But then I saw her bursting from the front door. She was dragging her luggage behind her, and there were tears in her eyes. She was making a quick getaway, that’s for sure. If I had shown up one minute later, I would have missed her entirely. The timing could not have been better.
I dug around in my purse until I found Rob’s pocket knife. I left my purse behind and got out of the car, gripping the knife in my right hand.
“Hi, Quinn!” I called out.
She looked up at me in surprise. She never expected to see me again. But she didn’t look upset. Of course not. I’m her big sister. The one who always bails her out of trouble. She probably thought I was here to help.
Ha.
“Thank God, Claudia!” she sobbed.
She started towards me and tried to embrace me, but I took a step back. She blinked, surprised by my rebuff.
“Claudia?” she said.
“How could you?” I choked out. “How could you do that?”
“He…” Her hands flew to her neck. “He was trying to choke me. I… I had to…”
“Liar!” I hissed at her. “You couldn’t stand it that he liked me better.”
“Claudia, what are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
And then her eyes widened as she saw the knife in my right hand. She finally got it. She knew Derek was fooling around on her, but she never knew it was with me. But now, moments before her death, she knew. I wanted her to know.
And then I plunged the knife into her abdomen and dug it in, the same way she did to him. Poetic justice.
Quinn’s body crumbled to the ground. My sister had always been petite, and in recent years she’s become downright skeletal—whereas my arms are taut and muscular from my work as a masseuse—so I easily heaved her limp body into my arms and lowered it into the open trunk of my car.
It was only after slamming the trunk closed that I saw the light go on in the second floor of the motel.
A witness.
My stomach clenched at the idea that someone might have seen what I had just done. I shouldn’t have been so careless. I should have invited her into my car, taken her somewhere else, and done it there.
That was always my problem. I acted without thinking.
So I went into the motel to get a room. There was no way there were more than one or two people staying there. I had to tie up the loose ends. And I needed to kill a little time anyway, since the police were still circling the area. I would take care of what I needed to take care of here, then by the time I left with Quinn’s body in the trunk, the police would have moved on.
Except then Greta made me aware of one other witness I hadn’t thought about. The woman on the second floor of that broken down old house. Rosalie.
She’s the last loose end.
As soon as I take care of her, I can go.
_____
I don’t know if Rosalie called the police already. Maybe she did and it’s too late. But based on the fact that Rob couldn’t hear a word I was saying when he called me, I’m betting she wasn’t able to call anyone. Maybe she’s waiting for the cell reception to return. It will be too late for her by then.
I read about her in one of the articles. Rosalie Baxter. According to the article, she is “confined to a wheelchair.” Much like Greta, she’ll go down easy.
Nick Baxter—he won’t go down as easy. But he’s busy in Room 201, repairing that leak. He won’t see a thing. Best of all, after that mess two years ago, if another person is murdered under his watch, he’ll definitely get nailed for it. Everyone already thinks he’s a killer. It won’t be much of a stretch. Nick Baxter will take the fall for everything I’ve done.
It’s all too perfect.
As I walk up the steps to the bedroom overlooking the hotel, the knife feels heavy in my hand. I never would have thought I could do something like this, but somehow it gets easier each time. I wonder if it was easy for Quinn too. When she put that knife in Derek’s belly.
My heart aches when I think about it. I can’t believe he’s dead. I can’t believe he’ll never hold me again.
And then I’m there—in the master bedroom. I put my hand on the doorknob. I thought I might be shaky, but I’m not. I don’t know what Rosalie Baxter has in store for me behind the door. Yes, she might be in a wheelchair, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a gun. I could open the door and she could shoot me right in the face.
Somehow, I don’t think she will. And strangely enough, I’m not scared.