“I’ll see you at six thirty,” Arthur said.

He turned and walked down the outside walkway toward his own room.

Claire pushed the heavy door shut and threw the deadbolt.

The loud metal click made Owen look over from the bed.

She gave him a small nod, and he turned back to the television.

She walked away from the door.

The cheap motel had furnished the room with a salvaged square table pushed against the far wall beneath a dusty mirror.

It smelled faintly of industrial cleaner and old syrup.