But the break room was empty.
Lizbet enlisted Raoul’s help—he would search the hotel, floor by floor. Kimber asked if it might be possible for her to let Doug out of their suite. She was certain he would lead them right to Wanda. Lizbet hesitated; the last thing she wanted was a pit bull roaming the halls of the hotel. But Lizbet sensed the urgency—an eight-year-old child was missing at ten fifteen at night—so she okayed it.
Raoul called up from the wellness center: no Wanda. “I thought she might be in the yoga room,” Raoul said. “That fountain is mesmerizing.” He was now moving to the first floor.
“Check all the unoccupied rooms, please,” Lizbet said. There were twenty-one empty rooms and six empty suites （Lizbet felt each vacancy like a pinhole in her heart）。 “Maybe she found a way in.”
Lizbet tried to think like Wanda. She seemed fascinated by the other guests, so Lizbet poked her head into the only populated area of the hotel, the Blue Bar—and wow! The place was popping. The bar was three-deep, every seat was occupied, the copper disco ball had dropped, and a group of people were dancing to “Tainted Love” in the space in front of the penny wall. Lizbet surveyed the crowd at hip level and tried to peer under tables. There was no sign of Wanda anywhere, though Lizbet spied plenty of people drinking flame-red cocktails, the Heartbreaker.
When Lizbet got back to the desk, a round, middle-aged woman wearing glasses with dark, square frames and a fanny pack around her waist—she looked like an aging version of Velma from Scooby-Doo—was standing at the desk.
“Finally!” she huffed.
“I’m so sorry,” Lizbet said. “You must be Ms. Yates?”
“I arrived over five minutes ago and you’re the first person I’ve seen!”
Lizbet returned to her spot behind her computer just as Raoul came rushing down the corridor, saying, “I’m headed up to the second floor.”
Lizbet gave Raoul the thumbs-up; she was afraid if she spoke, she would lose her cool. A child missing in the hotel, she thought. Or not in the hotel. When was the right time to call the police?
“I’ll need a form of ID and your credit card, please, Ms. Yates.”
Franny Yates pulled both a Pennsylvania driver’s license and a Mastercard out of her fanny pack.
“You’re certainly traveling light,” Lizbet said.
“My luggage is down on the sidewalk!” Franny said. “It’s far too heavy for me to carry up the stairs. Silly me, I thought a hotel that costs as much as this one does might actually have a bellman!”
“We do have a bellman,” Lizbet said. “Right now, he’s assisting another guest. I’m happy to fetch your luggage.”
“You won’t be able to get it up the stairs,” Franny said.
Lizbet winked at Franny. “You haven’t seen me with kettlebells.” But when Lizbet went to the hotel’s entrance and looked down the staircase, she saw three black suitcases that were each big enough to contain a dead body. Franny Yates was staying at the hotel for only three nights. What could she possibly have packed?
Lizbet returned to the desk. “My apologies—you were absolutely correct. We’ll have to wait for Raoul.”
“How long will he be?” Franny asked, checking her phone. “I’d like to get to bed.”
“Of course,” Lizbet said. Just then, Raoul called. “She’s not on the second floor, and Kimber says she and Doug checked the third floor and she’s not there either. I’ll sweep the fourth floor. You’ve checked the pools, yes?”
“Pools?” Lizbet said. She started to tremble. “No…”
“Oh, man,” Raoul said.
Lizbet hung up. She held prayer hands up to Franny. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”
“But my room number? My key? My luggage is still on the sidewalk. What if someone takes it?”
“This is Nantucket,” Lizbet said. “No one is going to touch it and it’s too big for anyone to walk away with. I’ll get your keys as soon as…” But Lizbet didn’t finish the sentence. She hurried out the pool door, praying she wasn’t going to see the small form of Wanda Marsh floating facedown. Both children could swim, she reminded herself. She hit the pool lights. No Wanda. She exhaled—but there was still the adult pool on the lower level and the hot tub. She recalled that Wanda was intensely curious about the Mystery of the Hot Tub, because it was restricted to people fourteen and older. Lizbet raced back through the lobby, passing Franny Yates, who had plopped herself cross-legged on the floor in front of the desk, which Lizbet understood was some kind of statement or protest, because there were armchairs and ottomans less than five feet away. “Be right—” Lizbet said. She ran down the stairs, through the wellness center, and out the door. The adult pool was dark and quiet.