Page 45 of Dark Roads
“I could use another waitress for the summer. Job’s yours if you want it.”
“Serious?”
“Your sister was a good kid.”
Beth had planned on driving to her parents’ and breaking the news that she’d failed out of school (which had led to the previously mentioned job failure). They didn’t even know she was in Cold Creek. When she told them about the memorial walk, they said it was too far. Beth had noticed her mother’s increasing reluctance to go anywhere. Even groceries were ordered online.
It wasn’t discussed. Nothing was discussed.
She thought about the sergeant, talking about safety. What were a few extra patrols going to do? They’d given up on finding her sister’s killer. They probably weren’t even trying anymore. They were just waiting for the next victim. Was she going to go home and do the same? Wait for the next victim? She’d bought that gun for a reason. One that she hadn’t been ready to face, but now she was here. In the town where her sister had died, being given a chance to step into the last days of her life. Beth had found no peace at the memorial. No answers. How could she go back to Vancouver without those? She stared at the bracelet on her wrist.
“Do you want me to fill out an application?”
One week later, Beth crossed the street to the motel, bone-weary after a long shift at the diner. The evening air was so thick and humid her tank top clung to her flat stomach, the long dip of her spine. She wiped at the loose hairs from her bun that curled damply against her neck and walked faster, trying to escape the hot pavement that radiated through the thin soles of her sandals all the way up to her thighs where her shorts ended. The take-out bag bounced against her bare legs with a soft rustle. She needed a cold shower and an even colder drink.
She neared the motel office window, where the manager watched from behind the desk, but Beth didn’t make eye contact,something she’d avoided since the first morning when the tall, heavyset woman dressed in jeans and a man’s white button-down had shown up at her door.
“Name’s Rhonda. Sorry I wasn’t here to check you in yesterday, Beth. I was helping at the memorial.” She’d handed her two packets of coffee. “Just in case you like your caffeine.”
“Thanks.”
Beth had thought she’d made it clear she was ready for the conversation to end, but Rhonda had seemed in no hurry to leave. She’d leaned against the doorframe, her silver hair in a long braid that hung over her shoulder. Her skin was smooth, eyebrows dark, and Beth guessed that she’d gone gray young.
“I’m the administrator for the local crime watchers Facebook group. I also run one for the victims. I moderate the forum, stuff like that. You’d be surprised how much activity we get. From all over.” Her eyes roved the room behind Beth. It was her motel—what did she think she’d see? Her gaze returned to Beth. “So, if you want anything posted, let me know.”
Beth got it. Rhonda was one of those armchair detectives Thompson had warned her about. She’d probably watched every murder documentary on Netflix and downloadedDatelineandCold Casepodcasts the moment a new one was released.
She forced a smile. “I appreciate that. I have to make some calls, so if you’ll excuse me…” She’d stepped back and closed the door, but not before catching the flash of irritation on Rhonda’s face.
Beth passed the office without seeing Rhonda and having to endure any more odd interactions and continued through the outdoor hallway and around to the back. The slap of her shoes was loud. She didn’t look at any of the dark windows. The motel was nearly empty. Most travelers cleared out on Sundays.
Her metal key stuck in the lock on her door and it took a few hard turns and a shove with her shoulder to get it open. TheCrows Pass was meant to look like some sort of woods lodge, with bright red doors and spindly pines planted outside each suite, but it mostly resembled a run-down summer camp for derelict loggers. Still, it had the best rates. The best location.
Amber had stayed at the same motel when she was looking for places to rent and had told Beth about the nosy manager who was always flagging her down to chat, but Beth hadn’t expected the woman to be so obvious about her morbid curiosity.
As she entered her room, she glanced out the dirty window at the truck stop across the road. Semis and tractor trailers pulled out in wide swoops, their steel exhaust pipes like devil’s horns. The tall neon MASON’SDINERsign blinked against the hazy evening sky. The mountains were a dark silhouette. Stars would come out soon. They were brighter outside of the city, the roads quieter. Everything shut down at ten except the pub and the one pizza joint.
It was even hotter inside the room and she dragged open the window, removing the piece of wood that had been braced inside the frame for security. Across the road, a few men were leaving the diner and walking toward the parking lot. Their laughing voices carried. When two women passed, the men turned and stared at their backsides. One of the men whistled.
They’d been watching Beth all night, asking for extra ketchup and drinks, spurring each other on while they leered. She’d wanted to dump a plate of hot food on their laps, but if she started responding like that, she would be dropping food every shift. She’d come to learn that Cold Creek had more than its share of pigs, and she wasn’t talking about the kind that lived on farms. Just yesterday she’d caught an old man peeking down her shirt. How had Amber handled it? Had she laughed and brushed them off? Did she talk to her killer, serve him food?
Beth mimed pulling her gun out of her purse and aimed it at their heads. “Bang, bang.”
One Xanax. It was all she’d allow herself for now. Later she’d take another to sleep. Sitting on the bed, she closed her eyes and let the little blue pill melt under her tongue.Come on, baby. Work your magic.
While she waited for the drug to kick in, she chewed the ham-and-cheese sandwich she’d gotten from the diner. The bread stuck in her throat. She took the sandwich apart and pulled out the meat, the lettuce. Her Coca-Cola was already room temperature and watery with melted ice, but she didn’t want to walk outside to get more. The vending machine was near the office.
Her hair, wet from the shower, trickled beads of water down her back underneath the threadbare towel—so small she’d barely been able to wrap it around her body. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, the log rails pressing into her shoulder blades. Her pale face shimmered in the mirror above the desk. When she squinted, she saw Amber.
She slipped off the side of the bed to get her cell phone and scrolled through all the missed calls until she got to her parents’. Her thumb hovered over their number.
Her mom had left a voice mail an hour ago, but Beth couldn’t call from the diner—couldn’t risk the background noises. She took a deep breath, reminded herself to speak clearly so that her mom wouldn’t hear the slipperiness in her voice, the softening.
Her mom answered her cell on the first ring. “Did you just get home?”
“They needed me to draft some documents.” The lies came so easily now. Sometimes she felt like maybe it was true. Maybe in another universe she was really doing those things.
“Well, that’s good.” Her mom paused. Beth could feel her thinking about what to ask next, like she had to remind herself what a normal conversation was like. Last time, Beth made upstories about the lawyers at the firm, the fascinating cases, told her that the offices were floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city. A far cry from her current reality. She fingered the floral bedspread, looked around at the chipped desk, the worn carpet. The streaked windows.
