the place to come.
We pulled up outside a guesthouse two-thirds of the way along the street. The door and window frames were bright red, a splash of colour in amongst all the grey. Hannah’s Place was painted in red on the sign above the door, the letters swirly and flamboyant. I got out of the car, retrieved my suitcase and laptop bag from the back. Taylor took the case from me and I followed him across the sidewalk.
It had just gone four and Morrow Street was deserted. The place had a desolate, lonely feel, like a film set that was about to be dismantled. A couple of bars were advertising Happy Hour from 5.30 ’til 7.30. Bad math aside, that was when the area would start to come alive. By nine o’clock enough alcohol would have been consumed to get the place really rocking. I wasn’t expecting things to get busy this evening. A Wednesday night the day after a brutal murder, everyone would be staying away in droves.
The inside of the guesthouse was cool, clean and spacious. The scuffed red and white floor tiles were laid out like a chessboard, and there was a faint smell of lemons in the air. A red leather sofa had been pushed into the nook below the staircase. The Fifties Americana feel was enhanced by the black and white stills from old Hollywood that hung on the walls. Marilyn Monroe and Tony Curtis. Rock Hudson and Doris Day. Paul Newman. Marlon Brando. We walked over to reception and Taylor dinged the old-fashioned brass bell.
‘One second,’ a voice called from the back room.
The girl who followed the voice into the room was in her early to mid-twenties but looked at least thirty. Her hands had seen their share of hard work, and she was lean from being busy rather than hours spent in a gym.
She had big brown fawn eyes, and her blonde hair was short and spiky. Piercings in her ears and nose, and a baggy Gutterpigs T-shirt. It looked like she’d cut her hair herself. It was a practical style for someone who didn’t have any spare hours in the day. No time wasted in beauty parlours. No time wasted brushing it through. No time wasted, period, because time was precious.
I subscribed to a similar school of thought. My hair was a scruffy white mess that hung to my shoulders. Getting ready meant scrubbing a hand across my head a couple of times after I’d gotten out the shower.
The girl saw Taylor and her smile made the years melt away. For a brief moment she looked her real age. There was an understated beauty there that a tough life had tried hard to steal away.
‘Hey, Hannah.’
‘Hey, Taylor.’
Taylor turned to me. ‘Jefferson Winter meet Hannah Hayden.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Hannah meet Jefferson Winter.’
‘Cool name,’ I said. ‘You’re a palindrome.’
She smiled. ‘I can honestly say that’s the first time anyone’s called me that.’
‘Winter needs a room.’
‘Well he’s in luck, since that’s what we do here.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any suites?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, they’re all up on the third floor. They’ve got great views.’
‘Since there are only two floors, I’ll take that as a “no”.’
‘I could give you our best room. It’s no suite, but it does have its own bathroom.’
‘Chocolates on the pillows?’
Hannah raised an eyebrow.
‘How about a candy bar, then? It’s been a while since lunch and my blood sugar level is starting to dip.’
She gave me the look, then shrugged. ‘I don’t have any chocolates, but I’m sure I can find you a candy bar.’
‘In that case you’ve got a deal.’
Hannah looked me up and down and reeled off a price that was probably twenty per cent higher than the going rate. I paid for two nights in advance, then put down an extra hundred and turned it so Benjamin Franklin was staring straight at her.
‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention to anyone that I’m staying here.’
‘Sure.’ The money disappeared.
She handed me the key and Taylor grabbed my suitcase before I could get to it.
We pulled up outside a guesthouse two-thirds of the way along the street. The door and window frames were bright red, a splash of colour in amongst all the grey. Hannah’s Place was painted in red on the sign above the door, the letters swirly and flamboyant. I got out of the car, retrieved my suitcase and laptop bag from the back. Taylor took the case from me and I followed him across the sidewalk.
It had just gone four and Morrow Street was deserted. The place had a desolate, lonely feel, like a film set that was about to be dismantled. A couple of bars were advertising Happy Hour from 5.30 ’til 7.30. Bad math aside, that was when the area would start to come alive. By nine o’clock enough alcohol would have been consumed to get the place really rocking. I wasn’t expecting things to get busy this evening. A Wednesday night the day after a brutal murder, everyone would be staying away in droves.
The inside of the guesthouse was cool, clean and spacious. The scuffed red and white floor tiles were laid out like a chessboard, and there was a faint smell of lemons in the air. A red leather sofa had been pushed into the nook below the staircase. The Fifties Americana feel was enhanced by the black and white stills from old Hollywood that hung on the walls. Marilyn Monroe and Tony Curtis. Rock Hudson and Doris Day. Paul Newman. Marlon Brando. We walked over to reception and Taylor dinged the old-fashioned brass bell.
‘One second,’ a voice called from the back room.
The girl who followed the voice into the room was in her early to mid-twenties but looked at least thirty. Her hands had seen their share of hard work, and she was lean from being busy rather than hours spent in a gym.
She had big brown fawn eyes, and her blonde hair was short and spiky. Piercings in her ears and nose, and a baggy Gutterpigs T-shirt. It looked like she’d cut her hair herself. It was a practical style for someone who didn’t have any spare hours in the day. No time wasted in beauty parlours. No time wasted brushing it through. No time wasted, period, because time was precious.
I subscribed to a similar school of thought. My hair was a scruffy white mess that hung to my shoulders. Getting ready meant scrubbing a hand across my head a couple of times after I’d gotten out the shower.
The girl saw Taylor and her smile made the years melt away. For a brief moment she looked her real age. There was an understated beauty there that a tough life had tried hard to steal away.
‘Hey, Hannah.’
‘Hey, Taylor.’
Taylor turned to me. ‘Jefferson Winter meet Hannah Hayden.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Hannah meet Jefferson Winter.’
‘Cool name,’ I said. ‘You’re a palindrome.’
She smiled. ‘I can honestly say that’s the first time anyone’s called me that.’
‘Winter needs a room.’
‘Well he’s in luck, since that’s what we do here.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any suites?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, they’re all up on the third floor. They’ve got great views.’
‘Since there are only two floors, I’ll take that as a “no”.’
‘I could give you our best room. It’s no suite, but it does have its own bathroom.’
‘Chocolates on the pillows?’
Hannah raised an eyebrow.
‘How about a candy bar, then? It’s been a while since lunch and my blood sugar level is starting to dip.’
She gave me the look, then shrugged. ‘I don’t have any chocolates, but I’m sure I can find you a candy bar.’
‘In that case you’ve got a deal.’
Hannah looked me up and down and reeled off a price that was probably twenty per cent higher than the going rate. I paid for two nights in advance, then put down an extra hundred and turned it so Benjamin Franklin was staring straight at her.
‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention to anyone that I’m staying here.’
‘Sure.’ The money disappeared.
She handed me the key and Taylor grabbed my suitcase before I could get to it.
Similar Books
