Page 111 of The Oligarch's Daughter

“I need a room for the night.”

She looked at him for a long time. She had long brown hair parted in the center and thick glasses. “That’ll be three forty-five.”

“My credit cards are no good. But I can put down a few hundred in cash as a security deposit if you want.”

She shook her head. “Hotel policy. We can’t take cash. I’m sorry.”

*

Angela was waiting in her Denali. “They wouldn’t take you?” she said with a laugh.

“Nope.” He didn’t explain that he had to pay cash, that he had no credit cards.

“There’s a motel north a couple miles. The Flume.”

“Let’s try the Flume,” he said.

The Flume Motel was a row of clapboard buildings on Route 3 next to Franconia Notch State Park and Flume Gorge, a major tourist attraction, a natural cavern carved into the granite. The motel advertised free Wi-Fi. The reception area looked clean and well kept, and they took cash. No credit card required.

Paul rolled up a fifty-dollar bill and held it out to Angela.

“Thank you,” he said. “Angela, I can’t tell you—”

But she refused it. “No big thing, friend. Glad I could be of some assistance.”

As soon as he was in his room, he peeled off his sodden boots and took a long, hot shower. Then he got into bed and, within a few moments, sank into a deep sleep.

73

He was awakened by the playful screams of children in the parking lot outside his room. He grabbed his watch from the nightstand. It was nearly noon. He’d slept for nine hours and felt drugged. He could easily fall back asleep for the rest of the day, but he needed to keep moving.

He found the burner phone he’d last used and hit the Redial button to call Sarah.

After five rings, the phone was answered. Sarah said, “Grant? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry to wake you. Are you at Tilda’s?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

He didn’t want to say anything over the phone.

“I’m in a motel room. Listen, Sarah, you need to get rid of your iPhone, okay?”

“Grant, what the fuck is going on? You got Alec Woodkilled.” Her voice was strained.

“What—what do you know?”

She must be going crazy, Paul thought,and it’s all my fault.

“There was a front-page article in theDerryfield Courierthis morning. It said that Alec was killed in front of your house, Paul! It said you’re a person of interest.”

He tried to calm her as best he could over the phone, tried to assuage her panic, but she was distraught.

“Sarah—Sarah,listen! I’m sorry to raise my voice, honey, but I don’t have a lot of time, and I need you to pay attention here, okay?”

She seemed to catch her breath after a moment, saying, “Okay, okay, okay,” and then he spoke again.

“I have to hang up now—but please know that I’m doing okay, I’m safe, and I’ve got a plan. We’re going to get through this, both of us. But these are bad guys, Sarah, I’m telling you. So I need you to be really careful. Don’t talk to anyone with a Russian accent. And don’t tell anyone I called. It’s important.”

---