“I remember seeing somebody drop her off.”
Casually he said, “Sounds like she must’ve hitched a ride into town.”
“I don’t think so.”
Hunt suppressed just how keen his curiosity had become at those words. “Why’s that now?”
Miz Wilma puzzled over the question for a couple of seconds. “She must have known him because she stood outside for about ten minutes talking to the man who dropped her off. We get that a lot, you know. Men who don’t want to be seen inside the building prefer to dump their garbage on the street!” She spat out the last words with contempt.
Before she had an opportunity to start railing at the entire male sex, Leroy reined her in. “Do you happen to recollect what this feller looked like? Maybe he’s somebody from back home that her folks might know.”
“He seemed older than she was. Maybe thirty. Slight build. Dark hair. Dressed in a black suit.”
Hunt was used to hiding his emotions, but the sense of shock he felt at that description must have shown on his face.
The woman’s eyes narrowed again. “You know him, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I surely do.”
“Was he the father of Hannah’s baby?”
Hunt gave a short laugh. “Not in a million years.” And that was the gospel truth.
“Then who was he?” Miz Wilma was persistent. He had to give her that. Seeing as how she had a face like a pit bull, it was only natural she would run true to the breed.
“That there feller was a relation of Miss Hannah’s. A cousin. Goes by the name of Daniel. He’s been living in Chicago nigh on a year now. She probably called him because he knows his way around town.”
“That makes sense.” The woman seemed satisfied with the explanation.
“You ever see him come back after that first time?”
Miz Wilma paused to recollect. “As a matter of fact, I did. A few days ago. He parked outside but never came in. Just stood waiting by his car. He paced back and forth for a while and then drove away.”
“That sure don’t sound to me like he expected her to hare off on her own. He thought she’d bide here and come out to meet him. Ain’t that so?” He glanced at her for confirmation.
She nodded gravely. “It looked to me as if he was worried when she didn’t appear.”
“So how long ago was it she took off?”
Miz Wilma rubbed her forehead, trying to massage her brain into remembering. “I think she’d been here only a few days. I know we checked her in and assigned her a room. She was here at least two nights and then gone the next afternoon.”
At that moment, the woman’s attention was diverted by a girl scuttling across the lobby toward the front door. “Loreen!” Miz Wilma commanded. “Get back here and sign out.”
The girl, who was several months pregnant, shot a guilty look towards the desk and did as she was told.
“When will you be back?”
Loreen stared hard at the floor. “A couple of hours. I just need to get some air and do a little shopping.”
“Uh huh,” Miz Wilma replied. “Be back before curfew.”
The girl nodded and made a hasty exit.
Miz Wilma took a few seconds to watch the retreating figure. “She’s not fooling anybody,” the Supervisor said cryptically. Then transferring her attention back to Hunt, she continued. “I have to keep close tabs on all of them. Ordinarily, I see everyone who comes in and goes out, but I take a short break around two. Hannah must have waited until I stepped away from my desk.”
Hunt was stumped. “You have any notion where she might have gone?”
“No, I don’t.” Miz Wilma scowled. “She didn’t seem particularly street-smart. That girl was wetter behind the ears than anybody who’s ever come through those doors, and I’ve seen it all.”
“I do believe you have,” Hunt agreed solemnly. He fished in his coat pocket for a fake business card with his cell phone number on it. Handing it to the woman, he said, “If our little lost lamb calls or stops by, I’d consider it a great favor, ma’am, if you’d give me a jingle. You know, for the sake of her family. It would be a mercy to let them know she’s OK.” He flashed his most winning smile, though he thought it would be lost on her.
Miz Wilma tapped the card for a few seconds and then reached a decision. “Yes, if she contacts us, I’ll let you know.”
Leroy tipped his hat and placed it back on his head. “Much obliged, ma’am. You’ve been real helpful. Have a nice day.”
***
An hour and several shots of whiskey later, Leroy sat in a dingy neighborhood bar pondering his options. It had taken a few drinks to get his brain mellow enough to ruminate. Leroy hated cogitation but, at the moment, it was a necessary evil. Luckily, there were few distractions in this old dive. Late afternoon didn’t draw much of a crowd—half a dozen locals scattered at intervals along the length of the bar. Like Leroy, they preferred drinking alone, lost in their own private miseries.
Hunt sighed at the dilemma placed before him. Miz Wilma had just handed him a stick of dynamite. The question weighing on his mind was whether he could light the fuse without blowing himself up. If he marched back to old Abe and told him his wife had run off with his son’s help, there would be a big enough explosion to knock the Sears Tower off its foundation. Hunt couldn’t afford to create bad blood between the preacher and his boy. Much as he disliked Daniel personally, that runt was his meal ticket—the one person in the world who could lead him to the rest of those doodads. Stirring up a ruckus in the family was sure to queer his chances of collecting the loot. He’d have to fudge part of the story that he
