locked the fence behind them, and walked to the corner. I found myself wondering if the hotel was empty now.
“What? I’m not actually going in. I can’t go
in
the hotel.”
Then why was I already starting to cross Central Avenue? No way. I stepped back to the sidewalk. A policeman slowed his car at the opposite corner, pulled over, and called to the man who had closed the fence. There was some shouting and a laugh. Then the light changed. Cars went by. There was another laugh, then a slap on the roof of the car, and the policeman drove away while the workmen headed into a coffee shop.
The light changed, and I crossed the avenue to the other side. I walked casually down the sidewalk in front of the hotel, then stopped to look up at the whole thing.
A yellow caution tape was knotted here and there along the fence, and a No Admittance sign hung on the gate the workers had come out of.
“This is dumb,” I said to myself. Dumb or not, my heart was racing, and the hair on the back of my neck was bristling.
I felt the texture of the postcard between my fingers, glanced at it, looked both ways, saw no one in particular, and slipped under the caution tape.
I slipped under the caution tape!
I could have ducked back under it again and walked to the corner and then gone to visit Dad in the hospital, but I didn’t. I eased my way to where the fence passed the tree and in two steps was up over it and onto the tree’s lowest branch. I dropped down on the inside.
Hurrying to the hotel’s double doors, I looked behind me, still saw no one watching, then slid between the doors and into the lobby.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The giant open room was hushed and hot and seemed to pull me deep into it with my first step. The sound of the street outside grew muffled and distant.
I gulped for air as if I were trying to swallow the whole room. The only light was from high narrow windows facing the street and were still draped with thick green curtains. It felt like the land of the dead in there.
A few pieces of old furniture were scattered around the lobby. Two soiled sofas of what had once been lime green. A half dozen battered chairs, ripped and stained and sunken. The counter of old polished wood was still visible under a giant paint-splattered canvas sheet. There were stacks of wall trim and molding by the front doors. Sledgehammers were leaning here and there against the walls or on the floor amid electric saws and crowbars and tool chests. The ceiling plaster had crumbled and was lying in gilded chunks around the floor. An elevated machine braced up the ceiling to keep the rest of it from falling, because the massive columns were lying side by side on the floor like giant sticks of chalk, strapped together with bands of steel. Maybe they were going to be saved?
A smell of something earthy caught my nose. Two potted palms, dead and brown, lay on their sides, their soil splashed out and mixing with the rest of the rubble.
Off the left of the lobby behind the registration area and next to the elevator were stairs leading to the upper floors. It was on those stairs that Nick Falcon had first seen the kid he later called Mr. Tall loping down from the floor above. Had he really become the weirdly tall man I’d seen at the funeral? A second caution tape was strung loosely across from the registration desk to the stairs. It was all pretty ghostly. The smell of age and dust and must and mold was everywhere, but the lobby
was
like Beale had written about it.
Okay, I’ve done it. I was going now. The workmen . . .
I turned toward the doors and saw where Nicky might have stumbled in that day to see Marnie.
A single willow.
Nearby were the remains of what I guessed was the newspaper rack that Nick’s father had sent him in to check. Now it was no more than slats of wood and shelves lining a broken stand.
I paused. “Hey, Nicky,” I whispered to the quiet, dusty room. “They’re tearing it down, where you first saw her. The
“What? I’m not actually going in. I can’t go
in
the hotel.”
Then why was I already starting to cross Central Avenue? No way. I stepped back to the sidewalk. A policeman slowed his car at the opposite corner, pulled over, and called to the man who had closed the fence. There was some shouting and a laugh. Then the light changed. Cars went by. There was another laugh, then a slap on the roof of the car, and the policeman drove away while the workmen headed into a coffee shop.
The light changed, and I crossed the avenue to the other side. I walked casually down the sidewalk in front of the hotel, then stopped to look up at the whole thing.
A yellow caution tape was knotted here and there along the fence, and a No Admittance sign hung on the gate the workers had come out of.
“This is dumb,” I said to myself. Dumb or not, my heart was racing, and the hair on the back of my neck was bristling.
I felt the texture of the postcard between my fingers, glanced at it, looked both ways, saw no one in particular, and slipped under the caution tape.
I slipped under the caution tape!
I could have ducked back under it again and walked to the corner and then gone to visit Dad in the hospital, but I didn’t. I eased my way to where the fence passed the tree and in two steps was up over it and onto the tree’s lowest branch. I dropped down on the inside.
Hurrying to the hotel’s double doors, I looked behind me, still saw no one watching, then slid between the doors and into the lobby.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The giant open room was hushed and hot and seemed to pull me deep into it with my first step. The sound of the street outside grew muffled and distant.
I gulped for air as if I were trying to swallow the whole room. The only light was from high narrow windows facing the street and were still draped with thick green curtains. It felt like the land of the dead in there.
A few pieces of old furniture were scattered around the lobby. Two soiled sofas of what had once been lime green. A half dozen battered chairs, ripped and stained and sunken. The counter of old polished wood was still visible under a giant paint-splattered canvas sheet. There were stacks of wall trim and molding by the front doors. Sledgehammers were leaning here and there against the walls or on the floor amid electric saws and crowbars and tool chests. The ceiling plaster had crumbled and was lying in gilded chunks around the floor. An elevated machine braced up the ceiling to keep the rest of it from falling, because the massive columns were lying side by side on the floor like giant sticks of chalk, strapped together with bands of steel. Maybe they were going to be saved?
A smell of something earthy caught my nose. Two potted palms, dead and brown, lay on their sides, their soil splashed out and mixing with the rest of the rubble.
Off the left of the lobby behind the registration area and next to the elevator were stairs leading to the upper floors. It was on those stairs that Nick Falcon had first seen the kid he later called Mr. Tall loping down from the floor above. Had he really become the weirdly tall man I’d seen at the funeral? A second caution tape was strung loosely across from the registration desk to the stairs. It was all pretty ghostly. The smell of age and dust and must and mold was everywhere, but the lobby
was
like Beale had written about it.
Okay, I’ve done it. I was going now. The workmen . . .
I turned toward the doors and saw where Nicky might have stumbled in that day to see Marnie.
A single willow.
Nearby were the remains of what I guessed was the newspaper rack that Nick’s father had sent him in to check. Now it was no more than slats of wood and shelves lining a broken stand.
I paused. “Hey, Nicky,” I whispered to the quiet, dusty room. “They’re tearing it down, where you first saw her. The
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