Page 87 of Our Last Resort

Ronda repeats what she just said about not wanting any problems. Again, she asks me to leave. Above the headline, the front page informs me that I’m reading theEscalante News,the local broadsheet that “proudly serves Garfield County” and has apparently done so since 1982.

“I know I said I wouldn’t call the police,” Ronda says, waving her phone, “but if you leave me no choice—”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll go. I’ll go. I’m sorry.”

Ronda lowers the phone, and her voice. Now that she’s won, it’s like she regrets going into battle in the first place.

“I don’t know what you’re tangled up in, honey, but I do hope it works out.”

“Me, too, Ronda.”

“Drop your key at the front desk when you’re done. I’ll see you downstairs in…ten minutes?”

I nod. She shoots me a rueful look as she closes the door behind her.

Clearly, William is working with the police. They must have told him they were going to name us persons of interest. How else would he have had time to tip off the local paper, give them a photo and a quote?

I pick up my dirty clothes from the floor and slip them backon.

As far as I know, William doesn’t own any papers in Utah, but he must have contacts. He held on to the photo, waited for the perfect occasion to deploy it.

Oh, the glee he must have felt, when the police handed him just that.

At the front desk, I ask Ronda for a phone charger.

“I need to call my hotel for a ride.”

“Just use our phone,” she says, and points at the landline on the check-in counter.

“I need to look up the number.”

Ronda asks me for the hotel’s name, types on her keyboard, and dictates the number.

On the other end of the line, Catalina sounds tense. I expect her, too, to banish me from the Ara, but she tells me that Leon will be there in half an hour to pick me up.

“Thanks.”

I hand the phone back to Ronda.

“You can wait outside,” she tells me.

Thanks to the blistering heat, I have the sidewalk to myself as I sit on the curb and wait for Leon to turn up.

Persons of interest.

Here’s what I know about persons of interest: They’re not suspects. Not exactly. Technically, being a person of interest just means the police want to talk to you. That’s one of the many things I learned on TV.

After Annie’s death, Gabriel was never named a person of interest, probably because the police knew where to find him, and because he was already cooperating. But a good number of persons of interest do end up becoming suspects. It’s a thin line—sometimes almost invisible.

What do the police have on Gabriel and me?

They can’t know about the hair clip. If they did, it would be in an evidence room somewhere, not tucked inside Gabriel’s backpack.

So, what?

Maybe someone talked. Maybe a guest at the Ara said they saw Gabriel the day he bumped into Sabrina.He told you he’s never spoken to her? Well. That’s not how I remember it.Maybe that discrepancy was enough for the police—especially Harris, who must be desperately looking for a new suspect.

What the hell do we do now?

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