She put on a navy blue sweater and her nylon jacket. She picked up her purse and her car keys. She knew what the eleven o’clock news would say: There was a killer on the loose. People should lock their doors. Women should look over their shoulders, try not to be alone at night. Parents should look out for their daughters and always know where they are. Women should carry a whistle or a flashlight. Because if you were a woman, the world was a dangerous place.
Viv unzipped her purse and pushed aside the contents. She picked out the hunting knife she’d bought at the hardware store in Plainsview, pulling it out of its thick leather sheath. She looked at the blade, silver and sharp in the light, then slid it back into its place. She put the knife back into her purse.
She’d been carrying it for days now. She only wished she had given it to Tracy Waters instead.
She was alone in the dark, just like she always was. But now it was time to go to work.
• • •
“I wrote a note to Janice about the door to number one-oh-three. There’s something wrong with it. It keeps blowing open in the wind, even when I lock it,” Johnny said.
Viv’s mind was still reeling over Tracy’s murder. She watched Johnny leave, then sat at the desk and pulled out her notebook.
Nov. 29
Door to number 103 has begun to open again. Prank calls. No one here. Tracy Waters is dead.
The ghosts are awake tonight. They’re restless. I think this will be over soon. I’m so sorry, Tracy. I’ve failed.
There was the sound of a motor in the parking lot. It cut out, a door slammed, and Jamie Blaknik walked through the door to the office. He was wearing his usual jeans and faded T-shirt under a sweatshirt and a jean jacket, his hair mussed.
“Hey, Good Girl,” he said. “I need a room.”
Viv blinked at him. He was so real, snapping her out of her fog of a dream. He smelled like cold fall air and cigarette smoke. A lock of hair fell over his forehead. He dug into his back pocket, peeled a few bills out of a folded-up wad, and dropped them on the desk. Then he pulled the guest book toward him, picked up the pen, and wrote his name.
“Quiet night, huh?” he said as he wrote.
“I guess so,” Viv said.
He finished writing, put down the pen, and smiled at her. She felt herself go warm from the shoulders down, all through her chest and her stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt warm. Maybe it was the last time Jamie had smiled at her. She really liked his smile. Maybe some girls wouldn’t look twice at Jamie, but his smile was really, really nice.
“You’re staring at me,” he said, breaking the silence. “Not that I mind.”
She blinked, then leaned back in her chair. She pulled open the desk drawer with the room keys in it. “Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed.
“It’s nice,” he said, taking the key from her. “Come knock on my door if you need me, Good Girl. The invitation’s open as always.” He turned and walked out. Her eyes followed him of their own accord, the easy way he moved, the way he looked in his worn jeans. I’m going to die a virgin, she thought.
But that was a weird thought, because she was only twenty, and she wasn’t going to die.
The time was eleven forty-five.
• • •
At twelve fifteen, the silence was broken again. It wasn’t the door to 103 banging in the wind this time; it was actual banging, someone pounding a fist on one of the doors. “Helen!” came a ragged male voice. “Helen!”
Viv grabbed her purse, put her hand on the hunting knife. She edged to the office door, looking out the window. She could only see wet, hard rain coming down, spattering the concrete. The angle didn’t let her see the man who was pounding the door.
She put the purse strap over her shoulder and edged the door open, looking out. There was a man standing on the walkway, banging his fists against the door to 112. “Helen!” he shouted. “If you’re in there, you bitch, open the fucking door!”
Viv put down the purse with the knife in it, because she recognized him. It was Robert White, the man who was cheating with Helen. Except he didn’t look like his usual self right now. Instead of a crisp, handsomely aging businessman, he was bedraggled now, his salt-and-pepper hair mussed and damp in the cold rain. He wore khakis with spattered cuffs and a zip-up nylon jacket. He banged on the door again, shouting and swearing, but when Viv stepped out onto the walkway, he paused and looked at her, his eyes lighting up with recognition.
“Where is she?” he said in a voice that was ragged with shouting. “Is she in there? Tell me the truth.”
Viv shook her head. “She isn’t here.”
“Bullshit,” Robert said. He looked around. “Her car isn’t here, but I’m not fooled. She got dropped off by her husband, didn’t she? That god-awful bitch.”
Viv rubbed her sweating palms on her jeans. She wished that Jamie hadn’t gone to his room, or that he would hear and open his door. “Mr. White, I don’t—”
“So you remember my name.” Robert turned and took a step toward Viv. “I guess you remember everyone who comes here, don’t you? You know all of their secrets. Including mine.”
“That isn’t true,” Viv said.
“Sure it is.” He took another step toward her. “Did you know about it from the beginning? Did Helen tell you? Or did you just guess?” He looked at Viv’s expression and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t tell you. She’s too smart, too criminal. Why would she tell the little mouse working at the motel about her blackmail scheme?”
Blackmail? Viv pictured Helen, her easy confidence and her
