Free She's Not There by Joy Fielding Page B

that.”
    “You said she’d be here waiting.”
    “Maybe something came up. Maybe she got delayed.”
    “Or maybe she’s not coming.”
    Caroline pushed the completed form back to the clerk, noting the unobtrusive security camera mounted on the wall behind his head. Maybe if they’d had security cameras at the Grand Laguna…But that was fifteen years ago, she reminded herself, before such precautions became the norm. And it was Mexico, where even today such measures were haphazardly taken. “I’m expecting either a visit or a phone call from a girl named Lili,” she told the clerk, pushing such thoughts from her mind. There was no point in speculating about what might have been, and even less in torturing herself about what never was.
    “Is there a last name?” the clerk asked.
    “Just call us if anyone shows up,” Michelle said.
    “Certainly. Can you describe her?”
    Caroline pictured the sketches in yesterday’s paper. “She’s a pretty girl, brown hair, blue eyes, a strong jaw…”
Hunter’s jaw,
she thought.
    “We don’t know what she looks like,” Michelle interrupted. “Just call us if you see some strange girl hanging around.”
    “And if anyone phones,” Caroline added, bristling at Michelle’s dismissive tone, “please connect them to our room immediately.”
    “Of course. Would you like one keycard or two?”
    Caroline hated keycards, had hated them for fifteen years. Maybe if she hadn’t lost her keycard that awful day, she wouldn’t be here now.
    “Make it two,” Michelle said.
    The young man placed the keycards in a small white envelope and handed them to Caroline. “You’re in room 812. Enjoy your stay.”
    “You didn’t have to be so rude,” Caroline told her daughter as they waited for the elevator. “He probably thinks we’re nuts.”
    “We
are
nuts.”
    The elevator doors opened and the two women stepped inside and turned to face forward. Michelle leaned over to press the button for the eighth floor. “Wait,” Caroline cried, her hand reaching out to prevent the door from closing.
    “What is it?”
    “Someone just came into the lobby.”
    Michelle stepped in front of Caroline. “For God’s sake. That woman is a hundred and ten years old.” She stepped back as Caroline let her hand fall to her side again. “Get a grip, Mother,” Michelle said as she pressed the button and the elevator doors closed.
    —
    The room was large and traditionally furnished, with two double beds occupying most of the center space. The carpet was soft and brown, the bedspreads a silvery beige, the papered walls a subtle flowery print. A large-screen TV sat on the bureau across from the beds. A desk stood on the opposite wall, close to the window overlooking the pedestrian walkway that was Calgary’s main street. Caroline stared down at the parade of people braving the elements. The cold weather didn’t seem to bother them, she thought, shedding her heavy coat, and trying to make out the faces beneath the ubiquitous winter hats and scarves. Was one of those people her daughter?
    “She’s not there,” Michelle said, as if reading her thoughts.
    Caroline sighed. “Which bed do you want?”
    In reply, Michelle threw her bag onto the bed closer to the bathroom. “So, what now?”
    “I think I’ll go back to the lobby, wait there.”
    “Is that really necessary? We already told the guy at the desk to call us if she…”
    “You can stay here.”
    “As if,” Michelle said, following her mother to the door. “You do realize that somebody somewhere is having a good laugh at your expense.”
    It won’t be the first time,
Caroline thought, heading for the door. She’d been betrayed before.
    —
    They returned to their room at four o’clock, having seen no one who even remotely resembled Samantha. By four-thirty, it was already growing dark. By five, the only light came from the streetlamps along Stephen Avenue Walk and the television across from the beds on which they were