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“Yes, those guests checked out by eleven o’clock.”
“Guests?” he repeated.
“A man and a woman. This is a honeymoon suite.”
Nathan’s fingers went cold. His face grew numb. “Honeymoon.” His voice sounded thick and far away. “Do you have their names?”
The maid replied that the front desk would have their names, but the hotel had strict privacy rules.
He staggered past her, pressing a wad of bills into her hand. He retraced his steps to the plant-filled lobby, his throat clogged with pain. He collapsed against the front desk.
“Suite 107. Can you tell me who occupied it last?”
Before he completed the sentence, the employee was shaking his head. “I’m sorry. We can’t disclose any information about guests.” He pointed to a small plaque stating the privacy policy.
“Please.” Nathan leaned across the counter. “I need to know, and you can help me.” He slid a bill toward him.
His eyes lingered on it before he covered it with a palm. “It was a couple, Mr. and Mrs. LeClair. They checked out around 8:00.”
“Mr. and Mrs. LeClair?” he choked. “Do you have first names?”
He flipped open a large, red leather-bound book and riffled through the pages. “Ah…John and Lillian.”
Nathan’s heart convulsed. Lillian. His mind raced, matching her name with her image. “The woman, what did she look like?”
The employee screwed up his face. “A small woman about this tall.” He held a hand about eye level, about mid-chest to Nathan. “She had long reddish-brown hair.”
Nathan’s heart soared. She’d been here. She—Lillian. Lillian LeClair…
And John. His heart stuttered. “The man,” he heard himself say through a loud buzzing that took up residence in his ears. “How old was he?”
“Um, about her age, dark hair, very ritzy. You know, expensive.”
“And she was definitely his wife?”
“Well, I wasn’t a bridesmaid or anything, man, but he did wear a wedding ring.”
Five heartbeats. Okay. Wedding rings. Five more and Nathan could speak. “Where did they go?”
The desk clerk didn’t know. The LeClairs hadn’t used the hotel shuttle. Nathan straightened and tapped the counter with a hand.
“Thank you. Thanks.”
He lurched past hotel guests and into the blazing sun. The heat blasted his face and ruffled his hair. As he crossed the sand to a bench at the water’s edge, he swiped the sweat from his upper lip, feeling the rasp of several days” beard growth.
In a remote way, he understood that the acute pain in his chest was the cause of his dazedness. He had not felt such wrenching pain since Turner’s loss.
Lillian. He had learned her name.
And that she was somebody else’s wife.
* * *
The miniature buttons of the cell phone felt foreign beneath Nathan’s finger. Dante’s husky voice resounded in his ear. For a moment, Nathan thought he wouldn’t be able to speak.
“I need advice.” His voice grated.
“Anything. You know I’m here for you, old friend.”
