The Last to Vanish(13)
“Okay. Thanks,” I said, nodding.
“Someone better tell Cory to stop with his tours up there,” Ray said, eyes to his wife.
“I already did,” I said, more sharply than I intended, already regretting coming here. Imagining all the gears I’d kicked into motion, with a simple question, a careless statement.
I should have known better than to think this place would have answers. This was supposed to be behind us. And now all I’d done was spread the gossip. By the time I made it back to the inn, the rest of the town would probably know. The sheriff to Rochelle, and then up and down the storefronts. From Jack at the Edge to the booths on the town green, tendrils spreading outward.
This was why I knew there couldn’t be some deep secret at the heart of the town that had been kept, incident after incident, for decades. Because word travels fast here, and we’re opinionated and stubborn, each in our own way. Because the PTA presidents can’t hold their posts for more than one term before being voted out, and even the town slogan on the welcome sign was up for debate every year.
Because, for as many people who wanted things to stay exactly the same as they had always been here, just as many others wanted a change. A new perspective, a new vision. To shake our notoriety, and there were only so many ways to do it.
Because I’d listened closely, and I paid attention, and I’d been here long enough by now to believe I could see the town for what it was. It was just a place.
Being called the most dangerous town in North Carolina was a joke. I could count the number of actual crimes that had been committed here on one hand—I knew them all.
As for the disappearances, we had rehashed, with one another, all the nondangerous options: Maybe there was some mistake—that they went missing from somewhere else, another town, farther along the trail. Maybe the Fraternity Four had always planned to live off grid, had set up a community, of sorts, for themselves. Maybe those who had vanished simply didn’t want to be found.
But danger was a concept fueled by uncertainty, that grew stronger the longer we went with no answers. Time kept expanding here.
With every new, unanswered question, something stirred.
CHAPTER 4
TREY WEST’S CAR WAS still in the lot when I returned from town. And it was still there when it was time for the shift change at one p.m.
Georgia filled me in on the guest updates just as a man from the laundry service left with the linens. “The Shermans are out on a hike,” she said, sliding the binder across the surface of the registration desk. The binder served as both a daily record and an ongoing conversation between the two of us. It was more reliable than any computer program, and we could adjust it at will. She’d made two tally marks beside the Shermans’ name on the open page—a running inventory of the walking sticks.
“Got it. Anything else?” I asked.
“Mountain View One lost their key,” she said with an eye roll.
“Did you give them the spare?”
“Yes, and cataloged the loss.” She pushed her hair to the side, eyes to the double doors. “He hasn’t checked out yet, you know,” she said.
“I can see that.” I grinned. “I’ll handle it. Hey, did the line go down again?” I asked, remembering what Marina had told me earlier in the day.
She frowned, a single worry line appearing in her forehead. “I don’t think so—”
I put a hand on her wrist as she reached for the phone. “Don’t worry about it. I was just checking.”
Georgia shrugged, then slipped into the back office, where I heard her dragging a chair across the floor—I could picture her, feet propped up, cell in hand, scrolling the news while she ate beside the windows, in the one location with the prime service. Since April, she always brought her lunch up here at the start of the day and stored it in the mini-fridge beside the cabinet with the safe, instead of sneaking back to her apartment for a bite or heading into town.
I picked up the phone, listened to the steady dial tone, then called the line for Cabin Four. By the fifth ring, I was about to hang up, when the line finally connected. A rustling, a pause, and then: “Hello?”
His voice sounded tentative and far away, like the receiver was nowhere near his face.
“Mr. West?” I said, leaning over the counter, to keep the conversation from drifting toward Georgia in the office. “This is Abby, at reception.”
“Oh.” I heard the phone juggling, coming closer to his face. “Hi.”
“I only ran your card for the single night, I’m sorry. How long were you planning to stay, so I can update your reservation?”
There was a delayed pause. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it,” he said. “I took off from work for the week, came down on impulse…” He trailed off, cleared his throat. “Sorry, is the room available for the rest of the week?”
“Through the weekend, yes.” I had a group of hikers on the calendar for two cabins next week, but they weren’t set to arrive until Monday. The cabins were never all booked far in advance.
“Okay, if you give me a minute, I’ll bring over the credit card.”
But Georgia was still in the office, and I was trying to keep her out of it, like Celeste requested.
“Actually, we have a happy hour each night, at five. Some drinks and appetizers in the lobby. I didn’t give you the full overview of our services last night, but if you swing by this evening, I’ll run your card then. And we can go over anything else.”