The deadline for his latest novel had passed four days ago, a rare chance of impressing a decent publisher gone with it. And a sizable cash advance. He could no longer afford the Lake View and had to settle for the cheapest option, the Haerbay Inn.
Everything at the hotel had belonged to an era of prosperity and grandeur in the town, long since passed. This place was never so majestic, full of formica and faux leather. Judging by the furniture around the reception area, any prosperity enjoyed here was not plowed back into the business. The owner, Norman Young was under the impression that he was running a much classier affair. Dressed to the nines in an overly slick, handmade (according to Norman) suit, the elderly gentleman fooled only himself. Harry guessed that his surgically enhanced hairline, dyed a ridiculous shade of black, was the true destination of the motel's profits.
Norman was in the office having a fairly heated discussion with an unknown man. He heard something about 'high risks with no rewards' but had long since switched off. He was waiting to book a twin room. It was, he reasoned, better to assume that Cheryl would be found shortly and plan accordingly. Any other outcome was not worth considering. Mr. Young sauntered back, flushed an unhealthy shade of red. Harry hoped that he didn't have a heart attack before he handed over the room pass.
"Sorry to keep you waiting friend." he fawned, "Important business meeting, you understand."
Harry nodded, neither understanding nor caring.
"I'm afraid there's no room service at the moment. I can't afford to keep staff anymore. Been a real downturn in trade in the last few years.
But I'll be around myself, to freshen up your room, everyday at 12 noon. Hopefully both of you will be out and about around that time."
"Both of us?"
"You and my other customer. He's a regular."
"You're letting two rooms? It's only autumn! How are you staying open?"
"It's a struggle friend. We were turning people away this late, not so many years ago." he sighed wistfully, "Everything's changed since that damn fire. Went through South Park like nobody's business."
"How did it start?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. Norman looked like he'd enjoyed telling this story many times.
"I believe it was a faulty boiler in a nearby farmhouse. Local girl was killed, several people went missing. Lucky it wasn't peak season, could have been a whole lot worse. As it was, a bunch of folks lost their businesses.
Of course the story never made the national news, far too small town for that. Word did get around the state though, scared people off. The motel escaped the fire, but the tourist numbers never picked up again.
Anyhow, you're not here to listen to my troubles. Let me get you that room key."
Grateful for the break in conversation, Harry watched the old man fuss around behind the counter. In time he swept back with a key for room number six.
"What's the name friend? Have to have a little something to write in my register."
"Harry Mason."
"Mason?" Norman puzzled, "You're the fella with the missing kid right?"
"Yes" he sighed.
"Mr. Mason, we're all rooting for you. I'm sure they'll find her soon. Everyone has their eyes peeled…and if there's anything I can do…."
"Just the room, thank you."
"It's a good thing you're staying here. You've become something of a celebrity in these parts. Local press would have a field day if they knew. They would expect you stay at the Lakeview, being a writer. They won't think to come here. I shall be very discreet, I'm good at that."
He mumbled a thankyou and stumbled out into the dusk. A Mercedes sat in front of room number three. Norman's other customer was no journeyman writer. Strange that anyone with real money would choose to stay here.
Harry wished he had more money. It was tacky and cheap but it would have to do. He let himself into the twin room. Exhausted, he slumped on the floral bedspread.