“Maybe he keeps the maid in there, too,” Adam mumbled, and Kitty shushed him.
“Anyhow,” the sheriff continued, “if you think of something else you want, just call the sheriff’s office and either my deputy or I will bring it out to you.”
Adam had moved to the cupboard, where he was investigating the food provided by Wanda Oakes. “Grape-Nuts and cornflakes? You got to be kidding! Where’re the Pop-Tarts?”
Kitty rushed over and shut the cupboard doors. “Don’t complain, Adam. Let’s have Sheriff Oakes show us our room and then we’ll come back and fix lunch for Mr. Oakes.” She glanced back at Campbell. “Is that all right with you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and laid a hand on his stomach. Kitty figured he was weighing the advantages of trying to eat through the pain versus starving to death. From the look on his face, it was a tough call.
“I guess I could eat,” he said, opening his eyes again.
“Are you having pain?” she asked him.
“He sure is,” Virgil said. “He’s got, what is it, Camp? Three cracked ribs?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“You’ve got pills for that pain, don’t you?” Oakes asked.
“Yep.”
“Make sure he gets those,” Virgil said to Kitty. “But for now, follow me.” He jangled the motel keys and nudged Adam to walk ahead of him. When they were in the lobby, Oakes leaned over to deliver a special message to Adam. “I’d advise you to rest up as much as you can today, Adam. Come Monday you’ll be working for Mr. Quint Cheevers over at the Value-Rite.”
Obviously the sheriff’s cheerfulness in front of his nephew hadn’t caused him to forget the real reason for this act of penance. And it was a stark reminder to Kitty that she and her son were definitely expected to fulfill their pledge as participants in this unique example of Sorrel Gap justice.
Kitty walked woodenly behind the sheriff and Adam. Maybe exhaustion and hunger were catching up with her. Maybe her commitment to a situation that could prove to be a disaster was making her stomach jump as if dozens of moths had been released inside. Or maybe it was Campbell Oakes himself. He hadn’t done anything other than scope her out with those cool green eyes. But it was enough to make her feel as if her legs were made of matchsticks, and the lobby of the Saddle Top Motel was suddenly the size of a football field.
When they finally reached the porch, Adam held Kitty back. This time there was no joking in his voice when he said, “Mom, you’ve got to stop this. That guy’s weird. You have to call Grandpa!”
She took a long, soothing breath of mountain air and straightened her spine. “No, Adam. We’re going to do what’s right even if we make a mess of it.”
“You mean even if it kills us,” he added.
She gave him what she hoped was a smile of encouragement. “Mr. Oakes is just unhappy because he’s hurting. He’ll warm up to us when we’ve been around for a while, you’ll see.”
It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but it certainly was wishful thinking.
* * *
SHERIFF OAKES UNLOCKED the door to unit number six, slipped the key off the ring and handed it to Kitty. “Here you go. I hope you and the boy enjoy your stay in beautiful Spooner County.”
“You won’t forget about our things, will you, Sheriff?”
“Tommy will bring them out to you at the end of his shift, about five o’clock. In the meantime, I expect you’ll find whatever you need in this room or in Campbell’s place.”
The sheriff stepped off the sidewalk and headed toward his patrol car. What remained of Kitty’s confidence threatened to walk away with him. A wind had kicked up, sending a film of sand over the sidewalk. Loose gravel pinged across the porch shingles—the desolate, lonely sound of a place forgotten by the human race. Kitty shivered and fought an urge to rush to the car and beg Virgil Oakes for other options.
Maybe Campbell Oakes wasn’t exactly weird as Adam said, and his injuries rendered him virtually harmless, but he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder large enough to fuel a bonfire. Plus, she feared that she would be a miserable failure at helping him. According to her ex-husband, Bobby, during the longest two years of her life—her marriage—she’d been a failure at nearly everything she tried. More recently, her father made her feel as if she wasn’t even capable of taking care of herself and her son, an opinion that had been substantiated in the past twenty-four hours. How was she going to take care of an invalid?
The sheriff set his elbow on top of the car. “I’m counting on you to keep your word, Kitty, and to make Adam keep his. Don’t make me regret giving you and the boy this chance.”
His implied warning only added to her guilt and uncertainty.
“That fella in there is my brother’s son. He’s been through a lot over the years.”
Right. Campbell was a war veteran. But he’d also worked for the wealthy Leland Matheson and made his home in Raleigh before coming to Sorrel Gap, so he hadn’t bedded down with land mines without a break. “I’ll look after him,” she said, and sent a silent prayer skyward that she’d succeed. “You take care of my truck, all right?”
He smiled at her. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll even have my mechanic look it over. That truck’ll be all yours again about the same time my nephew can live out here on his own.”
How long would that be? How long would she and Adam have to remain in this dusty, forsaken patch of North Carolina despair? “You won’t forget to have the phone turned on in our room, will you?” she asked as a flood of panic returned.
Oakes indicated that he would remember. The promise of a connection to the outside world, the chance to call Bette and Esmeralda, erased some of Kitty’s misgivings.
The sheriff climbed into the patrol car and backed out of the parking lot. Soon he was over the hill and returning to blessed civilization.
And Kitty and Adam went into their room.
Actually none of them will do.
The words Campbell Oakes had uttered a few minutes ago about the rooms at the Saddle Top Motel flashed in Kitty’s mind. And now, standing just over the threshold of unit number six, Kitty understood what he’d meant. And she suddenly felt as tired as this abandoned old room looked.
Adam entered the room and covered his nose. “Phew. Now we have another gross smell.”
Kitty yanked open the rubber-backed drapes covering the picture window. “That’s neglect, Adam,” she said. “Mildew. Stale air. Whatever you want to call it. Just please help me open the room up.”
They each cranked handles on opposite sides of the glass until two large panes creaked open. A breeze swept inside, depositing dust from the sill on a round Formica table and two orange vinyl chairs.
The admittance of air helped eliminate the odor, but the accompanying sunlight emphasized the deplorable condition of the furnishings. There were two double beds, each covered with thin spreads in faded gold and avocado stripes. Kitty walked over flat shag carpet that might once have been a peachy color, but was now nondescript. She ran her hand over the top of a six-drawer brown dresser. Three of its pulls, which reminded her of the fins of a vintage automobile, dangled loose, hanging by only one screw. A television sat next to the dresser on a rusty metal stand.
Kitty went to the rear of the room where there was a gold vanity under a rectangular mirror held in place by a half dozen clear plastic mounts. She opened a door to reveal a bathroom decorated in small gold-and-white tiles. When she flushed the toilet, she was relieved to see the discolored water swirl over rust stains in the bottom of the bowl and disappear. It was replaced with a welcoming pool of clear water.
A