My hands were shaking as I unzipped it.
Dirty clothes. Jeans that smelled like lake water. His flannel shirt. Socks. A bottle of sunscreen, almost empty. His shaving kit. A paperback mystery he’d been reading since June.
Nothing.
I almost zipped it back up. I almost felt stupid.
Then I felt the side pocket.
There was something flat and stiff inside.
I unzipped it.
A plastic key card. White, with a picture of a pine tree on it and the words LAKEVIEW INN — ROOM 12 printed in green letters.
I stared at it.
The Lakeview Inn wasn’t the motel the guys stayed at. They stayed at the Pine Rest, a cinderblock place by the highway with a broken ice machine. Mark complained about it every year.
The Lakeview Inn was the nice place. The old white Victorian hotel right on the water, with the wraparound porch and the rocking chairs.
