“Do you remember a man staying with her?” he asked.
Nsia fixed her reading glasses, adjusting them over the bridge of her nose. “A man visited, yes.”
“Was his name Obasi Akenzua? African man in his mid-fifties with a goatee?”
“Honey, I don’t know his name. He looked good, and had a goatee. He and the white lady were in love,” Nsia said.
“How did they pay for their stay?” Nassor asked. Maybe if the man had used a credit card, he could trace his address and find him.
She shrugged. “He paid cash.”
Nassor’s gut clenched. He didn’t expect all the answers, but at least a hint as to what might’ve happened. He studied Izzy’s profile, her lips set in a hard line.
“Did they mention anything about visiting a city or place after here?” Izzy said.
Nsia looked up at the ceiling, running her hand down her neck as she probably tried to remember. Then, she glanced at Izzy, with a trace of regret in her eyes. “No. All I remember is he seemed like a busy man. His cell phone rang a lot.”
He ran his fingers down his face. “Anything else?”
“No, sorry. We have a lot of guests, but not many from the United States—and certainly not women traveling on their own.”
“We appreciate your time.” He took another chunk of bills and gave it to her. He was no longer buying information, but hoped the money would help her stay silent about their questioning. “And your discretion about our little chat.”
“No problem,” she said, peering up at him for a second, then leaning closer onto the counter that divided them. “You have a familiar face…has anyone ever told you that you look like the new king a little bit?”
He waved her off. “Ah. I get that all the time.”
She put the chunk of money in her pocket. “Well, let’s hope you’re a better man than he is. Rumor has it he’ll continue his uncle’s crappy administration. That’s what you get when your king wasn’t even groomed for the job…” She shook her head, glancing up at the ceiling. “…just some unprepared moron.”
Izzy touched his elbow, silently offering him comfort. The words from the stranger cut him like a blade, because he knew others shared her view. He’d start his time as a king with a good amount of the population already skeptical, to say the least. He’d have to prove that, even though he shared DNA with his uncle, he’d make a fair leader who prioritized his people.
Izzy gave his elbow a squeeze, as if prompting him not to show any emotion, and talked to Nsia. “Can I see the room where she stayed? I want a picture in my mind.”
Nsia pointed at the board behind her with room rates. “We can’t show rooms we aren’t renting.”
“I’ll rent one,” Izzy said.
…
Izzy closed the door behind them.
A part of her knew a whole year had passed since her stepmother had stayed here, in the compact yet efficient space with a full bed, a small plasma TV and a thick Bible on the nightstand next to a lamp. She opened the armoire in the corner to find an ironing board and a bag.
“Nothing?” Nassor said. “I should get back in an hour or so.”
Izzy walked up to him. He hadn’t mentioned it, but damn, she’d seen the disappointment in his eyes when Nsia cracked that ill-timed joke. She’d wanted to strangle the woman, but restrained herself. Why the hell did she care? She’d go home in three weeks—hopefully with the answers to her questions.
“The lady said your stepmother seemed happy.”
Izzy sat at the edge of the bed. “I’m sure she believed she was. Why would a happy person, in love, resort to drugs? Doesn’t add up.”
He pulled a chair across from her. “A lot doesn’t make sense. If he received many phone calls, he may have a demanding job.”
“Drug dealers are a hot commodity everywhere.”
Nassor ran his fingers in his hair. “I doubt Obasi sold illegal drugs. I know a lot about the drug dealers we’re fighting in my country. They tend to be young. The young ones push the older ones out of the market.”
“I’m more confused than before. What’s next?”
