Chapter 8: The Motel on Highway 31
I left her with Carla next door and Deputy Reyes on the front steps. It was early evening and the light had gone flat. I told Reyes I'd be back in an hour and not to let anyone past the driveway. She nodded and didn't ask where I was going. Carla had already pulled the blinds.
The Highway 31 motel sat behind a gas station and a billboard for a personal injury lawyer. Vacancy in red. The office clerk didn't look up when I asked for her room. He just said, "Nine. End on the right." He'd seen me before. Or he'd seen enough men who looked like me to not care.
Her car was there, a silver Accord with a dented bumper, parked crooked under the awning. I knocked twice. Inside, the TV was on too loud.
She opened the door six inches and left the chain on. Her hair was pulled back, her eyes tired. She didn't look surprised.
"You shouldn't have come," she said.
"I didn't come to argue," I said. I kept my voice low. "Open the door."
She stared at me for a second, then slipped the chain. The room smelled like cleaner and cigarette smoke that had soaked into the carpet years ago. The curtains were drawn. On the bed, a cream envelope lay open and a stack of cash sat banded with a paper wrapper.
It was not neat. Two bundles, one still thick, one thinner, with a few loose hundreds fanned beside a fast-food bag and a receipt from a pharmacy. Fifty thousand doesn't look like much until it's on a motel bedspread.
She followed my eyes. "I didn't spend much," she said. "Just gas. And her medicine last week."
I didn't touch it right away. I stepped in and closed the door behind me. "Who gave you that?"
She sat on the edge of the bed, hands knotted. "They came to the house. Two men. They said they'd help with the debt. They had papers."
"They threatened you."
She swallowed. "They said if I didn't sign they'd take the car. They said they'd take her anyway through the courts because I owed. I didn't know what else to do."
"You chose money over calling the police."
Her mouth tightened. "You think the police would've helped? You think anyone helps? They had a form. It looked real. With a seal. They said it was private placement. That it was legal for ninety days."
I looked at the envelope on the bed. Same cream color as the one the girl had handed me that afternoon, same circular embossed seal. This one was open, seal broken.
"Where's the duplicate?" I asked.
She reached for her purse on the nightstand, zipped it open with shaky hands, and pulled out a folded sheet. She held it out without looking at me.
It was a receipt, not the agreement itself. Carbon copy, thin paper, stamped. At the top: HAVEN CREST FAMILY SERVICES LLC. Below that, a name printed and signed: Randall Voss, Authorized Agent. An address in Franklin, a phone number. The amount: $50,000.00. Cash consideration for temporary guardianship placement. Her signature at the bottom, dated last night, 10:42 p.m.
I read it twice. My hand wasn't steady.
"This the name they gave you?" I asked.
She nodded. "The tall one said he was Randall. The other didn't talk."
I took out my phone and photographed the receipt on the bedspread, front and back, then the cash with the bank wrapper, then the open envelope with the seal. She watched me and didn't stop me.
"They said they'd be there at midnight," she whispered. "They said not to be home."
"And you left her."
"I thought — I thought if I wasn't there she could run to you. I saw your SUV. I told her to find the man in the black suit."
That hit me harder than the money had. She'd planned the handoff. She'd used her daughter as the courier.
I folded the receipt and slid it into my jacket pocket. "I'm taking this."
"You can't," she said, but there was no force in it.
"I am," I said. "You keep the cash exactly where it is. You don't move it. You don't spend another dollar. You stay in this room tonight."
"What if they come here?"
"They won't," I said. "They want the girl, not you. They think you're gone. That's why they want midnight."
She started to cry then, quietly, her shoulders shaking. I didn't move closer. I didn't know how to comfort her without forgiving her, and I wasn't there yet.
"Stay put," I said at the door. "If Reyes calls you, you answer. If anyone else comes, you don't open. I'll deal with the LLC in the morning, but tonight I have to be back before dark."
She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Is she okay?"
May you like
"She's safe," I said. "She believed I'd keep her safe."
I left the TV on and pulled the door shut behind me. The parking lot lights were buzzing on. I had a name now, and a company, and proof on my phone. It wasn't enough to undo what she'd done, but it was enough to make it traceable.
