Hatfield and she told me you took the call seriously, that you went the extra mile to figure out what it might mean. And though they’re not in a position to thank you at the moment, the family is grateful, too. As horrible as it is to lose Shannon, not knowing her fate would have been hell on earth.”
I heard the fatigue and resignation in his voice. He may have once been the police chief, but he’d known Shannon’s family, and this was clearly personal for him. A part of me was still waiting for the other shoe to drop but there was no hint of that.
