by Nic Saint
“Don’t tell anyone, will you?” the guy repeated, pleading now. “I can’t lose this job.”
“I’ll think about it,” Scott promised. “Meanwhile I’m taking the knife.”
The man made a throwaway gesture. “Do whatever you want,” he muttered.
“You still have the pictures,” said Scott. “I’ll bet TMZ will pay a bundle for those. Give you a real sweet deal.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get lost, kid. You kinda ruined my day.”
Scott shrugged and walked out, Ralph on his heel, and closed the door behind him.
He then patted the dog and said, “Good job, buddy. You’re an ace detective. A real ace.”
Ralph barked happily, then made for the stairwell. Time for his reward: a nice stroll in a blizzard. Scott laughed as he trotted after the dog. And as they arrived in the lobby, he quickly made a little detour into the manager’s office, stuck his head in the door to see if anyone was home, and when he saw his dad and the manager in there, chatting with some old dude, he gave his father a cheerful little wave.
“Here you go, Dad,” he said, handing the clear plastic baggie to his father. “Found this upstairs. Catch you later.”
And before his father was sufficiently recovered from his shock to say a word, he was off again. Promises to keep and dogs to walk and all that. Ralph definitely deserved it, and frankly Scott could do with some fresh air as well.
And since the front door was locked, he decided to step out through the kitchen entrance, which he’d noticed when he first paid a visit to Hot Gangster in his new lair, and for the next ten minutes or so he froze his tush off in the icy gale, his back plastered against the wall, the blizzard now at full steam, turning the world into a giant swirl of white.
Ralph did his business but even he didn’t seem eager to venture out into this strange new world of ice and cold and quickly came prancing back, eager to return indoors.
And that’s when Scott got another super-duper idea: Ralph had sniffed Hot Gangster for only a few seconds before leading Scott to the knife. What if he let Ralph sniff the knife? He’d probably lead them straight to the killer!
Chapter 20
Maya kicked the machine for good measure. Just what she needed: another crappy vending machine eating her money and refusing to disgorge the Snickers she’d selected.
“Can’t get that thing to work, huh?” a voice spoke behind her.
She glanced back and saw she’d been joined by a strikingly pretty female. She immediately recognized her as Tracy Hall, Hot Gangster’s wannabe wife.
“Yeah,” she said. “I just wanted a Snickers but the machine decided otherwise.”
“Let me handle that thing,” said Tracy, and stepped up like a batter stepping up to the plate. She then gave the vending machine—an aged contraption by the looks of it—a hearty shove with the heel of her hand. When that didn’t work, she grabbed the machine by the neck—or rather the sides—and gave it a vigorous shake.
For a moment a battle raged between woman and machine, its outcome uncertain, but then the machine finally gave up and disgorged the sweet treat, which fell into the bottom tray with a dull clunk.
“Hey!” said Maya, happily surprised. “You did it!”
“Experience,” said Tracy with a smile.
Maya fished the Snickers bar from the tray and peeled back the wrapper. “Want a piece? You’ve earned it.”
“Sure. Why not? My diet’s ruined anyway.” Tracy broke off a piece of the chocolaty treat and popped it into her mouth.
“You’re Tracy, right? I thought I recognized you. You’re, like, famous and stuff.”
A vague smile crossed the young woman’s lips. “I wasn’t before, you know. I mean, before I met Donny. Now? I can’t go anywhere without people recognizing me. It’s driving my dad crazy.”
“Must be tough,” said Maya, commiserating as she took a bite from the candy bar.
“My dad always prided himself on being able to go through life without anyone knowing who he was—except of course for the people who needed to know. Now our faces have been plastered all over the covers of every gossip rag in the country—the world, even.”
“You know, my brother found your boyfriend,” said Maya, and realized how crazy and inconsiderate that sounded even as she said it. “I mean… I’m really sorry for your loss.”
Tracy sobered. “Thanks. I heard a dog found him. Buried under a heap of snow?”
“Yeah, that’s our family dog,” said Maya. “My name is Maya, by the way. Maya Kelly.” Just then, her brother and Ralph came bounding down the stairs for some reason. They didn’t see her, though, and disappeared into the dining room.
Tracy, who’d followed her gaze, asked, “That the dog in question?”
“Yup. That was Ralphie. And my brother Scott. We’re stuck here, just like you guys, I guess.”
“We drove up here just to meet Donny, then got hit by that storm so now we’re just waiting for it to blow over.” She rolled her eyes. “And for the cops to arrive. I’m betting they’ll want to have a word with my dad about Donny. And me, of course.”
Maya wondered if she should say something about her family conducting an impromptu investigation but then decided against it. The fewer people who knew about their involvement the better. “Must be tough on you—losing your fiancé like that, I mean.”
Tracy nodded and stared down at her feet for a moment. “Yeah, pretty tough,” she said softly. “We were getting married next week. And now he’s gone. Just like that. It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you know. I mean, who would do this to him? I just don’t get it.”
“My mom talked to his ex-wife,” said Maya, gauging Tracy’s reaction. “Her and Donny were staying here under a false name. Pretty weird, huh?”
Tracy didn’t look up, instead studying her feet as if she’d never seen them before. She was wearing pink Converse sneakers with yellow flowers. “His ex-wife?”
“Yeah. They booked a room as Adam and Christy Plauder. He was killed in that room, then shoved out of the window and buried under a foot of snow. If our dog hadn’t sniffed him out he might have been down there until the spring.”
Finally, Tracy looked up, and there was a tear in the young woman’s eye. “I didn’t know he was going to be here with his wife. Or ex-wife. We were supposed to meet Donny, you see. Dad and I had been to the opening of a new store, and Donny had flown out here to visit his family, so when he called and said to meet here and travel down to Cincinnati together so we could catch our flight, I just figured he couldn’t wait to see me. And when he didn’t show up when we arrived Dad asked the front desk. They told him he’d booked a room under an assumed name, and that he was staying here with another woman.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Maya. She could only imagine what Tracy must be feeling.
“Me too,” said Tracy, a distinct quiver in her voice. “Dad thinks he must have been cheating on me with his ex-wife but I refuse to believe that. I think the only reason he was here was to see his daughter.” She wiped away a tear. “Did you know he had a little girl? He’d never seen her before.” She took a deep breath. “Do you want to know what I think?”
Maya nodded, a look of concern on her face. She felt for this woman.
“I think he arranged to meet us because he wanted to make peace with his ex-wife, and introduce her to me and my father. And introduce his baby girl, too. I don’t know what he expected. Maybe for all of us to hold hands and sing Kumbaya. Or for me and Christy to fall into each other’s arms and become BFFs for life. Donny was a dreamer. He wanted all of us to get along. He hated to disappoint people and he knew he broke Christy’s heart when he left her. So this was probably his way of atonement or something. At any rate, something happened and now he’s dead, so whatever he was planning didn’t work out.”
“Do you think his ex-wife killed him?”
Tracy arched an eyebrow. “You said he was killed in her room?”
“The room he booked for the two of
them, yes.”
“And where was Christy when this happened?”
“She told my mom she was out—going for a stroll with the baby.”
Tracy scoffed. “In this weather? No mother would take her baby for a stroll in a blizzard.”
“But why would she kill him? He’s still the father of her baby.”
Tracy fixed her with an intense look. “She hated him, Maya. She told him she wished he were dead. And she also told him that if he ever came near her or the baby she’d kill him herself.”
Chapter 21
Dee was walking up and down the hallway, cradling Jacob and gently rocking him against her chest. He’d been crying up a storm right after lunch, but now he’d finally fallen asleep and was quiet. She glanced at his cherubic little face and felt her heart swell with love and affection. Even though Jacob had been adopted, he felt as if he were hers all the way.
When she’d lost the ability to conceive almost two years ago now, she’d tumbled into a deep depression. The operation that had put a stop to her and Tom’s dream of having another baby had been the most devastating thing that ever happened to her. And that dark time would have broken her, too, if Tom hadn’t managed to magically arrange the adoption of this precious baby boy. The arrival of Jacob had dragged her out of her depression and had ushered in a new era for the entire family. An era of hope and love and laughter.
She softly hummed a little tune as she continued to stalk the hallway. Suddenly she noticed a man staring at her. He was a thickset man with a gray buzzcut and a black little Hitler mustache. His brows were so thick and beetling they practically obscured his glittering little eyes. All in all not exactly a portrait of beauty, she thought. And then she recognized him. This was none other than Wilbur Hall, founder of the Hallmart empire.
“Sweet baby,” he growled, looking as if he were one of those people who liked to eat babies for breakfast.
“He’s sweet now,” said Dee. “But you should have seen him half an hour ago. He was trying to break the world record for the longest temper tantrum in history.”
The man was standing in the doorway of what Dee assumed was his room. He was leaning against the frame, his hand fiddling with something in his pocket. He followed her eyes and took out the object he was fiddling with. It turned out to be a vape.
Square in shape and pink in color, it didn’t look like it belonged to him. He must have realized this, for he said, a little sheepishly, “My daughter bought it for me. Normally I smoke cigars, but she’s been trying to whip me into shape for the wedding and she thought this little doohickey would be better for my health. And it doesn’t stink up everything I come into contact with. Her words,” he muttered mutely. Then, as if realizing his social faux-pas, he quickly added, “Oh, excuse me. You must think I’m the world’s most uncouth ass. My name is Wilbur Hall. My daughter is Tracy. You may have heard of her. She was set to get married next week to a fellow called—”
“Hot Gangster. Yes, I’ve heard about the wedding,” said Dee.
“Wedding’s off,” grunted the tycoon, staring off. “Groom got himself killed. Terrible business. Just terrible.”
“My husband’s actually investigating your future son-in-law’s death,” said Dee. “And I’m helping him.”
“Is that a fact?” asked the man, visibly wondering who on earth would want to volunteer for a fool scheme like that. “He a cop?”
“He’s a professor at the University of Washington up in Seattle, where we live,” she explained. She wasn’t going to tell this little man her husband was a criminologist but if he inferred from her words that he was she wasn’t going to set the record straight either.
“Smart guy, huh? I like that. People who get the job done. Use their little gray cells. So what has he found? Who did it? Who does he reckon killed Donny?”
“He’s still in the preliminary stages of the investigation,” said Dee, remembering a phrase she’d once heard on one of those cop shows she liked so much. It could have been Law & Order or it could have been NCIS, she wasn’t sure. It sounded pretty neat, though, and Wilbur Hall seemed to agree, for he nodded emphatically.
“You need to have those preliminary stages, Mrs…”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Dee. Dee Kelly. And my husband is Tom. In fact he was hoping to have a little chat with you and your daughter if that’s all right.”
“Well, we’re chatting now, aren’t we, Mrs. Kelly?” said the man gruffly. “What do you want to know?”
She hoisted the baby a little higher. He was getting heavy. “You and Donny were meeting up here at the motel? Is that right?”
“That’s right. He told us to meet him here. No idea why. Seemed like a good idea at the time. He having gone home to visit his family—they’re from around these parts.”
“Middletown?”
“Springfield. And since we were down in Hamilton—opening a new hypermarket out there—we decided to fly out of Cincinnati together. Middletown seemed as good a place as any to meet up. Though why he picked this crummy little motel beats me. Or at least it did until I heard he booked a room with his ex-wife—woman by the name of Christy Cadanet.”
“You think he wanted you and your daughter to meet his ex-wife?”
“Her and the baby,” he grumbled. “Just before he left his wife he fathered a baby with the woman.” He was scowling now. “Never liked the fellow. No need to deny it. No big secret. Didn’t like him and didn’t like Tracy getting married to him. Gangster.”
“So who do you think killed him, Mr. Hall?”
“Ex-wife, of course. Must have hated him for dragging her all the way out here to meet his new wife and his new father-in-law. Hated him for leaving her with a newborn.”
“I talked to Christy, actually.”
“You did, did you?” he grunted, his scowl deepening as if he didn’t approve.
“She doesn’t strike me as a murderess.”
“Very few people do, Mrs. Kelly.” He drew himself up. “Let me give you a little trade secret. I’ve interviewed plenty of people over the years. Managers. CEOs. CFOs. What have you. They all come across as the most competent people you’ll ever hope to meet, fulfilling your wildest expectations and then some. A company president’s dream.” His glowered. “The moment they’re on the job, and think you’re not looking, they let their guard down and that’s when the real person comes out. And nine times out of ten it’s ugly, Mrs. Kelly. Real ugly. Embezzlement, fraud, sexual harassment, power trips, incompetence, wastefulness, you name it, I’ve seen it. So forgive me if I don’t believe Christy Cadanet’s sob stories.”
“She says she was out when her ex-husband was killed.”
“Check her alibi. Check the time frame. Do your job,” Hall snarled, emphasizing his words by pointing a stubby finger at the palm of his hand. “She’s lying, now you catch her.”
And with these words, and clearly feeling he’d said enough, he slammed the door.
Dee stared at the closed door for a moment, wondering if he was right. Had Christy been lying to her? It wasn’t hard to find out. Someone must have seen her leave the motel. And someone must have seen her return. Only problem was: they didn’t know when her husband was murdered, exactly, so there was no way to properly establish Christy’s alibi.
It was at times like these, Dee thought as she returned to her room, that it would have been nice to have a real cop present, who actually knew what the heck he was doing.
Chapter 22
Tom was leaning over the desk, watching on as Vernon and Vikki went through the register, one name at a time.
“He must be in here,” Vernon said, mopping his brow with his sleeve as he nervously tapped the keys. “He probably got here around the same time his associate arrived.”
“But how do we know it’s him, Mr. Haggis?” asked Vikki, her pale face a testament to her distress. “Over thirty guests are currently staying at the motel. It could be any one of them.”
“I’ll know him when I see him,” Ver
non assured her. “These gangsters all look alike. His picture probably resembles a mug shot.”
One by one, he brought up the names of the motel guests, while Vikki dug out the copies of the picture IDs the motel required its guests to produce when checking in.
“Did Donny really have a driver’s license in the name of Adam Plauder?” Tom asked now.
Vikki nodded. “Probably a fake. He also had a credit card in the same name, though. No idea how that works.”
“He paid cash, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you check the credit card to see if it was valid?”
She winced a little. “Wasn’t me that checked him in, Professor. That was Daisy.”
“If that credit card was a fake, like the ID, it should have been refused.”
“Here,” said Vernon. “Check this one. Prescott Nutt. If that’s not a fake name I’ll eat my hat.”
“You don’t have a hat, Mr. Haggis,” said Vikki with a giggle as she dug into the pile of IDs, mostly driver’s licenses. “Oh, here he is. Prescott Nutt.” She frowned at the document. “He doesn’t look like a criminal. Professor? What do you think?”
Tom took the piece of paper and studied the face of a bespectacled man with a long face and the kind of dazed look one often sees on these official government documents. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “He could be a criminal or he could be the governor of the State of Ohio.”
Vikki giggled again. “That’s not the governor, Professor. Our governor is a former Fox News reporter, remember?”
“Aren’t they all?” Tom said, still frowning at the picture of Mr. Nutt. Then he had an idea. “Let’s ask Christy. She must have met this guy, right? Or at least seen him before, if he’s a known associate of Donny’s.” And then he made an executive decision. He gathered up the pile of documents. “I’m off to see Christy,” he said, and started for the staircase.