I notice now that the water dripping from the ceiling doesn’t look clear the way water usually does. It has a brownish tinge. Almost reddish. I wonder if that’s from rust. It makes sense that the pipes would be rusty here.
“I’m going to wait for a plumber,” Nick says when he sees me looking at the dripping water. “I gave it a go this morning and… well, I’m not having much luck. I think I need a professional, you know?”
I nod. I look at the water accumulating in the bucket. It definitely looks red. That’s so strange.
“I’m going up to my room,” I say. “I’m going to lie down a bit. All that shoveling made me tired.”
“Sure.” He goes behind the counter and sits down. “I’m going to catch up on some paperwork, but call me if you want me to make you lunch.”
I almost make a joke about big portions, but it dies on my tongue. I’m not in the mood for making jokes right now. I’m also not in the mood for eating.
“I’ll let the boots dry out on the radiator, then I’ll bring them down to you later,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “You may as well keep them. Like I said, Rosalie can’t walk anymore anyway. She doesn’t need them.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So she’s okay with you just giving them to me?”
He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything right away. “Yeah. You’re right. You should probably give them back.”
I feel guilty about the wet footprints I leave on the stairs as I tromp back up to my room. Maybe it’s the weight of the boots, but the stairs are even creakier this time around. I wouldn’t be surprised if they just collapsed in one gigantic pile of rubble.
As I walk back to my room, I pass room 201. I don’t know what it is, but every time I walk by this room, I get the chills. The door is closed, and there is a “DO NOT DISTURB” sign hanging from the door knob, even though the room is empty. I press my ear against the door. It’s silent inside.
I reach out my hand and brush my fingers against the door. On an impulse, I lower my hand onto the door knob.
And I try to turn it.
Chapter 11
“He keeps it locked.”
I nearly jump ten feet in the air at the sound of Greta’s voice. I don’t know how long she’s been watching me, from that little crack between her door and the door frame. I yank my hand off the doorknob.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
She arches one of her white eyebrows at me. “Do not apologize to me. Nick and Rosalie Baxter own this motel. I do not care what you do.”
I wipe my hand on my jeans. “I was just…”
“Curious?”
“I guess.” I don’t want to talk about the strange leak coming from the ceiling right below room 201. “Anyway.”
Greta blinks at me. “You should join me. I’m about to have lunch.”
That’s when I notice quite a nice smell emanating from Greta’s room. A minute ago, I had no appetite whatsoever. But the smell of something actually appetizing reminds me it’s time for lunch. And whatever Greta made is much better than another turkey sandwich. Or some brown eggs.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“I would not invite you if I did not want you to come.”
That is true.
I drop off my coat and boots in my room, then I head to room 202 to join Greta for lunch. Of course, the second I walk into her room, I’m reminded of why it gave me the creeps last time I was here. If I had remembered all the mirrors, I might have said no.
She has a small table set up in front of her bed. I sit down on the edge of the bed and watch as she scoops what looks like a dark brown stew onto a nest of egg noodles.
“Is that goulash?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “This is porkolt.”
“Porkolt?”
She shakes her head vigorously. “No, porkolt.”
I’m never going to say it right, so I just nod. She is heaping an enormous amount of stew onto my plate—easily enough for three people. She plops it down in front of me, along with a slightly bent fork.
“It’s a lot of food,” I comment.
“Yes. You are too skinny. Eat it all.”
If I tried to eat all this food, I would probably vomit it up immediately after. But I’m not going to argue. I dip my fork into the food and spear a hunk of meat. I lift it to my mouth and take a tentative bite. “This is good!”
“Why are you so surprised?”
“It’s just…” I take another bite. Maybe I could eat the whole plate. “Where did you make this? You couldn’t have made it in this room.”