Free The Sun Down Motel by Simone St. James Page A

and took off without paying. Profits actually went down , if you can believe it. Turns out having someone here makes people behave, at least a little.” He pointed to a pinboard on the wall next to the desk with a note on it. “Call the cops if you need to. Most people are just jerks who back down when you tell them to knock it off. We’ve never had anyone get violent with a night clerk.”
    “Except for the one who went missing,” I said.
    Chris blinked at me. “What?”
    “The night clerk who went missing in 1982.”
    “How the hell did you hear about that?”
    “It was in the papers,” I said, which wasn’t a lie.
    “Oh, God,” he said, running a hand through his thinning hair. He seemed horrified. “Don’t bring that up, okay? I thought everyone had forgotten about that. That was in my parents’ time. You weren’t even born.”
    “Did you know her?” I asked him.
    “I was a kid, so no.”
    “What do you think happened to her?”
    “Who knows? It’s ancient history. Please don’t bring it up. We don’t need even fewer customers than we already have.”
    That was the end of my interview with Chris about my aunt’s disappearance. Score zero for Nancy Drew.
    When Chris left, I dropped the blue polyester vest on a chair and went to work. I started with the desk, opening all the drawers and rifling through them. Except for the room keys, each of which was on a ring on a leather tab with a number stamped on it, there was nothing interesting.
    Next, I moved to the desktop. It was chipped wood with a Formica top. There was a blotter, pencils and pens, the old telephone with big square buttons across the bottom to open different lines. None of the buttons were lit at the moment. On the corner was the guest book, a large leather binder with pages inside. I hovered my hand over the guest book, then stopped.
    For a crazy minute it seemed like time had folded in on itself, like there was no gap between 1982 and this moment. This was the desk Viv Delaney had sat at; this was the exact phone she had used. The blue polyester vest may have been the one she wore. She had sat in this chair, looked at this pinboard with the police phone number pinned to it. What year is it? a voice in the back of my mind asked. Is it 1982 or 2017? Do you really know?
    I picked up the guest book and opened it. There were four rooms occupied tonight: two men, a couple, and a woman. I didn’t recognize any of the names. I found an old notepad and a pen, scribbled them down, and pulled out my phone. I already knew there was no signal in here, but I put on my coat, slipped out the office door, and roamed the walkway, then the parking lot, looking at the screen to see if a signal would appear.
    When I stood almost next to the sign ( VACANCY. CABLE TV! ) the signal icon popped up. I quickly tried to Google the names on my paper, but not even the first search would load. The signal was too weak.
    I stuffed the paper into my pocket. I texted Heather, knowing she would be awake. We’d stayed awake the past two nights, watching movies and getting me prepared to take the night shift once I knew I had the job.
    No files, no computer, no Internet, and my boss says not to ask him about Viv. I’m striking out so far , I texted her.
    Her reply was immediate. Carly, it’s eleven thirty.
    Right. I was just here to work a few shifts and find what I could find before quitting. I had plenty of time left in the night. Carrying on , I texted, and put the phone back in my pocket as the signal went dead again.
    The wind sliced down my neck, and the sign made a weird electricbuzzing sound overhead. I moved away from it and walked to the parking lot, looking up at the motel. The rooms were dark except for two that had lamps on, the curtains drawn. The motel itself looked asleep in the darkness, yet it had that eerie vibe I’d felt when I first came here. I rubbed my hands together and wondered how I would spend the next seven and a half hours here. I