by David Bell
“Be safe,” Peter said.
“I will. And you be safe too.”
“At the soccer match?”
“With Jennifer. How old is she? Twenty-five?”
Peter made a scoffing noise, then laughed. “Twenty-eight, if you must know.”
“Pace yourself, guy. Pace yourself.”
She hung up and continued driving with a small smile on her face.
43
The laundry was warm. And it smelled fresh and clean, better than anything else in the hotel.
If I hadn’t needed to sneak past a man who seemed mildly unhinged, I would have welcomed the trip in Billy’s cart.
Neither one of us spoke once I was inside. The ride was smooth as we went to the elevator, the carpet cushioning any shock and making for a flat, easy track. I jostled around a little as Billy pushed the cart into the elevator, and then I felt the slight downward lurch as we descended to the lobby.
The combination of warm laundry and frazzled nerves made me sweat. When I heard the elevator ding and the doors slide open, I took a quick swipe at my forehead with my right hand, brushing away a few beads of liquid. I knew I couldn’t move again.
We exited the elevator onto the lobby’s tiled floor. The cart rumbled and rattled, shaking me with every movement. It was like we were traveling through a bombed-out city. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited, hoping for a quick trip.
Then the cart stopped. I tried to guess how far we’d gone. Halfway through the lobby?
I heard a sharp voice, muffled by the towels.
“Where are you going?” a voice asked. It didn’t sound like Simon.
“I have to take this outside.”
“I thought you did that already.”
“Not yet.”
A long pause. I hoped Billy had a good poker face. If not, I wondered if I could contract my body to the size of a pea.
“They need those on four,” the voice said.
“I’ll go right up there after this,” Billy said.
We started moving again but stopped almost immediately.
A familiar voice spoke. I could almost see the smug look on his face. “What floor were you on?” Simon asked.
Billy seemed stuck for an answer. An eternity passed. “I was outside,” he said finally.
“You were upstairs,” Simon said. “You just got off the elevator. What floor were you on?”
Another long pause. Billy either froze when under stress or had no future as a poker player.
“Five,” he said.
Had Simon been watching the numbers move?
“Five?”
And then my phone started ringing.
I had a choice—scramble to silence it, which meant Simon might see me moving around under the laundry. Or let it ring and hope Billy got me out of there.
I remained still, wishing for the best. The phone kept ringing. Rotten phones. Rotten technology.
Billy’s hand started scrambling around in the towels. “Let me shut this off,” he said.
I used Billy’s movements as a screen and contorted my body so I could reach into my pocket. I silenced the call with my thumb.
“There,” Billy said, withdrawing his hand. “Well, I’ve got to get going.”
“You didn’t see anyone up there?” Simon asked.
“Up where?”
“Up in the hotel,” Simon said.
“No, sir.”
I heard Billy say something else, and then the cart started moving again, rumbling over the tiles. We hit a large bump, one that required Billy to jostle the cart as he guided it along. Then I sensed a change in the light. We were outside, and the parking lot asphalt was rough but not as rough as the tiles in the lobby. I breathed a little easier.
We finally stopped, and Billy said, “Okay, it’s clear.” He flipped the towels off me and reached in to help me out. It wasn’t easy, but I swung one leg and then the other over the side of the cart, grabbing my bags in the process. I’d already paid Billy, so I shook his hand, threw my stuff in the backseat, and opened the driver’s door of the rental car.
“The guy you told me about, the big one, he started talking to me,” Billy said.
“I heard.”
“You should have silenced your phone before you got in the cart,” he said.
“Next time I will. Where did the guy go when you left?”
“I think he went upstairs. He seemed pissed.”
“Stay away from him,” I said. “And don’t tell him anything else.”
“Got it.”
“Hey, you ever hear of a place called Fantasy Farm?” I asked.
“Fantasy what?”
“Fantasy Farm.” He might have thought I was looking for a strip club. “You know, the old amusement park? It’s closed now.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Billy said.
How quickly the past disappears, I thought. I shook his hand again. Both of our palms were sweaty.
“Okay.” I looked at the hotel, the closed front door. “Thanks, Billy. Be safe.”
I started the car and drove off.
44
Kimberly reached Wyckoff around noon, her body slightly stiff from sitting in the car. Her stomach rumbled, which made her mind fuzzy, and she wished she could jump out of the car and go for a run, even just around the block. Anything to get her blood pumping, to make her feel alive.
But there was no time.
She headed straight to the police station. Willard had already spoken to the Wyckoff PD twice, letting them know one of his detectives was coming into town, but still, as a courtesy, she went there first and showed her face, holding off on going by the hotel in question. No police department liked having cops from other jurisdictions just showing up and nosing around without them knowing about it.
The Wyckoff PD occupied a new building just a block off High Street downtown. The brick looked clean, the landscaping tidy and trimmed. She hated to think of the hassles they dealt with on a regular basis in a college town. Laurel Falls had over fifty thousand more residents than Wyckoff, but Kimberly, despite the disappearance of Giles Caldwell, thought she had it better. How many citations for underage drinking did the Wyckoff PD hand out? How many fights did they break up between entitled frat boys? How many times did they face back talk from a rich kid?
Before Kimberly pulled open the front door of the station, a woman in her thirties wearing a well-cut business suit, her slightly graying hair pulled back in a ponytail, stepped out.
“Detective Givens?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Alicia Hughes. That hotel we told your lieutenant about? There’s been a disturbance there. I think you’ll want to check it out.”
“I think I do,” she said.
“I’ll drive,” Hughes said. “I can fill you in on the way.”
They climbed into another dark sedan, almost a twin of the one Kimberly had driven over from Laurel Falls. The interior felt hot, the temperature elevated by the sun through the windshield. Hughes flipped the air on as she backed out of the parking space and started talking.
“When Willard called we sent an officer over to the hotel, hoping we could catch one of these folks, but none of them were around. That was a couple of hours ago.”
“Did you sit on the place?” Kimberly asked.
“We tried. But we’re a small department, limited manpower. The officer had to assist on a domestic violence call and left. By the way, I’ve met Willard before. He’s a good cop.”
“He’s retiring.”
“That’s what he said. Anyway, after our officer was gone, something else went down—we just got a call about a disturbance. Not sure it’s related to the folks you want to find, but . . .”
“You don’t believe in coincidences.”
“I
don’t,” Hughes said.
“Neither do I.”
Kimberly felt tense as they drove, hoping this wasn’t merely a coincidence. Could the Best Western have another problem and have it be unrelated to Simon and Morgan and Joshua? She distracted herself by trying to pay attention to the passing scenery, to the Georgian buildings on campus, the young, attractive kids strolling by in apparent bliss. The sun slid behind the trees, its light filtered by the changing leaves. She pictured Maria visiting colleges in a few years, mulling over what she hoped would be many options, and then making a choice. Kimberly hated the thought of her going away even though it was exactly what she wanted for her. Did all parents live with that intense contradiction? She could use the promotion and raise to pay her tuition, but would the regular hours leave her sitting at home alone once Maria was gone?
“We rarely get this level of excitement here,” Hughes said.
“I think we all crave excitement, and then when it comes . . .”
“Yeah. It can be horrible.” They drove in silence for a moment. “But at least we’re helping people. Or trying to.”
“You’re right, of course. Most of the time we manage to get it right.”
They came in sight of the hotel. Actually two hotels side by side with a squad car in front of one, the parking lot mostly empty of other vehicles. Hughes guided her sedan with one hand and pulled to a stop near the cruiser. They jumped out, the sliding doors whooshed open as they approached, and a small cluster of people greeted them—a uniformed officer and a handful of hotel employees. The staff looked excited, talking over one another as the officer, a young woman who looked like she should be in high school, tried to sort through everything they were saying. The officer looked relieved to see Hughes.
“What have you got, Williams?” Hughes asked.
“Ballard is in the office with the victim,” she said. “It’s an assault. Basic, really. One of the guests roughed up a hotel employee pretty good. But . . .”
“But?” Hughes asked.
“He’s telling a pretty wild story along with it,” Williams said.
Hughes nodded, and she and Kimberly went behind the counter and back to the small, cluttered office. A kid, college age by the looks of him, sat in a desk chair with an ice pack on the back of his neck and another one pressed to his lip. His eyes were half-closed, and he grimaced like someone was slowly working a knitting needle into his side.
Ballard, the other uniformed officer, nodded and shook Kimberly’s hand when introduced. “This is Billy Newcomb. He’s a maintenance worker here. Why don’t you tell them what happened?”
Billy shook his head slowly. He kept the ice pack pressed against his lip where Kimberly saw swelling. She felt a rush of maternal affection for him. If Hughes and Ballard hadn’t been there, if the circumstances had been different, she would have gone over to Billy and placed her arm around him, pulled him close. But professional decorum prevented her from doing that, and Billy didn’t look in the mood to be comforted.
“I just want to get to class,” he said, his voice a groan. “I have one this afternoon, and I’ve already missed it four times. And I haven’t eaten.”
“You should see a doctor,” Kimberly said. “You might have a concussion.”
“I called an ambulance,” Ballard said. “It’s coming.”
“Shit,” Billy said. “How much will that cost me? I’ve got a student loan.”
“What happened?” Hughes asked. “Who did this to you and why?”
Under his breath Billy grumbled a few words that Kimberly didn’t understand. Then he started talking with more clarity about a guy who showed up at the hotel the previous evening, looking for a woman he said he knew. Except he didn’t know which room she was staying in or how to contact her. Billy closed his eyes as he admitted that he took the guy’s money and asked the desk clerk if she’d seen the woman.
“The clerk remembered her because she was crying as she checked in,” Billy said. “It was obvious something was wrong.”
“So you revealed her location to this guy?” Kimberly asked. “What if he’d wanted to hurt her?”
“No, no, it was nothing like that. He liked her, I could tell. When he described her, he had that kind of look in his eye that said he really cared about her. I swear.”
“So this guy went to look for this woman, and that was as far as it went?” Hughes asked.
“He was still here this morning. I don’t know what happened to the woman. I never saw her again.”
Billy then told a whole story about the guy asking to be wheeled out of the hotel in a laundry cart, so that he wouldn’t be seen leaving the hotel.
“And who did he want to avoid?” Kimberly asked, but then she went on. “Let me guess. . . .”
“Yeah, he’s the one who did this to me.”
“And why did he do that?” Kimberly asked.
“He wanted to know where the guy went. The first guy. Or where the woman went. Either one, I guess. When I pushed the laundry cart out to the parking lot, he went upstairs. I don’t know where he went after that. I didn’t see him for a little while. I was busy and thought he’d checked out. But he came back out of the blue.”
“And he just jumped you here?” Hughes asked. “At work?”
“Out back. When I was dumping a mop bucket. About half an hour ago.”
“Do you know where this first guy went?” Kimberly asked. “The one you . . . the one you pushed out in a laundry cart?”
“Dude, I have no clue.”
It was a shot in the dark. Kimberly looked at Hughes, who nodded at her. The whining of the ambulance reached them in the small office. Just in time. Billy leaned back, his eyelids closed. The ice pack slid off his neck and splatted against the floor.
“I have no clue. Did I tell you? I have no clue.”
He was clearly concussed. Repeating himself.
The paramedics came into the lobby, wheeling a gurney. Kimberly started to move out of the way.
But Billy mumbled again, something about a farm, so she stayed put.
“What did he say?” Kimberly asked.
“Fantasy Farm,” Billy said again.
“What is he talking about?” Kimberly asked Hughes.
“Did he say Fantasy Farm?” Hughes asked. She held up her hand, stopping the paramedics from coming into the office. “Billy, what about Fantasy Farm?”
“The guy . . . He asked . . . laundry guy . . .”
“He did. Why?”
“About Fantasy Farm . . .”
“We heard that. Why?”
His eyelids fluttered. “He asked me . . . I told the guy. The crazy guy. I told him laundry guy asked me that. I didn’t want my ass kicked, but he did it anyway.”
“You told the older guy, the one who beat you up, that Mr. Laundry Cart was interested in Fantasy Farm?” Hughes asked.
“Mmm . . . yeah . . . hmm . . .” His eyelids closed.
Kimberly and Hughes walked out, letting the paramedics in as they moved past the cluster of hotel employees.
“Is he talking about the old amusement park?” Kimberly asked.
“Fantasy Farm. Yeah, but it’s abandoned. About thirty minutes outside of town.”
“I’ve taken my kid there. It’s been years.”
“I don’t know,” Hughes said. “Like I said, it’s closed. There’s nothing there anymore. I don’t even think you can get in. And if you did . . . what would be the point?”
“Looks like he got thumped pretty hard,” Kimberly said. “He could be spouting nonsense. But it might be worth checking out.”
45
I ate first, as soon as I drove away from the Best Western, fast food from a drive-through window. I ingested it in the car, crumbs from the hamburger and salt crystals from the fries tumbling down the front of my shirt. I felt a lot better after
eating, lack of nutrition be damned. I’d barely eaten the day before, but I’d had plenty to drink and two Xanax. I needed food of some kind.
Stomach full, I considered my options.
Then I remembered the missed calls from that morning. The ringing phone while I was in the laundry cart. Who had been calling and why?
I listened to the first of several voice mails. Two were from a cop named Reichert. He sounded like he was my age and was unfailingly polite as he told me the police in Laurel Falls, Kentucky, wanted to speak to me.
Laurel Falls? Where Morgan worked at the tech company.
Where her boss disappeared from, according to my stalker, Simon.
Then a female detective named Givens left me a series of messages, saying the same thing. Until the last one, in which she informed me she knew I was in Wyckoff, and would I be able to talk to her there? She was coming to town to look for Morgan Reynolds. . . .
“Damn,” I said.
But I called her right back. When she answered, she sounded happy to hear from me, which immediately made me think I was in deep trouble. Why would a cop act happy to talk to you unless they were out to get you?
“Mr. Fields? You’re a tough man to get ahold of.”
“I’m traveling. And my phone was off for a while.”
“Are you still in Wyckoff?”
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“You told your father. Word gets around. So. Are you?”
“I was thinking of leaving actually.”
“Was it the ride in the laundry cart? Too bumpy?”
She knew about that too? Was she going to tell me my underwear size and the name of my best friend from kindergarten next? Before I could answer she continued talking.
“Is Morgan Reynolds with you?” she asked.
“No, she isn’t. I haven’t seen her since . . . well, since the middle of the night.”
“Do you know where she is?” she asked.
“I don’t. She took off without saying anything or leaving a note.”