The neon light from the roof cast a ghostly blue glow over her hands and arms, giving her skin the deathly pallor of a days-dead corpse. It was the only real light source this far back from the office, which was good news for her attempts to remain unnoticed but not so good for the job at hand.

Jessica rummaged in her bag until she found a mini Maglite flashlight and flicked the switch a couple times to make sure the batteries still worked. They did. She switched it off again and pulled a small black leather case from the bag that looked similar to the manicure sets that well-groomed, image-conscious women might carry. Inside were a dozen tiny tools held in place by strips of black elastic, but none of them were emery boards or cuticle shapers.

She considered the options for a second or two, then selected the size and style of pick best suited to the old-fashioned lock on the door in front of her. She looked around again. Satisfied there was no one watching, Jessica switched on the flashlight, inserted the pick in the lock, and within seconds heard a satisfying click.

She was both impressed and disturbed by how quick and easy access to the room had been. Her own accommodation, right next door, would be no more secure and just as easily breached by anyone with half a clue about what they were doing. Jessica decided she would sleep a lot easier with the security chain fastened in place from now on while staying in town.

Still satisfied there were no onlookers, Jessica crossed the threshold into Holliday’s room and quickly and quietly closed the door behind her. Aided by the light of the flashlight and a streak of cool silver moonlight through the small window, she assessed her surroundings.

The setup was identical to her own room on the other side of the wall. A queen bed, a nightstand, a desk with an old-fashioned TV on top, and an uncomfortable chair pushed under the desktop. A coffee maker, still unused, on the top shelf of an open closet with four wire hangers on the rail. Holliday had put the hangers to good use, each one doubled up with jeans and shirts and all evenly spaced. Unlike Jessica’s own room, where one of her suitcases lay open on the floor, spewing pants, T-shirts, and underwear.

The unintentional retro styling of the motel room met modern-day technology thanks to a small sleek laptop, a digital camera, and tiny white earbuds next to a pile of paperwork on the desk. Work stuff. The items on the nightstand were more personal and told Jessica a little more about the journalist.