Rachel Alexander 09 - Without a Word

swimming or something,” putting Sally’s picture down on the counter where he could see it.
    He leaned over the photo and squinted. “Pretty,” he said.
    I waited, but he just sat there, saying nothing, waiting, too.
    “But you don’t know her? She doesn’t look familiar?”
    He shook his head.
    “Well, thanks. Might as well pay for one more day,” I said, putting Sally’s picture away and reaching for my credit card this time.
    “Just one?”
    “At a time,” I said.
    He ran my card. I signed the receipt. I wiggled my fingers at him, and he watched me go.
    Five o’clock. Polly was sweeping off the long deck in front of the cabins nearest the road. I walked over.
    “I see you got some color,” she said.
    “I didn’t find Hank in, but I took a swim anyway.”
    “Everything to your liking?”Nodding toward my cabin at the end of the line.
    “Fine. I just paid for another night.”
    “Checkout’s noon,” she said. Then she shrugged. “Don’t mind if you need a late checkout, though. We’re pretty empty and it always looks good to have as many cars parked here as possible. Place down the road? The Palmetto? You probably didn’t come that way. You flew into Miami, right?”
    I nodded.
    “They’re jammed. No Vacancy sign hardly ever turns off, name like that,” shaking her head, “no pool, you never know what people want, do you?”
    “I guess not,” I said, figuring I should check out the Palmetto next. “By the way, I came down here to look for an old friend of mine. The picture’s from when I last saw her, about six years ago, but I was wondering if maybe you saw her around. The last phone number she gave me, it was this area code,” I shrugged, “but she might have moved or something. It’s no longer working.”
    Polly leaned the broom against the railing, wiped her hands down the sides of her peach-colored shorts and took the picture, holding it close to her face.
    “Pale, like you. She a relative?”
    “Uh-uh. We were neighbors, then she moved down here.“
    “I don’t get out much, dear, just into Long Key once a week for supplies. Bertie takes the desk days and I got a man comes in three nights a week, but this place don’t make enough money for me to have a real staff. I’m not complaining, mind you. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. It’s quiet here, even in season. Suits me fine. But,” handing me back the picture of Sally, “young girl like that, maybe she went to someplace bigger, someplace with a little more action.”
    “I guess.”
    I walked back past the coffee shop, wondering what they might be unable to ruin that I could eat for dinner, heading back to Hank’s. “Bait,” the sign said, and underneath that, “Masks, Snorkels, Tanks, Boat Excursions Arranged, Ask Within.” I tried the knob, no dice. Then I held my hand over my eyes so that I could see in the window, but there was no one inside the small, cluttered shop. Hank, apparently, was still out to lunch.
    I decided to keep walking. I thought maybe I’d find a better place to eat, come up with some other ideas. How was I figuring to find Sally? What had I been thinking?
    Despite the heat, I began to walk faster, something to keep my mind off what looked like a failed effort. The Palmetto was just down the road, like Polly said, the green neon No Vacancy sign turned on. I walked into the office anyway, told my story, showed the picture, watched the clerk shake his head.
    “You say she’s here, at the Palmetto?”
    “Guess not,” I said. “But maybe you’ve seen her?”
    “I’d remember,” he told me, handing the picture back.
    I kept going, trying to stay in the little bit of shade there was, once from a huge billboard, several times from a small grove of trees. And then I saw it, a group of tacky white cottages with tiny porches out front, palm trees at the periphery, the office off to the right and the neon sign, pink, the thing that caught my eye, on a tall pole so that it would be visible to approaching cars. The Madison. Below that, “Vacancy,” the first c out, the y blinking. Is this where they’d stayed? Did this explain the look on Jim’s face when I’d told him his daughter’s name?
    I walked into the office. The clerk looked up at me and smiled. His wizened face was the color of mocha ice cream. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his small, round, dark glasses. Then I heard it, a dog’s tail thumping against the wooden floor.
    “Okay, Ellen, you can go say