Booktree.ng_Forgotten-Witness

at the ends and the middle ones sagged as if someone had
worn them down, constantly peering out, hoping to spy a
guest. Light flickered behind the blinds in the predictable
pattern of a television. Unable to tell if there was anyone in
there or not, Josie leaned over the counter and hauled a huge
ledger up and over.
Five people had checked in that day and two had already
checked out. None of them were Ian Francis. She flipped the
page back. Two days earlier business was stellar. Twenty
people had signed in over the weekend. She scanned the
names. Half of the signatures were illegible and the others
were easily dismissed simply by their length and fancifulness.
She flipped back another page and her eyes were caught by the
name Frances but this was a first name and the signature was
sprawling. Nowhere did she see an example of the cramped,
bizarre writing she had in her possession.
Josie turned the pages again and ran her finger down all the
names once more. Bingo. There was an entry for a guest with
a last name of Francis. The initial was A. She had missed it the
first time around.
“You want to check in?”
Not quite startled, just surprised to find anyone in the place
with enough energy to call her out, Josie looked up. A man of
medium height and maximum girth had propped himself up in
the doorway between the lobby and the office. He wore a
button down shirt and pinstriped pants. The pleats fanned out
under the weight of his stomach. There was a nod to propriety
in the shape of a black knit necktie improperly knotted so that
the bottom tail was longer than the top. He was looking over
his shoulder at the television but had spoken to her.
“No. Thanks,” she answered.
“Didn’t think so.” He guffawed at something he saw on the
tube before he looked at her. His left eye was lazy and kept
swinging toward his own nose. “Restaurant’s been closed for
about four years. Bar, too. I gotta bottle if you’re looking for