The Bone House - Brian Freeman [85]
'Well, you can hardly blame yourself, Amy,' Gary told her.
'Oh, yeah, I know.' She added, 'I never sleep well at the end of a competition. What about you?'
'I'm the same way. I toss and turn.'
'Yeah, my room was next to yours. I thought I heard you coming in late. I figured you couldn't sleep either.'
Gary got an odd little smile on his face. 'You must have heard somebody else. I was in my room all night.'
'Really? I was sure I heard your door open and close.'
'I left to get ice at one point. I forgot about that. That's probably what you heard.'
'Sure.'
Gary's eyes were steady; he stared back at her without blinking. His voice was calm, not speeding up, not getting louder. He didn't show any outward signs of guilt or suspicion. Even so, Amy was convinced he wasn't telling her the truth. His explanations came too quickly and too easily. It was almost as if he'd been anticipating her questions and had been practicing all the right answers to deflect her concerns.
With each sip of wine, she found herself getting a headache. She didn't drink much, and she put the glass down, not wanting to make it worse.
'It was a beautiful hotel,' she continued.
'Gorgeous. Very elegant.'
'I was in the pool so much I thought I was going to grow gills,' she said, giggling. That was a lame joke. Why did she say that?
'Yes, I remember seeing you there. You look pretty damn good in a swimsuit.' He smiled at her. His eyes glittered.
'That was my power bikini,' she said, laughing too loudly. 'Didn't I see you talking to a girl by the pool on Saturday night?'
'I don't recall.'
'It wasn't one of the Green Bay girls, so that's why I noticed.'
'If you say so, Amy,' he told her, still smiling.
'You were wearing your white Phoenix T-shirt.'
'Well, lots of men wear white T-shirts down there.'
'Yeah, I guess.'
Gary's phone began ringing. He glanced at the caller ID. 'I'm sorry, I need to take this call. It could take me a couple minutes, do you mind? Make yourself comfortable.'
Amy waved a hand at him. 'No problemo. It's a great old house. Mind if I look around?'
'Go ahead,' he said. 'Don't look at the dirty underwear on the floor, though.'
He answered his phone as he left the living room. As he had before, he exited through the foyer and headed to the kitchen. Amy followed. She was angry with herself for drinking, because she could feel the wine going to her head. The room spun, and she shook herself in order to focus. She could hear Gary's voice on the other side of the swinging door.
Holding the banister, she ran up the curving steps. She put her foot wrong twice and had to steady herself to keep from falling. At the landing, she swayed. She licked her lips, studying the rooms upstairs. To her left, through an open doorway, she saw a large master bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it had dark, grim decor, with deep red wallpaper and heavy curtains shutting out the light. A Tiffany lamp by the bed cast a pale yellow glow around the room.
Just as Gary said, the room was messy. His clothes were in a pile near the closet. He hadn't unpacked from the trip, and his suitcase was shoved against a wall. It was open. She bent over it and slid to her knees. Her headache was worse. She rubbed her forehead and realized she was sweating. She dug through the items that had been dumped in the suitcase, pushing through dirty clothes. She saw handwritten notes on the dance competition on a yellow pad. Two hardcover books on sports. A camera. A pair of binoculars.
When she lifted up a pair of men's safari shorts, she noticed a fringe of pink lace pushing out of a side pocket. She used the tip of one finger to extract what was inside, and she discovered a pair of thong panties. They were flimsy and sexy. As she dangled them on her finger, she also noticed the white T-shirt that Gary had worn by the pool on Saturday night. She picked up the