Page 32 of Death and Do-Overs

Since I had no choice but to spend the night here, I said, “Yes.”

“Good, good. Seventy-three. Cash.”

“You don’t take cards?”

“No.”

Well, at least the room was cheap. At this rate, I wouldn’t have much cash left though, so I hoped everywhere else would be card friendly or I’d need to hunt down an ATM stat.

I set eighty down on the counter.

“No change,” Grit said as he snatched the money.

By his tone, it clearly wasn’t a question. I took it to mean he didn’t have change. It wasn’t like I had a choice either way. I needed the room.

Grit turned to grab a key from the board on the wall behind him. He stretched on tiptoes and angled a bit to the side to try and reach. Then he hopped on one foot, as if needed an extra inch to reach the key he was looking for.

“Eh,” he said as he reached the height of his hop.

I’d offer to help, but saw no good reason why he wouldn’t simply choose a lower key. The board was practically full of them.

“Eh.” Grit hopped again, but this time, a set of tiny, tattered bat-light wings popped out the sides of his tunic, where sleeves definitely should have been.

The wings flapped erratically, lifting the gargoylesque man a few inches higher than he’d reached before. He plucked a key from the board, then landed on the floor. He turned and slapped it on the desk for me.

“Four-oh-nine,” he said.

“Thanks.” I snatched the key, pointed to my face, and asked, “Have you seen this face before?”

“No good face.”

Well, that was uncalled for.

I tried a different tactic. “Have I been here before?”

He lifted his hands up beside his shoulders in an exaggerated, emoji-esque shrug.

“Do you keep a record with the names of your guests?” I asked.

“No.”

“Do you have security footage keeping track of the people who enter and exit the building?”

“No.”

“I need to know if I, a woman wearing all black, with black hair, came into this hotel for a room one week ago.”

“No know.” He shrugged again. “No good face…memory?”

Ah, he wasn’t good at remembering faces, that’s what he’d meant. I nodded my understanding. “Is there anyone else who could have been working, who might remember me?”

Grit looked up at the ceiling, and I wondered if he was looking straight up to where the gargoyles stood sentry on the roof.

“No,” he said.

This time, the word came out slightly higher pitch, like maybe he wasn’t sure, or maybe he was lying.

“I’m willing to pay for the information,” I said. “I’m completely open to being bribed.”

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