Do Not Disturb(40)

Rosalie’s. Find Rosalie’s.

Rosalie’s what? What the hell was that old woman talking about?

I scan the outside of the hotel. I parked my car all the way in the back of the lot. I look up and see the old house next to the motel. That one light on the second floor that’s still on. And the silhouette is still in the window, like she hasn’t moved one inch since the last time I looked.

Is that Rosalie? Is she watching me?

I swivel my head to the other side, to check out that old abandoned building. It looks like it used to be a restaurant, but now it’s all boarded up. I squint into the darkness, and I can just make out a sign on the restaurant that is caked in dirt and snow. I can’t quite see what it says.

I trudge through the snow to get a closer look. It’s only when I’m a stone throw away that I can see the writing, but I still can’t make it out. I’ve got to get a little closer.

I inch forward on the ground, which is now lined with ice. I don’t want to slip and break my wrist, but I need to see what the sign says. It isn’t until I’m about six feet away that I can finally read the writing.

Rosalie’s.

I shiver and hug my purse. This is the place Greta was talking about. Did Quinn go inside?

I make my way over to the front door of the abandoned restaurant. The door is not just closed, but boarded up. I cup my hands around my eyes, squinting to see inside. But it’s completely dark. There are no signs of movement.

But Greta said to come here. What was she talking about?

I walk around the side of Rosalie’s. I’m going very slowly because of how slippery the ice is. I have to hold onto the side of the restaurant to keep from slipping. It isn’t until I get around the back that I see something blue peeking out from behind a garbage bin.

I hurry over, as fast as I dare. When I am about ten feet away, I can make it out clearly. It’s a Corolla. Quinn’s car.

That’s what Greta was talking about. She knew Quinn wasn’t at the motel anymore. But she knew she hadn’t left because her car is still here. Although God knows how she knew the car was here, considering how well concealed it is. You can’t see it from the motel.

I walk the rest of the way to the car. When I get over to the car, I grab onto it so as not to fall. I look inside, but unsurprisingly, the car is empty.

A gust of wind nearly knocks me off my feet. My eyes are tearing from the cold. Or maybe from something else.

I look up. I can still see that broken down old house with the one light on in the upstairs bedroom. From that house, you can see everything. You can see the parking lot of the motel. You can see Quinn’s car behind the restaurant. And you can see through the window of room 203.

The police were here looking for her, and Nick lied to them. For her.

That was nice of him.

It was. But Rosalie did not like it.

Rosalie.

I’ve got to talk to her.

But one thing is for sure, I’m not going to end up like my sister. I’m smarter than that. I feel around in my purse until my fingers make contact with their destination: Rob’s pocket knife.

My heart is pounding as I carefully walk the distance from the restaurant to the dilapidated old house, my boots crunching against the hardening snow. Even though the snow has stopped, the wind is brutal, like an ice cold dagger in my face. Every few seconds, I glance up at the second-floor window of the house. The light is still shining. Rosalie has not moved. Not a millimeter. She is still in the window, staring down at me. I squint up at her, trying to make out any features. But I can’t.

My legs feel like rubber as I reach the small house. The door is made of wood, which has splintered over the years and nobody bothered to fix it. The paint surrounding the door is outright peeling off. Like our house, it’s a fixer-upper that nobody bothered to fix.

I swallow a lump in my throat. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I should turn around and leave.

I feel the weight of the knife in my hand. It gives me confidence. I’ve never let anyone push me around. I can deal with one small woman.

Right?

I knock on the door with my left hand. There’s no answer. Rosalie isn’t coming down. I suppose I’m not surprised.

I put my hand on the door knob. I let out a gasp as it turns. The door is unlocked.

I push open the door and walk inside.





Chapter 26


ROSALIE



I’m not dead.

Did you think I was? That I’m some corpse my husband propped up in front of the second-floor window to frighten his guests?

I’m not. I’m very much alive.

And I’m afraid my husband is a murderer.




Twelve Years Earlier



I can hear the hum of the engine and my body jolts with every imperfection in the road. My teeth sink into my lower lip as I shift in the passenger seat of the broken down Ford. A blindfold covers my eyes, shrouding me in darkness.

I desperately claw at the blindfold with my right hand. Before I can work it loose, a powerful hand encircles my wrist. My boyfriend Nick’s voice cuts through the silence. “Hey, quit doing that,” he says.

I groan. “Nick…”

“I mean it. I want this to be a surprise. No peeking.”

“Fine. How much longer?”

“Ten minutes—tops.”