An hour later, I’m getting close to the end of New Hampshire. This is where Quinn must’ve been when the police officer pulled her over for the broken taillight. I keep my eyes peeled for any area she might have pulled her car into. Now that the sun is down, any liquid left on the road is starting to freeze. I have to slow down to keep my wheels from slipping. There’s no way she could’ve gone much further than this in a snowstorm. And that’s when I see it. The tiny faded sign that I almost miss, but just barely catch. Baxter Motel. I don’t know why, but my gut is telling me this is where Quinn
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