Linwood Barclay - Fear The Worst

And there was an audio loop running through my head. It had been playing for weeks, always below the surface, like a hum, like background noise.

The loop was made up of questions that I kept asking over and over again.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

What happened?

Why did you run?

What scared you?

Why won’t you get in touch?

Did you leave because I asked about the sunglasses, and then something happened that kept you from coming back?

Why can’t you just let me know you’re okay?

So around nine o’clock, a time of day when, as I’ve gotten older, I’m often ready to nod off, I wasn’t the slightest bit tired.

I went through the motions anyway. I unzipped the bag I’d taken to Seattle, and there was Milt the stuffed moose looking up at me.

“Oh shit,” I said, feeling slightly overwhelmed. I took him out and set him on one of the pillows.

I took my cell phone from my jacket and set it by the bed. I brushed my teeth, stripped down to my boxers, threw back the covers, and got into the bed. I channel-surfed for another ten minutes, then hit the light.

Stared at the ceiling for half an hour or so.

Light from Route 1-passing cars and trucks, the neon glow of the commercial strip-was flooding into the room. I thought maybe pulling together the drapes more tightly would block out the light and help me get to sleep.

I got out of the bed, padded across the industrial carpet, and grabbed one of the drapery wands. But before giving them a pull, I gazed out over this part of Milford. Traffic was thinning, except on the interstate, where it always seemed to be busy. Cars always appeared to be moving so slowly when viewed from some height.

The view of the nearby businesses from up here was actually pretty good. I could see many of the places I’d visited in the last few weeks. The Howard Johnson’s to the right, the other, small operations to the left.

I could clearly see the blood-red neon letters of XXX Delights, and half a dozen cars parked out front. I watched men, always alone, go into the store empty-handed, emerge a few minutes later with their evening’s entertainment packaged in plain brown paper.

A man coming around the corner of the building, where the flower shop was, caught my eye.

He walked across the lot, pointed a remote, and then the red lights of a van pulsed once. He opened the driver’s door and got in. I wasn’t certain, but it looked like the Toyota van belonging to Shaw Flowers.

Seemed kind of late for a delivery. Maybe Ian had use of the van any time he wanted. Maybe he had a hot date.

The van backed out of its spot, then nosed up to the edge of Route 1, waiting for a break in traffic.

The knock at the door nearly made me jump.

I turned away from the window, walked across the darkened room, and squinted through the peephole. Veronica Harp, the day manager.

“Hey!” I shouted through the closed door. “Give me a sec!”

I flicked one bedside table lamp, found the pants I’d draped over a chair, pulled them on hurriedly, threw on my shirt, and was still buttoning it when I opened the door.

“How are you?” I said.

She had traded in her corporate uniform for something more casual. Crisp, tailored jeans, heels, and a royal blue blouse. With her black hair and soulful eyes, you didn’t look at her and immediately think “grandmother.”

“Oh no,” she said, looking at my bare feet and the buttons I had left to do up. “I caught you at a bad time.”

“No,” I said, “it’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“I just popped in and Carter told me you were actually staying in the hotel,” she said. “I was so surprised.”

“I needed a room,” I said.

“Did something happen to your house? A fire?”

“Something like that,” I said. “I’m hoping I’ll be able to go back tomorrow. Get the place cleaned up.”

“That’s a terrible shame,” Veronica said, still framed in the doorway.

It seemed rude to make her stand there, so I opened the door wider for her to come inside. She took half a dozen steps in, and I let the door close behind her on its own. She glanced over at the unmade bed.

“Well, I’m delighted you chose this hotel. There are certainly nicer ones around,” she conceded.

“I guess, these days, I know this one best,” I said, and offered her a wry smile.

“I suppose you do,” she said, and smiled back.

I sidestepped back toward the window, took a quick look outside. It was more difficult to see, what with the room lights reflecting in the glass.

“Looking for something?” Veronica asked.

The van was gone.

“No, just, no, nothing,” I said.

“You know what?” Veronica said. “I’m intruding. A person should be able to check into a hotel without being pestered by the management.”

“No, that’s okay,” I said, stepping away from the window and doing up the last of my buttons. I felt a bit self-conscious about my bare feet, but thought it would be silly to pull my socks on at this point.

“So how’s that grandson of yours?” I asked.

Veronica brightened. “Oh, he’s wonderful. He’s always watching everything going on around him. I think he’s going to grow up to be an engineer or architect. He has these oversized building blocks in his crib and he’s playing with them all the time.”

“That’s great,” I said. Then, “Why did Carter tell you I was here?”

Veronica smiled. “He knows you and I’ve spoken a few times, and he knows how hard you’ve been working to find your daughter.”

“Maybe he’s tired of seeing me hanging around the parking lot,” I said.

“Well,” she said, and her voice trailed off. “No one could blame you. Anyone else in your position would be doing everything he could. So this fire? How bad was it?”

“It wasn’t a fire,” I said. “There was a break-in.”

Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh my. Did they take a lot?”

I shook my head slowly. “No. A bit of cash.”

“That’s an awful thing. You feel so violated.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Would the hotel have a pair of binoculars?”

“Binoculars? What are you doing? Spying on someone?”

“No, never mind, forget it.”

“Why would you want binoculars?”

“Just passing the time, watching the cars go by. Looking at the trucks on the interstate.”

Veronica Harp’s eyebrows popped up briefly in puzzlement, but she didn’t pursue it. “Is there anything else I could get you? We don’t have room service here, but if you wanted a pizza or something I could arrange to have it delivered and we could add it to your room bill.”

“No, I’m good.”

She walked farther into the room, ran her hand across the top of the rumpled bedclothes, then asked, “Is your room okay?”

“Of course. It’s fine.”

She turned and faced me head-on, very little space between us.

“I feel that you’re such a sad man,” she said.

“I’m kind of going through a rough patch,” I said.

“I can see it in your eyes. Even before your daughter disappeared, were you sad?”

I wanted to change the subject. “Are you… What does your husband do?”

“He passed away two years ago,” she said, and pointed to her chest. “Heart.”

“He must have been young for a heart attack.”

“He was twenty years older,” she said. “I miss him very much.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said.

“If you didn’t know I had a grandchild, would you have guessed it?”

“No,” I said, honestly. “Not in a million years.”

She leaned in, tilted her head up. Before she could kiss me, I turned my head slightly and rested it on her shoulder, held her lightly for several seconds before gently moving her away and creating some distance between us.