The Guilty One by Sophie Littlefield Page B

years.”
    â€œOh . . . nice,” Pet said. “I mean, I’ve never been there. But it’s nice, right?”
    Maris wondered what the girl knew of Linden Creek: third highest per capita income in the Bay Area; overpriced restaurants; manicured parks and neighborhoods full of cookie-cutter mansions. Voted Republican, rare in Northern California.
    â€œYes, very nice. But I need a change.”
    â€œBut not here.” Pet laughed. “I mean, there’s nice parts of Oakland. There’s all these new condos downtown.”
    â€œMaybe.” Maris didn’t bother to explain that she actually knew her way around at least one truly bad part of Oakland. By comparison, this area was just medium-bad, but unfamiliar. “I mean, that’s a ways off. I need to figure out what I want to do first.” She waved a hand. “A job . . . if I want to move near family, all of that. I just need a few days to get my shit together.”
    She snuck the word shit in there at the end, breathless, bold. It felt both reckless and tantalizing.
    Pet nodded, biting her lip thoughtfully. “There’s this big Hyatt down by Chinatown—”
    â€œNot a Hyatt,” Maris said quickly. “I need something inexpensive.” Which was true, but that wasn’t the real reason. She wanted somewhere that she would be ignored. No concierges, no uniformed desk clerks and bellboys. “There were some motels on Telegraph when I came off the highway? You know . . . look like they were built in the seventies?”
    Pet raised her eyebrows. “I know the ones you mean. Look . . . they’re not like totally safe. A lot of prostitutes. There’s been some crime. There was a murder . . . couple years back?”
    â€œOh,” Maris said, embarrassed. She had thought maybe people stayed in them because they were close to the hospital. She’d imagined old people with suitcases, visiting even older relatives, returning to their rooms at night to watch cable TV and wait for the flip of the coin, recovery or death. But yes. Prostitutes, that was much more likely.
    â€œAnd they’re not even all that cheap, like you’d think. I mean, like sixty bucks a night? For that?”
    It took Maris a second to realize that she meant the rooms, not the prostitutes. “Well, is there somewhere else, I don’t know, even if it’s a little more expensive? An old hotel downtown or something?”
    â€œNot really. I mean, other than the hourly ones. It’s not like tourists come here.” Pet laughed shortly. “Listen, I do have an idea, though. There’s an apartment behind this one. Norris—my landlord—he’s just fixing a few things before he rents it out again. Guy moved out last week. Maybe you could rent it for a few days?”
    â€œI don’t need a whole apartment,” Maris said, and then thought— a whole apartment . Hers, not Alana’s. A place where she could be alone. A place where no one would find her, even if it was just for a short time.
    â€œI mean, it’s not fancy at all. And it doesn’t have good light like this.” Pet swept her arm, indicating the light that spilled luxuriantly across the scarred wood floors, the riot of fabrics on the furniture, the drawings on the walls. “And the guy who was in there—it’s probably pretty disgusting.”
    â€œI don’t care about that.” Maris could feel her mind grasping at this chance, this possibility. It would be even more anonymous than a motel, a place no one would think to look for her. “You know . . . it just might work. And I could pay cash up front.”
    Pet gave a little half smile and picked her phone up from her worktable. Her thumbs flew across the screen, that impossible pace that Calla too had perfected. All of the kids, while she and Jeff had to struggle for every character.