distinguished-looking man admitted him. As soon as the emergency vehicles left, Sidney would find out who Mullins saw and why. Meanwhile, his best option was to return to the Hampton Inn on I-81 in case Mullins hadn’t checked out. Maybe he was in Roanoke for more than one night. Mullins’ car wasn’t in the hotel lot. Sidney parked on the side of the building where his own room had been. He’d received his receipt under the door at four-thirty that morning, left his keycard and five dollars for the maid on the nightstand, and staked out Mullins from the Audi. Sidney checked the time before getting out of the car. Nine-fifty. There was a good chance the front desk thought he was still in his room. He walked to the entrance, grabbed a cup of coffee and blueberry muffin from the complimentary breakfast buffet, and nonchalantly approached the registration desk. A cheerful blonde looked up from her computer and smiled. “Can I help you?” “I’m checking out of 207 and left the key in the room.” “Was everything all right?” “Yes. Except I forgot to set my alarm and overslept. I was supposed to have breakfast at nine with someone I met last night. Russell Mullins. Has he checked out?” “Do you know his room number?” “No.” Sidney motioned toward the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall in the lounge. “We came in at the same time and baseball was on. We both paused to watch the end of the second inning and wound up staying for the whole game. More fun than watching it alone.” “Uh huh,” the woman said, her fingers dashing over her keyboard like a concert pianist’s. “Sorry. Mr. Mullins has checked out.” Sidney shrugged. “Thanks anyway. I’m leaving as well.” “We still provide wake-up calls.” “Good. Would you call me at home? I oversleep there too.” She laughed. “I’ll put that in the customer suggestion box. It’s about as likely to happen as any other request.” “I always suggest getting rid of the suggestion box.” Thirty minutes later, Sidney watched the last police car pull away. He entered the Laurel Bank lobby and surveyed the line of tellers returning to their windows. One woman gave the others instructions. He approached her and read her gold name badge. “Excuse me, Lexie. I was supposed to meet a friend here, but in all the excitement we must have missed each other.” “Someone who works at the bank?” “No. But he had an appointment. We were catching up afterwards. At ten.” “I’m sorry. It’s been so confusing with the bomb scare that I don’t know who’s been here.” Sidney stepped closer and rested his arm on the marble ledge of her window. “He was coming before nine because he told me someone would have to let him in. Maybe his meeting was delayed, but I don’t want to wait around if he’s gone.” Lexie nodded. “I think I know who you mean. Was his appointment with Mr. Archer?” Sidney took a chance. “Yes. That’s the name. Rusty didn’t tell me his title.” “Rusty?” “My friend’s nickname.” “Mr. Archer is president of our bank.” “Then I don’t want to bother him. Would you check if my friend’s still with him? Russell Mullins.” “My pleasure.” Lexie picked up her phone, anxious to please someone associated with a guest in the president’s office. “Linda, it’s Lexie. Is Russell Mullins still with Mr. Archer? His friend’s in the lobby.” Sidney saw confusion on the teller’s face. “But I saw Mr. Archer let him in this morning,” she said. “Thin reddish hair, nice blue suit. Maybe fifty.” She listened a moment. “And you’re sure that’s the name?” She listened again. “No, there’s no problem. I’ll let him know.” She hung up. “Something wrong?” Sidney asked. “That was Mr. Archer’s administrative assistant. The person I described was named Walter Thomson. She has no appointment listed for a Russell Mullins. Are you sure you were meeting today?” Sidney