Murder on Edwards Bay (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 2)

by Linda L. Dunlap

  “No Ma’am, I sure don’t.” Ernest had a family to raise, and Maude wasn’t about to add to his money problems.

  “Well drive us over there. I need to ask you what you found at the resort. I haven’t taken the time to get over there. Didn’t think I needed to since you were going.”

  The restaurant was about half-filled with late night party goers and sobering drunks, the raucous laughter and hearty appetites overpowering the waitresses’ ability to do their job well. Maude was content to order coffee while Ernest ordered food from the menu. While they waited for his sausage, eggs, and grits, their conversation returned to Edwards Paradise, the resort where the victims had last been alive.

  “What was your impression of the resort and the people you talked to?” Maude asked Ernest. “Tell me what you think.”

  “Well,” he began, taking a sip of his water. Maude could tell he was nervous, being in the hot seat. She sat patiently drinking her coffee, her unfiltereds lying in the lower pocket of the blue blazer she wore. They called to her, but the conviction to not smoke called just as strongly.

  “Well,” Ernest began again, red-faced with embarrassment, “The room them two stayed in was nothing fancy; just a big round bed, a mirror on the ceiling, and a little bathroom about the size of one of them cubicles in an office. Surprised me, I thought it would be all gussied up.

  Anyway, he continued, between bites of sausage delivered by the waitress, There wasn’t hardly any clothes in the room or any kind of suitcases, just a coat in the closest for the lady, and some cufflinks, and a pair of pants for the man. Seemed like there should have been more. No jewelry or money. Nothing. Real strange, almost like someone had picked up the good stuff and just left the other.”

  “Go on Ernest,” Maude said, agreeing him.

  “Well, I talked to the maintenance man, but he didn’t have nothing to say except he was off that day when them two left to go out on the lake. Seemed a little too quick to cover his heels, you know, like he might have been afraid I would wonder what all he did that day.”

  Maude nodded her head, understanding the cop’s instinct for wrong-sounding excuses. She remained quiet, not wanting to break Ernest’s train of thought.

  “There was a man in the office, nice fellow, gave me the keys to get in the room so I didn’t have to ask the cleaning lady. The man told me he had made a statement already to Lyle, the weekend deputy who went over there when the Sheriff sent him, wanting to know what had happened. I asked him if Lyle had been in the victim’s room and he said, ‘No, there hasn’t been anyone in there.’ But I swear there was something fishy about no stuff being there. At least a suitcase should have been in the closet, but there wasn’t one. Anyway, I didn’t call him a liar or nothing, just wrote down what he had to say. He didn’t seem to mind saying it twice, you know, after talking to Lyle first.

  One of them cleaning women was kind of young, about twenty, and she didn’t speak much English, but I asked her if she saw the victims, and she said she did. I asked about their stuff from the room, and she just looked at me like she didn’t understand, but I believe she did and was just ignoring me.

  I pulled the sheets off the bed, and took them to the lab people, figured they might want to check to see if anything went on in there like a party. You know what I mean.”

  He blushed again. Maude found Ernest’s respectful behavior especially endearing considering the work they had done together .

  “Is that all?” she asked quietly, watching Ernest finish off his plate of five pancakes.

  “No ma’am. Not quite. I found out what kind of car they had drove there, and looked around for the keys. They was in her coat pocket. When I found the car, I got a shock because it was one of them low Mercedes convertibles, new model too. That’s another reason it don’t make sense they wouldn’t have more stuff in the room. That car is expensive. Can’t believe he’d drive up in that pretty brown car, and not having nothing nice to wear.”

  “Miss Maude,” he continued, “did them two have billfolds or any kind of identification on them when we found them?”

  Maude shook her head, even though she knew that Aaron Dennis paid for the boat with a credit card, therefore he probably had a wallet somewhere.

  “They must have left all that in the room, but then where is it?” Ernest asked. “It wasn’t in the car, cause I looked it over from top to bottom, even though I wore my gloves.” He said, darting a look at Maude, reassuring her of his ability to follow evidence rules.

  “Don’t frustrate yourself, Ernest. I believe like you, that some of the victim’s personal items were taken from their room, whether it was by the resort staff or by someone else. People traveling an hour and a half from home don’t go without nice clothes, some nice jewelry, plenty of cash or a packet of credit cards.”

  “Whew. I sure thought I might be barking up an empty tree with my suspicions. How we going to find out who took the stuff?”

  “Leave that to me, Ernest. You can go along with Joe and me when we make the big score. Plenty of time, even though it has been almost a week since we found those folks out there,. Ernest, you’ve been good company and mighty nice, coming to my rescue, but I believe I am okay to drive now. It’s been a long time since my last gin, and I feel sober as a judge. If you’ll take me to my truck, I’ll free you up for the rest of the night. We’ll get together tomorrow for a little detecting, that is if Sheriff Jack is alright with that.”

  “Yes ma’am, whatever you say. I’ll be ready to go, if it’s okay with the boss.”

  “First thing I’m going to do in the morning is to get over to see Jack, bring him up to speed on what we’ve found out. It isn’t much, but he needs to know it.”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll be ready.”

  “Ernest, you think it might be possible to not call me Ma’am so much?”

  “Oh yes ma’am, uh, sure.”

  “Thank you Ernest, now take me to my truck.”

  “Yes ma’am. That’s where we’re headed.” Ernest said with a nod.

  The rest of the night was calm and cold; the wind had settled and no longer blew through the tiny openings at the window frames of the motel. Maude turned the heat down-she didn’t care to sleep in a hot room-and lay in the bed. Ernest’s words and the coroner’s report were going through her mind, circling around and she was trying to make sense of it. She couldn’t imagine how a member of the killing crew would have been careless enough to rape the woman and leave the damning evidence within her. It wasn’t a logical move.

  She hoped to get the lab reports and the DNA tests results before the weekend. All depended upon the resources of Sheriff Jack Fuller. It was his county and his influence that would make the difference. She was thinking about that when sleep took her for a four hour hike through dreams of boats, bad men, and bloody hearts in boxes. The last part of the dream jerked her awake sweating; the cold motel room aside. Her pulse was racing as though she had been chased by wild dogs. Sleep was over for the rest of the night and Maude put it down to the gin she had consumed earlier in the evening. She pulled up the one chair in the room, put her feet on the bed and dozed for the rest of the dark night.

  Morning came as it usually did finding Maude Rogers with too little sleep and too many worries. She wondered if in the long run there was a connection with cancer and lack of sleep. Seems there was always some new discovery, maybe she had heard it before.

  The heat of the shower woke all the synapses in her body, stirring the nerves and pointing out to her pain centers that she was indeed alive. Arthritis was especially bad on those cold mornings in the dampness of the coast, the pinging nerves were sending messages all across her knees and hips with a smaller amount attacking the knuckles of her hands. Getting old was a shock. No one had been around to tell her it would be that rough. Grace, Maude’s mother, had died in her fifties, too young to have suffered much from arthritis or other joint pain.

  The running dialogue of her common sense chimed in about that time. Qui
t whining! Doesn’t do any good, get the ibuprofen instead. Anti-inflammatories were the answer to that kind of pain even though it didn’t do much for a gin headache. You’d think I would learn, but I swear, I haven’t gotten any smarter in my golden years.

  Coffee was ready in the small pot on the nightstand, one of two real benefits in the small motel room. The other was a refrigerator to keep the occasional soft drink cold or to freeze a bottle of gin.

  She reminded herself to go to the liquor store before night; a replacement bottle was needed for sustenance. I guess I need to quit that too, along with cutting back on my unfiltereds. Dang. So much to do to get healthy then probably get shot. Make a better looking corpse though.

  The coffee was hot and strong, just like she once liked her men, back in the day when she knew what to do with them. Lately, Bill Page had been reminding her that all work, and no play was a bad motto to live by. He did on occasion tickle her memory of some time they had spent together in Madison after Robert Dawson was captured and locked away. Bill had stayed around awhile, taking care of her, pushing the wheel chair while she healed from some injuries that came from chasing down the madman who loved to kill women. The thought of Bill made her smile and she picked up the phone and sent him a text message before time could change her mind. Thinking of you, Philly boy. Watch your moving parts. Yours, Maude.

  It was odd how the heart had worked within her, waiting until she was nearer sixty than fifty, then getting all soft around the edges for an old boy who seemed to be someone she had known all her life. She hadn’t realized how lonely her life was until Bill. They talked about the miles between them, all the way from Pennsylvania to Texas, and so far, there was no solution for either of them. He had grandchildren close-by and his children were there too. What a conundrum. But my goodness, sometimes she sure missed his face.

  Someone was knocking on Joe’s door, and it was pissing him off, his head ached across the temples and mid-forehead where eyeballs extruded from his brain, or so it felt that morning after a multitude of beers the night before. The smell of coffee wafted under the cheap door into the room, reviving the heap that had once been a good detective.

  “Coming Maude,” he croaked, wrapping the sheet around his naked frame, hopping to the door on the way to the bathroom. “Be right back.”

  Even though there were times Maude seemed to mother him a little too much, there were these emergency ministrations of coffee, and food that made it all worthwhile. After emptying a full bladder and filling the air with the foul odors of old beer and strong urine, Joe washed up and quickly closed the bathroom door behind him, anxious for the hot coffee. When he first went to work alongside Maude, he didn’t understand the benefits of a good cup, but since that time she had made him aware of the necessity for strong, fresh brew. She always remembered to add some milk and sugar for him, an add-on that pleased him immensely.

  “We have a lot to do today, Partner. I told Ernest we would pick him up if the Sheriff okayed it, and head out to that resort. There’s been some goings on there that we have to get straightened out, so drink up, and first we’ll head to that Denny’s for breakfast. Think you can eat?”

  “Maybe” Joe said, finally coming alive, shaking the headache. “Wow, I drank a lot of beer last night. Danced a lot too. You should have stayed. A fellow looked a little like Bill Page came in about midnight. Least he did to me.”

  “I suspect that girl you were dancing with could have looked like Bill Page or his sister to you about that time. How did you get back?”

  “Caught a taxi. Cost an arm and a leg, but I didn’t want anyone I was drinking with to drive me home. So it was worth it. Don’t remember coming in the door, just remember sleeping with my clothes on till about three in the morning when I got up and pulled my boots and jeans off.”

  “Be still my heart.” Maude said. “You must have been a tempting morsel, drooling at the mouth, hair in your eyes, no boots or jeans on, smelling of sour beer. What girl wouldn’t swoon.”

  Joe ducked his head and flushed, agreeing with Maude’s assessment. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “The reason I’m right is I probably described myself except for the part about pulling my boots off. I slept in them. I’m not proud of what I’ve been doing, and need to cut back on my drinking; you know, before I get old.” After saying that, she looked sharply at Joe to see if he was smirking, but to the young man’s credit, he kept a poker face, concentrating on emptying his coffee cup.

  The restaurant was crowded with the early morning trade, people headed to work and mothers getting a light breakfast after getting the kids in school for the day. The tables were mostly full or in need of cleaning but they managed to find one out of the way against the wall. Maude went to the bathroom while Joe stayed at the table, waiting for the waitress to bring coffee and menus.

  The mirror on the wall reflected what she knew was the truth, a tall, thin woman with some age on her, ratty gray curls all over her head, and blue eyes that still worked without glasses. The black slacks she wore were without wrinkles and fit her frame well, meeting at the waist with a long sleeved white button up knit blouse with a collar. A dark blue blazer accented with black pulled it all together along with the black boots that were a part of Maude Rogers’ persona. The boots had low heels, with a walking sole made for active women.

  She wished for a tube of lip color but settled for Chapstick, coating her dry mouth with moisture, ready for the day. Ahead of her there would be people who immediately hated her and some who would feel nothing for the policewoman doing a job.

  Maude believed herself to be plain. Most of the time she would readily have chosen that people see her as professional woman instead of a pretty one, but she did have some vanity.

  “Well, quit dawdling and primping, you have work to do,” she said aloud, startling the woman who was leaving one of the cubicles headed to the wash basin. Maude decided not to explain, but to let the woman decide if the instruction was for her.

  “Dang, Maude,” Joe said when she returned to the table, “I thought I was going to have to come in there and pull you out, maybe you fell in.” The time weary joke worked well for him, kindling the sparkle in his green eyes. “I ordered breakfast for you, a surprise.”

  “Thank you Joe. This place has good breakfasts. Ernest and I came here last night, talked a while, and he ate. Glad to know you were worried about me, willing to save me.”

  Joe smirked, his cheerful attitude returning after a poor start. “Here for you, partner.”

  Maude’s phone pinged, a sound that alerted her to a new text message. She removed it from the inside pocket of her blazer and checked the print out. ‘Thinking of you too Maudie girl. Wish you were here or I was there. All parts working fine. Bill.’ The message brought a smile to her face, a fact that didn’t escape Joe. He knew instinctively the message came from someone she cared about, probably Bill Page. He decided to use the ammunition later, when things got slow.

  “Say Maude, have you been in touch with your niece? Wonder how she’s come along since we left her?”

  “Thought I would call a little later, talk to her mother first. Jean will tell me if Lilly Ann is in trouble. I told her to set up some counseling there at the university, but that girl is a great deal like her aunt. She may dig her heels in and refuse help. I really hope she shares all that with someone, but time will tell. I may have to insist, and I will, but only if necessary.”

  “That would have been a frightening thing. As it is, how are we going to track her abductor? Any ideas?”

  “Not really, Joe. You have any?”

  “I may have. Give me a little time to work on it.”

  “He was trying to get to me, but why? And why take her if he wasn’t going to follow through with some terrible catastrophe for me or for her?”

  “Maude, it’s like I told you earlier. This man knows you or knows of you. Purely personal, didn’t want to prove anything more than the fact that he could throw a giant rock int
o your smoothly running machinery-a power play. I studied many similar responses from criminals during those years I worked the behavioral unit of CID. My guess is that he will be back to give you an even harder lesson. Someone may get hurt, or even die the next time.”

  “I want Lilly Ann out of his reach, but she won’t cooperate. She’s buying a gun and going to the firing range; plans to get a concealed permit, maybe an open carry. Darndest thing. I hope it hasn’t turned her life around for the worse. Of course, owning a gun is not the worst response she could have, as long as there is training that comes with the weapon. I will insist on it; otherwise she’s going to have me breathing down her neck.” Maude’s face was set in determined lines, her need to protect Lilly Ann greater than her desire to be the sweet aunt.

  Ernest was ready and waiting for the two detectives when they drove by the Sheriff’s Office. Ray said there was nothing going on, so he could handle things till Ernest got back or if there was a problem, Sheriff Jack had said to call Lyle to come in and work. Lyle being part-time, he liked being able to work a few more hours every now and then.

  Maude asked them if Spillar was still around or had he tried to leave town. She was assured that the man was at home; his truck was parked in the garage. Ray knew because he had peeked under the door, a very unprofessional thing to do, but it was effective. The garage was old like Spillar’s house, and it had a two inch gap at the bottom when the door was closed.

  Spillar’s wife had been calling in to work for the last three days complaining of a respiratory condition, said the whole family had it, but the deputy knew the people in the house weren’t sick. They ordered pizza late in the evening and had it delivered through the back door.

  “That’s a recipe for tragedy, especially with that little boy in there. We need to get that man in here and make him tell us about the killers, who they are and why they shot him, otherwise, he may not live very long. Ray, you go back over there in the daylight, and try to get Spillar to tell what he knows. Make him understand that he’s putting his family at risk. I doubt if he’ll listen, but the kid deserves our best efforts, so try.”