Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2

by Denise Grover Swank

  I curled my upper lip in disgust. “I get the impression that a life of crime might be new to him.”

  “Maybe,” Marco said. “We’ve definitely put the fear of God into him.” He turned right at the stop sign, pulling up behind a pickup truck, several car lengths behind the Lexus.

  We followed behind the truck for several miles until Mobley turned into the parking lot with a faded sign for Mountain View Lodge and Spa.

  “Marco…” This was where Lula had met her man of importance.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice tight. “I get the connection.” He drove past and I turned in my seat to watch Mobley’s car head around a two-story motel that looked like it had been built many decades ago. Mobley was driving down a lane that went between the motel and a smaller building that had the word spa in faded letters on the side. I was shocked Bart Drummond owned this dump. Then again, the tavern and the Alpine Inn weren’t exactly nice. Sure, Max was now the owner of record for the former, but Bart had owned them both back in the day.

  “He’s driving around the back.”

  “I’ll pull a U-turn up here,” he said, swerving into the left lane. He drove about twenty feet, waiting for an approaching car to pass us, then jerked the car around in the opposite direction, heading back toward the spa.

  I held on to the door and the dashboard as he made the three-point turn. When we reached the resort, he turned into the parking lot and drove around back.

  “There’s his car,” I said, pointing toward the black Lexus parked in the middle of the lot. The only other cars around were a blue Hyundai and a rusted green minivan. Trees crept up to the back side of the parking lot, making me feel closed in.

  Marco drove to the very back of the lot behind the spa and parked in a dark corner.

  “What do you think he’s doing in there?” I asked, my stomach in knots. “Do you think that’s where he’s keeping Lula and Greta?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Should we contact the sheriff’s department?”

  “And tell them what?” he asked. “That Pete Mobley sped away from the funeral home and pulled into a motel parking lot?”

  When he put it that way… “If they’re in there, we can’t just sit here, Marco.”

  “That’s exactly what we’re gonna do. Sit here and wait to see which room he comes out of and if anyone’s with him.” He shot me a frustrated look. “We can’t go from door to door, Carly.”

  “But what if we freaked him out and he’s going to hurt them?”

  He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’m just as frustrated as you are, Carly. Trust me. But there’s nothing we can do but wait.”

  I pulled my hand free and grabbed a tissue out of my purse.

  “We could be here a while,” he said. “He might be in there for hours or he might be in there for five minutes.”

  I had to do something, and my worried mind turned to the next concern on my list. Max. I was willing to suck up my pride for some peace of mind. I pulled out my cell phone. No service. “I’m worried about Max.”

  “If he’s with Wyatt, he’s fine.”

  “Do you have cell service?”

  He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and checked the screen. “No.”

  Another danger to add to our list. We wouldn’t be able to call for backup even if Marco decided it was a good time to move.

  I shifted in my seat, antsy and frustrated.

  “Carly,” Marco said with a sigh. “Take a deep breath and try to relax.”

  I shot him a dark look.

  “You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he grumbled.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that my imagination is running wild about what’s going on in there.”

  “For all we know, he’s up there meetin’ his new mistress for an afternoon delight. Try gettin’ that out of your head.” He made a face and shuddered.

  It wasn’t a pretty image, but I’d rather think of Mobley’s sex life than worry about Greta and Lula. Bottom line: Marco was right. We had no idea which room Mobley had slipped into, and there was absolutely nothing we could do but wait.

  “So you really sold your car to Bingham?” Marco asked.

  “Yep. For four thousand dollars, which means I have money to buy a new one. Got any suggestions where to go?”

  “Yeah,” he said in a dry tone. “If you’re wantin’ a used one, Wyatt is the best source.”

  “Then how come he never offered to help me find one?” I asked defensively.

  “Hell if I know. Maybe he didn’t think it was a priority. You’ve been driving Hank’s car.”

  “Well, Wyatt’s not an option. Where else can I go?”

  “I’ll make a few calls,” he said, then leaned forward, his body stiffening. “He’s comin’ out.”

  I swung my gaze to the motel and saw a man in a suit walking out of a room at the far end of the bottom level. He shut the door behind him and hurried toward his car. Alone.

  “What are we going to do, Marco?” I asked. “Follow him or stay and see what’s in the room?”

  “Follow him.”

  “I can stay and check the room,” I suggested. “While you follow him.”

  “No freakin’ way,” he said. “We stay together. The other two cars are parked at the opposite end of the lot, so they’re likely not connected to this. We’ll follow Mobley, then come back and check out the room.”

  “How will we get in?”

  “My lock pickin’ kit.”

  “I thought you were a deputy.”

  “Well, sometimes you need a little help.”

  Mobley’s car whipped backward in reverse, and he drove just as erratically getting out of the parking lot as he had coming in.

  Once he was between the buildings, Marco started his pursuit.

  Mobley headed back to town this time. I wondered if he was returning to the funeral home, but he drove into a residential neighborhood and pulled into the driveway of a ranch house.

  Marco parked down the street, and we watched as two children ran out the front door, shouting, “Grandpa!”

  Mobley leaned over and gave them both hugs, then let them tug him into the house.

  I glanced over as Marco pulled out his cell phone and started swiping. Apparently he had service again. “This is Mobley’s address of record. He lives here.”

  “We scared him. It makes sense that he’d run home, but why did he go to the motel first?”

  Marco put the car into drive. “We’re about to find out.”

  He didn’t waste any time driving to the motel, and I was a nervous wreck. Scared of what we’d find in the room. Scared we wouldn’t find anything.

  Marco drove around back and parked a few rooms down from the room Mobley had emerged from.

  “Wait in here,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

  “You’re crazy if you think I’m not coming with you.” I opened the car door and got out.

  He opened the back passenger door and got his crutches out of the back.

  “Carly,” he groaned as he reached me.

  “We’re in this together, Marco. That was our bargain. I didn’t insist on getting out when you told me to stay in the car with you.”

  He gave me a grim look, but he didn’t try to talk me out of coming. I walked next to him as he hobbled over to the motel room. The number 134 was nailed on slightly askew in the middle of the wooden door.

  “Wait over there,” he whispered, gesturing to the side of the door opposite the doorknob. Once I was in position, he knocked and then reached into his jacket and withdrew his gun.

  My heart beat double time.

  When no one answered, he shot me a glance, so I knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  “You ever picked a lock?” Marco asked.

  “Do I look like the kind of person who picks locks?” I asked in disbelief.

  He grinned. “Kind of.”

  I rolled my eyes, but our exchange had helped settle my nerves.
/>   He slipped his gun back into his holster and retrieved two long metal tools from his jacket pocket. Balancing on one foot, he handed me his crutch, then glanced around to make sure no one was watching. He leaned over and inserted the tools into the keyhole, and I realized we were lucky Bart Drummond had been too cheap to upgrade to an electronic locking system. Seconds later, Marco turned the knob and pushed the door open a crack, staying to the side of the door. He quickly slipped the tools back into his pocket.

  Pushing the door open with the tip of his crutch, he called out, “Hello?”

  My heart was in my throat as he pushed the door open wider. He stayed in the doorway, taking in the sight of the room, and I leaned around him so I could get a look.

  The room had two full-size beds and the typical décor of an old motel room, complete with the stained carpet and the framed nature prints. But no people. No sign of anything unusual.

  Marco walked into the room and I followed.

  “I don’t get it,” I said, looking around. Even the beds were made. “What did he do when he was in here? We haven’t been gone long enough for someone to come in and clean the place up.”

  “There’s a pair of gloves in my jacket pocket,” he said. “Put them on and start opening drawers.”

  We checked every drawer, the closet, and even under the beds, but he’d left nothing behind.

  “Look there,” Marco said, pointing his crutch toward the bed. “There’s an indentation.”

  I moved closer and noticed a dent in the bedspread. “It looks like he sat down here.”

  Marco stared at the spot on the bed, just beneath the pillow, then shifted his attention to the nightstand. “I think he was makin’ a phone call.”

  “Why would he come here to make a phone call?”

  “I don’t know,” he said as he leaned over to examine the phone. “But cell service sucks in this area, so maybe he uses it as a burner phone. He can make calls and receive messages without fear they’ll be traced back to him.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “Who would do that?”

  “Got a better explanation?” he asked.

  “No.”

  We were silent for a moment.

  “Let’s go try to rent this room,” Marco said.

  “What?”

  He grinned. “Trust me.”

  The office was on the other side of the parking lot, a long walk for Marco, so we drove over in the SUV and parked closer. As we headed in, he said, “Oh, by the way, we’re deeply in love.”

  “What?”

  He opened the door and said, “Look, honey! The office looks exactly like it did when we were here on our honeymoon.”

  I glanced around the small space. If he’d claimed the wedding had been thirty years ago, I suspect he would have been challenged about our age, not about the unchanging décor.

  “Sweetie, you’re so right,” I gushed.

  “I told you this would be perfect. Exactly like it was five years ago.”

  The woman at the front desk watched us with interest. “Can I help you?”

  “I sure hope so,” Marco said with a cheesy grin as he hopped toward her. “Jessica and I were here on our honeymoon. We’re celebrating our fifth anniversary, so I told her I wanted to come back and relive the magic.”

  “Oh, isn’t that sweet,” she said, beaming. I could tell she was a fan of romance. “And with you on crutches too!”

  Marco leaned against the counter. “The thing is”—he glanced down at her name tag and lowered his voice—“Sarah, Jessica and I are goin’ through a rough patch and we’re tryin’ to recreate our honeymoon, so please tell me that room 134 is available. That’s where we stayed before, and we loved the view of the woods through the window.”

  I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and leaned my temple against him. “It would be awesome if we could have that room. Please tell us it’s available.”

  She frowned. “I’m so sorry, but that room is already taken.”

  “What?” Marco said in dismay. “You didn’t even look. Are you sure?”

  “Unfortunately, very.”

  “Will it be available tomorrow? Or any time this week?” He tilted his head and gave her a pleading look. “We really want to stay there.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “But it’s a long-term rental, and I have no idea when it will be available. The manager rents it out month by month and it’s paid up until after the first of the year.”

  “Is that even possible?” Marco asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Tell me about it. We’ve never done anything like that before, and what’s weirder is the beds never look like they’ve been slept in.”

  “Do the guests make them themselves?” I asked eagerly, like I was excited to get some juicy gossip.

  “No!” she exclaimed. “The room never looks used at all. Not even the toilet paper, but the phone gets messages and someone shows up to listen to ’em. The weirdest thing I’ve ever seen here, and that’s saying something.”

  “Must be some rich bozo,” Marco said. “Who else could afford to rent a room they never use?”

  She leaned her head closer and whispered. “It’s the local funeral home director, only I shouldn’t be tellin’ you that. At first we thought he was bringin’ his mistress here, the one he was screwin’ this summer, but we ain’t seen hide nor hair of her. Just him. And like I said, lately the beds are never used.”

  I shook my head as if disgusted. “I bet she has platinum blonde hair and is barely out of high school.”

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “You’re right on both counts. It’s like you’re psychic.”

  “Nah,” I said, “I just know from experience. Most home-wreckers are blonde, and if he’s a bigwig, he’ll want her in his bed.” I shot Marco a glare, hoping he’d pick up on my cue.

  Marco’s body stiffened and he said in a tight voice, “Jessica. I told you I wasn’t havin’ an affair with the blonde from accountin’. I swear to all that is holy that I have no idea how photos of her naked boobs got on my phone.”

  I turned to him with a glare. “Are you pullin’ that same bullshit again? This second honeymoon is officially over.”

  I spun around and stomped to the door but then waited for him, shooting him an aggravated look as I waited for him to limp out.

  “I hope you two work things out,” Sarah called after us, her voice trailing off at the end.

  We got into the Explorer. Marco waited until he’d pulled out of the parking space and was headed toward the highway before he turned to me in amazement. “That went better than I could have hoped. Not only did we find out that Mobley’s rentin’ the room by the month, but thanks to your quick thinkin’, we got confirmation he brought Lula here this summer.”

  “Sure, we found out that he’s usin’ the room to get messages, but we still don’t know where Lula and Greta are.”

  “But we’re closer to findin’ them than before,” he said.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “Next we stop by the nursing home and try to bluff our way into getting contact information for Charlie.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but we have to make one short stop first.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “The Dollar General.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Greener Pasture’s parking lot was busier today. Turned out that Sunday afternoon was an active visitors’ day. Everyone attended church in their finest, went out to eat for lunch, then came out to the nursing home to do their familial duty.

  The crowded recreation area meant the staff was busy, and I wasn’t sure if that would play in our favor or not. Judging by my last visit, they weren’t overly helpful at the best of times.

  “Where’s the photo?” he asked.

  I led Marco down to the hall of headshots and he frowned as he looked over Charlie’s photo. “We need his employment file.”

  “I suppos
e they won’t just hand it over, will they?” I asked.

  He pursed his lips as he scanned the other photos. “Maybe if I flashed my badge, but I can’t do that since it’s not an official investigation.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “Try anyway.”

  “I might know someone who can help us. Let’s go back out into the rec room and see if I can find her.”

  He gave me a questioning look. “And does this source have anything to do with what’s in the bag?”

  Marco had stayed in the Explorer for my Dollar General errand, and I hadn’t told him what I’d purchased.

  I glanced down at the plastic bag. “Let’s just say I’m not above bribery.”

  “I like how you think.”

  We headed to the recreation room, and I quickly found the two women I’d spoken to the day before. Grumpy Lady was sitting at a table with a middle-aged couple and two teenage girls, looking even grumpier than the day before. Cotton Ball was sitting by herself at a small four-person table, working on a jigsaw puzzle of a covered bridge.

  I headed straight for her.

  She glanced up at me in surprise. Then her gaze drifted to Marco behind me and her eyes lit up with excitement.

  “You came back.”

  “I brought a friend with me,” I said, taking a seat at her table.

  Marco stood next to her and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Marco.”

  “Gladys,” she said as she shook his hand. Turning to me, she said, “He has a firm grip. Is it true what they say about firm hands?” She winked. Subtle insinuation clearly wasn’t her strong suit, because she followed up with, “The firmer the handshake, the stiffer the boner.”

  My cheeks started to flush. “I… uh…”

  Marco laughed as he sat next to me, easing onto the chair and leaning his crutches against the table. “A lady never screws and tells, Gladys.”

  She chuckled. “And who said I was a lady?”

  Marco laughed again and I shot him a grin. He had a nice laugh, rich and warm, and it had a way of making you feel included in a joke but never the butt of it.

  When had I become such an expert on Marco’s laugh?

  “So,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes twinkling. “I hear you’re one of the experts on this place.”