“We hope you’ll be very comforta
ble here at the General Warren Inn. Just ask for Charlotte—that’s me—if you need anything.” The lanky blonde at the motel front desk slid a keycard across the scratched maple counter.
“Thanks.” Jason picked up the plastic card and glanced back at Kennedy, who had already finished checking in and was walking out the sliding lobby doors into the dark courtyard.
It was eight o’clock on Saturday night. After the search for Rebecca had been placed on hold, he and Kennedy had continued to work their way through the remaining statements. They had come up as empty-handed as the volunteers scouring the woods and hills.
Sometimes no news was good news.
The search—both on foot and on paper—would start again at first light.
Charlotte was watching Kennedy too, and as the doors slid shut behind him, she said, “I remember him from the last time. He stayed here then too.”
She looked to be about eighteen, which would have put her around age eight when Kennedy had been in Kingsfield working the Huntsman case. Jason didn’t doubt her though. Kennedy would always leave an impression.
“Did he leave a nice tip?”
Charlotte looked surprised. “He did, yeah.”
Jason winked at her and started to turn away, but she said quickly, “Do you—do you think you’ll find her? Rebecca?”
“Is she a good friend?”
Charlotte shook her head but then nodded. So which was it? Yes or no? Maybe Charlotte wasn’t sure. “I know her. We hang out sometimes. A bunch of us, I mean. What I wanted to tell you—”
When she didn’t continue, Jason asked, “What?”
“You’re wrong about Tony. He didn’t do anything to Rebecca. He wouldn’t have any reason.”
“No?”
“It’s over between them. On both sides; Rebecca just doesn’t want to admit it yet because she likes using Tony to piss her parents off.”
Charlotte was a cute girl. She had wide blue eyes, expertly lined in black, and shiny hair bound in two braids. Not Little House on the Prairie braids, but chic fashion-magazine-style braids. Jason said, “And you know this because you and Tony…?”
She blushed. Nodded.
“I see.” Good news for Rebecca’s parents and bad news for Charlotte’s, in Jason’s opinion.
She raised her chin. “Everyone knows what’s going on here. Nobody wants to say it out loud, but everyone knows.”
“What do they know?”
Charlotte’s voice dropped. “The Huntsman is back.”
“No.” Jason wanted to be very clear about this. He knew only too well how fast rumor spread in a small town. “Martin Pink is sitting in solitary confinement in a supermax prison right this minute.”
Charlotte was not impressed. “Everyone knows there was more than one Huntsma—” She broke off as a tall, sandy-haired man of about fifty stepped out of the back office. He wore glasses and a mustache so bushy it looked fake.
“Charlotte, can I see you in here?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Charlotte left the front desk at once, throwing Jason an apologetic look.
The man studied Jason, nodded politely, and turned away.
The General Warren Inn was not actually an inn. It was a motel and a pretty basic one. The Bureau did not typically spring for five star accommodations. Jason’s room appeared clean and functional, and there was a shiny, solid deadbolt on the door—which was not something he’d used to think a lot about, but appreciated these days.
Everyone knows there was more than one Huntsma—