Mariah Stewart - Cold Truth

“I always hated that cliché,” one of the others said.

“Well, this cat isn’t all that old.” He slid back into his seat. “What say we order another bottle of champagne?”

“You buying?” the friend on his left asked.

“Sure. Why not?”

He was still grinning, couldn’t help himself. He had the rest of the evening all worked out in his head-Plan B, he was beginning to think of it-and he was feeling fine.

He lingered in the lobby after the others left, on the pretext of making reservations for Saturday night.

“My brother’s wedding anniversary,” he explained when he left them at the door. “I’m sure he and his wife would love to celebrate here.”

He did stop at the desk to ask some inane question of the young and inattentive woman on duty. There were so many people milling about the lobby and the front porch, he thought it best to make a quick surveillance of the exterior of the Inn. The windows for room 212 would be easy enough to find.

He walked around to the back of the building, and as he’d anticipated, he had no trouble locating the room, which, to his surprise, had a small balcony. Now, that had possibilities that needed to be considered. He took a few steps closer, thinking this was perhaps the way to go. But there was nothing below the balcony to climb from. He frowned, displeased. He would’ve liked to have gone that way.

He stood half-hidden in shadow, recalling a time when he might have been able to make the leap from the ground to the balcony, but those days were, sadly, behind him now.

Ah, youth…

“Hey, buddy, you staying here?” The voice cracked through his consciousness like splintered glass.

Startled, he turned to find a classmate standing on the walk not ten feet away.

“Ah, no. No. I was just…” Just what? Shit. Just what was he doing here?

“You here for the party up in the second-floor ballroom? Todd Lennin’s?”

“Ah, yes. As a matter of fact, I am.” He twisted his mouth into a smile and stepped onto the walk. His brain was almost boiling over. Great. Let’s have a party on the second floor and invite tons of people who have known me all my life. And Todd Lennin, of all people. Like he’d be caught dead at any party Todd Lennin would have.

He took a quick look around to see if the man-Carl something or other?-was alone. He appeared to be.

“You took the same shortcut we took.” Carl- Cal?-gestured toward the end of the lot.

“We?”

“My wife and the Davises. You remember George Davis?” Carl/Cal was weaving slightly. From all appearances, he’d started the party a bit early.

Carl Sellers. That was it.

“Sure, I remember George.” George Asshole Davis. Who didn’t remember him? Only guy in the class more of a nerd than George was Carl. “Is he coming along, then?”

“They already went in. I stopped for a pack of cigarettes-can’t believe I’m still smoking. It’s not like I don’t know any better.” Carl shook his balding head and patted his jacket pocket. “I just can’t seem to stop myself.”

“I know what you mean.”

“You smoke?”

“I’m embarrassed to admit it, but yes, I do. As a matter of fact, when you came along, I was actually looking for my lighter. I think I dropped it along the path here.” He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and tried to look forlorn. “I wouldn’t care, except it belonged to my dad.”

“Oh, hey, that’s rough. And good lighters are hard to find, aren’t they?” Carl reached into his pocket. “Me, I use these Bics. But if I had one of those old lighters, I’d use it. I love those things. My dad had one, too.”

He swayed slightly again. “Hey, I’ll be glad to help you look for it. Where do you think you dropped it, somewhere around the walk?”

“That’s the only place I can think of. You know what it’s like, you want to smoke around a place like this, you feel like you have to go someplace where you won’t be seen.”

“That’s the gospel truth, man.” His voice took on a touch of indignation. “Like we’re pariahs or something.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll help you look for it and then we can go up together.”

“Hey, thanks. That would be great. We can catch up on old times.” Like they had any old times to catch up on. Carl was never part of his crowd.

Carl followed him around the corner of the building, his head down.

“Kinda dark back here, don’t know how you’re going to find anything. Maybe we should wait until the m-”

One blow to the back of the head and Carl was down. One quick and expert twist of the neck made sure Carl was down permanently.

Looking around to assure himself no one had stepped onto the path, he lifted Carl’s body and carried it to the Dumpster at the back of the building. With a grunt, he tossed it unceremoniously over the side. He then bent over at the waist, his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

Damn. In his prime, he could toss a body over his head without breaking stride.

Yeah, well, those were the days. He’d turned forty-five in February. Not exactly prime time, not for this sort of thing.

He brushed his hands off as he walked back to the parking lot, asking himself if that had really been necessary.

Yes, damn it. It had.

There was so much burning anger inside of him right then, the blood in his veins felt molten. The pressure was becoming unbearable.

Carl had ruined his night, coming along when he did, and seeing him where he’d been standing. If at some point in the future a woman was found dead in room 212- that damn room right up there -surely Carl would recall whom he’d seen in the parking lot that night and he’d remember where he’d been looking.

Especially if the woman was Cass Burke.

Besides, he was feeling pissy. More than pissy. The night had started out so promising, but with a party three doors down from her room, he’d have to wait. He couldn’t take the chance he’d be seen. He cursed under his breath.

The blood was pounding in his head so loudly, it sounded like the ocean. And his hands were starting to shake-never a good sign. His skin was beginning to itch.

There was only one way to scratch that itch.

Looks like he’ll have to go to Plan C.

Somewhere, there’d be someone. Someone with long dark hair and promise in her eyes.

Before the sun rose tomorrow, he would find her.

“Tell me again why we’re going to Plainsville?” Cass sat back in the bucket seat of Rick’s Camaro and strapped the seat belt.

“We’re going to exchange information.”

“I think we’ve given Mitch pretty much everything we have. What’s left to exchange?”

“He’s apparently hit the mother lode with his request for information from the law enforcement agencies he contacted. He says he’s got a pretty impressive time line of our man’s activities over the past twenty-some years. I’d say that alone is worth the trip.”

“Why doesn’t he fax it to us?”

“Apparently it’s still coming in. Remember, it’s been less than a week since he sent out his requests. Some agencies are still getting their data together.” Rick stopped at the corner and turned to her. “Is there a problem here that I don’t know about? Is there a reason you don’t want to go? Because if there is, let’s talk about it now, before we get onto the highway.”

“It isn’t that I don’t want to go.” She shifted in her seat to face him. “It’s just that I feel I should be here with Lucy this afternoon. When she meets with the sketch artist.”

“You can’t be in the room with Lucy when she and Kendra get together. Kendra wouldn’t permit it.”