“The best lie is ninety-seven percent true. So, yeah, I believe most of it.”
“Ninety-seven percent of it?”
“Yep.”
“How’d you come up with ninety-seven percent?”
“Ninety-six percent is an obvious lie, ninety-eight percent gives too much away.”
“Oh, jeez.”
“Stick with me, kid. Improve your mind.”
“Yeah, I feel that happening. So if ninety-seven percent of what they said is true, then three percent is a lie.”
“Or missing. When they ducked into the bathroom, they decided how much to tell us.”
“So there’s more.”
“More than just a little. I think that missing three percent is more like twenty-five.”
“Your math totally sucks, in case you didn’t know.”
“Math is like that.”
“True.”
Stars were starting to appear when the lights of the motel and diner appeared in the gloom, two miles ahead.
“We oughta stay there tonight,” Lucy said. “Check this place out. Maybe we’ll see that old waitress.”
“I was thinking the same thing—if they’ve got a room. The place only had four units.”
“Midnight Rider Motel. Name gives me the willies. We’ll have to stay in the same bed so I don’t get scared. If this place has scorpions on the ceiling, though, I’m outta there. So, same bed? We did okay last night.”
“Dressed like that, you still look seventeen. Was that really your mother yesterday? She wasn’t lying? You don’t have a sister and the two of you didn’t cook up a story?”
She laughed, which wasn’t an answer. Scary.
I might have to give Fairchild a call, have him check out Lucy Landry, see how old she really was.
The sign in front of the motel had the vacancy sign lit, a nice little blood-red glow in the night. A Lexus LX SUV, dusty but new, was in front of unit four, farthest from the diner. Thing was worth nearly ninety thousand dollars, but I figured we could take it in a drag race in the Mustang, easy. It might have power, but it would still accelerate like a tuna boat.
No office at the motel. A sign lit by a tiny light directed us to the diner. Inside, at a glass-front counter, a tall, thin woman who reeked of cigarette smoke took fifty-two dollars and gave us a key to room one. She had a smoker’s voice, red hair, gnarled fingers, thin lips, eyes that evaluated the two of us, lingering on Lucy’s crochet top. From what Shanna said, that would be the waitress who took the video.
She told us the diner would be open for another half hour. The kitchen shut down at ten. Tonight’s special was meat loaf—no doubt warmed over and over for the past three days. Special indeed. Good thing we’d eaten before leaving Caliente.
Back outside, Lucy said softly, “Spooky lady. That’s gotta be her. The video waitress.”
“Yep. And that’s ‘gotta be she,’ not ‘gotta be her.’”
“I’m working on my colloquial English.”
“Okay, then. Just don’t let it get out of hand.”
Room one was a swayback queen-size bed in a twelve-by-twelve room—not much space for morning stretchies. A fifteen-inch color television with a picture tube was anchored to a wall with a chain—an antique, probably worth more now than when it was new. No remote. I didn’t know if I still remembered how to run one of those things, turn it on and off, change channels. The bathroom was a rust-stained toilet, old sink, a shower stall with a leaky shower head, a grimy back window that faced west with a view of empty desert and the last dregs of light above low black hills. An overhead bulb put out twenty-five watts, barely enough to keep us from bumping into things. A swamp cooler blew cool humid air into the room with a weary hollow rumble. The whole place looked and felt early nineteen sixties, about the time my mother was running around in diapers. I would have to text her and let her know I was thinking about her. She’d be thrilled.
Lucy bounced on the bed, which I decided is something women do. Maybe they test for squeaks to see if it could be a problem later. “Which side do you want?”
“We could be back at the Luxor in an hour and a half,” I said. “An hour and fifteen minutes if I push it.”
“And here I thought you were a PI.”
“I’m used to nineteenth-century conveniences.”
“Which would be the eighteen hundreds, Mort. Outhouses or chamber pots. Not much in the way of TV back then either.”
“No television would be a big improvement.”
“Of course. Back then, people still knew how to read.” She got up and peeked out the window at the highway. “That video of Tits Galore was taken over there in the diner. Which I thought was why we’re here, sleuthing like crazy. Which means we have to stay here tonight, so—no Luxor.”
“Tits Galore. Nice.”
“I forgot her name.”
“And sleuthing like crazy. I’ll have to remember that.”
She looked around. “There’s only one bed. No choice about the sleeping arrangement.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And there appears to be a shower in the bathroom. Water might even come out of it. Don’t know how hot, though.”
“Rugged little pioneer chick, aren’t you?”
She unhitched her top, took it off, and dropped it on the bed. “I thought you were okay with little.”
“I’m fine with it. And look at you, Miss Speedy.”
She stepped out of her running shorts. “It’s been a hot day. You up for a shower?”
“Go ahead. I’m going to have a look-see around this place before it gets completely dark.”
She stood there in bare feet and panties. The look on her face might have been disappointment. “I could get dressed again,” she said. “Go with you.”
I was still wearing dark khaki shorts and the green shirt. “I was thinking of keeping a low profile. In that white top you’d stand out like a beacon. I’ll be back in a while.”
I went out the door, left her standing there, then looked around at the night. Empty highway, sliver of moon hanging over the western hills, fluorescent lights in the diner, small floodlights
