countless note pages filled with the scribbled strings of characters she had attempted. Unfortunately, none of them garnered anything other than the same old result: INCORRECT KEY!
She knew there had to be something about the puzzling clue she was missing. It was most likely painfully obvious too, since that’s how riddles always seemed to work. But for the time being, her weary brain had reached a dead end.
She had finally decided it was time to step away from the computer for a while. Clear her head. Find a different perspective. Maybe even get something a little more substantial into her stomach.
But, then she saw herself in the mirror. At the sight, she thought about just climbing back into bed, but her stomach was putting up a noisy protest. Food definitely couldn’t hurt. She’d been running close to empty for too long. However, she was definitely not going out in public until she cleaned herself up.
Letting out a resigned sigh, Constance pulled aside the thin, plastic curtain and reluctantly stepped out onto the bathmat, then she reached back into the shower and turned off the water. She wanted to stay in there forever, but she knew that wasn’t going to accomplish a thing. She still had seven murders to solve, and an eighth that would be happening in less than twenty-four hours if she didn’t.
Now that she was no longer enveloped in the warm water, the air in the small room felt sharply cool against her wet skin. She stood there for a moment, almost completely still, simply allowing the moisture to drip to the floor and the contrast in temperature to shock her out of the lull of relaxation.
Maybe some of the edge was gone from her physical exhaustion; she still felt like she could sleep for two days straight. Unfortunately, the long shower had gone a long way toward reinforcing that desire. The pervasive tiredness was still trying to pull her under, and according to what she’d seen in the mirror earlier, her face was showing it. However, it seemed that some of the eight plus hours of wrestling with the comforter had helped a little, because her mind actually seemed to be clearing-for the moment, at least. How long it would stay that way was the big question.
After a deep yawn and a few purposeful deep breaths, she forced herself to pull down a fresh towel from the bent wire rack hanging on the wall over the back of the toilet. As she began to dry herself, her eyes briefly fell upon her unholstered semi-automatic pistol resting atop a folded hand towel she had laid across the cracked lid of the stool’s porcelain tank.
She was sure of one thing. Whatever sleep she might have managed definitely hadn’t been enough to quell her paranoia. Whether warranted or not, it was still firmly entrenched in her gut, and that could turn into a serious problem.
If it hadn’t already…
PLOWING parking lots apparently wasn’t a high priority in Hulis, especially not at a motel with only one paying guest and an owner who was rumored to be a cheapskate. After pushing out her door and trudging through the drifts, Constance checked with the office and discovered that a relative of the owner was supposed to be taking care of snow removal sometime today.
Maybe.
Since the aforementioned relative was doing the job as a favor, the owner didn’t know exactly when, or even for sure if it would be happening. Unfortunately, that was the best he could do, because everyone else wanted money to plow the lot.
Constance reminded him why she was here and that she would definitely need to use her car later in the day, which meant she had to be able to actually drive it off the parking lot. He simply gave her his non-committal answer once again. Frustrated with the circular conversation, she gave up and headed back out into the cold, firmly convinced that the cheapskate rumor had now been officially promoted to undeniable fact.
She was already out the door when she realized that she had forgotten to ask him whether he knew offhand if That Place was open today. She considered turning around and going back in but decided she really wasn’t in the mood to deal with him again right now. Besides, he’d probably charge her for the answer. She thought about returning to her room so that she could look up their number and give them a call but abandoned that idea as well. The motel wasn’t all that far from the center of town. Just a few blocks in fact, and since she’d missed her morning workouts for three days now, the exercise would do her good. Maybe it would even help to wake her up and clear her head some more.
Given the dim view of the holidays that was pervasive around Hulis, she had a feeling they would be open for business, even though it was Christmas Eve day. If she was wrong and they were closed, she could just turn around and walk back to the motel. There was, after all, still an MRE in her suitcase and plenty of paper that she needed to go over for a third time. Not to mention a confusing riddle that was waiting for an answer.
After readjusting her scarf and donning her gloves, Constance set out on the short trek. In front of the motel she waited while a lone, four-door sedan rolled slowly by, carefully negotiating the plowed but still snowy street. Once clear, she crossed and aimed herself toward the center of town.
EVEN at a distance of less than twenty-five yards away, Constance couldn’t really see into the diner all that well due to the fogged windows. However, that in itself was a good sign, not to mention several cars were parked in the diagonal spaces out front.
A minute later when she reached the end of the shoveled sidewalk outside That Place, she could see the open sign and detect movement beyond the hoary condensation. She stomped her feet a few times, knocking off the excess snow her shoes had collected, then opened the door and went in. The warm interior of the diner felt good, and the intertwined aromas of eggs, bacon, and just food in general made her stomach gurgle with anticipation.
Even with the added labor of hiking around drifts and when necessary through a half foot of freshly fallen snow, the distance she had walked was only a fraction of her normal morning run. However, you couldn’t convince her legs of that fact. They were already feeling rubbery before she was within sight of the diner. By the time she arrived they were numb. Of course, the temperature hadn’t helped in that department.
The leading edge of the predicted arctic front was already hitting the town, and the breeze it carried had sharp teeth. The exposed areas of her cheeks bore the weather-reddened bite marks to prove it.
Constance peeled off her gloves and scarf, stuffing them into pockets, then pulled off her coat. As she perched herself on one of the vinyl-topped stools at the lunch counter, she draped the heavy outer garment across her lap in a bid to warm her frozen legs. Snatching up a folded paper menu, she looked it over while her stomach serenaded her yet again.
That Place was far busier than it had been the last time she’d visited. It wasn’t at capacity, but she counted nearly one-dozen customers with a single quick glance. She had positioned herself at the empty end of the U- shaped counter, the farthest position away from any of the other patrons. She already knew they weren’t overly excited about her presence here in town-or so she’d been told. Thus far the receptions she’d received seemed to support that, so why make them any more uncomfortable. Besides, as it happened, she wasn’t feeling particularly social at the moment either, so she broke one of her own rules and sat with her back to the door. She was too tired and hungry to worry about it.
It was only a few moments before Stella came over and asked, “Coffee?”
Constance gave her an animated nod. “Yes, please.”
“Regular?”
“Absolutely.”
The girl’s demeanor was suitably cordial, but her body language was patently guarded, much as she had been the times before. Once she had filled a mug and placed it in front of the federal agent she said, “What can I get you?”
Constance shot a last glance at the menu then placed it to the side and said, “How about a short stack, and two eggs on the side. Scrambled.”
“Do you want bacon or sausage with that?” Stella asked, her words flat and automatic.
“Do you have turkey bacon?” Constance replied.
“No ma’am, just real bacon.”
She started to decline then felt her stomach rumble. “That’s fine. Bacon sounds good. Do you have any grapefruit juice?”
Stella shook her head. “Just orange or cranberry.”
