Inside the brightly lit reception area of the motel, they waited as a hippy woman in a uniform finished a phone call, her fingers flying over the keys of a computer. The lobby was small and smelled of day-old coffee. One faux leather couch that had seen better days was situated near a stand of brochures describing highlights of the area.
“That does it,” the receptionist said with a smile wide enough to show off a gold molar. “So what can I do ya for?”
They introduced themselves, showing badges, and asked about Troy Ryder.
“A deputy was in earlier,” said the woman whose name tag read CARLA SIMMS. “I told them everything I knew.”
“I know, but we’d like to see for ourselves the room he stayed in,” Pescoli said.
“Ooookay.” The hippy woman checked her computer monitor again. “As I told the deputy, Mr. Ryder was in a king room with a view for a little over a week and didn’t bother anyone. If he had company, I didn’t see it. Truthfully, we here at the River View respect our guests’ privacy.”
“I’m sure,” Pescoli said, knowing first-hand about the policy.
“It’s already been cleaned. We’re quick about that, you know.” Carla was obviously proud of her work at the River View, as if this dive of a motel was a five-star hotel. She swept a walkie-talkie off the desk, hit a button, and said, “Can you send someone down to the reception?”
She’d barely hung up when a tiny woman appeared. She wore a puffy coat and a knit cap pulled low enough to brush the top of a red scarf wound around her neck. She couldn’t have been five feet tall and even in the heavy coat, she seemed diminutive. Pescoli felt like an Amazon next to her.
“Rhonda,” Carla said. “This is Detective Pescoli and . . . wait, I’m sorry—?”
“Alvarez,” Pescoli’s partner supplied.
“Yes, yes. Detective Alvarez. Would you please show the officers to room thirteen? It’s been cleaned, right?”
Rhonda nodded her head and began fiddling with a key ring as she led the officers outside and along a covered walkway to room thirteen, which supposedly had one of the sought-after river views.
To Pescoli’s way of thinking, it was all false advertising. The place was known to be clean and reasonable, nothing more. The old carpeting, and drapes that matched the bedspread, had to be from the nineties. Unfortunately, the receptionist hadn’t been mistaken and the tacky room had been cleaned, no trash, no bit of visible evidence left behind.
“Clean as a whistle.” Disappointed, Pescoli leaned down and looked under the bed while Alvarez checked the adjoining bath, then opened the sliding door to the small patio beyond.
“Same here,” Alvarez agreed.
The room looked tired and dated, but there was nothing to indicate that Troy Ryder or any other person had ever resided there.
“We’ll need to look through the trash,” she said. “It hasn’t been picked up yet?”
“Thursday.” The maid walked them outside where the snow had covered the parking lot and the few cars parked in front of the motel. The empty spot in front of room thirteen, where Ryder’s truck had been parked, had accumulated only a few inches over the asphalt. One other slot had the same level of snow. It had recently been vacated, only a thin layer covering the pavement.
“Mr. Ryder left early this morning,” Rhonda said. “I’m on the early shift and he was already gone, so I got the notice to clean his room first thing.” She tested the knob to make certain that the room was secure. “The same with his friend.”
“Friend?” Alvarez asked, exchanging looks with Pescoli. “What friend?”
“The guest in twenty-five. I don’t know his name. But he was always asking about Mr. Ryder.” She stopped talking abruptly as if she realized she was giving out too much information about customers who guarded their privacy.
Alvarez clarified, “A single man?”
“Yes. No one was with him,” the maid assured them, finding her voice again.
“And he hung out with Ryder?” Alvarez made a swirling motion with her finger. “You saw them together.”
Shaking her head, the petite woman wagged her head thoughtfully side to side. “I don’t know, but I never saw them together. They were both very private, holed up in their rooms. And the guest in room thirteen? Mr. Ryder? He never asked about the man in twenty-five, or anyone else that I know of.” She raised and lowered her shoulders. “I wouldn’t know. I was only here during my shifts and I was busy, you know.”
“But the other man checked out this morning?” Pescoli said. “What time?”
Rhonda said, “I don’t really know. He didn’t stop at the desk. Just left.”
Room twenty-five was
around the corner from room thirteen, and offered a bird’s-eye view of Ryder’s activity. The parking area for that room had only a little snow in front of it, about the same level as thirteen.