by Rose, Sharon
“Oh, that’s okay. My husband, God rest his soul, was an impatient person too. Used to always say, ‘get to the point, woman.’ That’s what he always said.”
“I bet you’d give anything to hear him say that again, wouldn’t you, sweetie?” Flori said, with watery eyes.
“Well,” I said, “if it makes you feel better, Stella, I can say it. ‘Get to the point, woman.’ So, now, what did he say?”
“Oh for goodness sake, Mabel,” Flori said. “Be patient. What did he say, Stella?”
“He said, ‘Yeah, Andrea’s husband. He’s off duty right now. Not sure when his shift starts.’”
I stared at her and then at Flori. Stella was grinning.
Andrea’s husband was a cop!
“Now we’re starting to get someplace. I knew the answer was in that jail. Too bad you couldn’t ask who Hatcher went to see. Oh well, you didn’t happen to find out if Andrea was black or white, did you?”
Stella took a big slug of coffee and swallowed it.
“Honey, I was finished askin’ questions. That’s somethin’ you’re gonna have to find out yourself.”
I nodded. After all, Stella had already been a big help and I didn’t want to discourage her. Not when there was work still to do and only one day in which to do it.
“I was wondering, Stella,” I said. “Do you think we could check out Ben Williams’ house? I’d sure like to see what his wife looks like. It’s hard to believe she could be our Andrea. Also, I was wondering if we could find out if Mr. Hatcher was staying in any of the hotels.”
“Why you want to find that out?”
“I’m wondering if there’s a chance he’s still in town.”
Stella turned to Flori. “You want a refill and another Bismarck?” Flori’s eyes lit up.
They settled in with their calorie, cholesterol and sugar-laden treat, while I had another cup of coffee. I had to admit it was almost as good as mine was.
“I wonder,” I said, thinking aloud, “if that cereal company was legit?”
“Of course, it must have been,” Flori said. “You got a free plane trip and free lodging in a very expensive hotel. And, all that food. Don’t forget about the food. It had to be legitimate.”
“But what about Hatcher and the rest? Do you think they were who they said they were?”
“What do you think?” Stella asked. “You’re the one who met them.”
“Right now, I’m thinking the whole bunch were crooks. What I can’t figure out is why one of them would murder Grace.”
“We don’t know that any of them did. Maybe,” Flori said between mouthfuls, “Grace wasn’t who Grace said she was.”
“That’s for sure. But, murder? And, why dump the body in Parson’s Cove?”
“You don’t have a picture of Grace, do you?” Stella asked as she wiped some jam off her chin.
“I thought I showed one to you.”
“No, you just showed me Cecile. And, Andrea. Remember? I told you I’d never seen her before.”
I searched through my handbag for my envelope of pictures. I was glad I hadn’t given all of them to Reg and Maxymowich.
“Here,” I said and handed her the one and only picture that I’d kept of Grace. It was a good one. She was standing beside Mr. Hatcher at the door to the hotel. Neither of them knew I’d taken the picture.
Stella held it towards the light from the window.
She put it down on the table. “You know,” she said, “this ain’t no picture of Grace. You had a picture of Cecile but this isn’t his wife, Grace. I don’t know who this woman is. Never saw her before in my life.”
Why wasn’t I surprised?
Chapter Twenty One
“I’m not even shocked,” I said, as we made our way back to the car. “This whole thing is just one big charade. It’s like Alice in Wonderland. No one is as they seem.” I turned to Flori. “I might lose my mind over this.”
“No, you won’t, Mabel. I won’t let you. You know very well that it’s time to let Reg know what’s going on. It’s up to him to tell that nice Captain. They can solve it. You don’t have to.” She turned to give me one of her motherly looks. “He should really know that the Grace you thought was Grace, really isn’t the Grace you thought she was.”
I settled into the back with the baby-seat and the wrappers.
“There’s only two things that I still want to do before I phone Reg and listen to him scream at me. And, Flori, I will phone Reg. Let’s go and see if we can find Andrea Williams. I think she’s the link to breaking this case wide open. Grace might’ve told her, her real name. We know her husband’s name is Ben so it should be easy to track her down. Besides, if he’s a cop, we know we can trust her. ”
Stella laughed. “You would think so but who knows?” She backed out without looking and started down the street. “Here in Yellow Rose lots of cops ain’t what they seem either.”
“Well, let’s check her out first. Do we need to get a phone book?”
“No,” Stella said. “Ben and Andrea live on Avenue P ½. Now, you know why he trusted me. He axed where I lived and when I said P ½, he said, ‘Oh, you are neighbors.’ Then, I said, ‘Didn’t they live close to 39th street before?’ and he said, ‘No, I think they’ve always lived at 3602.’ Now what kind of a cop is that dumb, givin’ out personal information like that?”
“Stella,” I said, “you should’ve been a private investigator. You are awesome! I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who could think on their feet like you can.”
In three minutes, we were parked in front of 3602 P ½. Stella’s house was two blocks away.
“So, what do we do now, Mabel?” Flori asked. She was starting to fidget.
It was noon and the sun was right overhead.
3602 was the second house from the corner. It was an older home too, like most in the area. Compared to Cecile’s house, this was a mansion. The yard was neat and there were no shingles dangling from the roof. This was a small brick house, looking sturdy enough to resist any hurricane.
“I suppose,” I said. “I could go up and knock. If she’s the Andrea that I know, I can tell her about Grace. Well, at least, the Grace who was on the trip. The Grace who she obviously thought lived with Cecile. Or, even if she didn’t know about Cecile, she knew where she lived and what her phone number was.”
“Maybe Stella should go with you. You don’t know what you’re getting into. This Andrea person might already know who the real Grace is. She could even be the murderer, Mabel.”
“No, she couldn’t, Flori. She’s the one who phoned Grace while I was in Cecile’s house. Plus, her husband’s a cop. Remember? Don’t worry, I’ll be all right.” I stepped out of the car, not feeling exactly as though I would be all right but putting on a brave face anyway.
There was a little overhang above the door and it provided a bit of shade. The rain was finished and it was hot and humid now. First, I rang the bell and when no one answered, I knocked. Everything was still and silent. It did seem strange that these two women had lived so close to each other and had never met. Something like that would never have happened in Parson’s Cove. In Parson’s Cove, everyone is your neighbor, even if you wish a few of them weren’t.
As I walked back to the car, Flori was frantically waving her hand as if to say, hurry up.
“What’s the matter?” I asked as soon as I shut the door.
“Mabel,” she said. “There was someone there. We could see the curtains moving. Let’s get out of here. It could be the murderer for all we know.”
I’d never given any thought to the murderer lurking about. After all, we were at a cop’s home. Would a policeman harbor a killer? If that were the case, then the whole world was going to hell in a hand basket. I guess it wasn’t on Stella’s mind either because as soon as Flori mentioned it, she stepped on the gas and left a puff of exhaust on the street.
She turned left and we drove up to the beach road. Before I could mention which hotels I thought we should check out,
she pulled in front of a fast food restaurant.
“What are we doing here?”
Flori looked at her watch. “It’s lunchtime, Mabel. We thought we’d grab a quick bite.”
“But, you just finished having your coffee break.”
She nodded. “I know. That was our coffee break. This is our lunch.”
“But I’m still burping up breakfast.”
She turned in the seat to face me. “So, what do you want to do? Do you want to wait in the car?”
“Or,” Stella said, “you can take the car and then come back and pick us up. Do you want to do that?”
“You don’t mind me driving your car?”
“Not at all.” She and Flori waddled into the restaurant and I scooted into the front seat.
It took several minutes to get the seat and mirrors adjusted. Stella said she’d never moved anything since she bought the car twelve years before so everything was a bit stiff.
I really enjoyed working with Flori and Stella but suddenly on my own, I felt like perhaps I could accomplish more. Now, I would only have to worry about myself and I wouldn’t have to stop to eat every hour on the hour. There would be no voice from behind saying, “Don’t go there, Mabel.”
The first thing on my to-do list was check the hotels to see if I could find the elusive Mr. Hatcher. What would happen if I met him face to face? What possible reason could I have for coming to a small, unknown city in Texas? Of course, I could show utter shock at seeing him. I mean, why was he here? I could say I’d come to tell Andrea about Grace’s death and had he heard about it?
I was almost hoping I would meet up with him if only to see the look on his face!
Most of the hotels were on the street across from the water. There were only three newer ones; the others looked sun-bleached and shabby. I decided to start at the farthest western end and work my way east.
The Gulf Motel was first. The office faced the street and there were twelve rooms hidden behind. There were no cars anywhere and the only movement was a housekeeper moving her laundry cart from room 8 to room 9. She stopped in between to take a long drag off her cigarette and knock the ashes off.
It was hard to imagine him staying in a place like this - especially after that grand hotel in Las Vegas. However, since Hatcher was obviously a crook and/or murderer, this might be the sort of place he’d choose.
Before I went into the office, I pulled out my pictures and selected the one of Grace (I had to keep calling her that. I didn’t have any other name) and Mr. Hatcher.
The office was small, crowded with an over-sized couch, chair and giant television and the air was thick with a mixture of garlic and curry. Mostly curry. It stung my eyes. The man behind the desk was short, dark, and greasy looking but extremely friendly.
He stood up the moment the door opened.
“Yes, miss. What can I do for you? You would like a room? We have very good prices. Very clean rooms. How long would you like to stay?”
“No, no, thank you. I don’t want a room.”
“Well, what you want then? I am busy. I do not want to buy anything, thank you very much.”
“No, I’m not selling anything.” I held up the picture. “I’d like to know if you’ve ever seen these two people.” I walked over and laid the picture on the counter. “Either one. Have you ever seen this man or this woman?”
Without looking down, he said, “No, these people have never stayed in my motel.”
“But you didn’t even look.” I held the picture in front of his eyes. “Now, can you say that?”
“I have told you, these people have never stayed in my motel. I do not keep criminals here. This is a place for families, not criminals.”
“I didn’t say these were criminals. I’m trying to locate them because someone has died and I need to notify them. Look at the pictures. Have you ever seen them?”
Finally, his eyes rested on the photo. He squinted as if trying to remember.
“Perhaps, I’ve seen the woman, but not the man. I have never seen this man before.”
“Do you remember where you saw the woman? Does she live around here?”
He shrugged. “I said that maybe I’ve seen this woman. She looks a little familiar, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t know for sure.”
On the way out, I stopped and showed the picture to the housekeeper. She studied it for a moment, took a drag off her cigarette, blew smoke out the side of her mouth, which blew back into my face, and said, “Kind of looks like someone I seen. What’d you say her name was again?”
“She goes by the name of Grace Hobbs.”
She shrugged. “No, I never heard of anyone by that name. She kinda looks like that Williams woman who lives on P ½.”
“Well, kind of but, no, this is Grace Hobbs. You know Andrea Williams?”
She shook her head. “Nah. Not personal like. Somebody pointed her out to me one day, that’s all. I gotta get back to work now.” She took another drag, blew the smoke straight out in my direction, threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. I turned and stomped out of there.
I made less headway with the next three hotels. If any of them did recognize Grace or Mr. Hatcher, they definitely weren’t going to tell me.
By the time, I hit the fifth place, I was ready to call it quits. Besides, it was almost time to pick up the women. I’m sure they would be anxious to leave. After all, no one wants to sit in a fast food restaurant longer than one has to. Well, maybe I shouldn’t speak for Flori and Stella.
This was one of the newer hotels and the last one I was going to visit. There were several cars in the parking lot. There were a couple of black newer models. Could it be Hatcher and the other man?
I knew by the startled look on her face that the young blonde-haired woman behind the desk recognized at least one of them.
“Do you know these people?” I asked.
She nodded. “They were both in here awhile back.”
“Really? Both? When was that?”
“Oh, maybe a week or two ago. Can’t say for sure.” She smiled very sweetly, showing off a row of perfect white teeth. “I can’t remember everyone but I do remember them.” She rolled her eyes and snapped her gum.
“Oh? How come you remember them?”
“What are you, a cop or something?”
I laughed. “Are you kidding? Do I look like one?”
She grinned. “No, you look kind of old to be one but you never know.”
I let that one slide. “Actually, I’m trying to find Mr. Hatcher. The woman beside him in this picture is dead. I thought he should know.”
She grabbed the picture again. “She’s dead? What happened?”
“Well, I might as well tell you - she was murdered.”
Her eyes got big. She blew a large bubble with her gum, sucked it into the back of her throat, and snapped it.
“Get outta here,” she said. “Did that Mr. Hatcher kill her?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe her husband did.”
She scowled. “Her husband?”
“Well, I’m not sure on that one. Someone already told me that she isn’t his wife. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure who anyone is anymore.”
“Who’s her husband?”
“Maybe a man named Cecile Tucker?”
She looked down at the picture again. “Well, I can tell you for sure, that’s not Cecile’s wife.”
“You know Cecile’s wife?”
“Sure and that’s not her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Cecile’s wife? Grace; but that’s not Grace Tucker.” She shrugged. “Unless, Cecile’s got two wives.” She grinned. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot!”
“That would be a hoot, wouldn’t it? Do you know what she looks like?”
“Who?”
“Grace Tucker, I guess. Cecile Tucker’s wife.”
She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Kind of plain. Sort of dirty blond hair. A little over- weight.”
“Pretty much. So, how was this woman killed?”
I pointed to my forehead. “Bullet, right there.”
“Shut up!” She blew another bubble, sucked it in and snapped it.
“Can you tell me now why you remember these two? What did they do?”
“I was going to say that they caused a ruckus but, it was more, you know, one of those silent deadly fights. Started in the restaurant, over there, and worked its way out to the parking lot. I had the feeling they were both trying hard not to attract too much attention.”
“So, how did you notice them then? I mean, if they were arguing quietly, they could’ve been talking, couldn’t they?”
She shook her head and laughed. “Not those two. You should’ve seen the looks. Anyway, we were waiting for one of them to pull out a gun.”
“What happened then?”
“Mr. Sloan, that’s my boss, went out and said he was going to call the cops if they didn’t leave. They jumped in the car and drove away.”
“Really? That’s very interesting. So, Hatcher knew Grace before the Las Vegas trip.” I tried not to show any excitement. “I’ll have to try and remember to call Grace, Andrea, won’t I?” If she thought I’d completely lost my mind, she didn’t show it. I reached across the counter and touched her arm. “What’s your name?” I asked.
She pointed to her nametag. “Cindy.”
“Cindy, can you think of anything else you could tell me about these two?”
She squinted. “You’re sure you’re not a cop?”
“Would it make any difference if I were?”
“Maybe. I drive.”
“That’s illegal in Texas?”
“No license.”
“Hmmm. Well, I suppose that could be a problem. However, not my worry at all. Now, can you think of anything else?”
After several bubbles and snaps, she said, “There is one thing.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you but you have to promise not to tell my boss. If he finds out, I’ll lose my job. You promise you won’t say anything?”
“Cindy, all I’m interested in is finding out who killed Grace Hobbs or Andrea or whatever her name is. Or was.”