Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I dropped the bags onto the floor by my wet Nikes. “My mom came in a few minutes ago. Is she in our room already?”
The woman went still, and a deep crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Child, you’re the first visitor we’ve had tonight.”
I shivered. “No, no, maybe someone else helped her? My mom literally walked through that door a few minutes ago. I was just grabbing our bags and—”
“I’m the only one awake. The rest of my employees don’t get in until the morning. Now, if you’d like a room, I do have one left since my other reservation canceled.”
“I have reservations,” I whispered. “We have reservations. Can I check the bathroom? She’s sick; that’s probably what happened. She passed out or something,” I said more to myself.
“Name.” The elderly woman scribbled something and let out a heavy sigh as rain continued to drip off my body and onto the floor.
“Oh, it’s under Jones, either Mary Jones or Luna Jones.”
“I have one open-ended reservation for Luna Jones.” She grabbed a key, completely ignoring the nervous breakdown I was having in her lobby. “You’ll be on the second floor. Breakfast begins at six am and ends at ten.” She eyed me up and down like I was a criminal. “No drugs, no parties, and try to keep it down; we’re at capacity.”
I wanted to snort and ask how that was possible but kept it to myself. “May I leave my bags here while I search the downstairs bathroom?”
“It’s empty.” She shrugged. “But suit yourself.”
Panic rose in my chest as I calmly tried to drop the bags, Jeep key in my pocket, and my room key imprinting itself against my right palm.
I rounded the corner into the abandoned sitting room and jogged over to the one bathroom for guests downstairs.
Sure enough, it was dark and empty.
I searched the living room and then went back into the dining room, nothing.
The elderly lady was gone, so I hit the bell a few times again. A door opened and closed, then she appeared, this time looking even more pissed than before. “What is it?”
I couldn’t control the shaking or the numb feeling that refused to let me out of its grip. Breathe. I needed to breathe. “Are there any cameras in here?”
“Yes,” she said in a clipped voice. “Because we’re very technologically advanced for a hundred-year-old inn.”
Do not strangle the old lady, do not strangle the old lady.
“Okay,” I exhaled sharply. “Okay, then I need to go to the police station and file a report unless you have some sort of backroom you’re keeping her in.”
She froze and then said, “We don’t keep adults.”
Well, that was comforting! And not at all funny.
“Can you give me directions to the police station?” I was trying so damn hard to keep the tears in, to not panic; Mom always told me that a clear head was all you had in times of chaos. I needed to be calm, calm for her, calm for me, so I didn’t lose it.
Her chin jerked toward the door. “The county’s small, so we share the sheriff’s station with the town five miles over—called Rocky Pointe.”
I checked my watch. It was pitch black outside, and nearing eight at night would probably take me ten minutes max to get over there and file a missing person’s report.
“Okay, okay,” I sucked in a breath and grabbed my bags. “I’ll just drop these off in my room first.”
She shrugged as if to say whatever.
Why wasn’t she panicking?
Did she think I was a crazy person?
I ran up the stairs with both of our things, shoved the key in the lock, turned the knob then tossed all three bags onto the carpeted floor.
Something about the heaviness of Mom’s bag made me pause. I hadn’t really noticed how bulky it was when I put it in the SUV.
Frowning, I leaned over the black Nike duffel bag. With shaking hands, I gripped the still-wet zipper; the sound of it opening pierced the silence. When it was open enough to peek in, I did just that, then stumbled back and let out a hoarse cry.
She hadn’t packed clothes.
But she’d somehow remembered to pack thousands of dollars in cash?
Her old black leather wallet was in there, along with her cell phone.
Tucked inside one of the stacks of hundreds was a little white paper. Still shaking, I pulled it out and unfolded it.
“It’s yours,” was all the note said in Mom’s handwriting.
What the hell was going on here?
Did she abandon me?
Was she taken?
Was she in trouble?
And why, of all places, Orca Cove?
Shaking myself out of my stupor, I got to my feet, dusted off my jeans, made sure I had my purse, and ran back down the stairs and out into the pouring rain.
My fingers slipped off the Jeep’s handle before I finally got it open and shoved my wet body inside. I didn’t realize that I was crying until I was a half mile down the road.