“I thought I’d head home.”
She nudged him. “I’ll give you a ride if you buy me a drink.”
Ben hesitated. A semi truck whooshed by, and he stepped back a bit.
“Well, don’t leave me dangling too long, honey. It’s not very flattering. Plus, I’m cold.” She took the red garment from around her purse strap, then shook it out. She donned a red vest with little anchors all over it. Her name tag was on the lapel:
“You work at the hotel?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m Wendy. You were talking to the wrong clerk in there, hon. Grandpa Walter started about fifteen minutes ago. He missed all the excitement. But I’ve been stuck in this dump since two o’clock this afternoon. There’s been a lot of weird stuff going on today, too. I let the cops into Room 29 about a half hour ago.”
“Why didn’t you mention anything back there?” Ben asked.
Wendy shrugged. “Well, that was before you said I was cute.” She turned and strolled to her car, an old red Ford Probe.
Ben followed her. “So—can you tell me anything about Ronald Craig?”
“Hmmm, I have some stuff you might use in your newspaper, as long as you don’t mention my name.” She unlocked her car door. “And as long as you buy me that drink.”
He nodded. “I’ll buy you a whole bottle of champagne if you want.”
Wendy stared at him over the roof of her car. She smiled coyly. “Ha! All of a sudden I’m not so sure I should get into this car with you. Maybe you’re some kind of serial killer or something.”
Ben managed to laugh. “Well, I’m some kind of something.”
Wendy giggled. “Yeah, you’ve got a killer smile, all right. C’mon….”
She ducked into the car, leaned over, and unlocked the passenger door for him.
“I don’t get it,” Scott said. He was sitting at the kitchen counter with a glass of wine in front of him. “What terrible crime did you commit that you can’t get involved with the cops now?”
“You said you weren’t going to ask.” Hannah stood across the counter from him. She was too wired to sit down.
“It’s just that I can’t see you ever doing anything really bad. How can it be so awful that you’d let these murders go unreported?”
“Scott, please,” she whispered. “I think you’d better go.”
He sighed. “All right, all right, I’m sorry. I’ll stop asking about your deep, dark past.”
“I still need to be alone,” Hannah said. “It has nothing to do with you.”
“Are you kidding? After what just happened you want to be left alone? I mean, God, look at me. I’m still shaking. We’ve both just experienced something really horrible, Hannah. If you don’t want to go to the police, I think we have to approach this in the only other sensible way. We should both get incredibly drunk.”
Hannah let out a little laugh, but she started to cry at the same time. She held back her tears. “You’re sweet, but I drink too much already. Anyway, you really need to leave. I’m kicking you out.”
Climbing off the barstool, he gave her a wary smile. “You sure that’s what you want?”
Hannah nodded. She walked Scott to the door, opened it, then impulsively hugged him. “Thank you for being a good friend,” she managed to say. “Call me when you get home. Let—let me know you made it back safe.”
She watched Scott retreat toward the stairwell. He turned to glance back her. She waved, knowing that she would never see him again. She would miss him. She’d even miss the stupid video store.
Hannah ducked back inside. She took a napkin from the counter on the way to her bedroom. She wiped her eyes and nose. Opening the closet, she pulled her suitcase from the top shelf. She tried to be quiet about it. She didn’t want to wake Guy—not until she was finished packing.
For now, he needed his sleep. In a couple of hours, they would be leaving Seattle, probably by bus. Hannah didn’t know yet where they were going. But they had a long journey ahead.
“Those tits are fake,” Wendy said, gazing up at the stripper on stage. “Pure silicone.”
Wendy slipped out of her anchor-logo vest, unfastened a couple of shirt buttons, then leaned back in the corner booth.
Ben started to sit down across from her, but she patted the spot next to her and winked at him. “C’mon a little closer. I won’t bite you. That’s for later. Ha!”
Wendy had driven him to a strip joint with the name “CLUB FOXY” in pink neon script above the door. “NIGHTLY SHOWS,” it said on the illuminated yellow sign by the parking lot. “12 BEAUTIFUL PUSSYS & NO DOGS!”
Wendy seemed to know the doorman, and he’d let them in without the ten-dollar cover charge. Apparently, she also knew the stripper, who at the moment wore only a silver G-string. She wrapped herself around a pole at the end of the stage’s catwalk. Despite her sexy gyrations, she appeared bored. She was a trim blonde with a hard edge, and breasts that seemed a bit too perky.
“If you came in this dump about three years ago,” Wendy said, lighting a cigarette, “you’d have seen her as a brunette, and flat as a pancake. Two peas on a breadboard. She says it’s because she had a baby two years ago that suddenly she’s got a rack. But I know a boob job when I see one—or two, rather. Hell, I’ve had a couple of kids, and it didn’t give me a pair of headlights like that. The kids are in high school now, living with their dad.” She cleared her throat, then said in a loud voice. “So, who do we have to fuck to get a drink around here?”
She had chatted nonstop ever since they’d pulled out of the Seafarer Inn parking lot. Ben had tried to ask her about Ronald Craig, but she’d insisted,
A thin, blond waitress sauntered up to their booth. She wore a pink tube top and silver shorts. “Hey, Wendy,” she said, with a tired smile. “What are you having tonight?”
“You mean, besides this tall drink of water?” she asked, nudging Ben. “Ha! I’ll take an Absolut, hon.”
“A light beer, please,” Ben said.
The waitress rolled her eyes, then sighed. “I’m supposed to find out who the hell you are, and what’s going on.”
“Well, tell Rick to mind his own goddamn business,” Wendy piped up. “If it’s okay for him to bang Miss Silicone Tits up there, I can certainly step out for a drink with whomever I please.” She turned to Ben. “Is it whomever or whoever? I can never remember.”
“I think you’re right: whomever,” Ben muttered.
“He’s a
Once the waitress stepped away, Ben turned to Wendy. “So I’m here to make your boyfriend jealous. Is that it?”
“Soon to be ex-boyfriend.”
Ben nodded. “Okay. Well, I just bought you a drink a minute ago, so it’s payback time. What can you tell me about Ronald Craig?”
“Put your arm around me,” Wendy said.
Ben complied. “How long was Mr. Craig a guest at the hotel?”
She snuggled up to him. “A little over a week.”
“In all that time, did you ever see him with anyone?”
“Nope. A lone wolf that one was.”
“Did he get any faxes at the hotel?”
Wendy shook her head. “No phone records, either. I saw him walking in and out of the lobby a couple of times, talking on a cell phone.”
“Did you take any messages for him?” Ben asked.
“Nope.”
“Until today, did anything—unusual happen with him?”
“Until today?” She shook her head again. “Not really.”
