Nadia flaged down a cab with a distracted nod to the driver. The rhythm of the city outside the window blurred as her mind replayed Jayson's words on an endless loop.
"To where, ma'am?" the driver asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
"Herald News, please" she replied automatically before pausing. The wastelake case. Naomi Peterson. A murder that seemed to have vanished from public memory almost as quickly as it had appeared. If Jayson was right about that, maybe he was right about the rest.
She pulled her phone from her bag, tapping Zora's contact before she could talk herself out of it.
"Hey Nadi, please tell me you're on your way to the office," Zora answered, her voice carrying the familiar sound of the newsroom in the background—keyboards clacking, phones ringing, the distant hum of the printing press below.
"Not exactly," Nadia replied, lowering her voice. "I need a favor. Can you cover for me with Martin? Tell him I'm following up on sources for a story."
Zora's sigh was audible. "This isn't about that data brokerage, is it?"
"It's not that. This is different and—" Nadia started, then caught herself. "Look, I just need to check something. One detail. If it's nothing, I drop it. But if there's something there..."
A momentary silence hung between them before Zora relented. "Fine. But you owe me dinner. The expensive kind with wine that doesn't come in a box."
"You're the best," Nadia smiled, relief washing over her. "I'll text you later."
She ended the call and leaned forward toward the driver. "Change of plans. Westlake Motel, please."
The driver's eyes met hers in the mirror. "That's outside the city limits. Meter's going to run pretty high."
"That's fine," she said, settling back into her seat.
As the cab merged into the highway traffic, Nadia pulled out her notebook, drafting some notes based on the information Jayson gave her. Six months ago, the body of Naomi Peterson had been discovered in Westlake Motel room. The official report ruled it an OD, but Jayson had been insistent—the woman had been murdered, and the case had been deliberately buried. A small story that should have been bigger.
The drive took nearly an hour, the urban landscape gradually giving way to industrial parks and then scattered businesses along the highway. When they finally pulled into the gravel parking lot of Westlake Motel, Nadia was struck by how ordinary it looked—a single-story horseshoe of rooms facing a half-empty parking lot, the blue neon "VACANCY" sign flickering even in daylight.
"Want me to wait?" the driver asked as she paid the fare.
"No, I'll find my way back," she replied, adding a generous tip.
The reception area was cramped but clean, with faded travel posters on the wall and a small bell on the counter. A young woman appeared from a back room, her name tag reading "Melissa."
"Hi, welcome to Westlake. Do you need a room?" she asked, her customer service smile not quite reaching her eyes.
Nadia pulled out her press credentials. "Nadia Brown, Herald News. I'm looking into a story that happened here about six months ago. A young woman found dead in her room."
The smile fell from Melissa's face. "I... I wouldn't know anything about that. I've only been working here for about a month."
"Is there anyone who's been here longer? Perhaps a manager I could speak with?"
"The manager's out today," Melissa replied quickly—too quickly. "But I can take your number and have them call you?"
Nadia studied the woman's face, noting the slight flush rising from her neck. "That would be great, thank you," she said, writing her number on a business card and sliding it across the counter. "In the meantime, would you mind if I spoke with some of your other staff? Maybe housekeeping?"
"We're... actually between shifts right now," Melissa said, her fingers nervously tapping against the counter. "And most of our staff is pretty new. High turnover in this business, you know?"
"Of course," Nadia nodded, keeping her tone casual. "The maintenance staff, perhaps?"
Melissa's smile tightened. "Like I said, everyone's pretty new. Less than three months for most of the crew."
"All of them?" Nadia pressed. "That's quite a coincidence."
"Look," Melissa leaned forward, dropping her voice. "I just need this job, okay? I don't know anything about dead body or whatever you're looking for."
The fear in the young woman's eyes was genuine, and Nadia decided not to push further. "I understand. Thank you for your time."
Outside, Nadia circled the building, noting the security cameras positioned at each corner—all pointed outward at the compound and parking lot, none facing inwards where the rooms were. She continued around to the rear of the property where a chain-link fence separated the motel grounds from an overgrown area sloping down toward what had to be the retention pond, though it was obscured by tall reeds.
As she was examining the fence for a way through, the sound of a vehicle approaching drew her attention. An old pickup truck with a rusted bed full of trash bags rumbled along the service road behind the motel. The driver, an elderly man with a weathered face partially hidden beneath a stained baseball cap, slowed as he passed her.
Nadia raised a hand in greeting, but the man didn't acknowledge her, continuing down the road before turning into a gap in the fence about fifty yards away. Curiosity piqued, she followed the path of the truck, arriving at an unlocked service gate.
The truck had stopped near a large dumpster, and the old man was now tossing bags from his truck into the container. Nadia approached, pulling out her press ID again.
"Excuse me, sir? I'm Nadia Brown with the Herald. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?"
The man paused, a heavy bag halfway to the dumpster. He regarded her with narrowed eyes but didn't speak.
"I'm looking into an incident that happened here about six months ago. A woman named Naomi Peterson was found in the dead in a room. Did you work here then, by any chance?"
The old man threw the bag into the dumpster with more force than necessary, the clang of it echoing in the quiet afternoon. "Don't know nothing about that," he muttered, turning back to his truck.
"Please," Nadia persisted, stepping closer. "I'm not trying to cause trouble. I just want to understand what happened."
The man grabbed another bag but then stopped, looking around nervously before fixing her with a hard stare. "You need to get out of here, lady. Go back to where you came from and stop asking questions."
"Why?" Nadia took another step forward. "What happened here?"
The old man's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Because people who ask questions about that night go missing." He tossed a meaningful glance toward the pond. "That woman wasn't the first to end up in there, and she won't be the last if you keep poking around."
A chill ran down Nadia's spine despite the warm afternoon. "Are you saying she was murdered?"
"I'm saying you need to leave. Now." The man climbed back into his truck, the engine sputtering to life. Before closing the door, he leaned out one last time. "Whatever you think you're looking for, it ain't worth it. They've got eyes everywhere."
As the truck pulled away, Nadia stood motionless, her reporter's instinct blazing. The man's warning had only confirmed what she'd suspected—there was something here, something worth investigating. Something worth risking her career for.
She made her way back to the front of the motel, scanning the area for surveillance cameras she hadn't noticed before. At the road, she flagged down a passing cab, sliding into the back seat with a sense of resolve.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
Nadia glanced back at the motel, committing the scene to memory. "Herald News," she said firmly. "I've got a story to write."
As the cab pulled away, she began making notes in her journal, the pieces of a bigger picture starting to take shape. Jayson had been right—at least about this. And if he was right about Naomi Peterson, what else might he be right about? The thought both excited and terrified her.
She pulled out her phone to text Zora: "You won't believe what I just found. Order that wine. We're going to need it."