CHAPTER FOUR
Saturday Evening
Ganet pulled into Wayward Pines after sunset. Just as Roger had said, the town was dying. The short row of clapboard stores along Main Street was boarded up. The restaurant with the swinging sign simply stating "Café" was in business but already closed for the night. As she cruised up the next block, Ganet was relieved to see the porch light on at the Wayward Pines Inn. Except for an old Jeep, the parking lot was empty.
Ganet pulled to a stop beside the front porch. She slung her purse over her shoulder then fetched her suitcase from the back seat and lugged it up the front steps. Through the window, she saw a gray-haired old man snoozing on a stool behind the counter. When she pushed the door open, a bell at the top jingled. As the old man jerked awake, a little old lady toddled out of the back room and gave her a smile.
"We've been waiting up. Your room is ready. I turned the heater on a couple of hours ago. Should be nice and toasty."
Putting on a smile, Ganet rolled her suitcase up to the counter. "Do you need my credit card for a deposit?"
"No, dear. That won't be necessary. I doubt we need to worry about you damaging the furniture. After the drive you've had reaching us, I doubt you're in the mood to be rowdy."
As the old woman talked, the old man stared. Finally, he spoke up. "Don't see many like you around here—"
What's that supposed to mean?
"—you know, pretty young things."
From the look of affectionate disapproval the old woman gave him, Ganet surmised they were married. She returned a faint smile. "My key?"
A Short While Later
Ganet's motel room was more than toasty. In fact, it was an oven. The heater appeared to be some type of gas unit with a turnkey on-off control. The key was missing. She tried opening a window. All five in the spacious but rundown Victorian room were painted shut. As a last resort, she cracked the door to the hallway.
As she unpacked then shook out the outfit she planned to wear the next day, she heard footsteps shuffling up the hall. Turning her head, Ganet saw the little old lady. She held a tray with a bowl of vegetable stew and a plate of open-face cheese and salami sandwiches.
Ganet's stomach rumbled in appreciation. "You didn't have to—"
"Nonsense. This is the only way you'll get fed."
Ganet took the tray with a smile and placed it on the nightstand. When she reached for her purse, the old lady tsked.
"My pleasure. I always make a last meal—last meal for the evening—for guests at the Wayward Pines Inn. I think it ensures a pleasant sleep."
"Thank you. My mother never lets anyone cross our threshold without feeding them either."
"It's just decent manners. The way we're taught." The old woman turned to leave then looked back over her shoulder. "Be sure to lock your door up tight. Not that you have to worry about desperados breaking in. Goodness no, not anything like that. But we have raccoons in the attic. And they love my cooking."
Wild creatures scrabbling around while she slept? Of course, Ganet would lock her door. "Sure thing. See you in the morning."
Just Before Sleep
Once Ganet was sufficiently fed, she pulled her notebook out of her purse and plugged it in. She wanted to study the history she'd written up for Saba and Abel one more time via Trust, Inc.'s virtual private network. Then she'd lay out the interview questions for Abel in their most persuasive order. But when she clicked the Internet icon, nothing. Apparently, the Wayward Pines Inn was in a dead zone.
Stupid. Why didn't I bring a flash drive?
Ganet drummed her fingers on the antique wood desk. Then her eyes strayed to the notebook provided by the proprietors, the old-fashioned kind with blank sheets held together with a spiral wire.
Sighing, Ganet picked up the pen, tapped it against her chin and recalled what Oscar Keefers had told her.
Abel had met Saba in a refugee camp. A doctor of biology like his big brother, he'd been in the Horn of Africa studying the effects of regional conflicts on local fauna. After a few months of observations, he'd come to the conclusion that while ethnic conflicts reduced natural resources, it was the dwindling resources that had caused the conflicts in the first place. Troubled by the misery he saw, he'd switched his focus from ibexes and kudus to the masses of displaced humanity. And that's when he'd met Saba.
Ganet's first thought had been, Typical nerd. A loser with the opposite sex who grabbed an opportunity to trade an offer of U.S. citizenship for a desperate woman's gratitude. But Oscar Keefers had said otherwise. I know what you're thinking, but trust me—it was love at first sight.
Ganet had to give his version the benefit of the doubt. After all, Saba's Asylum Visa had been approved the day before they met. Abel broke off his engagement to another biologist to propose a day later.
According to Oscar, after Abel brought his bride home, everyone agreed they were the perfect couple. Saba completed the baccalaureate degree she'd begun in Sudan and enrolled in a master's program. UCLA gave Abel a professorship. Together, they raised a lovely daughter.
I swear to you, my sister-in-law was happy. What none of us realized was that the only way she managed that was by ignoring her homeland altogether. Then an old comrade-in-arms visited, and she started paying attention. The more broadcasts she saw, the more newspapers she read, the more depressed she became. She read articles, went to lectures, saw documentaries and let everything else slide. I told her to put things in perspective—that threats to populations and environments were widespread, that her people weren't the most pitiful on the face of the earth. All that did was make her depression worse.
As Ganet let Oscar's story replay in her memory, she lay her head on the desk—partly because the room's heat was making her sleepy and partly because this case was making her feel bad about her parents. When she'd found out they'd kept secrets from her, she'd felt betrayed, but if remembering their past was as unbearable for them as it was for Saba, she'd been a horrible daughter for pestering them to talk about it.
Stretching her hand out, Ganet jotted down, "Wife's inability to come to terms with survivor guilt took toll on marriage. Did husband resent it?"
Abel stood by Saba through everything, Oscar Keefers had said. That's not the issue. It's the solution she found—a brand new cause—that… resulted in the separation. I… I… well, all I can say is that the only way out now is for you to talk to my brother.
Too groggy to lift her head, Ganet stared at her notepad like she'd stared at Dr. Keefers the day before. He'd readily claimed the fault for Abel and Saba's separation, but he had been stone-cold silent about why. And none of the open-ended questions she had tried had drawn it out of him.
Ganet yawned. The only thing she could do tomorrow was get Abel to talk. That is, if he'll see me. Or if I can even locate his address without the Internet.
Slowly, Ganet struggled to her feet. Why does my head feel so strange? Too drowsy to turn off the light, she stumbled to the bed and collapsed.