"And it was March fourth?"
"I'm not sure. I know it was back when baseball practice started. Around that time."
"Did Ridner see your father?"
"No. Their room was on the other side."
"You never asked your father about it?"
"Naw. I guess I should have. It really bugged me. I lied to Bobby-told him dad lent the car to a friend while he took the train into Philly, like he usually does. I thought about it a lot. Now I'll never know. Unless I hear it from the other person."
"Don't condemn him before you hear the evidence."
"Do you know any other reason to go to a motel in the middle of the day?" he asked, harshly.
Dean didn't. "Tell you what. I'll check it out. I'll fill you in on what I find. We'll keep it between us. Okay? I'm sure there's a logical explanation."
"Yeah, okay." Randy Byrne managed a smile but a fool could tell he wasn't buying.
As Dean drove away from Maid Marian Lane, he made up his mind to find out if the world had put a crown on Saint Jeffrey a little prematurely. It wasn't yet midnight and his afternoon nap had worked so well he was far from ready for bed. He knew Fred would be waiting up for him, but decided to let the old man cool his heels, punishment enough for setting up the evening's activity on the sly. Dean turned the car away from town, opened the window to let in the fresh May night, and headed south toward route 309 and Whitney's Motel. Why wait to find out about Jeffrey Byrne's little escapade?
This was Dean's week for second-rate motels, and they weren't getting better. Whitney's was the bottom rung.
A little bell jingled in the empty office as Dean entered and an unshaven man in his sixties took his time sauntering out from behind a curtain, hoisting up his suspenders as he moved behind the desk. "Twenty-eight dollars, plus tax." He said, hardly looking up. He had a personality that would tick off Mother Theresa.
Dean didn't answer, but held out his wallet to show his ID. It took a few moments before the man focused, looked down at it and sighed. "So, you don't want a room."
"No, just some information."
"Look, I don't ask their age. I don't guarantee nothing...."
"I just want to see your registration cards for March fourth. That's all."
The man stared at him with the same glum look. Finally, he turned and reached beneath the counter and handed Dean a box containing hundreds of cards. "If you're looking for John Doe, I think you're in luck. The cards probably ain't in order, but help yourself. You all come back, you hear."