Page 86 of Trapper Road

I’ve just finished checking in with Sam when there’s a knock at the motel room door. I frown, unable to think of anyone who knows I’m here, much less would want to find me. I reach for my firearm and slide off the bed. Silently, I move toward the connecting door between our rooms and glance through. Connor’s on his computer and Vee’s watching TV. I hold a finger to my lips, gesturing for them to be quiet and on alert, then pull the door closed.

Taking a deep breath, I move toward the window that overlooks the parking lot. I twitch the curtain aside, glancing outside. There’s an older woman standing in front of my door. She’s wearing an old dress with a large well-worn purse clutched in her hands. Her back is straight, chin raised, and her mouth set in a purposeful slant.

I study her, looking for any obvious threat she might present. I don’t care that she’s likely in her seventies, she’s still a stranger seeking me out at my motel. For all I know, she could be armed as well and planning an ambush.

I shift to the door, making sure to keep my body to the side, and pull it open just wide enough for the chain to catch. “Can I help you?”

She looks at me with eyes cloudy with age. Her face is awash with wrinkles, lines around her mouth marking her as a longtime smoker, which is probably to be expected in a state like North Carolina.

“You’re that private investigator.” She says it as a fact.

I nod. “I am. My name’s Gwen Proctor.”

“You’re the one who brought the police down on my Trevor.”

I hesitate, not sure if she means the comment to be threatening. I’m not sure where this is going so I decide to tread carefully. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure who you are?”

“I’m Livinia Martindale. Trevor Martindale’s grandmother and legal guardian.”

Which means she’s a woman who has reason to hate me. Instinct and training causes me to shift, firearm at the ready in case I need to use it for self-defense. “Can I ask how you found me?”

She waves a hand. “Only one motel in this town. I taught Gary at the front desk fifth grade English back in the day. He was a good student. He liked me and was more than happy to confirm you were staying here and in which room.”

I make a note to myself to pay Gary a visit later and explain to him the importance of privacy.

“Okay, then, what can I do for you, Ms. Martindale?”

“It’s Mrs.,” she says, correcting me.

I smile. I understand the importance of being addressed correctly. “Of course, Mrs. Martindale, how can I help you?”

“They’ve arrested my boy. Charged him with murdering that girl who went missing a while back.”

That they’ve charged him is news, but I’m not necessarily surprised.

She lifts her chin, expression challenging. “Do you think my boy did the things they’re accusing him of?”

I’m not sure what I expected her to ask, but it’s not that. “That’s not my job to decide,” I tell her truthfully.

“Would it change your mind to hear Trevor confessed?” she asks.

I’m taken aback by the news. “He did?”

She nods. “Last night.”

That would explain why Chief Parks was too busy to take my statement. Still, the thought of Trevor confessing doesn’t sit right with me. The evidence supports his involvement, but I can’t stop thinking of the terror and confusion in his eyes when the police arrested him.

“My answer would still be the same,” I eventually say.

She considers this for a long moment, then nods. “I would like to hire you.”

I’m so taken aback by the statement that I don’t know how to react. “Hire me?”

“Yes. My grandson didn’t do the things they’re accusing him of. I want you to prove his innocence.”

There’s pain in her voice, but also steel in her spine. I can tell that she’s not the kind to back away from trouble. I understand how she must feel, the shock and confusion. Especially the denial.

“Your grandson confessed,” I tell her, trying to be as gentle as I can. As many doubts as I had about Trevor’s guilt early on, it’s hard to explain away a full confession.