Goss shrugged indifferently. "Always possible."
"You didn't kill her or anything, did you?" Toxtel asked after another few minutes, and Goss could tell he'd been worried by the thought.
"I'm not stupid. She's fine."
"We don't want to draw attention to ourselves."
"I said, she's fine. Alive, breathing, unhurt."
"That's good. We don't need any complications. We find what we're looking for at this place, and we leave. That's it."
"How will we know where to look? Are you going to say, 'Where'd you put the stuff that stupid accountant left behind?' "
"Might not be a bad idea. We could say he sent us."
Goss considered that possibility. "Simple," he admitted. "Might work."
The road had so many twists and turns that he began to get nauseated. He let his window down to get some fresh air into the vehicle. There were No Passing signs all along the road. After they went by what, seemed like the fiftieth sign, he muttered, "No shit."
"No shit, what?"
"All these No Passing signs. First, how could you pass anything on this damn road? It's one curve after another. And second, there's nothing to pass."
"City boy," Toxtel said, grinning.
"Damn straight." He looked down at the map. "The next turn should be coming up on the right."
"Coming up" took another long ten minutes. The temperature had dropped another five degrees, and the air felt thin. Goss wondered what the elevation was.
The road they were looking for was marked by a line of thirty or more mailboxes, leaning at all angles like a row of drunken soldiers. There was also a sign that said "Trail Stop," and an arrow, and just past that a neatly lettered sign that read "Nightingale's Bed and Breakfast."
"That's the place," Toxtel said. "Shouldn't be hard to find."
The road had been steadily climbing, but shortly after they turned onto the narrow, one-lane road, it began winding downhill. The way down was even steeper than going up had been. Toxtel shifted into a lower gear, but still had to ride the brakes.
On one curve, they could see what had to be Trail Stop down below, sitting out on a wide spit of earth with a river roaring down the right side. The number of buildings looked as if it might match the number of mailboxes back on the road.
At the bottom of the mountain they went over a narrow wooden bridge that creaked under the weight of the Tahoe. Goss looked down at the wide, rushing stream coming off the mountain on its way to join the river, the water churned white by the black boulders that jutted above the spray, and a chill went down his spine. The stream wasn't as rough as the river they'd seen, but something about it spooked him.
"Don't look now, but I think we're in Deliverance territory," he muttered.
"Wrong section of the country," Toxtel said blithely, not at all perturbed by the wildness around them.
The road curved up and over a small hill, and when they crested it - Goss briefly closed his eyes, in case another vehicle was coming over the hill from the opposite direction - Frail Stop was laid out before them, a cluster of buildings that stretched along either side of the road. There were some houses, most of them small and rundown, a feed store, a hardware store, a general store, another few houses, and at the end on the left was a big Victorian-style house with wide porches, gingerbread trim, and a sign out front proclaiming it to be the bed-and-breakfast. There were two other cars in the side parking area, and one parked in the rear in a separate garage building. The single bay door was open. To the right of the garage door was a regular door. That might be a good place to look for Layton's stuff, Goss thought.
"Well, you were right," he said. "The place isn't hard to find."
As they parked, a woman came down the steps toward them. "Hello," she said. "I'm Cate Nightingale. Welcome to Trail Stop."
Toxtel got out of the SUV first, smiling as he introduced himself and shook hands, then opened the rear door so they could get their luggage. Goss followed more slowly, though he did the smile-and-handshake deal, too. They introduced themselves as Huxley and Mellor - he was Huxley and Toxtel was Mellon Faulkner had taken care of the bill with a credit card under some generic company name, so they wouldn't have to show identification.
Goss didn't attempt to hide the interest in his eyes as he surveyed the bed-and-breakfast's owner. She was younger than he'd expected, with a lanky build that didn't lend itself to curves, though she had a nice ass. She didn't show it off, dressing in black pants and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, but he could tell it was there. Her voice was good, too, warm and friendly. Thick brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her eyes were brown - nothing outstanding there. Her mouth, though, was one of those oddly shaped ones, with the top lip fuller than the lower one. It gave her a soft, sensual look.
"Your rooms are ready," she said with a friendly smile that completely lacked any response to the interest he'd shown. He checked out her ass as she turned away. He'd been right about its niceness.
Inside the house, he saw a teddy bear lying outside a room, indicating the presence of a child. That might mean Mr. Nightingale was in residence, too. She wasn't wearing a wedding band, though; he'd noticed that when he'd shaken her hand. Goss glanced at Toxtel and saw that he, too, had spotted the teddy bear.
She stopped at a desk in the hallway, positioned against the side of the staircase, and picked up two keys. "I've put you in rooms three and five," she said as she led the way upstairs. "Each room has its own bathroom, and good views from the windows. I hope you enjoy your stay here."