Ralph was pacing at the foot of the stairs, looking up to the second floor and whining as if to say, Come on, let’s go to bed.
“Okay, how ’bout this? I stay at the inn for a few days until I can get this place right.” He owned the place, and the hotel had clean rooms, maid service, telephones, working Wi-Fi, and room service connected to the restaurant and bar.
“What about Ralph?”
“One of the dog-friendly rooms.”
“Cyn and The Princess will be disappointed.”
James snorted. But Bobby was nodding, so he asked, “Would you mind going upstairs and grabbing some of my things? In the closet. Jeans and a couple shirts. I’ve got a shaving kit in the bathroom.”
“Not a problem. I’ll be right back down.” He started up the stairs, and Ralph, the traitor, was bounding ahead, leading the way.
* * *
Rebecca’s heart was beating like a drum. With her ear pressed to the door of James Cahill’s bedroom, she strained to listen, catching only bits and pieces of the conversation. It sounded like they might be leaving—James and some other man and the dog. God, the dog. It had come galloping up the stairs just as Rebecca was about to leave. She’d been able to slip back into the room, but the dog hadn’t been fooled and had whined and barked.
Now, it sounded like someone was coming again. She looked around frantically at the closet and bathroom, then under the bed. No, no, and no! The only hiding spot was a smaller closet, one with a door barely three feet tall, and she shot across the room, ducked down to the point that she was nearly kneeling, and folded herself inside the cold, dark attic space where she suspected insects, bats, and mice had probably nested.
Her skin crawling at the thought, she heard the door to the bedroom swing open, a light snap on, and then the dog barking and lunging at the door to this attic space. Oh, God, no! How could she explain that she’d come here looking for some kind of clue to her sister’s whereabouts?
“Ralph! Stop it, ya fool dog! Christ, what’s in there? A raccoon?”
She half-expected an angry hiss to come from the dark corners of the space where luggage and boxes and broken furniture had been shoved. The dust was thick, and she had to hold her nose to keep from sneezing.
The dog was still going at it. She heard his sharp barks and saw his shadow in the thin line of light shining beneath the door.
Don’t open the door! Don’t open it.
But she heard the sound of footfalls closing in. Hardly daring to breathe, she held on to the tiny peg that served as a door handle on this side of the closet and braced herself, intent on holding it shut should whoever was on the other side decide to investigate. Her feet were on the door, her arms outstretched, her fingers beginning to sweat despite the frigid temperature, her weight thrust away from the door.
“You want to see what’s in there?” she heard the man say, and her heart sank. His voice was clear now, his shadow having joined the near-frantic whining and barking dog.
Her heart was in her throat. How could she explain herself? She’d have to lie. She couldn’t admit that she was here searching for Megan’s things, that she’d taken the opportunity of James being in the hospital to look around behind his back. She could envision the charges being brought against her: trespassing, breaking and entering, burglary . . . and God knew what else.
“What the hell’s the matter with you!” the guy said, and the dog started scratching wildly. “What’s in the damned attic?”
Oh. Dear. God.
Don’t open the door!
“I’m not sure I want to know,” the guy said. “Come on, Ralph. We don’t have time to chase squirrels or rats or whatever. Not now. You can get ’em later. With James. Let’s go!”
And then, miracle of miracles, the dog, still barking, left, his toenails clicking on the old hardwood as he scrabbled away.
Rebecca let out her breath and felt her body sag. She had to get out of here. Before anyone came back. She considered her options. She’d entered through the dog door and could retrace her steps and use the dog’s exit or even go out the doors if the dead bolts hadn’t been engaged, and no one would be the wiser. Before she’d been trapped, she’d considered the option of climbing out an upper-story window. The bedroom across the hall from James’s had a window that opened to the roof of the long porch that stretched to the back of the property. Her footprints would show in the snow, but if she was lucky, no one would notice, and the snow would keep piling up.
Definitely her last resort.
Sneaking around wasn’t her forte. She’d always preferred the direct approach, and so, like it or not, she’d have to face James again and somehow jog his memory.
But he couldn’t find her hiding in his attic like a snoop or a crazy person.
No, she needed an even playing field to earn his trust.
But first, she had to sneak out of this place before the dog came roaring up the stairs again. Swallowing back her fear, she pushed open the door and looked through the slit. The bedroom was dark, aside from a slice of light at the door from the outer hallway, and it seemed empty.
No sign of man or dog.
No sound of voices drifting up the staircase.
Still . . .
Heart knocking, holding her breath, she let herself out of the closet and quietly closed the attic door behind her. Carefully, avoiding the clothes, books, magazines, and personal items on the floor, she picked her way toward the door.
The dog gave a sharp bark again, and
