fleece jacket. She stood for a moment looking both ways, toward the office at the front of the building, and to the far end, toward the woods at the back of the property.
Despite the fact that the front of the building was so close to the road, it was fairly quiet back here, where the sounds of traffic were muted by the snow cover. She could hear the slight wind rustling through the pines behind the building and the call of a lone crow overhead, flapping past.
She started walking uphill, toward the back of the property. She passed a few cars, and a few rooms that looked occupied. She could hear the sound of a TV coming from one of the rooms, voices in another. Somewhere behind her, a door opened and closed as the occupant emerged from one of the rooms and walked down toward the office. Candy turned to watch him go, but he never noticed her.
When she reached the end of the row at room number sixteen, she came to a stop. Four more rooms angled off to her right, forming the cross arm of the L. Twenty rooms total.
She studied it all, her gaze shifting about as she focused in on the details around her, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that could provide a clue or tell her if anything pertinent, relevant, or even vaguely interesting had happened here.
She frowned and shook her head. “Well, I guess this was just a wild goose chase,” she said to herself. Resigned to the fact that she’d encountered a dead end, she turned to head back to the Jeep.
The sign on the far side of the parking lot caught her eye suddenly, as if it had practically leapt into her field of vision. It was a low wooden affair with some text and red numbers painted on it.
Candy felt her heartbeat quicken.
She noticed it now, a narrow paved road headed around the side of the building. She’d initially thought it was just a service road, perhaps for maintenance vehicles.
Apparently there were a few more rooms behind the main building.
She glanced toward the front of the motel. Not a soul in sight.
Trying her best to look as if she belonged here, she meandered around the corner of the building, following the narrow road, which led to a small back parking lot.
The lot was empty except for a single car. A Honda, Candy saw. She scanned the room numbers on the doors.
It was parked in front of room twenty-three.
She stopped and looked around.
She was all alone here, out of sight of anyone who might happen to be walking to or from the motel’s office or main building. But rather than feel safe from prying eyes, she felt strangely vulnerable, though at first she didn’t know why.
It took a few moments for all the pieces to click into place, and for the magnitude of what she was seeing to register in her mind.
The Honda Pilot SUV had a black roof rack and a sporty exterior upgrade with flared fenders and black side runners—the type of vehicle a guy like Victor Templeton might drive.
Parked in front of room number twenty-three—the same number Elizabeth Foxwell had seen in her vision.
Coincidence? Candy shook her head. She didn’t know.
Whatever the explanation, she had to have a quick look.
As casually as possible, she strode forward, past the door with the number twenty-three on it. The curtains were closed tight on the room’s single window, making it impossible to see inside. She lingered for the briefest of moments in front of the door, cocking her ear, straining to hear a voice from inside or the sound of a TV or anything to indicate the room might be occupied. But she heard nothing.
She continued on, walking to the end of the row. There were three other rooms here, but the others seemed unoccupied, for their curtains were open, and she could see into their dark interiors. She had no idea whether room twenty-three was occupied or not.
There was an easy way to find out. She could just knock on the door and make up an excuse if someone actually opened up. She considered that idea as she crossed to the Honda SUV. It was steel blue in color, though it needed a good washing. Crusts of black ice and salt clung to its undercarriage and wheel wells, and a layer of snow covered the roof and windshield.
Now that she noticed it, banks of snow had blown up against the tires on one side, making it look as if the car hadn’t been moved in a while. Perhaps for several days.
That would fit, she thought. This could be Victor’s car.
She looked in the vehicle’s window, but there was not much to see. A standard blue and beige interior, with fabric seats and a plastic dash. She noticed two take-out coffee cups in the front holders between the seats, as well as sunglasses, CDs, and other items like a tire gauge. In the backseat were a few jackets, books, travel maps, and a red scarf with gold tassels.
Candy turned all the way around until she faced the woods, looking away from the building.
She unzipped her jacket and felt around her inside pocket until she found the compass Ben had given her. She pulled it out, flipped open the cover, and waited until the needle settled down to focus in on it.
The red end of the needle pointed toward her right shoulder. North. She turned and looked in that direction, at an angle up across Route 192 and beyond.
She turned back around, facing out behind the motel. That meant west was vaguely to her right, and south was to her left. Or to be more accurate, she was presently facing south-southwest, approximately.
And Blueberry Acres lay in which direction?
Off to her left somewhere, she surmised, to the south or southeast.
And how far away was the farm from here? Most of the way across the Cape. A few miles, perhaps? More or less?
She thought of the missing toboggan. Why would someone borrow it, only to return it a few hours later?
She turned and looked back at the room.
On an impulse, she walked up to the door and knocked. She figured if anyone answered, she’d just make something up off the top of her head.
She waited. Nothing.
She knocked again.
She moved over to the window and knocked on the cold glass, trying to peer inside to see if she could spot any movement.
It was no use. The place was buttoned up tight and apparently vacant.
She tried the doorknob. It was locked.
There was no pad or slot for an electronic key card, she noticed. Instead, the doorknob had a simple well- used keyhole.
She appeared to be in the right spot. Victor must have been here at some point over the past few days.
What might he have left behind?
She decided to try the office. Maybe she could figure out a way to get another key so she could inspect the room—maybe she would tell the person behind the counter that she was Victor’s sister or cousin or something like that.
She was just coming around the corner of the building, heading into the main parking lot, when she saw a police car bearing the insignia of the Cape Willington Police Department pull into the driveway in front of the motel’s office.
The vehicle came to a halt, and a few moments later, Officer Jody McCroy stepped out from the driver’s seat.
