Page 139 of Our Last Resort

The magnolia.

The absurdly beautiful tree that somehow manages to stayalive in this desert. The one I’ve admired more than once by the pool.

It’s hovering at the top-left corner of the frame. Just its branches. Catalina and Madison aren’t standing by the pool, exactly, but it’s a reference point. They’re right at the edge of the compound. On a spot I think I can access from the desert, without passing through the heart of the hotel.

In the video, Catalina ushers Madison down the sloped entryway to the garage.

By the time I stuff my phone back into my pocket, I’m already running.

42Escalante, Utah

The Seventh Day

With my shoulders hunched, I make my approach.I’m not here. I’m not here.There’s the top of the magnolia.

From my spot, I sprint to the lantern I think I recognize from the video, press my key card against the reader. I am nothing but the most frenzied kind of hope. I wait and wait and wait until—

Nothing.

I try again.

Still nothing.

Duh.

This is a quality establishment. The guests’ cars are kept safe, under lock and key. Some kind of special access card is required to open the parking garage.

I need it. I need the precise card Catalina used in Madison’s video.

With my eyes on the ground, I dart to the lobby. I’m vaguely aware of guests around me, but they step out of my path. A shield of infamy separates them from me—the person of interest whose brother just got arrested for murder.

Do they even know about Gabriel’s arrest?

No time to speculate. The door I’m looking for is off to the side, with a discreet engraved panel markedStaff Only.It’s the door behind which Calhoun disappeared just yesterday, when she went to get a glove.

I push it open. It reveals a break room with a table and chairs, a row of lockers, a microwave, a coffee machine with a small pile of discarded pods next to it.

The stunned gazes of Catalina and two of her colleagues—including the one who discovered Sabrina’s body—greet me.

What the fuck,they telegraph with their silent outrage,are you doing here?

I’m used to this. Thinking on my feet, making up excuses.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But.” The first sentence that pops into my brain: “William Brenner is in trouble.”

Okay, that’s not true.

Yet.

“I mean, he’s having trouble. Breathing. He’s in the entrance lounge, asking for help.”

Catalina’s face falls. She springs from her chair.Not Brenner again,she must be thinking.

“He’s been under a lot of stress.” I follow the three employees as they sprint out the door. “Hopefully, he’ll be okay.”

It’s like they don’t even hear me.

I let myself back into the break room.

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