Chapter 29
“How are we going to get in?” Tean whispered.
“You don’t have to whisper,” Jem said. He stood there a moment, thinking.
A door behind them opened, and shouts carried out into the hall, followed a moment later by a pair of teenage boys.
They were talking over each other, showing each other something on their phones, one of them hitching up his joggers with a free hand, the other one with his laces untied.
They didn’t even glance at Jem and Tean.
As their voices faded, a faint squeaking sound reached Jem.
Then a rapid knock. And then the sound of a door opening.
“Got it,” Jem said. “Here we go.”
It took him a few minutes to find the little room with the ice machine and a pair of vending machines. It had a door—which was a bonus—and inside, it was too warm, and loud with the hum of the compressors. After the door swung shut behind them, Jem said, “Let me see your hand.”
Tean automatically put his hand behind his back. “Why?”
“Babe, you’re supposed to trust me.”
“It’s hard to trust you after you spat in my hand.”
“That was one time! And it was a cool trick!”
“It wasn’t a trick. It was a prank, and you learned it from The Simpsons.”
One of the problems, Jem decided, of having a super-smart boyfriend was that he did, apparently, remember everything.
“I won’t spit in your hand,” he said.
“You’re going to do that thing where you twist my arm so the skin is red.”
“Babe!”
“Please don’t make me get my hand stuck in the vending machine like when you tried to get that NutRageous bar.”
“This is outrageous. Do you get that? If Scipio were here, he’d be barking at you.” Jem tried to stop there, but he felt forced to add, “And I paid for that NutRageous bar. It was mine.” He blew out a breath. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself.”
As usual, that worked.
“No,” Tean said. “I’ll do it. Do what?”
Jem grabbed his hand and used it to push the dispenser on the ice machine.
The machine rumbled. Rattled. Shook.
And then it started shooting ice all over the floor.
Tean did a lot of squawking—stuff like “Jem!” and “Stop!” and “The ice!”
He also twisted, wriggled, and generally tried to get away.
When there was enough ice on the floor, Jem let him go.
“There’s ice everywhere,” Tean said.
“Yep. And that’s what you’re going to tell the nice housekeeping lady so that she’ll come clean it up.”
Tean was rubbing his hand like Jem had somehow hurt him, and he was frowning at the ice. “Couldn’t we have lied?”
“I thought you said no more lies.”
“A white lie. It’s better than making a mess.”
“Actually, this time, it’s not, because I want her to be busy cleaning this up.”
Tean thought about this for a moment. “Why couldn’t you have pressed the dispenser button?”
“Because, babe, you’re a terrible liar. And this way, you’ll look super guilty when you tell her how you got ice all over the floor.”
“But I didn’t— But you— Jem!”
“Try sounding outraged like that. It makes you sound even guiltier.”
For a moment, the only expression in Tean’s face was outrage. Then, with something that was almost pettiness, he said, “I’m going to tell her I saw a man do it. A blond man. In a sweatshirt.”
“Sounds good, babe. Lay on the details like that. Get super specific. It sends the bullshit meter straight into the red.”
“But you did do it!”
“Clock’s ticking, sweetheart.”
Tean swayed, obviously caught between continuing the argument and behaving like an adult. Then he pushed out of the alcove, the door swinging shut behind him.
Jem followed.
He waited at the bend in the hallway. Tean’s voice carried—aggrieved and, yes, definitely guilty—even though Jem couldn’t make out the individual words. Then footsteps muffled by the carpet began to move toward him.
Deep breath.
Everything loose.
Now.
As the footsteps neared the turn, Jem came around the corner at a brisk walk.
He registered Tean—who was now blushing, which made him look even guiltier—and next to Tean, an older woman with hair that managed to be the color of banana Laffy Taffy.
She was wearing one of the lodge uniforms, her expression fixed like she was going to be polite to the guest, blizzard or no blizzard, even if it killed her.
She saw Jem. She saw him barreling toward her. And her eyes widened.
Jem crashed into her—not hard enough to hurt, but with enough of an impact to knock her off balance.
The whole point was to startle them, surprise them, maybe even scare them a little.
Tean let out a shocked cry that had to be authentic.
Jem caught the woman in a weird half-hug to keep her from falling.
One hand in this pocket.
Lint. A cigarette lighter. A joint.
One hand in this pocket.
Bingo, bango, bongo.
He already had the card up his sleeve by the time he was pulling his hand back.
“Watch where you’re going,” Jem snapped. He got the woman upright with a movement that was almost a shove and strode down the hallway—just one more asshole in a hurry.
Behind him, Tean was apologizing.
Jem made a loop of the floor, and when he came around to the ice machine, Tean was backing out of the alcove, saying, “I’m really sorry. But there were two of them, and they were very loud—”
Whatever the woman said, it was enough to make Tean let the door fall shut. He turned around, face red, and saw Jem.
“Two of them?” Jem said.
“I didn’t know she was going to see you,” Tean said, lowering his voice and casting a nervous glance at the alcove. “Then I remembered those teenagers.”
“So, you lied to her.”
“You didn’t tell me she was going to see you!”
“And you framed two innocent teenagers for your crime.”
“I think that’s putting it rather dramatically.”
“But you did.”
“She was— It’s not like anyone—” With something like despair, Tean said, “Aren’t we supposed to be in a hurry?”
“Sure, babe. And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone what you did.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” Tean mumbled as he followed Jem back to Stephen’s room.
The housekeeping key worked. The light on the electronic lock flashed, and when Jem nudged the door, it swung open.
On the other side:
A standard hotel room.
Light flooding in through a window.
The white-hot shine of the snow.
No Stephen.
“Well, slap my ass and call me Candy,” Jem said as he let the door fall shut behind Tean. He gave the room a considering look. “He’s not here.”
“We knew he wasn’t going to be here,” Tean said.
“I know.”
“But?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe he’d come back.”
“Well, I’d like to be somewhere else when he does,” Tean said and moved into the room.
Jem followed more slowly. A king bed. Two nightstands. Lamps. A fieldstone fireplace. A dresser. Two beat-up roller bags. He checked the room safe in the closet; the door was open, and the safe was empty.
Abandoning the closet, he found Tean crouched next to one of them, examining the torn zipper and the scuff marks. He turned his face up to Jem.
“Whatever he was spending all that money on,” Jem said, “it wasn’t a new suitcase.”
As Tean began pulling out articles of clothing, Jem dropped onto the corner of the bed.
“That sweater cost two hundred dollars,” he said. “Is that cashmere? Let me feel it. Okay, those sneakers are actually super cute. I would wear those.”
“Are you going to help?” Tean asked as he lifted out a pair of jeans.
“I am helping.”
Sometimes Tean could be very communicative with his eyebrows. Jem’s theory was it was because they were so bushy.
“I’ll start in the bathroom,” Jem said.
“Great idea.”
Which actually had been where Jem wanted to search, if only because he was worried he might have overdone it back at the chalet, and he was starting to feel a little too evened out.
Maybe even a little underwater. But the pills had been right there in the bathroom, and he’d been, like, ninety percent sure they were zannies.
The bathroom had the same brownish-gray tile, the same marble-topped vanity, and the same walk-in shower as Jem and Tean’s room. What it didn’t have was a soaking tub, which meant Jem and Tean’s room was better.
Stephen had left his toiletry bag on the vanity, and Jem did a quick search.
Toothbrush, toothpaste, three condoms, a pomade that cost at least forty dollars on —Jem knew because Tean wouldn’t let him buy it, not even for an experiment, not even in the name of science, like, could he and Scipio have matching faux hawks. He unzipped a pocket.
Score.
Addies, check.
Zannies, double-check.
And a third bottle, one that would be fun to try—he’d have to google it, but it was probably something to help you sleep. Ambien, maybe.
The addies and zannies were made out to Jacob.
The labels had been partially scratched off so that only the first letter of the last name was visible—a B.
The third prescription, maybe Ambiens, had been prescribed to Jessica Brown.
He took one of the addies, just to get back up to speed.
Then he pocketed the brown plastic vials and called to the other room, “He was packing condoms.”
Tean didn’t say anything.
Jem poked his head out of the bathroom. “Did you hear me?”
“What? Yes.”
“That means he was planning on banging.”
“It means he thought there was a possibility of having sex. And it means he cared about safer sex practices.”
“And it means he’s not gay.”
“Plenty of gay men use condoms.”
“Sure, babe.”
Tean frowned at him, and for some reason, the glasses made it weirdly effective. But all he said was “There’s nothing in here but clothes.”
Jem checked the nightstands. He held up two books bound in fake black leather—a set of LDS scriptures. Stephen Anderson was stamped across the bottom.
Fanning the pages, Jem gave the books a quick look. Then he held them out to Tean. “He’s got a lot of stuff highlighted.”
“But the pages are practically new,” Tean said. “And the spine is stiff. I don’t think he ever actually read these.”
“Probably too busy using those condoms.”