What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(18)

She entered the office and closed the door behind her.

The space was cramped and coated in the sort of cheap paneling that was popular in the sixties. The carpet was a weird orange color and the ceiling had dark splotches that had accumulated over the years from a leaking roof.

But the two wooden chairs in the alcove that made up the lobby had been recently polished, and there was the faint scent of bleach in the air.

The place was at least clean.

Moving toward the narrow counter, Carmen waited for a heavyset woman to heave herself out of a recliner that was set in front of a small TV.

She had salt-and-pepper hair that was scraped from her round face, and she was wearing a sweater in a shocking shade of pink with matching polyester pants. She looked like a grandmother from a Hallmark movie.

There was a gold tag pinned to ample bosom that told Carmen the woman was named Blanche and that she was the owner of the fine establishment.

“Need a room?” Blanche asked with a hopeful smile.

“Yes.”

“A single?” The woman glanced toward the window that offered a view of the parking lot.

“That will be fine.”

Blanche grabbed a pencil and the old-fashioned reservation book that was set on the counter.

“How many nights?”

“Just one. At least for now,” Carmen said, digging in her purse for her wallet. She pulled out her credit card, handing it to the woman, who was looking at her with an odd expression. It took Carmen a second to realize that a woman traveling alone didn’t stay in random hotels for unspecified amounts of time. “It depends on the weather,” she hastily added.

The woman gave a nod. People in Kansas understood the fickleness of nature.

“If it does turn bad, I can let you keep the same room,” she said, her voice dry. “This isn’t exactly a hot spot for the holidays, so I don’t expect we’ll have a sudden rush of guests.”

“This time of year I assumed a lot of people would be on the road,” she said.

Blanche shrugged. “They are, but travelers prefer to stop at a place that is part of a hotel chain. They’re always looking for reward points or free breakfast or Wi-Fi. It gets harder every day for regular folks to run a decent business.”

Carmen offered a sympathetic smile. The older woman had a worn demeanor. Like running a mediocre hotel fifty miles from the nearest city was grinding away her soul.

“I prefer a place with some character,” she smoothly lied.

The woman shrugged, no doubt sensing she was being patronized. “Thankfully, most of our customers are truckers. All they’re looking for is a clean bed, a big parking lot, and a nearby café that’s open twenty-four seven.”

Carmen leaned against the counter in a subtle gesture of encouragement as the woman ran her credit card and filled out the register book.

“You know, I remember a friend of mine who stayed at a hotel in this area a couple of weeks ago,” she said, trying to sound as if she’d just been struck by the memory. “He mentioned that there was some trouble with someone stealing a semi from the parking lot. Was that here?”

Immediately the woman was on the defense, her cheeks flushing a dark red.

“I can promise you that this hotel is very safe.” She pursed her lips. “You should hear what happens to people who stay in Kansas City. Criminals break right into their rooms.”

Carmen held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply the hotel was dangerous. I was just wondering if they’d caught the thief.”

Blanche’s broad shoulders twitched. She looked like a hen who was trying to smooth her ruffled feathers.

“The truck was found a few miles away, so I don’t think anything ever came of it.”

“How weird.” Carmen tried to look confused. “Why would someone steal a truck and then just abandon it?”

“The cops assumed it was the work of some teenagers acting like fools,” she said, her voice tight with remembered annoyance. “Or maybe someone who thought they could steal the truck only to find out how hard them things are to drive.”

“What did you think?” Carmen pressed.

The woman shoved Carmen’s credit card across the counter, her flush deepening.

“I thought it was a bunch of crap,” she snapped.

Carmen blinked at the fierceness of the woman’s words. “Excuse me?”

“The driver who lost his truck was stomping around and cussing while the cops were upsetting our guests. Then they started pointing the finger at my husband, because the camera in the parking lot is just a fake.” Her expression was pinched, like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “It was a very unpleasant experience, let me tell you.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Carmen sympathized, swallowing a sigh as the woman yanked open a drawer and pulled out an old-fashioned key.

If Blanche had any information about the truck’s disappearance, she would have happily shared the information with the cops, or anyone else who asked. Anything to make certain that no one could blame her or her husband for the theft.

“Your room is in the middle. There’s a small fridge and extra blankets, but if you need anything else just let me know.”

“Thanks.” She pasted a smile on her lips and turned to head out of the office.

She would go back later that evening. There was a good chance the husband would be taking the night shift. He might have more information.