The Sun Down Motel(48)

She got into character. Then she called the DMV.

“Hello,” she said when she got someone on the line. “I’ve just received a call from my insurance company that there’s a problem with my husband’s registration. Can you please help me?”

“Ma’am, I don’t—”

“He’s away on the road,” Viv said. “My husband. He’s traveling for work, and if he comes home and finds our insurance canceled, he’ll be so angry. So angry.” She tried channeling Honey from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?—helpless, sweet, a little pathetic. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what the problem is. Can you please just check?”

“It isn’t—”

Viv interrupted by reciting the license plate number and the make and model, which she got from the photo. “That’s the one. We’ve had it for years. Years. I don’t know how there could be a problem all of a sudden. My husband says—”

“Please hold, ma’am.”

There was a click, and silence. Viv held the receiver, her hand slick with sweat.

There was another click. “Ma’am, I don’t see a problem with this registration.”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s nothing wrong at all. It’s registered to Mr. Hess with no changes.”

Mr. Hess. Viv felt light-headed, but she forced herself to keep calm, stay in character. “Oh, thank God,” she said. “And you’re sure the address is right?”

“You’re still on Fairview Avenue?” the woman said.

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

“It all looks fine to me.”

Viv thanked the woman and told her she’d call the insurance company back to work it out. Then she hung up. She had cold sweat running down between her shoulders, beneath her bathrobe. Her mouth felt dry and hot.

She ate another cracker and drank some milk, then flipped through the phone book again, breathing deep. She let Honey go and let her mind travel, thinking up a new character.

There were only two Hesses in the phone book, and only one was listed on Fairview Avenue. Viv got into character again—tougher, brassier this time—and called the number.

A woman’s voice answered. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Hess?”

“Yes.”

“This is your husband’s scheduling service.” Viv tried to sound brisk, professional, like a secretary in an office. “We’re not sure if we’ve made a mistake over here. Do you know if your husband is on his way to New York today?”

“New York? I don’t think so. He told me he was going to Buffalo two days ago. But perhaps his plans changed.” The woman laughed. “I guess you’d know that better than I would, right?”

“Like I say, Mrs. Hess, we may have had a mix-up. We’re waiting for Mr. Hess to check in, but we thought we’d call and ask.”

“That’s all right. Westlake’s scheduling service isn’t usually this concerned.”

Westlake. Viv flipped madly through the phone book. “We try to keep our salesmen organized. Sometimes things fall through the cracks.”

“Well, I haven’t talked to Simon today. If he calls I’ll be sure to tell him to check in.”

“We appreciate that, ma’am. Mr. Hess is always punctual about calling in. I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon.”

Viv said good-bye to the woman and hung up. She ate another cracker. She opened her notebook and picked up her pen. Turning to a blank page, she wrote:

Mr. Simon Hess

373 Fairview Avenue

Salesman for Westlake Lock Systems

She added his home phone number, Westlake’s phone number, and his license plate and car.

And beneath that, she couldn’t help but write:

That was easy.

She stared at the words for a minute. She looked back at the phone book and flipped back through the pages, finding the W section. She was thinking about her father, about the divorce. About the angry meetings with lawyers, about her mother coming home and throwing things, telling Viv she wasn’t good enough.

You probably shouldn’t do this, a voice in her head said.

And then, another voice: I really don’t care.

She ran her finger down the W names until she found the one she was looking for. White. There were a dozen Whites in Fell, but only one was listed as R. White.

Again, easy.

She dialed the number. She didn’t bother getting into character this time.

Again, a woman answered. “Hello?”

“Mrs. White?”

“Yes.”

“Your husband is cheating on you,” Viv said, and hung up.



* * *



? ? ?

Viv’s head was throbbing by the time she got to Fairview Avenue, driving her Cavalier. She was supposed to be asleep right now; she’d only had a brief nap at eight o’clock this morning. It was two o’clock in the afternoon now, and she felt like she’d never sleep again.

Fairview Avenue was pretty, at least for Fell: bungalows with lawns, trees that would be leafy in summer. Viv drove the street slowly, peering at the house numbers in the gloomy October afternoon light. Number 373 had a car in front of it—a Volvo, the wife’s car.