Do Not Disturb: An addictive psychological thriller, Page 3

  “Also…” His eyes twinkle. “I had a huge crush on you. I bet you knew.”

  It’s cold and raining, and all I want is to get back on the road. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Huh.” He scratches at the back of his head. He’s not wearing a hood like I am or even a hat. Isn’t he cold? “Well, anyway, maybe we can get together sometime. Catch up on old times?”

  My cheeks burn. I can’t believe this. I stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, and suddenly I’m having a conversation with a kid I babysat for fifteen years ago, who is now inexplicably asking me out on a date.

  “Actually,” I say, “I’m moving up to Vermont. So I won’t be local anymore.” I shrug. “But it was nice seeing you again, Billy.”

  His face falls. “Oh. But maybe I could get your number and—”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  Without waiting for a response, I turn and walk the rest of the way to my car. I don’t hazard a look behind me until I’m at the driver’s side door. He’s still standing there, watching me.

  Damn, I wish I hadn’t thrown my phone in his pickup truck. I had been hoping he was some guy from way out of town, in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go. I wanted that phone to take the police on a wild goose chase. But if he’s headed back where I come from, it will take them all of five minutes to figure out my phone is in the back of his truck.

  Worse, he’ll be able to give the police an updated description of me. He can tell them I cut my hair. All the more reason I have to get hair dye as soon as possible. And maybe I need to hack my hair off a bit shorter. I always wanted a pixie cut. I almost laugh as I imagine the look on Derek’s face if I had come home with a pixie cut. But it wouldn’t have been funny back then. Not even a little.

  As I pull onto the road, Billy Walsh is still staring after me. No, he’s definitely not going to forget me. I made a huge mistake pulling over here.

  Maybe I should head back. It’s not too late. I could go home and confess to the police what I did. It’s better if I confess than if they discover it themselves. Better than trying to escape during what is possibly turning into a blizzard.

  But I don’t turn around.

  _____

  At about five-thirty, the sun dropped precipitously in the sky. By two hours into my drive, it’s pitch black. I can just hardly see the road in front of me with my windshield wipers going full blast. I’m the only car on the road, so I put on my brights. If I get in a car wreck, I’m finished.

  I don’t know what to do. I had hoped to keep driving for at least seven or eight hours without stopping, but the Corolla won’t make it much further. I wish I had bought a bigger car. But who knew I’d be fleeing a murder scene?

  I suspect the right thing to do is to pull off the highway. Find a quiet place and sleep in the car. I’ve got my cheese doodles and my Oreos, which isn’t exactly nourishing, but it will get me through the night. But where can I pull over around here?

  If Claudia were here, she would tell me what to do.

  I get a deep ache in my chest as I think about my big sister. I can’t believe I’m never going to see her again. She’s the only reason I’m even considering going back. She always knows what to do. After our parents died, she put her arm around me at the funeral and said, Don’t worry, Quinn. I’ll take care of you.

  And she did. She left college and won guardianship of me. We had little family, and if she hadn’t stepped in, I would have had to go live with some distant relatives I had never met. Or lived in foster care. I owe Claudia everything.

  We used to talk about Derek a lot. I would tell her carefully edited versions of some things he said to me. I was careful not to tell her about the bruises he left behind when he grabbed my arm or the times he pulled my hair. Even with the washed down version, she was furious. She told me I should leave him. But she didn’t get it. Derek wasn’t just rich—he was powerful. If I left him, he would make sure I never worked in banking ever again. He told me I would spend the rest of my life penniless and miserable. Although some days, that felt better than the alternative.

  And of course, after one of our huge fights, Derek would always fall over himself to apologize. There would be flowers, expensive jewelry, maybe a dinner out at a nice restaurant. He would be nice for weeks until I forgot the fight and remembered the man I had fallen in love with. So I stayed.

  When I was younger, before I met Derek, I would hear stories about women stuck in abusive relationships. I never understood why any of them stayed. I thought they were foolish or weak. It never made sense to me until it became my life.

  Over the sound of the engine and the wind and rain outside, I hear another noise. It takes me a second to make it out. But when I do, my stomach sinks.

  It’s a siren.

  Chapter 6

  There’s a police car in my rearview mirror, flashing its lights. There are no other cars on the road. The police officer wants me to stop.

  Oh no. Have they discovered the body already?

  Maybe Scotty Dwyer didn’t believe my story as much as I thought he did. Maybe after another hour, he went back to our house. He would have noticed the windows were dark inside. And then what? Would he have busted down the door to see what was inside? That seems extreme.

  But he could have discovered the key we always keep under the potted plant by the back door. Scott is smart enough to check the obvious places.

  My hands tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. I wish Scott had insisted on looking around. He would have discovered the body, and I could have told him everything that happened. Scott was so kind to me when we were younger—he would have believed me. He would have known I’m not a murderer.

  But it’s worse now. I fled the scene of the crime. The more distance I put between myself and Derek’s body, the more guilty I look.

  There’s no chance of a high-speed chase right now. I pull over to the side of the road as carefully as I can. The police car pulls over behind me. I sit there for a moment, my heart pounding so hard, it hurts. I might have a heart attack right now. I almost hope I do. It would be easier than dealing with what’s going to happen next.

  The police officer takes his sweet time getting out of the vehicle. I had been hoping it might be Scott, but it isn’t. It’s somebody I don’t know. He’s a large man with a shaved head, dressed in a dark uniform, and he’s got an umbrella in his right hand as he makes his way to my car. Somehow, the umbrella makes him seem a little less scary.

  Until he raps hard on the window of my car.

  I roll down the window. Immediately, bits of icy rain smack me in the face. I do my best to smile, even though I am about to pee in my pants.

  “Hi, Officer,” I say. “Um, everything okay?”

  In the shadows, I can just barely make out the lines in his face. “I wouldn’t have stopped you if it were, would I? Let’s see your license, Miss.”

  My hands are shaking as I reach for my purse. It takes me two tries to get my wallet open and slide out my driver’s license. I almost drop it as I try to hand it to him.

  “Quinn Alexander.” He reads my name off my license, then looks up to match the picture with my face. “A bit of a way from home, aren’t you?”

  I shrug. “I’m, uh… visiting some friends.”

  “I see. Awfully bad weather for a road trip.”

  “Yeah, kind of.” I swallow a hard lump in my throat. “Look, Officer, I couldn’t have been speeding. I’ve been going well under the speed limit.”

  He waits for a beat. “That isn’t why I pulled you over.”

  “Oh…” I wrack my brain, trying to think of something I might have done wrong. I mean, other than murdering a man a few hours ago. “I… I don’t understand.”

  The officer nods at the back of my vehicle. “You got a busted tail light. On the left.”

  Is that it? Thank God. “Do I?”

  “Yeah.” He frowns at me. “When it’s this dark out, a broken tail light can kill you. A car
might be behind you and just see the one light, and maybe they think you’re a motorcycle or who knows what. I’ve seen some nasty accidents happen because of broken tail lights. I won’t give you a ticket, but you need to get it fixed as soon as possible. For your own safety.”

  “Oh…” I nod soberly. “I’ll be sure to take care of it right away.”

  “Are you almost at your friend’s house?”

  “Yes. Just about.”

  He hands me back my driver’s license. “You need to get off the road—soon. With this storm and now your busted tail light… It’s an accident waiting to happen.”

  “Right. I understand.”

  “The next time I see you, I don’t want it to be in a body bag.”

  I can’t help but think of Derek. Have they discovered him yet? No, they couldn’t have. If they had, this police officer wouldn’t be letting me go.

  I almost can’t believe it when the officer walks back to his car. He didn’t arrest me. I’m still free. But for how long?

  I pull back onto the road, recognizing that the first chance I’ve got, I have to change course and go in a completely different direction. Once they start searching for me, the officer will remember me. He’ll remember what direction I was headed in.

  But for now, I’ve got a bigger problem. If I keep driving around with this broken tail light, I’ll get pulled over again. The next time I might not be so lucky. I’ve got to get off the road. Just for the night, and then I can start driving again in the morning. Nobody will notice a broken tail light in the daytime.

  And that’s when I see the sign on the side of the road. It’s so tiny that I almost miss it. And that’s perfect.

  The Baxter Motel. That’s where I’ll spend the night, then tomorrow bright and early, I’ll get back on the road.

  Chapter 7

  If I were looking for a quiet, isolated place to spend the night, I couldn’t find anything more quiet and isolated than the Baxter Motel. I turn off the highway, and an almost invisible sign directs me to the motel. I have to drive down a nearly unpaved road until I see the weather-worn sign in front of a beat up old two-story house with a crumbling porch. The roof looks warped, almost sunken, like it could collapse at any moment. There’s a dim light shining in one of the upstairs windows, and if there weren’t, I would think the motel was abandoned.

  Even though it’s isolated, I feel nervous about parking my car in plain sight. After all, that officer pulled me over only twenty minutes away from here.

  Next to the motel, there’s another small one-story building. There’s a sign hanging from it that says Rosalie’s Diner in peeling paint. But this establishment is clearly closed. It’s dark inside and all the windows and doors are boarded up. I circle around the diner, and I park behind it, concealed by a large green garbage bin.

  There. That should at least be good enough for the night.

  I lift my bag out of the car and hoof it through the rain and sleet to the motel. My sneakers squish into a puddle and after about thirty seconds, I’m drenched. I regret not parking closer, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night if my car were in plain sight.

  The front door of the Baxter motel is made of rotting wood that’s dark with moisture. There’s also a screen door loosely attached to the hinges that smacks me in the shoulder before I shove it out of the way. The knob feels ice cold to touch, and it sticks when I try to turn it. But after a second, it gives way and then I’m inside.

  The inside of the motel isn’t much warmer than outside, but at least it’s dry. Well, mostly. There’s water dripping from the ceiling, leaving a small puddle next to me. A splintered wooden counter is in the back of the room, but nobody’s behind it. A single lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, and as I stand there, the light flickers.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  No answer.

  I take a few steps forward. All I can hear is the dripping of the water coming from the ceiling. The motel feels empty, but the lights are on. And I saw that light on upstairs as well.

  “Hello?” I say again, louder this time.

  Still no answer. This place is making me uneasy. I wanted to find something out of the way, but this is a bit more isolated than I expected. Then again, the thought of having to run through the freezing rain back to my car isn’t too appealing.

  “I’m here! Don’t leave! I’m coming!”

  I whip my head around at the voice from behind me. A few seconds later, a man emerges from a back room, carrying a mop and a bucket. He smiles at me, revealing a slightly crooked left incisor. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry. I was in the back.”

  “No worries.” I try to return his smile, but I’m too tired to put in the effort anymore.

  He shifts the handle of the mop to his other hand. “So are you looking for a jump for your car or…?”

  “Oh… no, I…” I look down at the bag that I had dropped beside me. “I was hoping to get a room for the night.”

  He blinks at me, as if such a thing had never occurred to him. “You want a room?”

  I frown. “Sorry, I thought this was a motel…”

  “It is.” He scratches at his hair, which is the color of damp sand. He’s maybe mid-thirties and good-looking, but not in the same way as Derek used to be. Derek was lead actor kind of handsome, whereas this guy would get more of a supporting role. But he seems nice. Harmless. Like he wouldn’t hurt a fly. “We just don’t usually get many… But yes, we’ve got a room available. No problem.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Can you just…” He gestures over at the puddle of water on the floor. “I want to get this cleaned up before the floor gets damaged. Or more damaged.” He shakes his head. “Every time it rains, it starts leaking.”

  My eyes stray up to the dark spot on the ceiling where the drops of water are coalescing. “But isn’t there another level above this one?”

  He gives me a lopsided grin. “Right. It’s a mystery.”

  He carries the bucket over to the puddle on the floor, then he dips the mop in the water. The puddle shrinks.

  “Do you own this place?” I ask.

  He nods. “Me and my wife do, yes.”

  As he pushes the mop across the floor, I noticed the glint of a wedding band on his left hand. I look down at my own left hand and see the simple gold band still in place. All of a sudden, it feels like it’s burning my skin. I want to rip it off and throw it across the room.

  “I’m Nick, by the way,” he says.

  “Hi, Nick,” I say, but I don’t offer my own name. He doesn’t seem bothered by it.

  Nick gives the mop one last shove across the floor, then rests it against the wall. He places the bucket in the place where the water is dripping down. I suppose that’s his makeshift solution.

  Once he’s taken care of that, he goes behind the wooden counter. He leans his elbows on the counter as he looks at me. “So usually we charge fifty dollars a night. Is that okay?”

  “Is cash all right?”

  “But of course.” He rifles below the counter. “Are you planning to stay just for the night or longer?”

  “Just the one night.” And maybe not even that long. “Am I the only person staying here?”

  He hesitates. “No. We have another guest. But she’s more… long term.”

  He doesn’t explain what that means, which is fine. I just want to feel like I’m not the only person in this semi-deserted motel. Yes, this guy seems harmless, but this is how scary campfire stories start. “What about you and your wife? Do you stay here?”

  Nick shakes his head. “Nah. We live in that old house right behind the motel. But I’ll stick around for a while in case you need anything. I’ve got to fix that leak, anyway.”

  He finally finds what he was looking for under the desk. It’s a sheet of paper, old enough that it’s turned stiff and yellow. It looks like some sort of information form for guests. He blows a layer of dust from the paper. “Would you fill this out for me?”

  �
�Um, sure.”

  I pick up the ballpoint pen on the desk, but my hand feels frozen. I don’t want to fill this out. I’ll have to falsify every piece of information here. Starting with my name.

  At some point, I’ll have to shell out the money for a fake ID. But in the meantime, I should have a fake name to give people. Except what? It should be something common that rolls off the tongue. Nothing memorable.

  Mary? Jennifer? Carol? My best friend in college was Kelly. That’s innocuous enough. So I scribble down the name Kelly.

  And now I need to think of a last name.

  “I have to tell you,” Nick says. “This is the longest anyone has ever taken to write their name.”

  My cheeks burn. “Oh…”

  “Listen…” He reaches for the yellowing piece of paper. “Don’t worry about the form. You’re just staying for the night.” He looks down at the one piece of information I gave him. “Okay, Kelly?”

  “Okay,” I say gratefully.

  I reach into my purse and extract fifty dollars to pay him for the room. He takes the money and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. Then he grabs a set of keys from under the counter.

  “I’ll show you the room,” he says. He glances at my luggage. “Let me get your bag for you.”

  I start to protest, but what the hell? I’m exhausted, and he looks strong. May as well let him carry my bag.

  I follow him up a set of stairs to the second floor. The stairs aren’t lit at all, and with every step, they groan like the whole staircase is about to collapse at any second. I grab onto the banister for support, in case the stairs really do collapse, and it immediately shifts under my weight. This whole motel feels like it’s about to fall apart any second now.

  Nick notices and flashes me an apologetic smile. “I need to tighten a few of the screws. Sorry about that.”

  “No problem.”

  The entire second floor seems to be lit by a single lightbulb. There are three doors, two on the left and one on the right. Nick takes me past rooms 201 and 202, and then we stop at 203. He fishes the keys out of his pocket.