The Sun Down Motel

“I’m leaving,” White said. He looked at Viv, wet and cold on the ground. “If I were you, I wouldn’t say a fucking word.” He stepped over her like she was garbage and walked across the parking lot to his car. Viv heard a motor start, saw the stripes of headlights against the motel wall.

A hand came into her line of vision. Simon Hess was offering to help her up.

By instinct she scrambled away from him again, getting her feet under her. She was scraped and bruised, getting wet in the spitting rain. The envelope was still inside her shirt, against her skin. She brushed her hands together, wiping the dirt and gravel off her palms. Hess waited.

“My room?” he said after a minute.

She could scream. She could run to Jamie’s door and pound on it.

“Do you remember me?” Hess asked. He gave her a smile. “I’m a traveling salesman. The one who’s so memorable.”

Don’t show fear. Don’t let on.

“I, um.” Her voice was a rasp. She was almost glad White had attacked her, because she had a reason to look terrified, which she was sure she did. “I remember,” she managed.

“That’s good. I need to stay tonight, possibly tomorrow night as well. I’m waiting for a phone call.” He smiled again. “It’s my usual routine.”

“Okay.” She thought of the knife in her office. If she screamed, he could attack her out here in the dark. She made her feet move toward the office, giving Hess a wide berth. Her calf stung and her ankle ached when she put weight on it, so she limped a little.

Hess followed her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I suppose I didn’t need to intervene,” Hess said. “I know you keep the keys in the drawer. But that didn’t seem right. I should check in properly.” He paused. “You seem to have made him very angry.”

“Yes. I did.” Viv stepped into the office and grabbed her purse. She clutched it to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. The gesture made the envelope crinkle under her shirt. One of her shoelaces was wet and untied and made a slapping sound on the cheap carpet.

She rounded the desk and sat in the chair. Hess put his suitcase down.

She pulled open the drawer with a numb hand and picked out a key. Number 212, upstairs. She kept her other hand on her purse, which she held in her lap. Ready to pull the knife out if she needed it.

She slid the key over the desk. Hess looked at her scraped hand as he picked it up. “Perhaps you could use some antiseptic,” he commented. “The skin is broken.”

“Yes,” she said. Her eyes were trained on the desk, but she made herself raise them to his face. She looked him in the eye.

Hess was looking at her closely in the unflattering light of the office. “I know you from somewhere,” he said.

Cold panic tried to crawl up her spine. “You know me from here,” she said. “Like you said, you’ve been here before.”

“Yes, yes.” He nodded. “I have. That’s not it, though. I know you from somewhere else.” He gave her his smile again, which made her skin crawl. “When I think of it, I’ll let you know. I never forget a face. Especially a pretty female one.”

Viv wanted to scream, but she knew what was expected of her. She tried to give him a smile, which was probably ghastly. He didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you. It’s probably from here, though. I’ve never seen you anywhere else before.”

Hess paused, as if he didn’t believe her and wasn’t sure what to say. The lie hung in the air between them. Buy it, Viv thought. At least for now.

Finally he looked down at his key, reading the number. “Two-twelve,” he said. “Home sweet home. Good night.”

“Good night,” she managed to say as he walked away and closed the door behind him.

When he was gone, she sat for a long moment in the silence, trying not to panic. A door slammed upstairs, then another.

“Betty,” Viv said out loud. “He’s here.”

Silence.

She glanced at the guest book and realized Simon Hess hadn’t signed it.

Viv reached into her shirt and pulled out the envelope there. She pried it open. It was stuffed with bills, a thick stack of them. Hundreds of dollars. Maybe thousands.

It didn’t seem real. It seemed like fake money, Monopoly money. No one had money like this. It was bewildering; Helen had gone to great lengths to get this, yet she’d driven off without it. Was she coming back for it? She’d seen Viv with Robert, and she’d seen Viv’s face; she must know Viv knew about the blackmail scheme, at least, if she didn’t have the money.

Viv put the envelope in the key drawer. Maybe Helen would show up, looking for it. Or maybe her husband, whoever he was, would come. She didn’t want the money, and her hands were shaking from the attack. She couldn’t think about it right now. She closed the drawer and pushed the money out of sight.

Cigarette smoke wafted to her nose, pungent and thick. The lights flickered out, then went back on again.

Viv got up from her chair and looked out the office door. In the dark above Number Six Road, the Sun Down sign went dark with a zapping noise, then buzzed on again, shouting its endless message: VACANCY. CABLE TV!

Tracy Waters was dead. Her killer was here. And Betty Graham was very, very unhappy.

Vivian closed the door behind her and hurried for the stairs.

* * *

• • •

She started at Mrs. Bailey’s room on the second floor. It was dark, with no sign of life. Viv had to glance at the parking lot to see that the woman’s car was in fact there before she knocked on the door.

“Mrs. Bailey?”

No answer. How many times, now, had she seen Mrs. Bailey come to the Sun Down to drink herself into oblivion? Four times? Five? The routine was always the same: She arrived sober, then made a run to the liquor store. Next came the calls to the front desk with drunken requests—a taxi, some ice, a phone book. Sometimes the calls were abusive; other times Mrs. Bailey was laughing to herself, the TV on in the background. Eventually came the silence as she drank herself out of consciousness.

Viv peered through the window. She couldn’t see any sign of the TV flickering past the sheer drapes. She knocked on the door, again, and then a final time, banging on it loudly. There was still no answer.

At the end of the row, the door to 201 clicked and drifted open, showing a sliver of the empty darkness inside. Then the door of room 202.

Viv ran down the corridor and banged on the door of room 210. Jamie Blaknik’s room. After a minute, he opened it. He had taken his jean jacket off but was still wearing his sweatshirt.