Her Last Summer: A Veronica Lee Thriller

by Melinda Woodhall

  “Ms. Marsh, you aren’t supposed to be out of bed.”

  The nurse was on his feet; his smug indifference had disappeared. Circling the counter, he crossed to Lexi and put a concerned hand on her arm, but she shook him off.

  “I’m leaving,” she insisted, heading toward the elevator. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a little rest won’t fix.”

  Scrambling to join her in the elevator, Frankie pushed past Andy, who was staring after her with a panicked expression.

  “The chief told me to give you a ride home,” Andy called out as he, too, scurried through the doors. “She’ll have my ass if I let you go out there on your own.”

  Lexi folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall as the elevator descended. Frankie noted the sweaty sheen on her skin and watched as she fidgeted with the thin strap of her tank top. He could see she was in even worse shape than she’d been in the first time he’d seen her at the hotel.

  Even from their brief encounter he’d seen that she was on something or coming off of something. And now, after a few days had passed, he could tell she was hurting.

  The poor girl is dope sick and doing a shitty job of hiding it.

  As the elevator door opened, Frankie put a hand on Lexi’s arm and guided her toward the double doors leading outside.

  “My cruiser’s over there.” Andy pointed to a black and white by the curb. “I’ll give you a ride back to your apartment, Ms. Marsh. And we’ll have a patrol car keep watch over you tonight.”

  Opening the back of the cruiser, Andy waited for the girl to climb inside. Before he could close the door, Frank had slipped in, too.

  Lexi stared at Frankie in surprise, then shrugged and slumped against the back door. She rested her head on the thick glass of the windowpane and closed her eyes. Frankie looked over her bright thatch of blonde hair and watched the hospital recede as Andy pulled away from the curb.

  By the time they arrived at Lexi’s apartment, she was snoring softly. An occasional moan or whimper escaped her lips as she slept.

  “Home sweet home,” Frankie called out, nudging her arm with a long, skinny finger. “Time to wake up.”

  Lexi opened an eye and stared at Frankie in confusion. She raised her head to look out the window and caught sight of her apartment just as Andy opened the door. Climbing out of the car, Lexi walked toward her apartment without looking back.

  “We’ll have a patrol car outside,” Andy called in an exasperated voice. “Let us know if you need anything.”

  Frankie followed Lexi to her door and waited as she dug into her pocket for the keys. He looked back as Andy Ford got into his cruiser and figured it might be his last chance to convince Lexi to get help. He had to give it a try.

  “I can see you’re suffering, Lexi. What are you coming off of?”

  Lexi froze with the key halfway in the lock.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she said, not looking up. “What did Chief Ainsley tell you?”

  “Nobody had to tell me nothin’,” Frankie said. “It’s written all over your face. You can’t fool me, little girl.”

  “I’m not a little girl,” Lexi muttered, but she sounded resigned.

  Pushing the key into the lock for her, Frankie turned the deadbolt and pushed the door open. He waited for her to go inside, then followed behind her, but left the door slightly open so she wouldn’t feel trapped.

  “I’m not here to get in your face,” Frankie said, “And I know you need to get some rest. But you don’t have to go through this alone.”

  “Oh yeah?” Lexi smirked, dropping onto her sofa. “You want to help me? Maybe get a little piece while you’re at it?”

  Shaking his head, Frankie tried to keep the anger out of his voice.

  “That’s messed up.” He scratched at his chin and took a deep breath. “I’m not a damn perv. I’m offering to help cause you need a friend. I know firsthand how shitty it is to feel like you’re all alone.”

  Lexi stared up at him with red-rimmed eyes. She suddenly seemed very young and painfully fragile.

  “Molly ran an escort business.” Her voice was almost a whisper; Frankie had to lean in to hear. “She arranged dates with men who would pay. And she gave me pills to make it all…easier. Oxy mainly. But now she’s…gone, and-”

  “And you don’t have any Oxy.”

  Nodding, Lexi raised desperate eyes to his.

  “Can you help me? Can you get me some pills?” She held his gaze. “Just enough to…to let me wean myself off that shit. I can’t go cold turkey…I’ve tried.”

  “I can’t do that,” Frankie said, knowing he had no choice. “The only thing that’s gonna help you is rehab.”

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

  “I know the lady who runs Hope House. She’s a real nice person. If I ask her, I know she’ll help you.”

  Dropping her head into her hands, Lexi shook her head.

  “Just leave,” she muttered. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Listen, Lexi, I know it can be tough, but-”

  “I said get the fuck out,” she yelled, jumping up and stumbling over to open the door. “Just get out of my fucking house.”

  Frankie flinched as the door slammed shut behind him. He thought of the lost look in her eyes and promised himself he’d be back. Lexi Marsh was about to hit rock bottom, and when she did, she’d need someone there to help her pick up the pieces.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Frankie arrived at the Riverview Hotel in a bad mood. He was worried about Lexi and had been unable to get in touch with Maxwell Clay to reschedule their meeting.

  That slimy phony must know I’m on to him.

  Tapping on Clay’s number yet again, Frankie settled himself on a sofa in the hotel’s lobby and prepared to leave another message. He kept the phone to his ear as he surveyed the area, absently listening to the phone ring again and again.

  A shrill echo across the room grabbed Frankie’s attention. A tall man in a well-tailored suit stood by the reception desk. His phone was ringing in unison with the phone Frankie held to his ear. Tapping the screen to disconnect, Frankie dropped the phone in his pocket and moved closer to the man in the suit.

  “You’re all set, Mr. Clay,” the receptionist said. “Enjoy your day.”

  As the man turned around, Frankie stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the door.

  “Why, if it isn’t Maxwell Clay.” Frankie crossed his thin arms over his chest. “Just the man I’ve been looking for.”

  Recoiling from Frankie’s aggressive stance, Clay tried to step around him, but found his way barred by Frankie’s lanky figure.

  “I thought you needed the services of a local PI,” Frankie protested. “But you don’t seem to wanna take my call anymore.”

  Clay stopped and stared at Frankie.

  “You’re Barker and Dawson Investigations?”

  “No, I’m Frankie, and I’d appreciate you telling me why the hell you’re pretending to be an investigator for some big-time insurance company when you aren’t.”

  A flush of anger filled Clay’s thin face.

  “Who do you think you are?” the man sputtered. “I waited over an hour for you this morning and you never showed up. And now you’re attacking me with some ridiculous accusation.”

  “So, you’re telling me you really are an investigator with Sterlington Insurance Group?” Frankie asked, beginning to wonder if Nessa had gotten her information mixed up.

  “I’m telling you to move out of my way, Mr. Dawson. I have an appointment to get to, and I’m already late.”

  Sidestepping Frankie’s size fourteen shoe, Clay once again headed for the door. He paused when he heard Frankie call out.

  “The police are looking into you, Mr. Clay. And if I were you, I’d hope they don’t find out you’ve been going around telling stories.”

  Clay’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look back as he pushed through the big glass door. Frankie stared after hi
m in frustration, not sure what he was going to tell Nessa. She’d asked him to find out what the man’s intent was, and all he’d managed to do was piss him off and warn him away.

  Wondering what he should do next, Frankie stared around the lobby. Portia Hart had mysteriously drowned in this same hotel on Friday night and Molly Blair’s body had been found floating in her hot tub only blocks away on Sunday morning. What was the connection between the two women?

  Lexi’s anguished voice replayed in his mind.

  “I was at the Riverview Hotel Friday night, and I saw the man who attacked me…. he was trying to get to me through Molly. He wanted to shut me up. He killed her and he was gonna kill me next.”

  The Riverview Hotel had to be the link. That’s where the killer had seen Lexi sneaking down the back stairs. It wouldn’t have been rocket science to figure out Lexi was a pro.

  And somehow the killer found out that Molly Blair ran the operation. Once he knew who she was, it would have been easy to track her down and force her to call Lexi.

  So, who the hell knew about Molly and her girls?

  He looked around the lobby, trying to imagine who could have been Molly Blair’s contact at the Riverview. His eyes settled on the reception counter, then strayed to the concierge’s station, which was currently unmanned.

  Stepping to the polished mahogany desk, Frankie banged his fist on the bell and waited. Within seconds a harried man in wired-framed glasses and an ill-fitting jacket scurried over. His nametag identified him as Dennis Robinson, Hotel Manager.

  “Good afternoon. How can I help you, sir?”

  The manager’s eyes didn’t match his welcoming words. They took in Frankie’s crumpled, unshaven appearance with silent disdain.

  “You can start by telling me if you know a woman named Molly Blair,” Frankie replied, leaning on the counter.

  Raising his eyebrows, Dennis regarded Frankie with suspicion.

  “Is she a guest at the hotel?”

  “No, she’s a guest at the morgue,” Frankie replied. “And the man who killed her was seen at this hotel yesterday.”

  The manager gaped at Frankie, his eyes wide behind his glasses, apparently at a loss for words.

  “In fact, the guy who offed her was also seen in here on Friday night. The same night one of Molly’s girls came here to meet up with some loser staying at your hotel.”

  Finally regaining his ability to speak, Dennis inhaled a deep breath and adjusted his jacket.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We run a legitimate, high-end operation here, and if you’re implying otherwise the-”

  “I’m not implying anything.” Frankie leaned further over the counter. “I’m stating a fact. I know that an escort racket has been sending girls to this hotel. I just have to figure out who specifically was involved on your end.”

  Red with outrage, the manager pointed toward the door.

  “I think you’d better leave before I have to call the police.”

  “Go ahead, Denny.” Frankie produced a nasty smile. “Some of my best buddies are cops. They’d love to hear all about your little arrangement with Molly Blair. How much was she giving you to send johns her way and keep your mouth shut?”

  Looking around the lobby with furtive eyes, Dennis came around the counter and lowered his voice.

  “I can’t have you causing a scene in here. Follow me.”

  The manager scurried across the slick marble floor toward the bar. He didn’t look back as Frankie followed him. As they stepped into the dimly lit room, a man behind the bar looked up and frowned.

  “Sorry, Benji,” Dennis said. “I need you to take a break.”

  “But I’m still cleaning up after the lunch shift,” the bartender protested, throwing Frankie an irritated glare.

  “Give us some space, Benji. This shouldn’t take long.”

  Benji shrugged and threw down his dishcloth, then sauntered into the back. Frankie watched his broad shoulders disappear behind the door before turning to Dennis.

  “Who all knows about your seedy little set-up?” Frankie asked. “Is that guy Benji involved, too? How about the lady on the front desk? You got everybody working for you? Maybe I should ask-”

  “All right, fine,” Dennis said, sinking onto a barstool. “I passed on Molly’s details to select guests when they made certain inquiries.”

  Frankie slapped his hand on the bar top, making Dennis jump.

  “Select guests? Are you fucking kidding me?” Frankie issued an angry laugh. “The men who used Molly’s service are anything but select. They’re screwed up, if you ask me.”

  “That may be, but I received no money from Molly or anyone else. I was just providing an added service to my guests,” Dennis insisted. “And I’m the only one at the hotel who knew. I didn’t tell anyone else what was going on.”

  Stepping closer to Dennis, Frankie raised an accusing finger.

  “You told plenty of people. Every man you gave Molly’s name to is a potential suspect in her death.”

  Dennis recoiled at the words.

  “I want a list,” Frankie said.

  “Absolutely not,” Dennis replied, jumping off the stool. “Even if I had a list, which I don’t, I would never be that indiscreet.”

  Frankie shook his head in disgust.

  “Yeah, you’re the model of virtue. But the police are gonna want to know who you talked to.”

  “Then they can speak to me themselves. I’m done here.”

  Before Frankie could react, Dennis stomped to the door and banged through it.

  “You guys done in here?”

  Frankie looked up to see the bartender standing in the doorway.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Looks like Mr. Robinson is pretty pissed,” Benji said, picking up a glass and wiping it with a white dishtowel.

  Shrugging, Frankie moved toward the door. Then he paused and turned back to Benji.

  “Were you working Friday night?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Just wondered if you noticed anything. Anyone hanging around, or anything unusual happen?”

  Benji shook his head.

  “No, it was busy because we had an event in the hotel but nothing interesting happened. Most people got their drinks at the free bar in the event hall. Only a few bothered stopping here on the way out.”

  Frankie nodded, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his chin.

  “You ever see any working girls around here?”

  A guarded look descended over Benji’s face.

  “You mean like...pros? No man, we attract a pretty boring crowd.”

  “Any of these boring old guys ever ask you how to score a date?”

  Benji held up a hand and backed away.

  “I don’t want any trouble, man.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’m new here and I mind my own business.”

  Before Frankie decided if he believed the words, he felt a buzzing in pocket. It was Barker, and he wanted an update. Making his way out of the bar and through the lobby, Frankie scanned the faces in the crowd with suspicious eyes. A killer had been in same building only a day before; he might still be there, waiting and watching.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The nausea was getting worse, as was the shaking. Lexi stood in front of the bathroom sink and splashed cold water on her face. She surveyed herself in the mirror, shocked by the red, swollen eyes and pasty, bruised complexion she saw looking back.

  How did it all go so wrong, so fast?

  Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the cool glass and tried to think. But the trembling in her hands and the pounding in her head wouldn’t go away.

  I’ve got to get some pills. They’ll help me feel better so that I can think. Then I’ll be able to figure out what to do.

  If only Molly were still there. As much as Lexi had hated the coldhearted woman, she had needed her. Molly had been the keeper of the pills, and only she could make all Lexi’s problems fade
away.

  Now that Molly was gone, Lexi was on her own and the possibility of finding a way out of the mess she was in seemed hopeless.

  No pills. No money. No hope for the future.

  Crossing to the front window, Lexi peered out at the patrol car parked along the curb. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure the police officer within was parked there to protect her.

  Maybe he’d been sent to keep an eye on her. To trick her into making a mistake.

  She let the curtain fall back into place and slid to the floor. It had been almost eight hours since she’d taken the last two pills, and she would start to feel the real withdrawal symptoms soon. The nausea, headache, and shaking were just the preview to the main event.

  The last few times she’d tried to kick her habit had ended in racking pain and debilitating anxiety. She’d felt like she was dying, and a part of her had almost wanted to. In the end she had always succumbed to the relief of the pills.

  Now there were no pills.

  Well, they are there. I just can’t get them.

  The thought made Lexi sit up straight. What if the secret stash Molly kept was still safely hidden away?

  She’d seen the concealed panel in Molly’s study only once, but she’d never forgotten the army of pill bottles and stacks of bags within.

  At the time it had seemed like the promised land to Lexi, and she had figured that Molly must be dealing the drugs in addition to supplying them to the girls that worked for her. But that didn’t matter now.

  Molly wouldn’t be selling drugs or setting up dates ever again. And all those pills would just go to waste.

  Unless I go in there and take them. Why not? No one would ever know.

  Once again she looked out the window; the police cruiser was still there. This was one of the times Lexi wished she had an apartment with a patio or back porch.

  But her simple unit had only one way in and one way out, and that was through the front door leading straight out to the cop car.

  Running a frustrated hand through her hair, Lexi looked toward her little bedroom, noting the sunshine streaming through the doorway.