Do Not Disturb(15)

The smile vanishes from Nick’s face. Whatever else, it’s obvious this particular piece of information is absolutely true. “She told you that?”

I nod.

He rubs at the back of his neck. “What did she say?”

I study his face. His light brown eyes. The stubble on his chin. “She said it was a young woman, and she was stabbed to death in the room. And you found her.”

He coughs. “Um, yeah. All of that is true.”

A chill goes down my spine and then all the way to my toes, even though I’m wearing socks now. “That must’ve been awful.”

“Yeah.” His eyes drop. “It was. I’ve never seen anything like that before. I never want to see it again. I still sometimes have nightmares.”

“That’s horrible,” I murmur. “And they never found out who killed her?”

He lifts his eyes. But he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the window behind me. “No. They never did.”

“Oh,” I murmur.

“Anyway.” His smile seems forced. “If there isn’t anything else you need, I’m going to head back over to my house. Rosalie… She doesn’t like to be alone when there’s a storm. I can fix the pipe in the morning.”

“Of course.” I think of the silhouette in the window of the house across the way. The woman who didn’t wave back. “Will your wife be over here in the morning?”

Nick shakes his head. “No. She doesn’t come to the motel anymore. She’s been… ill. I’ve been taking care of her.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. That must be hard.”

He lifts a shoulder. “She’s my wife. In sickness and in health, right?” He looks pointedly at the wedding band on my left hand. “You know what I’m talking about.”

I suck in a breath. I can’t tell him I just stuck a knife in the man who gave me this ring. “Yes. Of course.”

“Good night, Kelly. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I clutch the plate with my half-finished turkey sandwich while I watch Nick walk down the hall. He seemed like he was in such a good mood until I brought up the murder in 201. He’s obviously still very affected by it.

There was another reason they thought Nick killed her.

Everything Greta told me in that room was true. I wonder what she was talking about that time.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I won’t be in this motel for much longer. First thing in the morning, I’m back on the road. As soon as the snow stops.

I flip around the “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on my door, then I close the door and lock it. I walk over to the window, watching the flakes fall from the sky. I wish I could check the weather app on my phone to see how long this is going on for. I should’ve checked it out before I ditched my phone. I’ve got a shovel in the back of my car though. I’m getting out of here, one way or another.

I look across the way, at the small house right next door. It’s run down, but there’s something majestic about the large, swooping windows, the brick chimney, and the cone jutting from the top floor—almost like it’s a castle. With some work, it could be really beautiful. It’s a fixer-upper, that’s for sure. Nick said his wife was sick—I wonder if they had plans to fix it all up, but then got derailed.

I know what it’s like to have plans get derailed.

That light is still on in the upstairs window. The silhouette of Rosalie Baxter stares right back at me. I don’t lift my hand this time. In fact, I let the curtains fall closed, with only a small crack between them.

That’s when I see movement behind Rosalie’s silhouette. It must be Nick, having come home. I peer through the tiny crack in the curtains, watching them. He bends down next to her, talking to her. He reaches out and touches her face. I expect him to lean in to kiss her, but he doesn’t.

I watch as he stands up. Suddenly, he’s pacing the room. He seems upset, but of course, I can’t hear a word of the conversation.

And then he stops pacing. He lifts his head and looks straight through the window.

I jerk my head away from the window. He couldn’t possibly see me, could he? No, it’s impossible. But either way, I shouldn’t be snooping. Whatever he’s doing with his wife in his own home is private. It’s none of my business.

I turn back to the television. I’m dying to know if there’s anything on the news about Derek. There’s no way for me to leave this motel tonight, but if they haven’t discovered the body yet, I have a bit of breathing room. I really wish I had my phone with me to browse the web, but that would’ve made me a sitting duck.

I turn on the television, but the entire screen is just a mass of snow. I fiddle with the antenna, turning it every which way, making it longer, then shorter. It’s hopeless—there’s no reception. It’s probably because of the storm.

Well, maybe if the storm is this bad, it means they’re not out there looking for me.

I wince at the thought of Scott Dwyer discovering my husband’s dead body. I still don’t quite understand why he didn’t insist on coming into the house to check things out. Isn’t that protocol? If you hear screams, don’t you have to look inside?

But he’s going to find the body eventually. I wish it could be somebody else who makes the discovery. I don’t want Scott to know what a mess my life has become in the last decade.