Murder Motel

by Nic Saint

  After extricating himself from Ralph, with the help of Scott, Dee and Maya, Vernon patted the few remaining hairs on his head back into place and got up.

  “Sorry to disturb you this early,” he said. “But is the Professor up?”

  “Dad just got up,” said Maya.

  “He was fast asleep,” said Scott. “Even vampires like Dad need their beauty sleep.”

  The reference was clearly lost on the motel manager, who appeared anxious.

  “I’m up,” said Tom, smoothing down his blue twill pajamas with the pink stripe. He looked like a college professor even when he just got out of bed, Maya thought.

  “There’s been a development, Professor Tom,” said Vernon anxiously. He was glancing left and right down the corridor. “May I come in and apprise you all?”

  “You may,” said Maya, amused by the man’s politeness. No wonder he and Dad got on so well. They both shared that same academic stiffness.

  Vernon entered and quickly closed the door behind him.

  “Alfa came to me this morning,” he said the moment he was in. “She remembered something last night. Something very important. A clue!” he added, waving a scholarly finger. “Isn’t that right, Professor? How a good detective loves a good clue?”

  “Yes, he certainly does,” said Dad. “So what was this clue?”

  Vernon swallowed. “It’s that knife again, Professor. Frankly I couldn’t sleep all night. Kept on thinking about this dreadful murder business. You probably couldn’t sleep either.”

  “Sure,” said Dad after a moment’s hesitation, and Maya smiled behind her hand. In spite of the thrilling events of the previous day, the entire Kelly family had slept like a rose.

  “So Alfa kept thinking about that knife—why would the dog finger her? And then she got it—Christy Cadanet ordered room service yesterday morning. And do you know what she ordered?”

  “I have absolutely no idea,” said Tom.

  “A cheese platter!”

  It was pretty clear to Maya that this should have meant something to them, judging from the feverish look on the manager’s face. Dad blinked a few times, then said, “A cheese platter?”

  “A cheese platter!”

  “Interesting,” said Dad.

  “Right? And since it was Alfa’s turn to handle room service, she was the one who brought up that platter. And because she likes that one knife so much—the one Sam Kwiek made such a hoopla about—she decided to add it to the platter. For cutting,” he explained when everyone stared at him as if he’d said something silly. Even Ralph seemed confused.

  “Oh!” said Dad, understanding finally dawning. “So Alfa handled that knife—the knife went up to Christy’s room with the cheese platter, and was used to murder Donny!”

  “Exactly! So you see, Christy is the one we want. She ordered that platter!”

  “Or maybe Donny did,” said Dee, pointing out a flaw in Vernon’s reasoning.

  “Yes, conceivably so,” the manager conceded. “I’d have to ask Daisy if she remembers who ordered that platter. At any rate, it doesn’t matter. Now we know that knife was in the room—and Christy must have used it!”

  “Unless someone else came in and used the knife on Donny,” said Dad, whose mental faculties were finally making a comeback. Maya knew her dad was never at his best before he’d had his first coffee so this was a breakthrough. “I asked Vikki to ask Daisy if she remembers Christy going for that walk she mentioned. Has she mentioned anything to you?”

  “No, she has not,” said Vernon decidedly, as if Vikki had personally insulted him. “I will ask her right away.” He then gestured to Dad’s funky pajamas. “Will you and your family be joining us for breakfast?”

  “We will,” Dee assured the manager. “As soon as we’re ready we’ll be down.” And as the manager turned to leave, she added, “And Scott has something to tell you, too. Isn’t that right, Scottie?”

  “Christy snuck into the freezer last night,” Maya’s brother said. “Dressed like a cat burglar.”

  “Christy Cadanet?” asked Vernon. “Sneaking into the freezer?”

  “Yup. Middle of the night. I was walking the dog.”

  Vernon stared at him as if he’d grown a second nose, then cut his eyes to Dad. “Looks like the plot is thickening, Professor Tom.”

  “Like molasses,” Dad agreed, which Maya thought was something only a college professor could say with a straight face.

  Chapter 34

  “So what have we got?” asked Dee as she combed her hair. “Christy ordering a cheese platter with the murder weapon—or it could have been Donny who ordered it. At any rate, that would explain how the knife got into that room. Then we have Tracy Hall and her dad who were supposed to meet Donny, presumably because he wanted to introduce them to his ex-wife and his baby and hopefully instigate some kind of reconciliation.”

  “Then we’ve got Marco meeting Donny Towns so they could rip off Mr. Dobosh,” Tom went on. “Though he claims he never saw Donny and thought he’d stood him up.”

  Scott had already gone downstairs to see if breakfast was being served, and Maya had reluctantly agreed to take Ralph for a walk but not before dressing up as if she was about to brave a snowstorm—which she was.

  “So the way I see it,” said Dee, “is that this Marco character could be lying and that he did meet Donny and the two of them had a fight and Marco fatally stabbed Hot Gangster and chucked him out the window while Christy was out for that walk. Or… that Christy, for any number of reasons, got mad at her ex-husband and killed him in a fit of rage.”

  “Possible motives being that she was still upset that Donny left her for another woman and things came to a head when she saw him again. Or that she discovered he wasn’t there to meet her but to hustle Mr. Dobosh out of his baseball card. Or even that he suggested she meet Tracy so they could all hug it out and forgive and forget and—”

  “Instead she stabbed him and killed him.” Dee shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”

  “So our prime suspect is Christy Cadanet?”

  “If I were a cop I’d say she fits the bill,” said Dee.

  She liked Christy, and when she spoke with her had felt for the woman. But the evidence was piling up, and she could have been lying all this time.

  “I wonder why she snuck into that freezer last night. It couldn’t be to find that knife. She knew Vernon had put it in his safe. So why?”

  “Beats me,” said Dee. “Guilt? Heartache? One last kiss?”

  “Eww,” said Tom, putting on his shoes. “Kissing a dead person?”

  “He’s not just a dead person to her, Tom. He’s the man she loved all her life.”

  And that was the tragedy of this case, Dee thought. Christy had loved Donny and he’d betrayed her over and over again. How much can one woman take before she snaps? Even if Christy had killed her ex-husband, a jury would probably take these extenuating circumstances into account. See things from her point of view. Dee knew that she did.

  She then frowned, remembering something. “Have you seen your Christmas sweater, Tom?”

  Sam frowned before him, glowering at no one in particular. It was his standard facial expression. He’d read somewhere that after the age of forty a person’s face more or less gets stuck in its default expression. If you tend to scowl a lot, that’s the way you’ll look when you hit the big four-oh. And if you’re a peppy person, the same logic applies: hence the reason some people look cheery all the time, while others look like they swallowed a bug.

  Sam didn’t care. In fact he thought his face helped him in his work. A chef needed to inspire obedience and respect in his kitchen team. A smiley face doesn’t get the job done.

  He opened his drawer to take out his watch and discovered the tiny object he’d taken off Hot Gangster last night. His scowl deepened when he remembered the dead dodo. If word ever got out that a dead person had been inside that freezer all this time Sam’s name would be mud. He’d forever be associated with the gruesome Gra
nd Guignol scene.

  Then again, it wasn’t as if his career was hitting highlight after highlight. More like rock bottom after even rockier bottom. Being chef at the Gateway Lodge wasn’t exactly the same as being chef at Le Bernardin in New York City or the Robuchon au Dôme in Macau.

  So how had he got here? Being fired from his last position as a sous-chef in Chicago’s Alinea restaurant after he’d cursed out an arrogant customer hadn’t helped. Or before that, slapping a cook across the face in New York’s Eleven Madison Park when the fool dared suggest a slight alteration to Sam’s recipe. Things had quickly gone downhill from there and now here he was, at the bottom of the heap, a ‘chef’ at a roadside motel of all places.

  Still, he had his pride, and if the price to pay for that pride was a career detour, so be it. Motel or no motel, he was still a chef, and he had menus to create and people to feed.

  So he got up from the bed, snatched the trinket from the drawer, and walked out.

  Downstairs, he saw Vernon, who was in the middle of a heated conversation with Vikki, who was holding the phone. He walked up to the manager and handed him the gem.

  “What’s this?” Vernon demanded, casting a furious look at the little bijou.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Sam said, not enjoying being spoken to in this manner, nor being given the evil eye the way Vernon was now doing. “But it’s all yours, Haggis.”

  “I don’t want it and I don’t need it!” Vernon sad hotly, and handed the thing back.

  “I picked it up in the freezer,” Sam explained haughtily. “I think you should have it.”

  “Probably belongs to some woman,” said Vernon, and returned his attention to Vikki, a clear sign that the conversation was at an end and he considered the matter dealt with.

  “Fine!” Sam huffed, and strode off.

  He walked into the kitchen, his personal domain, and saw a young woman or girl stomping her feet in the kitchen door, an icy gust of wind wafting through the usually overheated space. He frowned, wondering what she was doing in his kitchen, and why the door was open. Then he had a bright idea. He swiftly joined her and held out the brooch.

  “Hey. You,” he snapped.

  The young woman turned at the sound of his voice, then her eyes dropped to the piece of jewelry.

  “You’re a woman, aren’t you?” he asked a little brusquely.

  She frowned. “How did you guess?”

  “Here,” he said, pressing the thing into her gloved hand.

  “What’s this?” she asked, studying the gold bauble.

  “I’m not an expert but I would say it is some species of brooch.”

  She looked up, confused. “Why are you giving this to me?”

  “Why not?”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “In the freezer. I took it off that corpse.” Then, feeling he’d spent as much time and attention on the silly little gem as he was prepared to, he nodded curtly and stalked off. Now it was someone else’s problem, and he could finally return to what he did best: cursing out his underlings and creating Middletown’s best meals for the lowest possible price.

  Chapter 35

  Maya stared at the brooch. It was a nice brooch, as brooches went: it was shaped like a butterfly and dotted with tiny diamonds with a cute little ruby forming the butterfly’s eye. She turned it over in her hand until she saw the inscription. ‘D-To loves Pookie.’ Cute.

  She tucked the little trinket into the pocket of her coat and promptly forgot about it.

  Ralph, who was still giddy with excitement, was hopping around the snowdrifts like a young pup. To Maya’s relief, the snowstorm seemed to have lost a great deal of its power overnight. It was still huffing away but it was clear its heart wasn’t in it anymore. And a good thing, too. If she had to be cooped up in this motel for two more days she’d go bananas.

  She glanced ahead of her and all she saw was snow.

  She glanced to the left and the same thing: the world was white.

  Then she turned to the right and saw an eyesore: an overturned black garbage bag.

  For Christ’s sakes. Couldn’t the kitchen staff take out the trash? Didn’t they realize garbage attracts rats and mice and other vermin? At least if they survived this arctic blast.

  A sheet of paper had dropped from the garbage bag and gotten stuck between the wall and the bag. Maya pried it loose with a groan of frustration. God, she hated littering.

  She cast an idle eye at the piece of paper. Bored out of her mind now, and freezing, she blinked when she saw that it was a bill for services rendered. And when she saw the name of the client and read the neatly typed up message from the purveyor of this particular service, her eyes went wide and her jaw went slack.

  Holy cow. This changed everything, didn’t it?

  “So now we know,” said Vernon as he accosted Tom in the lobby.

  “Know what?” asked Tom.

  “Know who ordered that cheese platter!”

  “Oh, right,” said Tom. “And? Who ordered the cheese platter?”

  “It was definitely Donny Towns,” said Vernon, licking his lips. “Daisy remembers very distinctly, even though the name he gave her was Adam Plauder, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Tom. Dee had gone on into the dining room with Jacob, and now Scott was bounding down the stairs, his limbs more or less rolling along, looking like a latex version of himself, and gave his father and the manager a one-fingered salute in passing.

  “So you see what this means, right? It means the knife was there in the room!”

  “What about Christy?” asked Tom. “Did Daisy see her go out yesterday morning?”

  “No, she did not!” cried the manager triumphantly. “She most certainly did not!”

  Tom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. This wasn’t rocket science. It was obvious to him that Christy Cadanet was the killer. So now what? They couldn’t arrest her. They couldn’t lock her up either. All they could do was wait for the police to show up.

  “Have you called this Chief…”

  “Boelk. No. I thought I’d wait to hear what you said. You’re the expert, Professor Tom. You’re the one with all the experience. I defer to your judgment. You know that.”

  Tom winced slightly. Sooner or later he’d have to come clean. Maybe better later. “I think you should call Chief Boelk and explain to him what we know. He’ll have to decide.”

  Vernon smartly tapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll do just that right this instance!”

  And off he went to his office to get the Middletown chief of police on the phone.

  Just then, Christy Cadanet came down the stairs, her baby in her arms. She gave Tom a slight nod, then walked right past him. Tom had the strange sensation that she knew they were onto her. But what could she do? Where could she go? The hotel was on lockdown.

  He followed her into the dining room, his eyes burning holes in the woman’s back. A murderer. An actual murderer. It was a novel experience for sure.

  Once more, he took a seat at the same table with Jim and Eden. The couple looked fresh-faced and rosy, a good night’s sleep having done miracles for their constitution.

  “And? Have you cracked the case, Professor Kelly?” asked Jim with a grin.

  “I might have,” he confirmed. “Now it’s up to the police to make an arrest.”

  Dee had finished placing Jacob in the high chair the motel provided. “Are you sure now?” she asked. “Did Vernon get the confirmation he needed?”

  “Yes, he did,” Tom said, and watched as Christy sat down for breakfast not three tables away from them. “In fact he’s on the horn with the chief of police right now.”

  “This is all very exciting, isn’t it?” asked Eden, who was buttering a piece of toast.

  Breakfast was set out on a buffet table, but Tom wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. The toast or the scrambled eggs or the fried sausages didn’t appeal to him, nor did the orange juice or the different kinds of breakfast cereal, all set up in l
arge containers. The only thing he wanted—the only thing he needed—was a cup of hot, strong black coffee.

  And he’d just gotten up to get himself that cup when Christy suddenly accosted Tracy Hall, who’d entered the dining room with her father. Christy was screaming something at Tracy, and when Tom hurried over to prevent another murder from being perpetrated, he heard her scream, “You did this! You killed him!”

  Chapter 36

  It wasn’t hard for Maya to figure this out. She might not be an ace detective or even an amateur one but this was as simple as A-B-C. So when she arrived in the dining room, a happy Ralph on the leash, and saw Christy Cadanet tear into Tracy, she wasn’t surprised.

  Her dad, who’d positioned himself between the two screaming women, seemed a bad fit as a referee. His face was red and he’d planted his hands on his hips, staring down at the floor. Meanwhile Tracy was screaming, “Do you even listen to yourself? You’re crazy, lady! You killed him and you know it. In fact we all know it—isn’t that right, Professor?”

  Dad, dragging his eyes up from the floor, seemed reluctant to enter into the fray, even though at some point it must have seemed like a good idea. “It’s not my position to…” he began, then segued into, “The police need to look into…” and finally concluded, “Perhaps we better take this…”

  “Outside!” Christy yelled. “You damn right we better take this outside.” She was eyeing Tracy viciously. “You and me—we settle this right now—what do you say?!”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” said Tracy. She was pointing a very pointy nail at the other woman. “You’re going to jail—and your baby is going to social services.”

  That was the wrong thing to say, for Christy now launched herself at her nemesis, claws out, and Tracy screamed as she tried to get away. No such luck, though, for Christy’s aim was true as she took hold of a nice chunk of blond hair and dunked Tracy to the floor.

  But now everyone was in the dining room, and strong hands quickly dragged a kicking and screaming Christy from the billionaire’s daughter and restrained her.