Texas...Now and Forever. Merline Lovelace

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      “Yes, please. Which is Isadora Mercado’s room?”

      “Three-eighteen. Around the corner, at the end of the hall.”

      “Thank you.”

      Tucking her hands inside her loose sleeves in imitation of the nuns who’d taught her during her Catholic grade-school days, Haley glided around the corner. Halfway down a long corridor that smelled strongly of pine-scented antiseptic, she stumbled to a halt.

      A heavyset man lolled in a chair at the far end of the hall, his nose buried in the paper. Haley guessed instantly he was one of the mob’s goons. He had the disgruntled air of a man who’d rather be out shaking down pimps and two-bit dealers than spending empty hours in a hard, straight-backed chair.