She slid the key over the desk. Hess looked at her scraped hand as he picked it up. “Perhaps you could use some antiseptic,” he commented. “The skin is broken.”
“Yes,” she said. Her eyes were trained on the desk, but she made herself raise them to his face. She looked him in the eye.
Hess was looking at her closely in the unflattering light of the office. “I know you from somewhere,” he said.
Cold panic tried to crawl up her spine. “You know me from here,” she said. “Like you said, you’ve been here before.”
“Yes, yes.” He nodded. “I have. That’s not it, though. I know you from somewhere else.” He gave her his smile again, which made her skin crawl. “When I think of it, I’ll let you know. I never forget a face. Especially a pretty female one.”
Viv wanted to scream, but she knew what was expected of her. She tried to give him a smile, which was probably ghastly. He didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you. It’s probably from here, though. I’ve never seen you anywhere else before.”
Hess paused, as if he didn’t believe her and wasn’t sure what to say. The lie hung in the air between them. Buy it, Viv thought. At least for now.
Finally he looked down at his key, reading the number. “Two-twelve,” he said. “Home sweet home. Good night.”
“Good night,” she managed to say as he walked away and closed the door behind him.
When he was gone, she sat for a long moment in the silence, trying not to panic. A door slammed upstairs, then another.
“Betty,” Viv said out loud. “He’s here.”
Silence.
She glanced at the guest book and realized Simon Hess hadn’t signed it.
Viv reached into her shirt and pulled out the envelope there. She pried it open. It was stuffed with bills, a thick stack of them. Hundreds of dollars. Maybe thousands.
It didn’t seem real. It seemed like fake money, Monopoly money. No one had money like this. It was bewildering; Helen had gone to great lengths to get this, yet she’d driven off without it. Was she coming back for it? She’d seen Viv with Robert, and she’d seen Viv’s face; she must know Viv knew about the blackmail scheme, at least, if she didn’t have the money.
Viv put the envelope in the key drawer. Maybe Helen would show up, looking for it. Or maybe her husband, whoever he was, would come. She didn’t want the money, and her hands were shaking from the attack. She couldn’t think about it right now. She closed the drawer and pushed the money out of sight.
Cigarette smoke wafted to her nose, pungent and thick. The lights flickered out, then went back on again.
Viv got up from her chair and looked out the office door. In the dark above Number Six Road, the Sun Down sign went dark with a zapping noise, then buzzed on again, shouting its endless message: VACANCY. CABLE TV!
Tracy Waters was dead. Her killer was here. And Betty Graham was very, very unhappy.
Vivian closed the door behind her and hurried for the stairs.
• • •
She started at Mrs. Bailey’s room on the second floor. It was dark, with no sign of life. Viv had to glance at the parking lot to see that the woman’s car was in fact there before she knocked on the door.
“Mrs. Bailey?”
No answer. How many times, now, had she seen Mrs. Bailey come to the Sun Down to drink herself into oblivion? Four times? Five? The routine was always the same: She arrived sober, then made a run to the liquor store. Next came the calls to the front desk with drunken requests—a taxi, some ice, a phone book. Sometimes the calls were abusive; other times Mrs. Bailey was laughing to herself, the TV on in the background. Eventually came the silence as she drank herself out of consciousness.
Viv peered through the window. She couldn’t see any sign of the TV flickering past the sheer drapes. She knocked on the door, again, and then a final time, banging on it loudly. There was still no answer.
At the end of the row, the door to 201 clicked and drifted open, showing a sliver of the empty darkness inside. Then the door of room 202.
Viv ran down the corridor and banged on the door of room 210. Jamie Blaknik’s room. After a minute, he opened it. He had taken his jean jacket off but was still wearing his sweatshirt.
He looked at her face and said, “You okay, Good Girl?”
“Is there anyone in there with you?” she asked him.
“No.”
Viv glanced down the corridor. The door to room 203 clicked open. The lights flickered again.
“What’s going on?” Jamie asked.
The air was heavy with electricity, like the moments before a lightning storm. And suddenly, Viv knew it: This would end tonight. Here, now. After months of waiting and wondering, it would all be over. One way or another.
Now or never, she thought.
She turned back to Jamie. She put a hand on the back of his neck, rose to her toes, and kissed him on the mouth. His lips were warm and as soft as she’d thought they would be. He tasted like Doublemint.
She let him go and pulled back. His eyebrows went up and a smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “Well?” he asked her.
“Will you do something for me?”
“After that? Fuck yes.”
“You need to leave,” she said. “Go and don’t come back tonight.”
“Should I ask why?”
“No.”
The smile left his lips. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
Viv bit her lip. She could still taste him. As scared as she was, the pleasure of it would keep her going for a while. “Something bad is going to happen, but I can handle it. It’s best if you’re not here.”
Jamie seemed to think it over. He walked back into the room and picked up his jean jacket. The lights flickered out again.
When they came back on, the door to room 205 was open and Jamie was back in his doorway, shrugging
