by Nic Saint
He spread his arms. “The evidence seems to bear it out, Tracy.”
“I don’t believe you,” said his daughter, and let her head fall back on her pillow.
“Why else would he be out here meeting Christy? And I’ll bet she brought their baby along with her, too. It’s obvious to me he was still in love with the woman—and he only divorced her so he could marry into our family and into our family fortune.”
But Tracy was shaking her head. “Donny wasn’t like that, Dad. He told me he left her. He told me he loved me. And I believed him.”
And that was the problem with men like Donny, wasn’t it? They were so charming they could make any woman fall for them—especially a vulnerable woman like Tracy. Which is why Wilbur had had the good sense to hire that private detective who’d taken a closer look at Donny’s connections, his finances, criminal record, the works! And when it turned out Donny had booked a room at the Gateway Lodge, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, a week before the wedding, Wilbur had immediately flown out to confront his future son-in-law, convinced he was up to his old tricks again. Only Tracy had insisted she join her father. They hadn’t even had the chance to meet Donny and find out what he was up to before the idiot turned up dead. And now here they were, right in the middle of a big, ugly mess!
He ground his teeth. “And here I figured he was meeting some drug dealer associate, or some other lowlife he owed a bunch of money to. Instead he was meeting his wife!”
“Ex-wife.”
All things considered, they’d had a narrow escape, Wilbur now saw. One week more and that deceitful bastard would have married into his family and made Tracy his wife. Maybe it was all for the best. At least now Donny would never be able to break Tracy’s heart with his shenanigans and his cheating. And if the police made a stink he’d hire the best lawyers he could find and get them both out of here the moment the weather cleared.
He stared out at the blizzard now fully expending its rage outside.
Three more days of weathering this storm. They should be able to manage.
Chapter 14
Samuel Kwiek threw up his hands. “I can’t do this, Vernon!” he was screaming. “I have standards! If you make me do this I quit!”
“You can’t quit,” said Vernon soothingly. “There’s a snowstorm blasting outside, I’ve got thirty guests to feed and I can’t cook! You have lunch to prepare, Sam. So better get to it.”
“There is a dead body in my freezer! Have you not seen the dead body, Vernon? Alsjeblieft zeg!”
Sam Kwiek was of Dutch descent, and from time to time, and especially when he was under a great deal of pressure, traces of his native language shone through.
“It’s fine, Sam. I covered him up with a tarp. And I separated him from the rest of the food.”
“The ‘rest of the food?’ He’s not food, Vernon. He’s a human being!”
“I know, I know. Look, what do you want me to do, huh? I can’t leave him out here. He’ll start to stink up the place. Trust me, the freezer is the best place for a dead body.”
“You could have simply left him outside,” said Sam, his arms folded across his chest and brooding. “Why did you have to dig him out? He was fine where he was. In fact he could have been out there until springtime.”
“I couldn’t leave him out there—are you kidding me? A guest found him. I had to dig him out. If I left him they would have told the cops and they would have me for breakfast. No, this is the only way, Sam. And it’s only for a couple of days. Three days and this will all be over.” Vernon was practically on his knees now. Sam was the only cook he had—the others hadn’t been able to come in because of the storm. If Sam went on strike, they’d have to eat sandwiches for the next three days. And he’d have to comp all the guests all of their stays.
“It’s not just the dead body,” said Sam. “It’s also—I can’t do this all by myself, Vernon. I’m a chef, not a line cook or a dishwasher. I need my people. I need my team!”
“And I’ll get you your team,” said Vernon. “I’ve already asked Vikki, and of course Beau and Alfa, and I’m getting Isobella and Adeola as well. They’ll all be here soon.” He checked his watch. “Soon,” he repeated, more to himself than to the Dutch chef.
Sam looked aghast. “Isobella and Adeola? They’re cleaners! They push a cleaning trolley!”
“I’m sure they can cook as well as clean.”
“And Beau and Alfa. They’re waiters! Not cooks!”
“I don’t care, all right!” Vernon said, suddenly tired of this petty rebellion. “They’re the only people I’ve got and they’re going to have to put their best foot forward for the sake of the motel. Just… do the best you can,” he added, softening when he saw the fierce expression on his chef’s face. He just might throw down his chef’s apron and walk out into the snowstorm never to be seen or heard from again, the crazy bastard. “I need you,” he said therefore. “I can’t do this without you, Sam. Pretty please?”
Sam finally relented, the fierceness bleeding out of his face. “All right,” he said. “I’ll cook for you, Vernon. But only because you’re a good man. And you suffered a great loss when Audrey died. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone but I’ll do this for you. Just this once.”
“Thanks, Sam,” he said, relief making him almost giddy. If there was one thing he’d learned in his thirty years in the hospitality business it was that if you fed your guests well they forgave you pretty much everything. But if you didn’t, you were dead meat. Which reminded him. “Did you see anyone in here this morning, Sam? Someone who wasn’t supposed to be in here?”
Sam thought for a moment. “During breakfast, you mean? It was just me and Natalie this morning. No one else. And then of course Natalie had to go and return home before the storm hit and now I’m all alone in this great, big kitchen having to induct a bunch of rank amateurs into the art of my cuisine.” He was frowning again, and Vernon thought it was probably a good idea to leave him to it. Poking the bear would only enrage him further.
So he left the kitchen to go in search of Sam’s ‘rank amateurs’ and as he did so he thanked his lucky stars that at least he had professional help in the form of Professor Tom Kelly to deal with this murder business that had befallen this fine establishment. He was also reminded of his duties as Professor Tom’s keen sidekick in setting up those all-important interviews. First things first, though. Lunch needed to be served, or else he’d have a regular mutiny on his hands, and he could not allow that to happen, nasty murder or no nasty murder.
Chapter 15
Dee knocked on the door of room 24B, half expecting there to be no answer. Tom had protested when she’d announced this initiative, claiming they needed to tackle Donny’s widow—or ex-widow?—together as she was their most promising suspect. But Dee had argued that here was a woman whose husband had just been killed, and that probably no one had even bothered to tell her, seeing as they were all too busy dealing with the storm.
The door opened a crack and a teary face appeared. “Yes?” a tremulous voice asked.
“Mrs. Plauder? My name is Dee Kelly. I work with hotel management.”
The crack widened and Dee saw that Donny’s wife was thinner and paler than in the pictures she’d seen online. Her straw-colored hair was tied back into a messy bun and she was wearing jogging pants and a letter sweater that was entirely too big for her.
“Have you found Adam?” she asked now, dabbing at her nose with a tissue wad.
“Found Adam? You mean you reported him missing?”
The woman nodded tearfully. “This morning. I only went out to get some air and when I came back he was gone. I told the woman at the front desk and she said she would look into it. So have you? Looked into it?”
“Um… Can I come in?”
The woman opened the door and stepped back. The space was as cramped as Dee’s own motel room, and her eyes immediately flitted to the window, under which Donny’s body had been found. It was obvious Christy hadn’t
noticed all the digging that had gone on before, and Donny’s body being carted away.
“The woman at the front desk. Do you remember her name?”
Christy frowned. “Daisy something? She was a big woman, with a round face.”
That would explain things. Probably this Daisy had done the night shift, and had gone home in the morning without telling Vikki about Christy asking about her husband.
“The thing is, Mrs. Plauder… I’m afraid your husband… met with an accident.”
“An accident? What do you mean?”
“I mean… I’m very sorry but your husband is dead, Mrs. Plauder.”
The woman gulped, then broke into a loud wail. A second wail rose up from a baby cot that had been set up next to the bed. Immediately Dee hurried over, and saw a red-faced baby crying its heart out. It couldn’t have been more than a few months. She picked up the baby and carried it over to its mother, placing it into Christy’s arms.
“I’m so sorry,” said Dee, feeling distinctly out of her depth here.
“I knew it!” Christy wailed, rocking back and forth, hugging her baby. “I knew he wouldn’t just walk out on me. What happened?”
“He… was murdered I’m afraid.”
“Murdered!” Christy’s wailing suddenly stopped and she seemed to focus. Seemingly automatically she put the baby to her chest. “What do you mean, murdered?”
“Stabbed. We found him at the bottom of this window.” Dee pointed to the window in question.
Christy’s eyes snapped to the window, then her jaw dropped. “You know? When I came back from my walk this morning the window was open. It was freezing in here. I just figured the cleaning lady must have left it open. To air out the room, you know. But…”
“It is possible that your husband was murdered right here and then pushed out of the window,” said Dee, nodding.
Christy was frowning as she took all of this in. She swaddled up her baby and replaced it in the cot. “There’s something I need to tell you, Mrs. Kelly.”
“Yes?”
“My name isn’t really Plauder. And Adam’s name wasn’t really Adam.”
“I know who your husband was, Christy,” said Dee gently. “And I also know you were divorced and he was about to get married to Tracy Hall.”
Christy sat down again. She seemed more collected now. Calm. “If my ex-husband was murdered, why am I not talking to the police right now?”
“Because of the storm. They won’t be able to get here until the storm blows over. In the meantime the manager of this motel is conducting a preliminary inquiry and he’s asked me and my husband to assist him. Christy—what was Donny doing at the Gateway Lodge?”
Christy looked off, in the direction of the baby cot. “He called me last week. Said he was in the area and wanted to see the baby. She’s his baby, too, you know, and he said he had every right to see her if he wanted to.”
“And you didn’t object?”
“No, I did not. I know you’ll think this is crazy, but I never stopped loving him. Even after he… shacked up with that rich bitch.”
“So why did you meet out here?”
“Because I didn’t want my parents to know.” She’d tilted up her chin. “They don’t approve of Donny—never did—because of his past. And now, after the divorce, even less, of course.”
“You live with your parents?”
She nodded. “Tough to be a single parent, Mrs. Kelly. My parents took me in but there was no way they were going to allow Donny to come and visit his little girl. So we decided to meet out here, where he could take his time to get to know his baby girl.”
“And you checked in under a false name to…”
“To avoid people finding out, yeah. Not just my family, but the press, too. Donny’s some kind of a celebrity now, you know. Press would have a field day if they knew he was visiting his ex-wife and his baby a week before his big fancy wedding.” She pressed a hand to her face. “He said he was having second thoughts, too. That he’d gotten a little carried away and that he wasn’t sure the big wedding was what he really wanted.”
“You reconciled?”
“Maybe—well, I like to think we were getting there. He’d asked me to give him a second chance. And I told him I would have to think about it.” She looked up. “He humiliated me, you know. In front of the whole world. Made me look like a real fool, didn’t he?”
“I guess he did.”
They were both silent for a moment, then Christy spoke up. “I didn’t do it, if that’s what you think. I didn’t throw my husband—or ex-husband—out of the window.”
“Did anyone see you while you were out?”
“Plenty of people saw me. Not sure they’d remember, though. I’m not from around here, you know. Which is why we chose this place to begin with. Not to be recognized.”
“And the reason Donny didn’t come out with you…”
“Is because his face is a lot more famous than mine.”
Dee nodded. She was inclined to believe Christy. Then again, what did she know? The woman had every reason to kill her husband after what he’d put her through. But did she?
The kitchen was humming along fine, Sam Kwiek focused and fully himself again, giving his assistants hell and creating the kind of lunch he was known for far and wide. Or at least to the fine folks of Middletown, Ohio. It wasn’t just the guests who came for lunch. As the motel was located close to the freeway, they got a lot of tourists, too, and a fair bunch of locals who enjoyed Sam’s cooking. He might not be the kind of chef whose creations would grace the cover of Food & Wine or Taste of Home but he was a fine cook nonetheless.
And he was just cutting up a thick slice of veal when he grasped in vain for his favorite carving knife. He frowned at the knife block, as if it had just dealt him a personal affront. “Where is my carving knife?” he bellowed around the kitchen, his voice easily drowning out the sizzling and broiling and clattering sounds that dominated the soundscape.
Beau came up, his apron a mess of egg yolk and tomato juice. “What knife, chef?”
“My best knife!” he screamed, pointing at the knife block located on top of the gleaming stainless steel table.
“Oh, that knife,” said Beau. “Last time I saw that it was stuck in the chest of the dude that got murdered. You know, Hot Gangster?”
Sam gawked at his stand-in sous-chef. “They used my knife to murder someone?!” The way he said it made it sound like another personal affront. As if he didn’t care that someone had been murdered but at least they shouldn’t have had the gall to use his knife!
“Yeah, I guess so. If you want, it’s still in the dude’s chest. I can take it out if you like.”
“Yes, please do,” said Sam, making an irritable gesture with his right hand while he stirred the béchamel sauce with his left. “I need that knife. It’s my knife,” he added.
“Sure thing, boss,” said Beau. “I’ll just go and get that for you now.”
As Sam watched the ex-waiter and newly appointed cook stalk off towards the freezer, Sam was shaking his head. What was it with people these days? Stealing knives to kill hot gangsters while they knew perfectly well this knife wasn’t theirs to murder with? If they were going to go around and murder people they should very well buy their own knife.
Moments later, Beau returned, still dressed in that horribly filthy apron but sans knife.
“Well? Where’s my knife?” Sam demanded.
Beau looked puzzled. “It’s, um…”
“Oh, for goodness sakes I’ll do it myself!” Sam roared, quick-tempered as always.
“No, chef, wait!” said Beau.
But too late. Sam was already yanking open the freezer door, cutting a straight path to the dead body that was a disgrace to everything the name Kwiek stood for, and dragging back the tarp. He paid scant attention to the man’s appearance. He was used to being around dead bodies, though these usually were the bodies of the animals he carved up and served for breakfast, lunch or di
nner. He cursed inwardly, and turned sharply when Beau joined him.
“Where is my knife!” he demanded once again, starting to feel like a parrot, having to repeat the same thing over and over again.
“Well, that’s the thing, chef,” said Beau. “It was right there—and now it’s not.”
“What do you mean it’s not?!”
“It was sticking out of the dude’s chest. And now it’s not is all I’m saying.”
He directed a furious look at the dead man, as if blaming him personally for absconding with his knife, then he threw his hands in the air and stalked out again.
“Incompetence!” he was shouting. “God how I hate incompetence!”
Chapter 16
Lunch was finally served and the few dozen guests of the Gateway Lodge all trooped into the dining room. After the kind of morning they’d had they were all starving. The Kellys found themselves seated at the same table as the Grives, and Tom was happy for this opportunity to have a little chat with Jim and Eden—this time in a professional capacity.
In spite of the fact that a man had been murdered, he felt that Vernon wasn’t allocating enough time to the investigation and instead was more focused on running his motel. Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, as otherwise they would be starving right now.
“So what’s all this I hear about you being some kind of top sleuth?” asked Jim.
Tom was pleasantly surprised. “Who told you—Vernon?”
“Yes, he did. He cornered me just before lunch. Said some dead body had been found and would I like to take a look at it. So I told him why the hell not?”
“And did you? Take a look at the dead body?” asked Scott, the topic clearly tickling his sense of excitement.
“Sure. In fact me and Eden did. Isn’t that right, dear?”
“Yes, we did,” said Eden, taking a dainty sip from her wine, then taking a bigger gulp.