Page 73 of Last Seen
“She won’t be safe, Cam. She needs a guard. An escort. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking this is exactly the kind of drama we don’t need here. That’s my final word.” And to Halley, “You may stay the night at the Inn, or you can stay the night in the jail, I don’t care which. And then you are leaving Brockville. For good.”
There is no more arguing, she can see that. Noah leaves, frowning. He knows more than he’s letting on, for sure. This whole situation is bizarre, and Halley is torn between wanting to figure it out and wanting to get as far away as possible. Someone is trying to either send her a message or taunt her, and for the first time, she admits to herself that she is in way over her head.
There is no question where she is staying—the Inn. She tells him that, and he gives her a curt nod. She follows the sheriff from his office out to the parking lot. The Escalade is waiting. He puts her in the back seat again, but thankfully without the handcuffs this time. The drive to the Inn is quick. Her Jeep sits in the parking lot, and Brockton unlocksit and hands out her overnight bag. She has no idea how the Jeep got there, nor when the sheriff got the keys. She hasn’t seen any other law enforcement officials. Magic, maybe. At this point, she doesn’t care. She just wants to sleep, though she doubts that will come easily.
The lot is still empty, the windows shuttered, but the sheriff has a key to the front door. Soft lights burn on the desk, the space lined with cedar paneling and well-worn brown leather sofas and chairs set on a plush red-and-brown kilim batik rug, a huge stone fireplace with a reclaimed wood mantel topped by a massive stag’s head with more antler points than she’s ever seen, its eyes black and knowing, and blackout curtains drawn. That’s why it looks dark and closed from the outside. The room is permeated by a scent she recognizes from her time in the dorms at school, a heady incense the kids used to burn in order to cover up when they smoked weed. Nag Champa, it was called. Stylish and strange, this is unlike any hotel she’s ever been in before.
A woman comes bustling out from the back. She is dressed in pleated tan slacks and an ivory cable-knit sweater, wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Her graying blond hair is in a bun on the top of her head, and she seems alert and awake considering the hour. “Hello there? Oh, Cameron. Nice to see you. Do we have a visitor?”
“Hi, Emma. Yes, we do. Could you put Miss James up for the night? Didn’t want her trying the roads at this late hour.”
“Of course. Of course. It’s not safe out there at night. We have plenty of rooms.”
Except the kids at the General Store said there weren’t any available. Were they trying to make her leave town? Showing her how unwelcome she was? Or did the sheriff’s command merit a room? And why was it so unsafe?
With a tip of his ridiculous performative hat, the sheriff leaves her to it. “Out of here first thing in the morning, Miss James. Your keys will be waiting for you when you get up.”
“Can’t I have them now?”
He ignores her, and she realizes that she’s in jail regardless of where she stays. Why would he do this? What is the endgame for the sheriff? Her mind is spinning with questions, but she bites her tongue. He’s not going to answer her, so why bother?
“I have a meeting in the morning. With Tammy Boone.”
“Consider it canceled,” he says.
“You can’t do that. I have the right to talk to whomever I want.”
He smiles, a quirking of the lips. “Of course you do. You can phone her any time you want once you are out of Brockville.”
The woman called Emma locks up after the sheriff, then goes behind the desk to a set of cubbyholes. She pauses, looking back over her shoulder at Halley, considering, then pulls down an old-fashioned key attached to a thick crimson tassel. Closer inspection shows each tasseled key to each room is a different color, and the woman confirms Halley’s suspicions moments later.
“Let’s get you settled in the Red Room. You should feel right at home there.”
“Why red?” Halley asks. “If you don’t mind my asking. Why not green, or blue, or gold?”
The woman smiles warmly. “Your aura, dear. Red as blood.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The room is comfortable, albeit painted a vivid vermilion that Halley doesn’t think is going to be conducive to sleep. There is a lovely spa bathroom with a claw-foot tub, marble countertops, a toilet room, and towels so fluffy she is tempted to shove one in her bag. She takes a shower, luxuriating despite herself. Her misgivings washed away by homemade lavender soap.
The whole evening parades past in Technicolor—the humiliations, the revelations, the sorrow. Chowdhury seemed like a very nice woman. Halley doesn’t want to admit how terrified she is right now, not even to herself.
The sheriff’s crack about her not having a job is unnerving. The words stung, yes, but he seems to know a lot more about her than she does of him. Chief Early must really have been running his mouth.
And the spacey woman who runs the Inn. What in the world was that? Saying Halley’s aura is red? What the hell does that even mean?
She looks it up online, out of curiosity. Strength, passion, resilience, power. A tendency to live in the moment.
Well, she’s sure as hell living in the moment right now.
It’s nearly midnight, but she needs to check in before anyone else starts sending messages and gets her arrested again, or worse. She texts her dad, taking comfort in the tiny chirps of connection as each letter appears on the screen. She uses the safe word they’d agreed on:ailurophile.
Cat lover.
She calls Alison Everlane’s phone, gets voicemail. “Alison, it’s Halley James. Just wanted you to be on alert. Someone’s hurt the people I’ve talked with about Cat’s disappearance. Please watch your back.”
