“Good,” I tell him. “Let me know when we know their names.”
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Two weeks dead …
She wasn't protected where she lay. The insects still found her.
The sheet around her was nothing but a veil.
But it was the only one she would ever wear.
The ground became her altar.
She had already begun to transform, to offer herself up.
Pale to green to red to black.
Soon only white.
There were still questions above ground. People were still asking where she was.
Maybe he hoped she would be found.
Maybe he hoped she wouldn't.
Two weeks dead, straddling reality. Her name still in people's mouths. Her face still in their minds. But her body becoming one with the earth.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A little more than an hour later, I pull into the parking lot of the Garden View Hotel. I can immediately see what Rachel meant when she said it used to be a popular hotel. The shell of something grand and beautiful is still there, but it's been battered with time and neglect.
It isn't completely derelict, but it's obviously not what it used to be. I park in one of the many available spots and walk under a sagging portico into the lobby. There's a cavernous feel to it. There should be more people to take up the space.
Not just the physical space. But the energy of it. The air. There should be more sound, more vibration of existence.
Instead, it's just still.
I cross the lobby to the front desk. A woman standing behind it looks up at me and offers a hopeful smile.
"Good afternoon," she says. "Welcome to the Garden View. My name is Cheryl. How long will you be staying with us?"
"Actually, I'm not getting a room. Can I speak with the manager?"
She looks at me with a flicker of hurt in her eyes, and I smile at her in what I hope is a reassuring way.
“Sure,” she says. “I'll be right back.”
She walks into an office behind the desk, and a few seconds later, a man comes out. He walks up to the desk with a smile that feels just a little off.
“Hello,” he says. “My name is David Robinson; I'm the manager of this hotel. How can I help you?”
“Hi,” I say. “I'm actually looking for somebody who I think is staying here. I haven't been able to get in touch with her, and I need to speak with her.”
“And what is your name?” he asks.
“Emma Griffin,” I say.
His eyes lift to me with an incredulous expression.
“Agent Emma Griffin?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, my eyebrows sliding toward each other as I narrow my eyes at him. “How did you know that?”
“I was actually getting ready to call you,” he says.
“Why?” I ask.
This visit is already not off to the most reassuring of starts.
“We have a guest who we had not heard from in almost two days. We entered her room and found it empty,” he says. “But her personal items were still here.
“Lydia,” I say, letting out a breath with her name.
“Yes,” he says. “While we were looking for her, phone calls came from you to her phone. I was going to ask you to come here and claim her belongings.”
Part of me feels that is just a subtle way for him to say he wants me to settle-up her bill. What I'm more worried about is where Lydia is and why she hasn't been seen or heard from.
“Is everything still in her room?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “We left it just as it was except for checking her phone.”
“Can I go up and see it?”
“Yes, of course. But you understand, I will need to accompany you,” he says.
This feels like the beginning of a movie I don't want to be a part of, but I agree anyway. It's the only way I'm going to be able to get into her room and figure out what happened to her. Robinson steps back into the office for a second and comes back with a key card. I follow him to the elevator, and we go up to the third floor.
“It's just right here,” he says, guiding me to the fourth room down the hall. He uses the key card to access the room. I step inside, and the room feels as if Lydia was just there. There's a lingering perfume smell in the air, and her suitcase is open on one of the beds.
“No housekeeping came in?” I ask.
“They did but noticed she hadn’t even used the beds.”
I sift through her suitcase and the drawers. Her computer is here, along with the small notebook she carries with her. On its own, that is disturbing.
“And she didn't say anything unusual to anyone?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “She checked in and did not interact with the staff again. We do have our suspicions that she left the hotel, perhaps to avoid her bill.”
"Why would you think that?" I ask.
“Surveillance footage shows her movements," he says.
"You have surveillance footage? Can I see it?"
“Come with me,” Robinson says.
I leave all of Lydia’s belongings in her room and follow the manager down to the security office.
The manager presses play on the footage and zooms in the first camera that catches Lydia. She comes into frame from the bottom, moving up the hall rather normally at first. Then she stumbles for a moment and stops to regain her composure. One hand goes to the wall, and she continues her steps, her fingertips tracing the way as she walks.
“This is the first time she shows up on the footage. She must have come in from one of the outside doors directly into this hall,” the manager explains.
“Are there a lot of those?” I ask.
“Only in that part of the hotel. The others are locked for safety purposes. They have loud alarm systems on them now, so no one uses them unless it’s an emergency.”
I nod and continue watching. Pointing at the screen, I look over at the manager again.
“It says
