Power Play

1

THE SCREAMS WOKE EMILY Saunders. Horror movie worthy shrieks of terror that had her jerking up in bed and panicking for a moment when she didn’t immediately recognize her surroundings.

She flicked on the bedside lamp, noting fuzzily that it was 5:07 a.m. The bed and the rest of the hotel room furniture came into focus along with her thoughts. Right. She was back in Elk Crossing, Idaho, in her room at the Elk Crossing Lodge.

For a second she wondered if the screams had been part of a nightmare. Her gaze drifted to the pumpkin-colored bridesmaid dress hanging in the unfortunately see-through bag. No wonder she was having nightmares. When her cousin Leanne had asked her to be a bridesmaid, Emily had said, “Yes, of course.” She always said yes.

But she really thought she might have plucked up the courage to turn down the honor of being a bridesmaid had she known about the dresses. Pumpkin—the color—was bad enough, but did the shape of the dress have to resemble the vegetable? Emily had worn some hideous bridesmaid gowns in her time, but this one really took the trick-or-treat candy.

She was about to flick off the light and try to get back to sleep when she heard more screaming. And it seemed to be coming from right outside her door.

Shoving her feet into her blue terry-towel slippers and grabbing the matching robe off the end of the bed, she picked up her room key and ran to the door. Touch it first, she reminded herself, wishing she’d bothered, for once, to read that “in case of fire” map taped to the back of the door. She didn’t feel heat, or smell smoke, but the commotion continued out there in the hallway.

Amid the screams she heard some soothing tones, and nobody seemed to be rushing for exits. Also, no fire alarm rang.

Curiosity had her cautiously opening her door.

The sight that met her eyes was—unusual.

A plump young woman, well-endowed and naturally not wearing a bra in the middle of the night, was jumping up and down as though the carpet of the hotel was a trampoline. She was the one doing the screaming.

“I saw them. Crawling everywhere. They’re on me. Eww. Eww,” she bellowed.

A much skinnier woman with long arms and legs, wearing a pink baby doll and nothing else, shrieked, “I felt something. I think they’re in my hair.”

And the pair of them were off, screaming, shaking their heads and bouncing like crazed groupies at a Jonas Brothers concert.

Emily stepped forward, wondering if they were on drugs of some kind.

A young guy in a hotel uniform was trying, with absolutely no success, to calm the women down. “Please, ladies, you’re waking the other guests.” He looked too young to wear a uniform and a sheen of sweat covered his upper lip.

An older, gray-haired couple who’d put overcoats and outdoor shoes on, stared, as stunned as she. They spoke to each other in soft voices. The woman caught Emily’s eye and shrugged in a “what do you do?” kind of way.

While Emily tried to recall what she knew of drug and alcohol poisoning, another door opened across the hall and a big, muscular, hairier-than-necessary man stepped out wearing nothing but boxer shorts with some brand of beer stamped on them. He was in his early thirties, she’d guess, with dark hair that stuck up on one side where he’d slept on it. His gaze took in the scene at once then snagged momentarily on the bouncing breasts.

“They’re crawling on me, they’re crawling on me,” the girl screamed again.

Emily snapped to the useless guy in uniform, “Call 9–1-1. These women need medical attention.”

Hairy Guy walked up to the girls, showing everyone in the hallway an excellent physique. Muscular, hard and drool-worthy, his near naked bod oozed testosterone and reminded her that she hadn’t had sex in far too long. “You don’t need 9–1-1,” he said in a low, bottom-of-the-gravel-pit voice. “You need an exterminator.”

Before her bemused gaze, he reached forward and plucked something from the plump girl’s shoulder. He held a flat black speck out on the edge of his finger. It was the size of a flax seed. He showed it to the flustered fellow in uniform.

“Bedbugs.”

By this time, more doors had opened along the corridor. A traveling salesman type yawned. “What’s going on?”

The couple in overcoats announced in unison, in horrified accents, “Bedbugs.”

The uniformed guy swallowed. Then looked up at the man in boxer shorts with appeal. “But the hotel’s full.”

“Not for long.”

Emily took a step away from the girls who were standing in shocked stillness. She didn’t blame them for looking so horrified.

Bedbugs? This was all she needed, on top of driving all the way from Portland to Elk Crossing for a wedding she didn’t want to attend with far too many of her family and friends asking nosy questions about her own continuing single status. This was the icing on the already hideous wedding cake. Decorated, she now recalled, with walnut-size marzipan pumpkins. And a tiny bride and groom perched on top, surrounded by faux fall leaves. No doubt by the actual wedding day, somebody would have thought to add a horn of plenty.

The thin girl lifted her arm. “I’m so itchy.” Even from across the hall Emily could see small red welts. And they were swelling.

Her irritation at the entire situation instantly changed to sympathy. “Let me see if I can find you some antihistamines,” she said.

Hairy Guy glanced her way and nodded in approval. Then he spoke to the two women, now both compulsively scratching.

“Go in the bathroom, strip off and shower in hot water. Hot as you can stand. Don’t put any of your clothes back on.”

He glanced at the hotel employee. “Get a female to bring them fresh towels and some clean robes.”

The guy nodded and trotted off. Fast.

With a hiccup and a “This is soo disgusting” the two women went back into their room.

“You,” he called to the useless guy in uniform who was already halfway down the hall. “You’d better get hold of the hotel manager.”

“This is not good,” Emily muttered, as she dug out her traveling medical kit. She’d had a tough enough time getting her family to accept that she wouldn’t be bunking down in some distant relative’s overflowing basement for the duration of the wedding festivities. Years of experience had taught her that she could manage her massive family if she stayed in a hotel. Wasn’t it exactly her luck to pick one with an insect problem?

She took the antihistamines over to the bedbug-infested room and knocked on the door. When the slimmer of the two women answered, wrapped in a towel, she held out the package. “Here.” She dropped the box into the girl’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks. I’ll take a few out and—”

“No, no. Keep them. They’re yours. Hope you feel better soon,” she said, and speedily retraced her steps back to her room.

Fifteen minutes had passed since she’d been woken. For a nanosecond she contemplated getting back into bed, then recalled the sight of that tiny insect on the guy’s finger.

She dashed to her bed and yanked down the covers, searching. Her sheets looked perfectly white. Nothing moving.

Her hair brushed her cheek and the slight tickle had her jumping and scratching at her face. No way she was getting back into that bed. Her sleep for the night was clearly over.

Her next stop was the bathroom where she stripped off and looked at herself from every angle. No bugs that she could see. No bites. She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped into the shower, running it long and hot and washing her hair and body twice over.

Her mom must never find out about the vermin, she resolved as water ran over her body. Unfortunately, her mom and dad were already in Elk Crossing mostly so her mom could support her sister, Emily’s aunt Irene, in marrying off her daughter. As close as the two women were, Em knew it was killing her mother to see Irene’s daughter, Leanne, get married first. Since Leanne was more than five years younger than her own very unmarried—as in didn’t even have a steady boyfriend—daughter.

Naturally, they were staying at wedding central. A place Emily had already decided she’d spend as little time in as possible for the next week. Not that she didn’t love her family, but all that wistful longing and those unsubtle hints were hard on a girl.

She inspected the towel on the rail and then shook it vigorously before toweling herself dry.

There was a knock on her door. Wrapping the damp towel around her, she opened the door to a sleepy-looking chambermaid. “We’re very sorry, ma’am, but you’ll need to vacate your room.” The girl—she doubted she was even out of her teens—held a large, green Rubbermaid bin in her hands.

“No problem.” As if she’d sleep there another minute. “Just let me get dressed and get my stuff.”