Cover of Night (12 page)

“You shoulda got some sleep last night, instead of going out looking for pussy,” Toxtel observed, a hint of disapproval in his tone.

“I didn’t just look, I found some,” Goss said, and yawned again. “Weird chick. She looked like some small-town poultry queen, or something, but when I told her she shouldn’t take strangers home with her, it was too dangerous and I could have been some kind of psycho, she said that
she
might be the psycho. The look in her eyes right then gave me the shivers, like she might really be nuts. I put my clothes on and got out of there.” He left out the part about the struggle, and the fake name.

“You’re gonna get your throat cut one of these days,” Toxtel warned.

Goss shrugged indifferently. “Always possible.”

“You didn’t kill her or anything, did you?” Toxtel asked after another few minutes, and Goss could tell he’d been worried by the thought.

“I’m not stupid. She’s fine.”

“We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

“I said, she’s fine. Alive, breathing, unhurt.”

“That’s good. We don’t need any complications. We find what we’re looking for at this place, and we leave. That’s it.”

“How will we know where to look? Are you going to say, ‘Where’d you put the stuff that stupid accountant left behind?’”

“Might not be a bad idea. We could say he sent us.”

Goss considered that possibility. “Simple,” he admitted. “Might work.”

The road had so many twists and turns that he began to get nauseated. He let his window down to get some fresh air into the vehicle. There were No Passing signs all along the road. After they went by what seemed like the fiftieth sign, he muttered, “No shit.”

“No shit, what?”

“All these No Passing signs. First, how could you pass anything on this damn road? It’s one curve after another. And second, there’s nothing
to
pass.”

“City boy,” Toxtel said, grinning.

“Damn straight.” He looked down at the map. “The next turn should be coming up on the right.”

“Coming up” took another long ten minutes. The temperature had dropped another five degrees, and the air felt thin. Goss wondered what the elevation was.

The road they were looking for was marked by a line of thirty or more mailboxes, leaning at all angles like a row of drunken soldiers. There was also a sign that said “Trail Stop,” and an arrow, and just past that a neatly lettered sign that read “Nightingale’s Bed and Breakfast.”

“That’s the place,” Toxtel said. “Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

The road had been steadily climbing, but shortly after they turned onto the narrow, one-lane road, it began winding downhill. The way down was even steeper than going up had been. Toxtel shifted into a lower gear, but still had to ride the brakes.

On one curve, they could see what had to be Trail Stop down below, sitting out on a wide spit of earth with a river roaring down the right side. The number of buildings looked as if it might match the number of mailboxes back on the road.

At the bottom of the mountain they went over a narrow wooden bridge that creaked under the weight of the Tahoe. Goss looked down at the wide, rushing stream coming off the mountain on its way to join the river, the water churned white by the black boulders that jutted above the spray, and a chill went down his spine. The stream wasn’t as rough as the river they’d seen, but something about it spooked him.

“Don’t look now, but I think we’re in
Deliverance
territory,” he muttered.

“Wrong section of the country,” Toxtel said blithely, not at all perturbed by the wildness around them.

The road curved up and over a small hill, and when they crested it—Goss briefly closed his eyes, in case another vehicle was coming over the hill from the opposite direction—Trail Stop was laid out before them, a cluster of buildings that stretched along either side of the road. There were some houses, most of them small and rundown, a feed store, a hardware store, a general store, another few houses, and at the end on the left was a big Victorian-style house with wide porches, gingerbread trim, and a sign out front proclaiming it to be the bed-and-breakfast. There were two other cars in the side parking area, and one parked in the rear in a separate garage building. The single bay door was open. To the right of the garage door was a regular door. That might be a good place to look for Layton’s stuff, Goss thought.

“Well, you were right,” he said. “The place isn’t hard to find.”

As they parked, a woman came down the steps toward them. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Cate Nightingale. Welcome to Trail Stop.”

Toxtel got out of the SUV first, smiling as he introduced himself and shook hands, then opened the rear door so they could get their luggage. Goss followed more slowly, though he did the smile-and-handshake deal, too. They introduced themselves as Huxley and Mellor—he was Huxley and Toxtel was Mellor. Faulkner had taken care of the bill with a credit card under some generic company name, so they wouldn’t have to show identification.

Goss didn’t attempt to hide the interest in his eyes as he surveyed the bed-and-breakfast’s owner. She was younger than he’d expected, with a lanky build that didn’t lend itself to curves, though she had a nice ass. She didn’t show it off, dressing in black pants and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, but he could tell it was there. Her voice was good, too, warm and friendly. Thick brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her eyes were brown—nothing outstanding there. Her mouth, though, was one of those oddly shaped ones, with the top lip fuller than the lower one. It gave her a soft, sensual look.

“Your rooms are ready,” she said with a friendly smile that completely lacked any response to the interest he’d shown. He checked out her ass as she turned away. He’d been right about its niceness.

Inside the house, he saw a teddy bear lying outside a room, indicating the presence of a child. That might mean Mr. Nightingale was in residence, too. She wasn’t wearing a wedding band, though; he’d noticed that when he’d shaken her hand. Goss glanced at Toxtel and saw that he, too, had spotted the teddy bear.

She stopped at a desk in the hallway, positioned against the side of the staircase, and picked up two keys. “I’ve put you in rooms three and five,” she said as she led the way upstairs. “Each room has its own bathroom, and good views from the windows. I hope you enjoy your stay here.”

“I’m sure we will,” Toxtel said politely.

She gave him room number 3, and Goss got room number 5. Looking around, Goss saw two rooms to the right, on the front of the house, and four more doors to their left. Considering the vehicles in the parking area, at least two of those rooms were occupied, maybe more, depending on how many people had been in each car. Searching the place might not be as easy as they’d hoped.

On the other hand, Goss thought with a smile as he unpacked his things, knowing there was a kid in the place opened up some interesting possibilities.

CATE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT WAS GOING ON, BUT SHE SUSPECTED that the man who had called late yesterday afternoon to book rooms for Messrs. Huxley and Mellor was the same man who had called earlier, pretending to be someone working at the car rental agency and asking about Jeffrey Layton. She couldn’t be certain, and if she hadn’t already been suspicious, the possibility would never have occurred to her, but both the accent and the voice had seemed familiar and after she’d hung up the phone the familiarity worried at her subconscious until she made the connection.

The two men were obviously looking for Layton, which was also suspicious. If they’d been
worried
about him because he’d disappeared, obviously they would have said so at the beginning, told her they were looking for their friend and asked questions about the morning he’d left. That they hadn’t done so told her they weren’t worried about his well-being at all. Mr. Layton was in trouble, and these two men were part of that trouble.

She shouldn’t have let them stay here. She knew that now. If she had recognized the voice on the phone in time, she would have told him she didn’t have any rooms available—not that she could have stopped the men from coming to Trail Stop, but at least they wouldn’t be staying here in this house with her and the boys. A chill went down her back at the thought of the kids, and her mother, and even the three young men who had arrived yesterday afternoon for a couple of days of rock climbing. Had she inadvertently put them all in danger?

At least Mimi and the boys were out of the house right now. She had taken Tucker and Tanner for a walk, telling them that she was giving them another chance to prove they knew how to behave, and if they let her down this time…Of course, her mother never finished that line, but as a child Cate had imagined that letting her mother down a second time would come close to causing the end of the world. Tucker and Tanner had looked suitably grave. Cate just hoped the walk was a long one.

There was the possibility that these two men had no connection with Jeffrey Layton at all. Cate couldn’t completely dismiss the idea that her imagination was running away with her. The voices on the phone had been similar, but that didn’t mean the calls had come from the same person—though Caller ID had once again shown no number in the phone window. She felt silly for letting herself think something sinister was going on, but at the same time she was alarmed.

The two men had been perfectly polite. The older one, Mellor, looked out of place in his suit and tie, but that in itself didn’t mean anything. Maybe he’d been to a business meeting, flew in, and hadn’t had a chance to change into more casual clothing. The other one, Huxley, was tall and handsome, and on the make. He’d checked her out, but she hadn’t responded and he’d let it go instead of pushing. Maybe they had a perfectly innocent reason for being here—

That was where her thoughts turned back on themselves. Trail Stop wasn’t on the main route; people had to deliberately come here; they didn’t stop by on their way to somewhere else. If Huxley and Mellor weren’t here to look for Jeffrey Layton, then why
were
they here? Her usual guests were vacationing families, hikers, couples on romantic getaways, fishermen, hunters, and rock climbers. She’d bet the house that neither of these men fished, hunted, or climbed, because they hadn’t brought along any equipment or gear. Neither were they lovers—not after the way Huxley had been looking at her. Hikers, maybe, but she doubted it. She hadn’t seen them carry in any hiking boots, walking sticks, backpacks, or any of the other paraphernalia serious hikers carried when they were going into remote areas.

The only logical reason left for their presence was Layton—and she didn’t know what to do about it.

She went into the kitchen, where she had started making a batch of peanut butter cookies for the boys. Neenah Dase was sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea. Business at the feed store was slow, so Neenah had put a sign on the door saying that she was at Cate’s; anyone needing feed would come get her.

Neenah was a native, born and bred in Trail Stop. Neenah’s father had started the feed store more than fifty years before. Her older sister hadn’t liked rural living at all, and had “gone city” as soon as she got out of high school; she was now living, very happily, in Milwaukee. Cate didn’t know Neenah’s story, other than the bit about her being a former nun—or novice (Cate didn’t know if one could leave an order after becoming a full-fledged nun)—who had come home some fifteen years ago and taken over the day-to-day running of the feed store. When her parents died, Neenah inherited the store. She’d never married and, to Cate’s knowledge, never dated.

Neenah was one of the calmest, most peaceful people Cate had ever met. Her light brown hair had such an ashy undertone that it had a silvery sheen. Her eyes were lake blue, and her skin was porcelain. She wasn’t beautiful; her jaw was too square, her features too unsymmetrical, but she was one of those people who made you smile when you thought of her.

Cate liked most of the people in Trail Stop, but Neenah and Sherry were the ones she was closest to. Both of them were comfortable people to be around—Sherry because she was so upbeat, Neenah because she was so placid.

Placid
didn’t mean lacking in common sense, though. Cate sat down at the table and said, “I’m worried about my two new guests.”

“Who are they?”

“Two men.”

Neenah paused with her teacup almost at her lips. “You’re afraid to be in the house with them?”

“Not in the way you mean.” Cate rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know if you know—” Since Trail Stop was so small, gossip seemed to be as fast as instant messaging. “—but one of my guests climbed out his bedroom window yesterday, drove away, and didn’t come back. He left his things here, maybe because he couldn’t carry a suitcase and climb off the roof at the same time. Yesterday, a man supposedly from a rental car agency called here looking for him, but when I called the agency later to give them an update, they had no record of Mr. Layton ever renting a car from them. Then late yesterday afternoon someone called and reserved rooms for the two men who just arrived and I think it was the same man who called pretending to be from the rental agency. Are you following this?”

Neenah nodded, her blue eyes serious. “Guest disappeared, people looking for him and lying about who they are, and now those same people are here.”

“Essentially.”

“It’s obvious he was up to no good.”

“And neither are the people looking for him.”

“Call the police,” Neenah said decisively.

“And report what? They haven’t done anything wrong. No laws have been broken. I’ve reported Mr. Layton missing, but because he didn’t run out on his bill, other than check hospitals and ravines for him, there’s nothing they can do. It’s the same situation here. Just because I’m suspicious of these two is no reason for the police to even question them.” Cate leaned over to retrieve her own cup of tea from where it was sitting, beside the bowl of cookie batter, and took a sip, then cocked her head as a faint sound from the hallway made her pulse jump. “Did you hear that?” she whispered urgently, getting to her feet and moving swiftly toward the hallway door.