Chapter 16
Tessa stepped forward in the line at the hotel’s concierge desk, one transaction closer to her bookmarks.
What had been her random thought in the bookstore? A thriller about someone who finds weird things in hotel rooms. She thought of the locket again, the family photo. Who was missing it? Who was #LocketMom? What poor mom was now devastated, worried, guilty?
She knew the feeling, she had to admit. Poor, sick Linny. Her mom had deserted her.
Henry had said Zack was pretending to sleep, a nightly occurrence, so she had to assume that meant everything was okay with him at least. But—she frowned at the enormity of it—it was all because she’d left her family alone.
Something Linny ate, Henry had said. But what?
And if she’d gotten sick on their dinner, why weren’t the others sick as well?
“Thank you, ma’am,” the clerk was saying to a weary-looking woman, and handed her a flap of thick logoed paper. Tessa had one like it, protecting her key card. “Room 1017,” the clerk said.
The clerk had kept her voice low, but Tessa heard that room number perfectly. What if someone had hovered near the registration desk when Tessa arrived? Staked out her registration. Listened for her room number. And then slid that paper under her door.
The din from the sports bar grew louder, a roar of cheers and applause. Everyone in this hotel was a stranger to her, but maybe one of these people knew who she was. Maybe she was not a stranger to them.
“Yes, next, may I help you?” The clerk finally beckoned her forward.
Tessa approached, then stopped, realizing the truth. She’d already had her event in Phoenix. Whatever package was here at the desk for her was not bookmarks.
“I’m the one who called about the package,” she began. “Tessa Calloway. 1205.” She spoke softly, giving that personal information.
“You didn’t talk to me,” the clerk said. “I’ll call the business office.”
“No, no,” Tessa said, “The business office told me there was no package. But see?” Tessa held up the note.
The clerk looked perplexed. “We don’t leave notes, ma’am.” She gestured toward the black marble countertop behind her. “Because it’d be right here.” She stepped aside. “And there’s nothing.”
“You sure? It’s not from the hotel?”
“I’m sure, ma’am. Like I said. We don’t leave notes. Is there a problem?”
“No,” Tessa said. Hoping that was true.
She turned away, stuffing the note into her pocket, and slowly traversed the glistening floor of the hotel lobby, stepping on the reflections of the chandeliers above.
Why would someone leave her a note telling her she had a package, when there was no package?
She stopped, mid lobby. Knowing the answer.
Because they figured she’d call to inquire.
And when she was told there was no package, she’d come to the front desk and ask about it.
Figuring, when no package was found, she would chalk it up to a mistake.
Which allowed them to accomplish their goal.
Get her out of her room.
So they could get in.
She dropped her shoulders in defeat. She was exhausted. She had zero adrenaline. Her imagination was roaring, and she had to tame it. She took a deep breath, convincing herself. Food, sleep, airplane. Onward.
Spying a brown paper carryout bag at the end of the lobby’s Diamondback Bar, she saw her room number on it, its flap stapled shut. She grabbed it, and the plastic-covered glass of red wine next to it. No one seemed to be watching.
Parasocial relationships, Heather had called them. Maybe one of her “fans” planned to “coincidentally” run into her in the lobby.
Maybe one of her “fans” had gotten into her room while she was gone.
Ten p.m. in Phoenix now, midnight in Rockport. She set her carryout on a marble table in the elevator bay. Pulled out her phone. Texted Henry.
Can you FaceTime?
She waited, fingers crossed. A giggling couple in matching tank tops, arms draped around each other, stood next to her, the woman whispering in the man’s ear as he pushed the elevator button. The door slid open and the two left her alone again.
Now? You ok?
Yup. Humor me?
One sec
Even expecting Henry’s call, Tessa flinched when her silenced phone buzzed. She hit the FaceTime button, seeing her own image pop up, shadowed in the glary overhead light. Seeing Henry, hair spiking straight up, with what looked like a sheet pulled up close to his shoulders. He must be in bed.
“Sorry to call so late,” Tessa began. “Is Linny okay?”
Henry dragged one hand through his hair. “Tessa. I told you not to worry. She must have eaten something.”
“Yeah, but what?” Tessa could feel her own frown. “I’m worried about—”
“Honey?” Henry interrupted her. “It’s late here. Time zones? Are you okay?”
“It’s too long to explain, but I want you to be on the phone with me when I go to my room.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Just—hold on.”
She looped the twisted handle of the carryout bag over her wrist, picked up her wine, and pushed the button for her floor.
If anything happened, if anyone was in her room, or anyone had left something, or if there was anything untoward or unexpected, at least Henry would be there with her. She’d be alone, but not alone.
The elevator doors slid shut. She felt the motion of the machinery as it carried her upward, a murmur, and an adjusting of her place in the universe. And then her phone screen went black.