Charlaine Harris - Day Shift

It isnt the rumbling of the trucks that seizes Manfred Bernardos attention; it is the silence that falls when their ignitions die. Big trucks often go through Midnight, slowing to stop for (or speeding up to beat) the traffic light at the intersection of the Davy highway and Witch Light Road. Since Manfreds rented house lies on Witch Light Road, hes grown used to the sound until it is simply background music. But the absence of that sound pierces his preoccupation. Hes on his feet and opening the front door before hes aware of pushing back from his desk. He grabs a jacket from the rack by the door.

Glancing across the road, he sees his friend Fiji Cavanaugh come out into her front garden, which is at its bleakest in January. Its cold today, by Texas standards, but sunny. Her cat, Mr. Snuggly, a golden tabby, is at his current favorite sunning spot, the base of the pot where Fiji plans to try a gardenia. Even Mr. Snuggly is staring west.

Manfred exchanges a nod with Fiji, who is bundled in a quilted coat. He notes that today she has inexplicably arranged her hair in two dog-ears, like a six-year-old. Then he turns his attention back to the trucks. One is an equipment truck, and its laden with building supplies: boards, bricks, electricians wire, plumbing pipes, hardware. Two battered white vans have disgorged a clown-car number of small brown men, wearing hoodies they will surely discard as the day warms. Emerging from a Lexus, clearly in charge, is a tall white woman in tan slacks and a blue silk T-shirt. Shes wearing a faux-fur vest. Her thick brown hair is gathered back into a sleek ponytail, and she wears silver earrings and a silver necklace. She also wears glasses, with big square tortoiseshell frames, and her lipstick is an aggressive red.

All these various vehicles, with their assortment of passengers, have converged around the defunct Ro Roca Fra Hotel at the southwest corner of the intersection. As far as Manfred knows, it has been closed for decades. The work crews immediately start pulling the boards off the doors and windows and tossing the ancient plywood into a large skip that yet another truck has deposited on the cracked sidewalk. The workmen swarm into the dark interior of the hotel.

It reminds Manfred of a giant boot kicking a dormant anthill.

Within five minutes, Fiji has crossed the road to join him. Simultaneously, Bobo Winthrop saunters down the steps of his business and residence, Midnight Pawn, which is situated at the same intersection as the Ro Roca Fra Hotel but catty-cornered to it. Manfred sees (with resignation) that Bobo is looking quietly handsome today, though hes wearing faded jeans and an ancient T-shirt with an equally ancient flannel shirt open over it. Manfred and Fiji stand with Bobo, and as they do, Manfred sees that west of the intersection, Teacher Reed has come out of Gas N Go; its directly across the highway from the pawnshop on the east and the hotel on the south. His statuesque wife, Madonna, is standing on the sidewalk in front of the Home Cookin Restaurant with Grady, the baby, whos wrapped in a blanket. Shes holding Grady with one arm, shading her eyes with the other. Across the street from Madonna, Joe Strong and Chuy Villegas have stepped out of the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon. Joe is like his name: muscular. He looks as though he may be forty. Chuy is shorter, his dark hair is thinning a bit, and his skin is the color of toast.

Even the Rev, in his rusty black suit, emerges from his white-painted chapel to cast an unreadable look at all the activity.

Were only missing Olivia and Lemuel, Manfred thinks. Of course, Lemuel cannot come out during the day, and Olivia is gone on one of her mysterious business trips.

After a few more minutes of watching and wondering, Joe Strong takes the initiative and strolls across Witch Light Road. He threads his way through the busy men to Boss Woman, who appears to be looking over some plans on a clipboard though Manfred is sure, reading the clues in her stance, that she is well aware of Joes approach.

Boss Woman turns to face Joe and extends her free hand to shake his, a professional smile pasted on her face. She is able to look Joe directly in the eyes, Manfred observes. She seems to like what she sees. The well-groomed Joe is pleasant looking and has a warm manner. His mouth moves; her mouth moves. They grin at each other without sincerity. Manfred thinks, Its like watching a ritual. In his peripheral vision, he spies the Rev retreating into his chapel, but the rest of the Midnighters stay outside.

Bobo turns to Manfred. Had you heard anything about this? he asks.

No. Believe me, I would have spread the word, Manfred tells his landlord. This is a big thing, right? He is aware that he feels ridiculously excited by this development in the small town where hes lived for less than a year. Rein it in, he advises himself. Its not like the circus has come to town.

And yet, in a way, its exactly like that. Fijis round, pretty face reflects his curiosity. Her eyes are lit up.

What do you think? she says, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Theyre going to reopen the hotel, huh? How can they even get it back up to code? Its been closed so many years. Everything will need to be ripped out and replaced. Plumbing, electricity floors

Bobo nods. Ive been in there. Right after I moved here, Lem and I went in one night. There was a loose board at the back, and Lem pried it open. We had flashlights. He just wanted to show it to me.

What was it like? Manfred asks.

Spooky as hell. The old reception desk with all the pigeonholes for mail is still there. The light fixtures were just hanging down with all these cobwebs on em. Like a horror movie. High ceilings. Wallpaper coming off in shreds. Smelled like mice. We didnt even go to the second floor. The stairs were a death trap. He smiles. Lem remembered it when it was open. He said it was pretty nice then.

Lemuel is well over a century and a half old, so it is not surprising that he can remember the hotel in its heyday.

So why would anyone spend the money to renovate it? Manfred says out loud, since that is the question on all their minds. Wouldnt it be cheaper to build a Motel 6 if you felt like Midnight could support a hotel?

Who wants to spend the night here? Fiji asks, another question theyve all thought about. There are three motels in Davy if you go north, and at least six over in Marthasville if you go west. If you go to the interstate, there are a skadillion places to stay. Besides, Home Cookin isnt open for breakfast. Its the only restaurant within fifteen miles.

They contemplate all those facts in silence.

How many rooms in that hotel? Manfred asks Bobo.

Bobo looks down at him, blue eyes narrowed in thought. I wouldnt think more than twelve, he concludes. The ground floor is the lobby and the kitchen and the dining room, plus there was an ancient phone booth, dont know when that went in and there werent bathrooms in the rooms so, say four guest rooms on the ground floor plus a bathroom and the public rooms, and then eight on the second floor plus two bathrooms? And the third floor was storage and staff rooms, Lem said.

Fiji grabs Bobos arm. You said dining room?

Yeah, Bobo says, surprised by her agitation. Oh. I get it. The Reeds.