“Maybe what you need is someone to go with you and help this time.”
“Dani, I’ve already told you, I can’t take the risk.” Jack took another swig of beer, which got better with the second and third swallows. But he lowered the glass from his lips when he saw her puppy dog eyes. “Oh, for god’s sake, Dani, don’t do this to me.”
She actually began whimpering.
Finally Jack began to laugh. “Okay, okay, you can come! Jesus Christ, with your ability, I don’t know why you need an agent. You could just go to the station manager and give him those eyes and he’d give you the drive time slot.”
Dani Lindstrom blinked but maintained the puppy dog look.
“Now what?”
“I was just thinking that some dinner might be nice, as long as we’re here.”
Jack laughed again and signaled for the waitress. He was not particularly hungry, having eaten an early dinner, but he wanted to stay there in the booth in the bar with this woman, yet did not want to simply keep drinking until he was buzzed, or worse. So Jack got the Pines Burger (for which the kitchen cleverly mixed a few pine nuts into the patty) while Dani ordered the California Salad, which consisted of alternative lettuces heaped with avocado slices.
As they picked at their meals they made small talk: Dani about her interest in radio, to the exclusion of any other media (clearly despite her film-and-television looks), and Jack about his dick of a boss. In the process Jack learned that she was older than he had assumed—thirty-three, only five years younger than he—and was interested in art and history. When Jack finally glanced at his watch he saw that it was nearly nine. “Good lord, I should probably be getting back to my room,” he said, killing his fifth beer. “I need to check in at home before turning in, and I have to get up early to get all this stuff done.”
“Well, I’ve enjoyed this evening, Jack Hayden,” she said, sliding out of the booth. Then leaning close to him, she whispered: “I’m in room 207.”
“Umm, why did you tell me that?”
“So you know where to come to tomorrow morning to pick me up so we can head on out to your ghost town. Why do you think I told you?”
“Just that,” he said, too quickly.
“Tomorrow morning, then,” she said, flashing that damned perfect smile before turning around and striding out of the bar like a model in search of a ramp. Jack exhaled loudly and contemplated ordering another beer before heading back but decided against it. Instead he asked for the check. Like most motel bars, the drinks and food weren’t cheap, and Jack had to put it on plastic. He wrote in a generous tip (Broarty could choke on it) and slid out of the booth. Standing upright, he was a little further gone from the beers than he realized. The damned stuff probably had a higher alcohol content that he realized. Nevertheless, he managed to stagger to the door and was almost out the lounge before the waitress hollered after him to tell him that he had left his laptop in the booth.
Once back in his room, Jack dutifully called home to resume the truncated conversation with his wife from earlier in the afternoon. This time he used the room phone instead of his cell phone, which was charging.
“Well, the hives are gone, like they were never there,” Elley told him. “It was pretty much a Chinese fire drill.”
“Still, you didn’t know that at the time,” Jack said, concentrating on his enunciation.
“No. But I had a bitch of an afternoon, and all I want to do now is soak in a hot tub.”
“Go ahead.”
“How can I do that and deal with Robynn both?” she asked.
“Why don’t you put her in with you?” Jack asked.
“What?”
“I said, put her in the tub with you. She’d probably love it.”
“The entire point of a hot soak is to take it by yourself. It’s personal time. It’s the only ‘me’ time I have, Jack, and I have to forego it tonight.”
“Maybe after she’s in bed you can take a bath.”
“Then I’d be laying there in the tub worrying that she’d wake up at any second and call for me,” Elley argued. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
Jack hoped his sigh didn’t register loudly on the other end of the phone connection. “I should be home tomorrow early evening. Then you can go to the spa if you like.”
“I just might.”
“Fine. If there’s nothing else exciting, I have to be up and out early tomorrow and go back to the site for some more pictures. The ones I took today somehow got shrewd...screwed up. I should be home by dinner tomorrow, barring any disasters.”
“All right. She misses you, you know.”
“I miss her, too.”
“And me?”
Jack did not answer right away. He knew he was taking too long. He knew the pause between the end of her question and his response was so great that there could be no other interpretation except that he was forcing himself to say how much he missed her. But for some reason, he could not force his tongue to make the words. Say something, dammit, he demanded of himself. “You’ve no idea how much I miss the woman I married.”
“Why do you turn sweet only when you’re away from me?” she asked, oblivious to the irony of his words. “See you tomorrow.” Elley hung up without saying goodbye, as was her fashion.
“Right,” Jack said to the dead phone line.
Room 207. She’s there. She’s there now. Elley will never know. Why else would Dani have given you her room number? That business about knowing where to find her in the morning was just a chess move. Why are you waiting? Jesus, Hayden, that smile, those eyes, those freckles, those legs, those tits!
Jack sighed deeply, then said, “No.” Disappointed or not, he would leave Dani Lindstrom to her business in her room. Most men, he knew, would not. Most men would have torn a leg muscle getting down to the motel sundry shop for a package of condoms, and then be slavering at her door like a wolf smelling meat. Broarty, for instance; he was forever making comments about what he would do, or had done, with women inside if he ever had the chance. So far as Jack knew, Yolanda had managed to deflect any non work-related demands from her horny boss. He also knew, but Broarty didn’t, that she kept journal of all Marc’s dirty little comments and casual pats on the bottom in just in case she ever needed to file a sexual harassment suit complaint.
Perhaps that was why he was staying put, so as not to be like Broarty. It was as good a working definition of “conscience” as any: to act in such a way as Marcus Broarty, Asshole, wouldn’t.
Jack picked up the phone and called the bar, and ordered another beer to be delivered to his room...hell, two beers...and Broarty could damn well pay for the room service charge. Then he set his travel alarm for 6:30, switched on the television and settled in for the night.
Room 207. Just upstairs.
“Shit,” Jack muttered, getting up off the bed and walking into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and waited for the beers to arrive.
CHAPTER THREE
Strangely, Althea Kinchloe found herself in her parent’s house, the home that had been destroyed by fire more than fifty years before. But now the house was back and in its former glory. Actually, greater than its former glory: the colors on the walls and the drapes seemed richer and brighter than at any time when she was still living there, and it was certainly cleaner than her last memory of the place.
There were no sign of Althea’s parents, both of whom died in the conflagration, though there was another figure with her. It was Althea’s