I was irritated with our wasted time and mileage. But I hadn't given up hope yet, and when I felt the unmistakable pull at a four-way stop five blocks east of the square, I was almost happy. It came from my left, about six yards away.
"Recent?" Tolliver asked, seeing my head jerk. I always look, even if there's no way I'll see a thing with my physical eyes.
"Very." We weren't passing a cemetery, and I wasn't getting the feel of a newly embalmed corpse, which might indicate a funeral home. This impression was too fresh, the pull too strong.
They want to be found, you know.
Instead of going straight, which would've gotten us to the motel, I turned left, following the mental "scent." I pulled over into the parking lot of a small gas station. My head jerked again as I listened to the voice calling to me from the overgrown lot on the other side of the street. I say "scent" and "voice," but what draws me is not really something as clear-cut as those words indicate.
About three yards into the lot was the facade of a building. From what I could read of the scorched and dangling sign, this was the former site of Evercleen Laundromat. Judging by the state of the remains of the building, Evercleen had burned halfway to the ground some years before.
"In the ruin, over there," I told Tolliver.
"Want me to check?"
"Nah. I'll call Branscom when I get in the room." We gave each other brief smiles. There's nothing like a concrete example to establish my bona fides. Tolliver gave me an approving nod.
I put the car into drive again. This time we reached our motel and checked into our respective rooms with no interruption. We need a break from each other after being together all day; that's the reason for the separate rooms.