car’s roof and jogged back to the pickup. Ten minutes later Dann turned in and stopped at a red neon motel sign. The pickup blinked its lights and drove on.
Dixie eyed the office. Across the drive, four cabins angled toward the road, roofs laden with snow.
“Keys,” Dixie said, holding out her hand.
“You don’t really think I’d try to drive out of here?”
“I don’t think you’re that big a fool, but why risk it?”
With a shrug and a yawn, Dann slipped the keys from theignition, dropped them into her hand. Dixie zipped herself into his parka, shoving the .45 deep in a pocket, then trudged through gusting snow to the rental office. A bell jangled above the door. The rich aroma of roast pork filled her nostrils. A thin elderly woman in a green calico dress and round eyeglasses smiled across a counter sign that identified her as Emma Sparks, Proprietor. She wore a corsage of holly sprigs and gold Christmas balls. No computer-chip designs stamped into the gold finish, Dixie noticed, and felt absurdly uplifted by that fact.
Emma Sparks handed her a steaming mug of a liquid that smelled like hot apple pie.
“Spiced cider,” she said. “It’ll warm you right up.” The woman had an infectious smile.
“It’s wonderful.” Dixie hadn’t realized how ravenous she was. “Thanks.”
“Lord, I was worried sick you folks’d got yourselves stuck someplace. Told Arnie, that’s my son, if you didn’t turn up in another half hour he’d best go fetch you.”
Dixie tugged off her gloves and dug out her wallet.
“We appreciate your staying open for us, being Christmas Eve and all.”
“Honey, out on that highway you’d be a snowball come morning.” Emma plucked a brass key off a wall peg. “The cabin’s not a bit fancy, but it’s warm and the bed’s good.”
“Don’t suppose you have two beds in there, do you?” Dixie counted out some bills. Glancing up to see the woman’s smile had faded, she forced a grin. “That man kicks like a mule, but I’d hate to put him on the floor on such a cold night.”
“Ha! I’ve been there before.” Emma Sparks laughed and rang up the sale. “Got a dilapidated old cot, won’t be too comfortable. I’d let you have an extra room, but the others are all filled.” She opened a closet door behind her and lifted out an aluminum camp cot, the army green canvas worn thin in places.
Dixie rounded the counter to take it from her.
“There’s extra bedding in your cabin,” the woman said. “On the closet shelf.”
“Thank you. This will beat getting kicked blue.” Dixie hefted the cot, hating the deception but aware that no good could come from telling Emma Sparks that a child killer would be sleeping under her roof. Turning to go, Dixie remembered the acute emptiness of her stomach.
“Suppose there’s any place open in town to get a hamburger?”
The old woman’s smile brightened like a Christmas candle.
“Cafe’s closed, but I knew you folks’d be hungry, so I put a tray in your room. Nothing fancy, mind. Buck, that’s my husband, cooked up a big ham this morning, way more than we’ll ever eat. I made some sandwiches. Put some fresh fruit on the tray, too, and a thermos of that hot cider. The room has a little refrigerator stocked with juice and sodas, just pay for what you use, and there’s instant coffee packets, tea, cocoa—not the Hilton, honey, but we won’t let you starve.”
Sounded a damn sight better than the Hilton at the moment. Homemade ham sandwiches? Dixie’s mouth was already watering. Emma bustled around to open the door for her.
“Last cabin on the right. You can park on the side there, out of the wind.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Sparks. Sure was good of you to be open.”
“It’s Emma, honey, and listen, there’s a phone in your room, if you need anything. Just dial eight. We won’t have the office open, so no sense in you trudging over here in the storm.”
“How long does a storm like this usually
Dixie eyed the office. Across the drive, four cabins angled toward the road, roofs laden with snow.
“Keys,” Dixie said, holding out her hand.
“You don’t really think I’d try to drive out of here?”
“I don’t think you’re that big a fool, but why risk it?”
With a shrug and a yawn, Dann slipped the keys from theignition, dropped them into her hand. Dixie zipped herself into his parka, shoving the .45 deep in a pocket, then trudged through gusting snow to the rental office. A bell jangled above the door. The rich aroma of roast pork filled her nostrils. A thin elderly woman in a green calico dress and round eyeglasses smiled across a counter sign that identified her as Emma Sparks, Proprietor. She wore a corsage of holly sprigs and gold Christmas balls. No computer-chip designs stamped into the gold finish, Dixie noticed, and felt absurdly uplifted by that fact.
Emma Sparks handed her a steaming mug of a liquid that smelled like hot apple pie.
“Spiced cider,” she said. “It’ll warm you right up.” The woman had an infectious smile.
“It’s wonderful.” Dixie hadn’t realized how ravenous she was. “Thanks.”
“Lord, I was worried sick you folks’d got yourselves stuck someplace. Told Arnie, that’s my son, if you didn’t turn up in another half hour he’d best go fetch you.”
Dixie tugged off her gloves and dug out her wallet.
“We appreciate your staying open for us, being Christmas Eve and all.”
“Honey, out on that highway you’d be a snowball come morning.” Emma plucked a brass key off a wall peg. “The cabin’s not a bit fancy, but it’s warm and the bed’s good.”
“Don’t suppose you have two beds in there, do you?” Dixie counted out some bills. Glancing up to see the woman’s smile had faded, she forced a grin. “That man kicks like a mule, but I’d hate to put him on the floor on such a cold night.”
“Ha! I’ve been there before.” Emma Sparks laughed and rang up the sale. “Got a dilapidated old cot, won’t be too comfortable. I’d let you have an extra room, but the others are all filled.” She opened a closet door behind her and lifted out an aluminum camp cot, the army green canvas worn thin in places.
Dixie rounded the counter to take it from her.
“There’s extra bedding in your cabin,” the woman said. “On the closet shelf.”
“Thank you. This will beat getting kicked blue.” Dixie hefted the cot, hating the deception but aware that no good could come from telling Emma Sparks that a child killer would be sleeping under her roof. Turning to go, Dixie remembered the acute emptiness of her stomach.
“Suppose there’s any place open in town to get a hamburger?”
The old woman’s smile brightened like a Christmas candle.
“Cafe’s closed, but I knew you folks’d be hungry, so I put a tray in your room. Nothing fancy, mind. Buck, that’s my husband, cooked up a big ham this morning, way more than we’ll ever eat. I made some sandwiches. Put some fresh fruit on the tray, too, and a thermos of that hot cider. The room has a little refrigerator stocked with juice and sodas, just pay for what you use, and there’s instant coffee packets, tea, cocoa—not the Hilton, honey, but we won’t let you starve.”
Sounded a damn sight better than the Hilton at the moment. Homemade ham sandwiches? Dixie’s mouth was already watering. Emma bustled around to open the door for her.
“Last cabin on the right. You can park on the side there, out of the wind.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Sparks. Sure was good of you to be open.”
“It’s Emma, honey, and listen, there’s a phone in your room, if you need anything. Just dial eight. We won’t have the office open, so no sense in you trudging over here in the storm.”
“How long does a storm like this usually
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