Page 44 of North

“Oh no, young man. You’re down the hall.”

James glanced at Selah with a smile as Josephine closed the door.

She couldn’t figure him out.

But this room…this room…She barely stopped herself from falling onto the big bed in her muddy clothes.

Selah opened the backpack. Found her clothes from yesterday in a dirty clothes pouch, and her last set of clean undergarments in a separate bag.

And…wait. A white plastic container. About the size of a Stanley cup, but sealed and locked, with a coded touchpad on the top.

She took it out. How…? What…?

It hadn’t been there before. She was certain.

Maybe it belonged to James. Although, when had he…

Footsteps on the stairs sent her shoving it back into the pack. A knock at the door, and she opened it. Josephine held a stack of towels.

“Thought you might need these. Had to wash a load after the last guests.”

“Please tell me you have a phone charger,” Selah said. She pulled out her phone. “I lost the cord.”

“Try the kitchen lost and found.” Josephine set the towels on the bed. “Got a whole drawer of things people leave behind. Including chargers. You look like you could use some tea too. Or maybe a nip of something stronger?” She winked.

“Tea is fine. Or coffee?”

“Fresh out, but I’ll fix you a pot of Earl Grey that will make you British. Would you like to wash your clothes?”

“Really?”

“Washer’s down the hall.” She pointed to an open closet. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Selah followed her down to the kitchen.

The room belonged in a Norman Rockwell painting—white china on open shelves, copper pots hanging above a vintage stove. Something baked in the oven, filling the air with the scent of ginger, cinnamon, and spices.

“Cookies,” Josephine said, catching Selah’s expression. “Best cure for trauma I know.” She pulled open a drawer beside a cookie jar shaped like a chicken. “Here we go—chargers of all kinds. And there’s outlets everywhere. Henry was an electrician.”

James had come down the stairs and now stood in the doorway. “That smells amazing.”

Selah sorted through the charger cables. Behind her, she heard Josephine asking James about road conditions up the mountain, about whether they’d seen the wreck, about where they were headed.

His answers came easily, and he even made Josephine laugh. Not a mention of their crazy, harrowing escape, however.

Somewhere out there, Frank Hendrickson was probably talking to the police. She half expected her face to show up on television with the word wanted stamped under it.

Sheesh. She needed to get off this carousel of crazy.

Call North.

She found a cord and then a power block and pulled them out of the tangle.

“Over here, honey,” said Josephine and pointed to a plug in the wall over a built-in desk. “Roads’ll be closed through tomorrow at least, according to the news,” Josephine was saying to James.

The screen lit up—four percent battery. And as it did, her screen-lock photo lit up, clearly downloaded from her cloud.

Her and North at Christmas. Back when she’d thought he’d propose.