“Lander!”
“God, Dad!”
“That was uncalled for,” Ruth said.
He’d expected a showdown over the sleeping arrangements for the trip. He should have handled it beforehand, but he’d hoped to avoid it, somehow. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but that’s how I feel. As long as we’re all together, they won’t be sharing a bedroom. Not here, and not at the cabin.”
“That’s great,” Cordelia muttered. “Just great.”
“It’s either that, or I turn this buggy around and we call the whole thing off.”
“That’s fine with me,” Cordelia said.
“It’s not fine with me,” said Ruth. “We came up here for a good time, and that’s what we’re going to have. I happen to agree with your father. We never allowed Ben to spend the night with you at home, and I don’t see why we should start now, simply because we’re on vacation. If you were married, it would be different, but…”
“Marriage. A license to screw.”
“If you think that,” Lander said, “you’ve got a lot more growing up to do.”
“I agree with your parents,” Ben said.
“Thanks a bunch.”
“Not about growing up. I mean, you know.”
Cordelia sighed. “What’s this, gang up on Cordie night?”
“I’ll get the rooms,” Lander said. He was glad to leave the car, and the argument.
Bells jingled as he entered the office. He waited several moments at the deserted counter. Then a door opened, off to the side. A man came out of the dimly lighted room beyond. The door started to swing shut, but stopped, leaving a three-inch gap. Half a face appeared behind the gap, looking out at Lander with one eye.
“Room?” asked the man, who seemed pleasant enough. Chubby and bald, with a cherubic smile, he looked like he should be doing skits on a television comedy show.
“Uh, yes,” Lander said. “Two rooms.” The eye behind the door watched him, only a slit of it showing through the fleshy lid.
“There are four of us. Do you have connecting—”
“Nothing like that, sorry. We can put you all up in one room, though, if you want. We’ve got one, sleeps three. We can wheel in an extra bed.”
“No, that’s all right. Do you have two rooms available?”
“Sure do.” He smiled. “Want to fill out a registration card?”
As Lander filled in the requested information, his hand shook slightly. That person in the doorway… Twice, he looked up. The face was still pressed to the crack. It was an ancient face. He couldn’t tell whether it belonged to a man or woman. The eye blinked, dripping fluid from its corners.
He finished the card, and handed it back, along with his Master Charge card.
The man ran it through the machine. “That’ll be $42.50 for the rooms. One night. Check-out time is noon. Want to sign here?”
Lander signed the bill.
He looked up at the door. It was shut.
“All set, Mr. Dills.” The man bent down and came up with two keys. “That’s bungalows three and twelve.”
“Are they close together?”
“Well, one’s just behind the office here. The other’s back a ways.”
“Do you have any that aren’t so far apart?”
“It’s the best I can do for you, Mr. Dills. We’ve got a pretty good crowd, tonight.”
“Okay. That’ll be fine. Thanks.”
“Enjoy your stay with us.”
Lander nodded. He pulled open the door and stepped outside, relieved to get away from the office.
He climbed into the car.
“Well?” Ruth asked.
“Got ’em. Three and twelve.” His hand hesitated on the ignition key.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I guess. Probably the guy’s mother.”
“What?”
“Some old buzzard kept watching me while I was in there. It spooked me a bit. She—he—whatever, kept staring at me through a crack in the door.”
“Dad!” Cordelia sounded frightened.
“I’m sure she’s perfectly harmless,” Ruth said.
“Yeah,” said Lander. He started the car, and drove slowly into the dark courtyard, taking some comfort from the presence of the other cars parked nearby, glad his family wasn’t alone at this god-awful motel.
CHAPTER THREE
As two men held Neala from behind, the waitress took her purse and tossed it onto the counter. A teenaged girl grabbed it and started looking through its contents.
“She’s got cool shoes,” said a freckled boy beside the girl. “Let’s see ’em.”
“They won’t fit you,” the girl said.
“Might. ’Sides, she don’t need ’em.”
The waitress knelt and pulled off one of Neala’s running shoes. Neala didn’t try to stop the woman. The last time she’d protested, one of the men had bent her arm backward. Sherri, who’d given them a rough time, at first got punched in the stomach a couple of times. Neala figured she would let them have whatever they wanted, and hope for the best.
The waitress tossed the shoes to the boy. He caught them, and climbed onto the counter to try them on.
Neala’s wristwatch went next Then her school ring from Loyola Marymount. The waitress dropped them into her apron pocket, where they clinked in the loose change from her tips. Her tough hands tugged the neck of Neala’s old work-shirt. The top button popped off and skittered across the floor. Normally, she wore a gold chain necklace. She was glad she’d left it home for the backpacking trip.
The woman flicked the hair away from Neala’s ears, mumbled about finding no earrings, and slapped her.
Then she sidestepped and repeated the process with Sherri, taking her purse, her sandals, her two rings. Sherri had no watch, but her crucifix hung by a gold chain at her throat. The waitress carefully opened the clasp, then dropped the chain into her apron pocket. Sherri cried out, squirming in the arms of the two big men as the waitress ripped the gold loop earrings from her pierced lobes.
“That it?” asked one of the men holding Sherri.
“Guess so,” the waitress said.
Neala heard a metallic rattle. Her left arm was jerked down. A handcuff hit her wrist. It latched shut with a quick, ratchet sound. The second cuff locked around Sherri’s wrist.
“Okay ladies, let’s go.”
Someone pushed Sherri. She stumbled forward, snapping the chain taut, tugging Neala’s cuff. The sharp edges bit into Neala’s wrist. She lurched forward, trying to stay close to Sherri so it wouldn’t happen again.
“I’m going along,” the freckled boy said.
“Pervert,” said the girl.
He jumped down from the counter, wearing Neala’s shoes, and raced to the rear door of the diner. He held it open while the men guided Sherri through, then Neala.
“Where are you taking us?” Sherri asked. She sounded, to Neala, remarkably calm.
The men didn’t answer. From the start, they’d said very little. All four stayed quiet and solemn, as if carrying
