Past Tense (Jack Reacher #23)(86)

They walked on toward the office, which had a red neon sign. They went in. There was a guy behind the counter. In his late twenties, maybe, with dark hair, and pale skin, and a slight look-away shyness in his manner. He had an air of intelligence. He was educated. He was healthy and fit. Maybe a college athlete. But a runner, not a weightlifter. Middle distance. Maybe a master’s degree in a technical subject. He was wiry, and coiled, and shot through with some kind of nervous buzz.

Reacher said, “I need a room for the night.”

The guy said, “I’m really sorry, but the motel is closed.”

“Is it?”

“I took the signs down at the entrance. I hoped I would save people a wasted trip.”

“There are plenty of vehicles here.”

“Work people. I’m way behind with the maintenance. There are things I really need to fix before the leaves turn and the tourists come back. Turns out the only viable way to do it was close for two weeks. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Are you doing all the rooms at once?”

“The plumber turned the water off. The electrician is messing with the power. There’s no heat and no AC. I’m way below code right now. I wouldn’t be allowed to give you a room, even if I could.”

“You got Persian carpets?”

“They’re organic jute, actually. I’m trying to be sustainable. It should last ten years, but only if you clean it carefully. It would be a false economy to use a regular commercial crew. These guys get Boston prices, believe me, but the spreadsheet says it should be worth it in the long term.”

Reacher asked, “What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“We’ve all got one.”

“Tony.”

“Tony what?”

“Kelly.”

“Mine is Reacher.”

The guy looked blank for a second, but then he focused, as if he was snagging on an odd coincidence.

He said, “I bought this place from a family called Reacher. Are you related?”

“I don’t know,” Reacher said. “I guess everyone is related if you go back far enough. When did you buy it?”

“Nearly a year ago. It was halfway renovated. I got it open in time for the season. But now I have some catching up to do.”

“Why did they sell?”

“A grandson took it on, but honestly, I think he found it wasn’t for him. He was more of an ideas guy. There was a lot of detail involved. He got in trouble with permits, I think. Pretty soon he decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. But my spreadsheet told me it was. So I bought him out. I like detail.”

“Is the electrician from Vermont, or the plumber?”

“The plumber. They have the best three-season guys in the world up there. Costs me more to bring them south, but my spreadsheet tells me it would be penny wise and pound foolish not to.”

“Same thing with the electrician from Illinois, I suppose.”

“Actually that’s slightly different. There’s unemployment out there, so they work for less, which offsets getting them here, so it’s a wash in terms of cost. But it’s way better in terms of how they do the job. These guys are auditioning, basically. This is a whole new market. There’s infinite work here, at their hourly rates. They want word of mouth recommendations. So their quality is excellent. Plus they already know their way around motels like this. There are more of them in the Midwest than here.”

“OK,” Reacher said.

“I’m really sorry about the wasted trip,” the guy said.

Then he stopped, and defocused again, and said, “Wait.”

They waited.

The guy glanced out the window.

Then he said, all in a rush, “How did you get here? I completely didn’t think. Don’t tell me you walked. But you can’t have driven. I just realized. The wrecker is stuck.”

“We walked,” Reacher said.

“I am so sorry. Today has been one damn thing after another. The last guest I had before I closed abandoned a broken-down car. Apparently it wouldn’t start, so he called a cab and disappeared. Naturally I wanted the car towed, and today was supposed to be the day, but it turned out the tow truck is so huge it got jammed in the trees.”

Then the guy looked out the window again, left and right, checking.

He said, quieter, “Or else he just doesn’t want to scratch his paint. I have to say, I’m not very satisfied. The trees on both sides of that track are trimmed precisely according to Department of Transportation guidelines. I’m pretty much a detail guy. I take care of things like that, believe me. Any highway-legal commercial vehicle should fit just fine.”

Then he stopped again, struck by another new thought, and he said, “Let me drive you back. At least that far. I assume your car is parked behind the truck. It’s the least I can do.”

Reacher said, “What was wrong with the abandoned car?”

“I don’t know,” the guy said. “It’s pretty old.”

“What’s the plate on it?”

“Canadian,” the guy said. “Maybe one-way airfare is cheaper than the disposal fees they charge up there. I’m sure there are environmental regulations. Maybe he drove the car here just to dump it. It would be a simple profit and loss calculation.”