Chapter 8: One Bed

"Why?" I said.

Marlene's hands tightened on her bag.

"Because there are things I should tell you, and I can't do it in a car park."

"Then tell me now."

"I can't. Not yet. Give me a week."

"A week for what?"

"Delaney, sweetheart, I'm asking for your sake." Her eyes were wet. "Please."

Laurence stood very still beside me.

"She's marrying tomorrow, Mrs. Whalley," he said. "If you have something to say, say it tonight."

Marlene looked at him, and her face closed.

"I'll see you at the wedding, then," she said.

She walked back toward the club, and her heels were the only sound.

"She sounded sincere," I said.

"She sounded afraid."

"Of what?"

"I haven't figured that out."

We reached the Heron Inn at nine.

The clerk at the desk was a young man in a blazer who would not look up.

"Miss Whalley, I'm very sorry. Your reservation was cancelled this afternoon."

"By whom?"

"A woman called and said she was Miss Whalley's mother."

"My mother is dead."

His ears went pink.

"She gave the right name, and she had your date of birth. I'm sorry, ma'am. We're full. It's regatta weekend."

"Is there a single room?"

"Not one in the county."

Laurence laid his key card on the desk.

"She takes mine."

"Laurence."

"I'll sleep in the lobby."

"The lobby's full of people in sailing jackets," the clerk said weakly.

I took the card.

The suite was on the top floor, and it had one king bed, one armchair, and a window over the lake.

I set my bag on the chair.

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