The Bigfoot Queen by Jennifer Weiner

Author:Jennifer Weiner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2023-10-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Charlotte

NONE OF THE VISITORS SAW Charlotte Hughes when she stepped into the shadowed alcove at the end of the hallway, her arms full of dirty towels and her face watchful and wary. None of them noticed her turn and walk quickly up the back staircase, the one that had been built for servants to use, so they could move between floors while staying out of sight of the home’s wealthy owners. Charlotte slipped into her bedroom, a tiny room in the attic. She pulled a key out from inside a ceramic bunny that sat on her dresser, and used it to unlock a drawer in her desk. The drawer was empty except for a brand-new cell phone. On the first day of school, every year since she’d made the deal with the Jarvis people, Charlotte would find a brand-new phone, still in its case, in her locker. Charlotte plugged it in, turned it on, and watched as the screen bloomed into life. She’d never used the phone. She’d never had to use it. Not until today.

Charlotte bit her lip and pressed the button to dial the only number saved in the phone’s memory. When the phone rang, she tucked it under her chin, leaning against the wall with her eyes squeezed shut. She pulled the elastic band out from her hair and twisted it around and around her index finger, so tightly that her fingertip went first red, then white.

After four rings, a man’s voice answered. “Hello?”

Charlotte stood up very straight. “Yes,” she said. “This is—”

“I know who you are,” said the voice, which sounded bored, and rude, almost like whoever owned it was sneering. Charlotte ignored the unpleasant feeling that gave her.

“Three girls and three women just checked in. One of the girls I couldn’t really see—she had a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over her face.” Charlotte paused and made herself take a breath. “The other two were white girls, maybe twelve or thirteen. One with bushy red hair, the other with brown hair. Two of the women were older, and they were both white. The third was a white woman with red hair in her thirties. I don’t know their names.” The women had all paid cash for their rooms. They’d given their names as Jane Smith, Mary Johnson, and Carol Hathaway, and had declined an invitation to sign the guest register. When Charlotte’s grandmother said, “We usually do a five-hundred-dollar hold on a credit card,” “Jane Smith,” the red-haired woman, had pulled five crisp hundred-dollar bills and slid them across the desk.

“We’ll be in touch,” the voice on the other end of the line said, and ended the call. No Thank you for your help, no Good job. Charlotte sank down on her bed, remembering that her grandma always said that a job well done was its own reward. Charlotte had done what she’d promised. She could just hope that her duty was completed. The sinking, unsettled feeling in her belly, the watery sensation

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