Murder at Mabel's Motel

by G. A. McKevett

  Stella couldn’t help giggling as she and Manny reentered the building and made their way to the elevator door.

  “If I live another fifty years,” she told him, “I’m gonna laugh when I think of Billy Ray tryin’ to keep that hospital gown of his from flappin’ open and showin’ the world his ‘better’ side.”

  “Yeah, I’ve gotta get me one of those gowns.” He pushed the elevator button, and the door opened instantly. “I hear it’s what the well-dressed gentleman is wearing to formal events this season.”

  “Can’t forget the flip-flops and the sour puss,” she added as they stepped inside, and the doors closed behind them.

  “Hey, accessories make the outfit.”

  They laughed and the warm, companionable sound filled the small space.

  Once again, Stella felt the closeness of him, as she did when sitting in a car with him or when he stood near her.

  It was a comforting feeling that gave her an inexplicable sense of peace. One she had never felt before.

  Not even with her beloved Arthur.

  “Billy Ray Sonner’s seen better days,” she told Manny, in an effort to divert her own thoughts, as the elevator began its short journey to the second floor, where Yolanda was being attended.

  “When you were talking to Yolanda back there behind the garage, I found his knife on the ground, not even five feet from her,” Manny said. “I know it’s his; I’ve seen it before. One of those counterfeit German World War Two knockoffs. It’ll have her hair and blood on it, and with any luck, his fingerprints. I’ve got his clothes that also have her hair and blood all over them.”

  Stella looked down at the cuff of her white blouse—her best Sunday morning church shirt—at the red smears she’d collected when touching the wounded girl. There was more where that came from on the front of the blouse.

  Manny’s uniform shirt had similar stains.

  “I’m sure there will be blood on his clothes,” she said. “If we got some on us just helping her, think how much he got on him.”

  “Exactly. Plus, this time Deacon will testify against him, and I doubt Earle’s going to be stupid enough to serve more time for him.”

  “Considerin’ how richly rewarded he was for his former sacrifice.”

  “That’s going to come back to haunt our boy, you wait and see.”

  The elevator door slid open with a groan, and they stepped out.

  “I hope she’s okay,” Stella said as they hurried down the hall toward room 207, where the nurse practitioner had directed them.

  “That head wound bled badly—as head wounds do,” he observed, “but she’s young and very healthy. It should heal up pretty quick.”

  “She’ll never feel really safe again though,” Stella said. “The body heals a lot faster than a wounded spirit.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true. I’ll try to get her somebody to talk to about it. A counselor or maybe Connie O’Reilly. She’s a smart, sweet woman. Helped out before in these cases.”

  Stella nodded, thinking of the kindhearted pastor’s wife, who had herself suffered abuse, sexual and otherwise, in her youth. While performing her many duties as a minister’s wife, Connie O’Reilly had also been a source of understanding and support to victims of violence and abuse from all around the county.

  If anyone can help Yolanda, it would be Miss Connie, Stella told herself as they approached the door of the young woman’s room and found it closed.

  Manny gave it a gentle rapping. Far different, Stella observed, from his usual building-rattling cop-style pounding.

  It took a while before they heard someone on the other side unlocking it. When it opened, Stella wasn’t surprised to see Raul on the other side.

  If her daughter had been attacked by someone or somebodies who were members of a notoriously ill-behaved gang, she would have kept her child behind a locked door, too. At least until every guilty party was identified and behind bars.

  Raul seemed pleased to see them. As pleased as anyone could be who had suffered what he had in the past few hours.

  “Sheriff. Mrs. Reid. Do come in.”

  He opened the door and stepped back, allowing them to enter.

  Immediately, Stella saw Yolanda, lying on the bed, wrapped in white sheets and blankets. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was deep and even.

  “Is she asleep?” Stella whispered to Raul.

  He nodded. “Just nodded off a few minutes ago. I figure she can use the rest.”

  “Lots of it,” Manny added. “I’m sure you’ll see to that.”

  “I will.” Raul sighed, walked over to his child’s bed, and gazed down at her with a look of love and great concern. “Doc Hynson saw to it that she was well taken care of. Her head’s all sewed up now, and they gave her something to calm her down and something else for the pain.”

  Stella moved closer and peered down at the girl’s scalp. Instead of the ugly, bleeding gash, there was a neat line of stitches.

  “The doctor went to see if he could find out anything else from the emergency room folks,” Raul continued. “They took care of her when she first got here. They said they’d have the results of the tests and head scans and all that stuff pretty soon. Then we’ll know more.”

  “She’s in good hands here,” Stella told him. “They know what they’re doin’, and I don’t have to tell you how loved your girl is in this town. If anybody in this hospital’s gonna get top-notch treatment, it’ll be your Yolanda.”

  Raul’s eyes grew moist and shiny with tears. He started to reply, but he choked on the answer and simply nodded.

  “Also,” Manny said, “you’ll probably be glad to know that those cuts Billy Ray got, hurling himself repeatedly against that broken beer bottle you were holding, are all stitched up, too. He’s not gonna die.”

  “Except maybe of mortification,” Stella mumbled.

  Looking confused, Raul said, “What?”

  “Be sure to look at your newspaper tomorrow morning,” Manny told him. “You might even want to buy an extra copy or two for souvenirs. ”

  They heard the door open, and all three spun around to see who had entered. They were ready to do battle if necessary.

  But it was Dr. Hynson, and he was wearing a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes.

  “She’s going to be okay,” he said, setting their minds at ease right away. “They said she lost a lot of blood, but that transfusion they gave her was enough to top her off.”

  “I’m grateful,” Raul said. “I heard folks were lining up, volunteering to give her blood. Way more than they needed, that is.”

  “That’s true,” Dr. Hynson said. “People around here are like that. Especially for somebody as special as Yolanda.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Raul said, wiping his knuckles across his eyes.

  “The other good news,” continued the doctor, “is that the brain scan was all clear. If she’s doing this well by tomorrow, they might let her go home.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Raul’s entire body seemed to sag with relief. “I’m so grateful.”

  Stella was happy for him. Getting his daughter back home, safe and sound, had to be what he was living for at the moment.

  “It’s a much better outcome than we were fearing,” Dr. Hynson said. “I’m happy for you, Mr. Ortez, and for her.” He nodded toward the sleeping Yolanda.

  “Yes, thank heaven,” Stella said.

  “Thank heaven for Dolly Browning,” Manny added.

  “Who?” Raul looked confused. “You mean, the old woman who lives in that big haunted house with all those cats?”

  Manny smiled. “That very lady.” He lowered his voice. “It’s important that you keep this to yourselves, but Miss Browning was the one who interrupted the attack. She stopped by the station to get her tires aired up and heard what was happening. Seems, when they realized someone else had arrived, they took off running.”

  “They were afraid of Dolly Browning?” Dr. Hynson asked. “What is she,
barely five feet tall? She’s so skinny she’d have to run around in a rainstorm to get wet.”

  “I don’t think they actually saw who it was,” Manny told him. “That’s why I want you to keep this to yourselves. I’m sure some folks know it was her, because there were plenty of eavesdroppers there in the Igloo when she reported it to me. But the fewer people who know that, the better. Billy Ray may be in custody, but I’m still not sure what part Deacon Murray and Earle Campbell might have played in it. They might think she saw more than she did and feel she’s a threat.”

  “I won’t say a word, Sheriff,” Raul promised solemnly. “I wouldn’t want the person who saved my daughter’s life to get hurt because she helped her in her time of need.”

  “I won’t breathe a word of it to anybody either,” Dr. Hynson agreed. “Miss Browning’s a hero and needs all the protection we can give her. We certainly don’t want her punished for her good deed.”

  Manny nodded. “I’ll make sure she’s fully informed of the situation and provided for.”

  “You’re spread pretty thin, Sheriff Gilford,” the doctor said. “It’s a bad time for you to have something as serious as this happening, and you missing one of your deputies.”

  “Unfortunately,” Stella murmured, “it’s the one who actually is sharper than a bowlin’ ball.”

  Manny glanced at his watch. Stella wasn’t wearing hers, but she assumed it must be close to eight o’clock.

  “We should get going,” he told Stella. “I want to go interview Miss Browning. Most older folks go to bed earlier than the rest of us. I don’t want to disturb her once she’s turned in.”

  Stella hesitated. She wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Manny, but Raul looked exhausted. “Mr. Ortez,” she said, “would you like to go home and get a few hours of sleep? I’d be honored to sit here by your girl. I could call you if she wakes up and asks for you.”

  Instantly, Raul shook his head. “No. I wasn’t there for her earlier when she needed me. I’m going to be here for her tonight. And tomorrow night. And for as long as it takes for her to get over this. But I do thank you, Mrs. Reid. You’re a nice lady, always been kind to me and mine. My Maria thought the world of you.”

  “As I did her, sir. Our church choir ain’t been the same without her pretty voice. She could always hit them high notes the rest of us couldn’t knock off the ceilin’ with a long broom handle.”

  He smiled. “That was Maria all right. I miss her singing. She’d even sing when she was milking a cow. The cows enjoyed it, too.” He reached over and patted his girl’s hand. “Yolanda sings just as high and sweet as her mother. About lifts our roof off when she gets going.”

  “I didn’t know that. I’ll have to talk to Mrs. O’Reilly about inviting her to join the church choir.”

  “Then maybe some good can come out of this after all,” Raul said.

  The exchange between them was pleasant but brief.

  A second later, the hospital room door flew open and an excited and distressed Mervin Jervis burst inside.

  He was sweating profusely.

  Of course, Stella thought. He just wouldn’t be Mervin with a dry brow and no sweat stains on his uniform shirt’s armholes.

  Manny sized up the situation in seconds. “Deputy Jervis, where the hell is your prisoner?!”

  “I don’t know, sir!”

  “Do not tell me that, Deputy!”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  In two long strides, Manny was across the room and towering over the squirming deputy, glaring down at him with a look that could have melted cold steel. “Where is Sonner?”

  Mervin looked confused. “But . . . but you just said not to tell—”

  “He got away from you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He was in your custody a whole ten minutes, and you allowed him to escape?”

  “No, sir, I did not! All I ‘allowed’ him to do was take a piss.”

  Jervis glanced over at Stella. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Reid, for the bad word.”

  “A crude word here or there is the least of your problems, Deputy,” she told him.

  He turned back to Manny. “Billy Ray was sayin’ he really, really needed to go bad. Was ‘bustin’ at the seams,’ he said. I didn’t want him to let it go there in my patrol car. So I pulled over to the side of the road there by the ‘Welcome to McGill’ sign and let him out, so’s he could”—he shot a look at Stella—“so he could water a bush. That’s all I allowed him to do! I swear! He took it upon hisself to hightail it into the bushes and disappear in them woods there.”

  “Did you uncuff your prisoner, Deputy?” Manny asked.

  “Of course I did. He’d have piss-poor aim without use of his hands, now wuddin he?”

  Manny stared at him for what seemed like months, then sighed and shook his head. “So, you’re telling me that you removed the cuffs from a dangerous suspect. Then, you allowed a man in a hospital gown and a pair of flip-flops to outrun you. Is that what you’re saying, Deputy?”

  “No, sir. He shed them flip-flops right away. I found ’em in the woods. First one, then the other.”

  Mervin dropped his remorseful look, lifted his chin a notch, and grinned broadly. “I collected them flip-flops for evidence, Sheriff. Put ’em in brown bags, sealed, and signed them, and ever’thing. Them and a piece of that blue nightgown he was wearing that I found hangin’ from a sticker bush. I couldn’t find nothin’ else though. Certainly not him. Them woods at night . . . you know they’re darker than the inside of a cow.”

  “Deputy Jervis . . .”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Get out of my sight before I inflict major harm upon your sorry ass.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mervin didn’t wait to be told again. In only two seconds, his presence in the room was a distant memory. Except for the ever-present smell of his sweat.

  That’s gotta be an all-time personal record for Deputy Merv, Stella thought, unable to recall ever seeing him move so quickly from one place to another. Mervin Jervis was known as more of a sauntering kind of guy than a sprinter.

  Finally, Manny seemed to collect himself and refocus. He looked from Raul to Dr. Hynson, to Stella, and said, “Have any one of you ever considered a career in law enforcement? I hear there’s going to be an opening for a deputy here in McGill very soon. As you just witnessed, the job qualifications are a bar that’s set very low.”

  The doctor and Stella chuckled, but Raul had more serious problems on his mind.

  “So, the man who attacked my daughter is out there, running around loose,” he said.

  Manny nodded. “I’m afraid that’s true. But if you’re concerned for her safety, I assure you that I’ll gladly stay right here with the two of you for the rest of the night.”

  “If you’re in here, guarding us, who’s going to catch that devil, who’s now on the run?” Raul asked, stating the obvious.

  “I’ll stand guard for your daughter,” Dr. Hynson said. “Sheriff, you go catch Sonner. I’ll spend the night with you, Raul, right here, keeping an eye on Yolanda and the door.”

  “A closed door isn’t a lot of protection, Doc,” Manny said.

  Dr. Hynson gave him a grim smile and opened his jacket, revealing a shoulder holster and a SIG Sauer. “I’ve got my new birthday present right here with me, and I know how to use it.”

  “I know you do,” Manny said. “I’ve seen you at the shooting range.”

  “Then you know we’ll be fine,” the doctor assured him. “You go do your duty, and I’ll take care of my special patient . . . and her father, who’s already proved what he can do with a toilet plunger.”

  Manny nodded, satisfied. “I’ll inform the hospital security staff of the situation, and I’ll let you know the minute I’ve got him in custody.”

  “Please do,” Raul said, looking down at his daughter. “When I got to the hospital and saw her, I told her you’d already caught the guy who hurt her. When she wakes up, the last thing I want
to tell her is that he’s still out there.”

  “I understand, Mr. Ortez. I’ll get him. Please try not to worry about Billy Ray. He’s my problem. You just take care of your girl there and trust me to do my job.”

  “I do trust you, Sheriff,” Raul said. “That guy you’ve got working for you . . . ?”

  “I understand.” Manny turned to Stella and took her arm. “Let’s go,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to do before that coffee wears off.”

  Chapter 8

  While Stella’s best friend, Elsie, was 100 percent convinced that the Earth was practically chockablock with restless spirits who hadn’t yet found their way to their eternal resting places, Stella wasn’t convinced.

  She liked to think that Art dropped by sometimes, especially at night, when she was lying there alone in bed, missing him, to whisper, “Good night, Honey Bunny. Sweet dreams.”

  But she wasn’t completely sure it was an actual visitation she was experiencing, or just a case of strong “wishful thinking” on her part. Grief was a powerful emotion, manifesting itself in countless ways.

  However, Stella had decided long ago that, if McGill harbored any friendly ghosts or angry “haints” as Elsie called the nasty ones, they lived in Judge Patterson’s antebellum mansion or Miss Dolly Browning’s house—a once-beautiful but now sadly run-down Victorian-era mansion on a hill overlooking the cemetery.

  No one in town was old enough to remember when the Queen Anne home had been lovely. No doubt, at one time, the robin’s-egg-blue paint had been fresh, not faded and peeling. Back then, every piece of the ornate gingerbread that gave the home a lacy, feminine appearance would have been in place, not hanging loose or lying, rotting, on the ground around it.

  The steeply pitched, complex roof with its gables and turrets would have been missing no tiles or ornamental spindles, and the stained-glass windows would have had no broken panes.

  After the original owner died in the 1930s, the old mansion sat empty for more than a decade, until one summer day in 1945. McGillians now in their eighties and nineties claimed that a most attractive and well-dressed young woman named Dolly Browning had suddenly stepped off a bus on Main Street, carrying nothing more than an oversized alligator suitcase.