Chapter 25 Ash
ASH
“THAT’S TOO LOUD FOR one phone.” Caro says what Ash is thinking. “More than one of us is getting a text at the same time.” She presses her fingers to her mouth. “What if it’s Hope?”
Ash puts the box on the floor and grabs the bottle opener from the minibar. The box vibrates again, juddering across the floor away from her. She snatches it back.
Something primal has ignited in Ash. She feels lean—wolflike—with purpose.
Her friend needs her. She uses all her strength to leverage the bottle opener against the thin lip of the lockbox.
But her efforts only result in her scratching and gouging the box without gaining any purchase.
It’s not the fanciest lockbox in the world, but it’s doing its job.
Ash swears in frustration and the bottle opener slips, almost cutting her palm.
The box goes still.
“Let’s try to find the key,” Caro says. That is the logical first step, but Ash didn’t even think of it. She needs to slow down.
Any hesitation about going through Hope’s things has vanished. The phones rattling around in the lockbox, the aliveness of it, has altered things. Ash takes the weekender and suitcase and Caro goes over the room.
“Nothing,” Caro says after a few minutes. She blows a strand of hair away from her face. “I need a shower,” she says. “I feel like an animal.”
“Same, on both counts,” Ash says. She has checked every pocket of every article of clothing, felt around in Hope’s shoes, unballed her socks, gone through every nook and cranny of the suitcase and the bag.
She thinks about picking up the lockbox, taking it to the Sonnet gathering area, and flinging it against the stones of the patio until it breaks open.
But, of course, that might damage the phones inside.
“How late is it?” Ash asks. “Will a locksmith still be open? It takes about an hour to get to St. John, right?” She feels like she has fallen out of time and that nothing adds up. Like it has been years since they were in the canyon and seconds since Hope has slipped through their fingers.
“Spring Creek’s closer,” Caro says. “We can go there instead.”
“We don’t have a car here,” Ash remembers. “Hope’s rental is still at the end of the hike, and your car is still up at the trailhead.”
Caro heads for the door. “We’ll ask one of the staff to drive us to Spring Creek.
” She has changed too, Ash realizes. Caro is still focused, sharp.
But there’s an expression on her face, in her eyes, as if she’s here but also listening to or thinking about something else.
Is it her dad? Is she worried about him? Is it Spencer?
“Okay,” Ash says. “Do you think they can spare anyone?” In the absence of the manager, Page seems to be doing everything. Are they missing staff members in addition to guests? Ash hasn’t even thought to ask. Had some of them been in the Underground as well?
“They don’t have a choice,” Caro says.