scrabbling at his coat.
Where the hell did I leave the damn car? He crumbled the leaf between his fingers and let the pieces drift away.
Dusk charred the facade of The Edgeharbor Arms, and the light in the window smoldered, glinting off a brass plaque by the entrance. As the lead glass doors to the foyer swung shut behind him, winter rattled at the panes, and tasseled drapes swayed in the draft. Just to be out of the wind felt luxurious.
The room seemed steeped in decades of tobacco and musty dirt. A single lamp by the desk—its yellowing shade depicting a turn-of-the-century boardwalk scene—left most of the lobby in deep gloom, and shadows bulged behind the ripely ammoniac old sofas. At first, he savored the thawing warmth, but as blood trickled back to his hands and feet an aching weariness swept through him.
The door behind the registry desk stood slightly ajar, and beyond it an infant squalled while a man and woman squabbled in a language he didn’t speak, the cacophony rendered even less intelligible by the din of a television. The wet smell of boiling pasta engulfed him. Suddenly, the voices ceased, and the television roar dropped to a mutter.
So they know I’m back. Only the baby’s wails continued. Abruptly, the door slammed, and the chandelier jangled. Reflexively, he glanced up at the trembling crystal daggers. Then he peered around the lobby, inspecting every corner.
From the moment he’d spied the padlocked doors of the elevator, he’d understood them to be permanently sealed and not merely shut for the season. This applied to much else here in Edgeharbor. Already the Arms seemed wretchedly familiar, like the setting for a recurrent dream, though he’d only been in town just over a week. With a sigh, he lumbered up the stairs.
Patches of carpet had worn down to bare boards. At the second-floor landing only an unshaded bulb in a ceiling fixture diluted the gloom. Need to lie down. Pressure swelled in his head, and it hurt to move his legs. Now.
When he’d checked in, the proprietor’s wife had been furious about his demanding a room above the second floor, and she’d wailed in broken English about all the climbing she would have to do. But she’d relented when he paid two weeks in advance and threw in an extra twenty. Being the sole guest carried advantages, and he had his reasons for insisting on an upper level. Anything lower would have been useless for observation…and the windows would have been far too accessible from the ground.
Before he started down the freezing hallway, he contemplated the darkness. A draft fluttered at the back of his neck.
As he turned the key, he listened. Cautiously easing the door open, he groped for the light switch. The threadbare carpet exuded a clammy miasma of suntan lotion and sweat, seeming to emanate even from the few cheerless furnishings. He locked the door behind him, slapped out the light. In the dark, he strode across the room and parted the curtains.
Moisture beaded the glass like black perspiration, and a damp lattice of frost feathered the edges of the pane. Scarcely five o’clock, but darkness rose like floodwaters below. He touched the glass, his fingertips slipping through the haze of moisture, leaving marks like snail tracks. Turning away, he unzipped his leather jacket. Dingy gloom seeped through the curtains, and wind shivered the windowpane. He fumbled with a switch at the back of a sconce until it flickered, barely revealing the room.
The single chair had been painted white so thickly that strands of wicker seemed molded into a single lump. He sat heavily and checked his watch. The numerals gleamed faintly. Can’t call for hours yet. Silence pooled in the low corners, stagnant and chilly.
Wearily, he got up again, pacing, his movements about the room growing disjointed, purposeless. Is this all there is now? Twice he opened and closed the same drawer; then he wandered into the bathroom. The clumsily rigged shower resembled a trap in
Where the hell did I leave the damn car? He crumbled the leaf between his fingers and let the pieces drift away.
Dusk charred the facade of The Edgeharbor Arms, and the light in the window smoldered, glinting off a brass plaque by the entrance. As the lead glass doors to the foyer swung shut behind him, winter rattled at the panes, and tasseled drapes swayed in the draft. Just to be out of the wind felt luxurious.
The room seemed steeped in decades of tobacco and musty dirt. A single lamp by the desk—its yellowing shade depicting a turn-of-the-century boardwalk scene—left most of the lobby in deep gloom, and shadows bulged behind the ripely ammoniac old sofas. At first, he savored the thawing warmth, but as blood trickled back to his hands and feet an aching weariness swept through him.
The door behind the registry desk stood slightly ajar, and beyond it an infant squalled while a man and woman squabbled in a language he didn’t speak, the cacophony rendered even less intelligible by the din of a television. The wet smell of boiling pasta engulfed him. Suddenly, the voices ceased, and the television roar dropped to a mutter.
So they know I’m back. Only the baby’s wails continued. Abruptly, the door slammed, and the chandelier jangled. Reflexively, he glanced up at the trembling crystal daggers. Then he peered around the lobby, inspecting every corner.
From the moment he’d spied the padlocked doors of the elevator, he’d understood them to be permanently sealed and not merely shut for the season. This applied to much else here in Edgeharbor. Already the Arms seemed wretchedly familiar, like the setting for a recurrent dream, though he’d only been in town just over a week. With a sigh, he lumbered up the stairs.
Patches of carpet had worn down to bare boards. At the second-floor landing only an unshaded bulb in a ceiling fixture diluted the gloom. Need to lie down. Pressure swelled in his head, and it hurt to move his legs. Now.
When he’d checked in, the proprietor’s wife had been furious about his demanding a room above the second floor, and she’d wailed in broken English about all the climbing she would have to do. But she’d relented when he paid two weeks in advance and threw in an extra twenty. Being the sole guest carried advantages, and he had his reasons for insisting on an upper level. Anything lower would have been useless for observation…and the windows would have been far too accessible from the ground.
Before he started down the freezing hallway, he contemplated the darkness. A draft fluttered at the back of his neck.
As he turned the key, he listened. Cautiously easing the door open, he groped for the light switch. The threadbare carpet exuded a clammy miasma of suntan lotion and sweat, seeming to emanate even from the few cheerless furnishings. He locked the door behind him, slapped out the light. In the dark, he strode across the room and parted the curtains.
Moisture beaded the glass like black perspiration, and a damp lattice of frost feathered the edges of the pane. Scarcely five o’clock, but darkness rose like floodwaters below. He touched the glass, his fingertips slipping through the haze of moisture, leaving marks like snail tracks. Turning away, he unzipped his leather jacket. Dingy gloom seeped through the curtains, and wind shivered the windowpane. He fumbled with a switch at the back of a sconce until it flickered, barely revealing the room.
The single chair had been painted white so thickly that strands of wicker seemed molded into a single lump. He sat heavily and checked his watch. The numerals gleamed faintly. Can’t call for hours yet. Silence pooled in the low corners, stagnant and chilly.
Wearily, he got up again, pacing, his movements about the room growing disjointed, purposeless. Is this all there is now? Twice he opened and closed the same drawer; then he wandered into the bathroom. The clumsily rigged shower resembled a trap in
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