Thought I Knew You by Kate Moretti Read Free Book Online

stared out the window.
    He let me sulk for another half-hour, but when we merged onto Route 81, he said, “Listen, Claire. Going to Rochester isn’t the move of a timid or scared woman. If you really are looking for answers, you’re going to have to talk. And you’re going to have to be aggressive. Do you understand?”
    I nodded. I didn’t think I had it in me. I wasn’t sure why we were going, or what we were doing. I leaned my head against the window. Outside, the highway zoomed beneath the car, while the bordering evergreens seemed to creep slowly, cementing the scenery with stable, unwavering anchors to the earth. Like Greg.

    We checked into the Chariot, across the street from the Fairmont, where Greg had stayed. I followed Drew into the lobby and hung back while he paid and chatted with the desk clerk. The woman smiled with dazzling teeth and checked us in with acrylic nails tapping efficiently on a computer keyboard. I should have interrupted —Oh, no, I’ve got this, Drew —but I couldn’t. I had wanted him there, but irrationally, I resented his presence, his easy manner, his quick smile.
    I needed a shower and a few minutes to myself. The rooms were adequate, with a queen-sized bed in each, a television, and internet hook-up, ideal for the business traveler. I couldn’t have cared less, as long as mine was clean.
    Under the hot spray of the shower, I realized Drew was right; I needed to be predatory. I searched for the anger I knew was buried under the hopelessness and silence. I needed to channel that fury into a force that would find my husband and the person responsible for splintering our lives. And what if that person was Greg? If he wasn’t already dead, I vowed to kill him myself. By the time I dressed and blow-dried my hair, I felt determined. Or at least, I felt determined to fake determination until I was able to feel it.
    I went into Drew’s room through the adjoining door. “Let’s go.”
    He was reading a complimentary magazine, lounging on the bed, and he started at my voice. “She speaks!”
    “Very funny. Ha, ha. Now get up.”
    He saluted and followed me out of the hotel. Without needing to discuss it, we headed to the Fairmont. I asked the clerk at the front desk if Carol Ann was working, and he nodded, then walked into the back room. He returned a minute later with a short, plump, fifty-ish woman in tow.
    “Can I help you?” she asked in her familiar southern accent.
    I took a deep breath. “Hi, Carol Ann. I’m the woman who called you a week or so ago regarding Greg Barnes.”
    “Oh, my goodness, honey! Yes, I remember.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You know, darlin’, the police were here, and I spoke to them. I told them everything I know. But I guess since you’re here, they haven’t found him yet?”
    I shook my head. “Can you go over exactly what you told the police?” I asked with a forced air of confidence. I wasn’t expecting anything big out of Carol Ann, but hoped to possibly glean some small detail from a personal conversation with her. I leaned forward on the counter —Let’s chat like girlfriends. I wanted her to want to help.
    “I told them about our conversation and how Joe—he’s the hotel manager—and I went up to the room to make sure your husband hadn’t had a heart attack in there. When we went in, the place was spotless. I swear to you, honey, no one ever slept in there. I could just tell, you know?” She had adopted a nervous habit of ending all her sentences with a question. “Then they asked who was on duty when Mr. Barnes checked in—”
    “Who was on duty?” I interrupted.
    “That would have been Joe, the manager, who checked him in. The front desk clerk was on his dinner break.” She gestured toward the man from earlier.
    He nodded. “I’m Joe Templeton, Mrs. Barnes. I didn’t remember him until the police showed me a picture.”
    I pulled out my stack of the same fifteen pictures the police had copied. I