Page 49 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

right turn. On either side of them hotels, motels, fast-food
and family restaurants. Parking lots full of pickups and semis
hauling strange equipment.
“It’s there. Dad’s truck.” She saw it first, “bobtailing,” as
Roger called it—not pulling anything. It looked lonely in the
motel parking lot, with only Patty’s junkyard Honda parked
nearby.
Nate pulled into an empty stall by the motel office. The

Hideaway Motel.
“How do you know which room they’re in?” Nate asked.
They scanned the row of identical orange-painted doors for a
clue. Nothing. Roger had parked his truck off to the side, not
close to any door.
“I’ll go in and ask,” Greta said. No one protested. Ash
always let her take on the situations needing a human touch,

the same way she let him take on the showdowns with Patty.
Their own unspoken strengths.
She took a deep breath and forced her face to relax before
stepping through the door. A woman in her fifties sat behind
the front desk, sifting through a stack of papers and receipts.
It took Greta only a minute to explain she had come to meet
her father, Roger Woods, but he hadn’t said which room he
was in. “He owns the big red truck.” Greta pointed vaguely
toward the door. Again with the I’m-not-a-psychopath smile.

The woman sat in front of a computer and moved the
mouse around. “Yes, dear. It looks like he’s in room ten.”
“Thank you.” Greta sighed as she said it, making the
woman look up from her screen. “It’s been a long drive.

39