Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  With that, he put one hand on the side of the door and with the other motioned for her to climb aboard. A minute later, the old Ford lurched forward and they moved along several back roads until Lester stopped in front of the J & S Rest Stop.

  “J & S. That’s for Jim and Sally Fleming.” He tooted the horn and a silver-haired lady, a bit heavyset, poked her head out the door where a small, red neon sign announced the “Office.” She waved and stepped onto the stoop as Lester opened the door.

  As Alice got off the bus, she overheard him tell her, “Got another stray, Sally. Name’s Betsy. Told her you’d take real good care of her.” The woman, Sally, responded with a broad smile and nodded. She leaned toward the driver and whispered something Alice couldn’t hear, but she did hear the man answer with a “Thanks.” Sally motioned for him to follow and they walked a little further away. The conversation turned a bit heated, but both turned back to Alice with smiles on their faces.

  “Thank you again, Les. Got a nice room right close to us here.”

  Sally walked over to Alice and extended her hand. “Evenin’. I’m Sally. Let’s get you settled in.”

  Despite what appeared to be a minor argument between Sally and Lester, Alice’s first impression of the woman was of a warm and generous grandmother. She’d never watched much television, only the rare occasion at a friend’s home. “The Andy Griffith Show” was one of her favorites and Sally reminded her of Aunt Bea, down to the tonal inflections in her voice.

  Lester opened the luggage compartment and pulled out Alice’s suitcase. Alice grabbed the handle and hoisted it to her side. She caught the woman sizing her up from head to toe with something of a malicious gleam in her eye. Suddenly, Alice felt self-conscious and noted a tingle of awareness run down her spine. The image of Aunt Bea morphing into Cruella DeVille sizing her up for her pelt jumped into her head. A moment later, Sally’s beatific smile returned and she walked to the office door and leaned in.

  “Hey, Jim, we got a new guest! Come carry her bag to room two.”

  An elderly male voice echoed back. “Coming, honeybuns.”

  Sally sighed and turned back to Alice. “Love him dearly, but the old fart can’t hear worth a dime and sometimes I think he requires more work than the motel.”

  A boney old man came to the door and joined them. He had a full white mane of fine hair and poorly fitting dentures that he flicked back into place every few seconds with his tongue. He was half the size of his wife, but despite the frail demeanor, had a spring in his step that seemed to defy gravity and a man-made smile any dentist would claim to his credit, as long as it stayed in his mouth.

  He walked right up to Alice and gave her a curt bow. “I’m Jim. Welcome to the Rest Stop.” He reached out for her suitcase. “Here, please let me take that.”

  Alice didn’t know what to do. He certainly did not look any more capable of carrying the case than she. Yet, he seemed so eager to please.

  She relinquished her suitcase and watched as he nearly toppled over with it. Sally steadied him and once stable, he carried it toward the first in a row of twelve small motel rooms, each door separated by long narrow front window and each facing a single parking slot in a crumbling asphalt drive. Cars filled all but two slots, which Alice thought to be a good sign. She felt that the good karma was following.

  A light emanated through the window of Room 2 and Alice glanced in as they neared it. The space appeared to be clean and functional. Jim set the suitcase down and opened the door. He ushered Alice inside after turning on a second light. The room held a double bed, nightstand, a cozy cushioned chair, and a small wooden table with two matching chairs. The bathroom seemed an afterthought, appearing retrofitted into a corner of the room, and held a toilet, shower stall, and small pedestal sink. All appeared spotless.

  She turned to find Sally in the doorway. “Okay, here’s the deal, sweetie. Nightly stays are fifteen dollars. We have a weekly rate of a seventy-five dollars, up front, but I don’t clean up after you. You make your own bed and if you need a fresh towel, you can come to the office and trade in the dirty one. I catch you stealing towels or linens; you’re out on your ear even if your week ain’t over.”

  Alice had no idea what motels cost. She did some mental calculations, but math had never been her favorite subject. She had a hundred and fifty dollars of her own, plus the loan from the Umfleets. With the six dollars a day that Lester offered for cleaning the bus, she covered over half the weekly rate. Still, she'd have to find a second job real fast or her savings wouldn't last but a few weeks, maybe four or five if she only ate once or twice a day. That would, of course, depend on what the meals cost at the cafe. Maybe there was a cheaper motel or boarding room she could tolerate. Still, it had to be within walking distance of Lester's bus yard. Maybe she could keep some simple things like bread, peanut butter, and cereal in her room. She'd have to find a grocery nearby. She knew she was tired and answers didn't come quickly. Should she just pay for one night and start looking around tomorrow? Or, take the weekly rate and have more time to investigate housing and transportation?

  Sally noted her hesitation and spoke up. "Look, you ain't gonna find a cheaper place nearby and ... Tell you what, I'll make it sixty dollars a week if you keep the parking area and yard clean. Jim sure ain't doing a grand job of it."

  "Okay, if I can keep some food in the room."

  "Sure, sweetie. Got nothing against that, 'cept no hotplates, no cooking. Don't want the place burning down out a someone's carelessness."

  That cinched it for Alice, now Betsy. Boy, she was going to have to get used to the new name. Betsy, Betsy, Betsy. Weston. She faced away from Sally and rummaged through her purse. She turned back and presented three twenty dollar bills to the proprietress. "Here, one week up front."

  Sally glanced at Betsy's forearm as she extended the money toward her. "What happened to your arm?"

  "Cut it on some broken glass. It's nothing." She wished she could have said that just a few hours earlier. If it had been nothing, she'd have her inheritance and Jimmy’s birth documents. She wouldn't be worrying about her money holding out.

  Sally nodded. "Well, goodnight, sweetie."

  As the woman left the room, Betsy, formerly Alice, surveyed the room more closely and sat on the bed. Seems comfortable enough. Her mind raced ahead to the next day and all the things she had to do, first of which was to call the Umfleets. She double checked her purse and found the slip of paper on which Mary had written their phone number. Unlike her pa, who had no hesitation in sharing news over a party line, Curt had arranged for a private phone line because of his wife’s illness. Few in Frampton Corner shared that luxury.

  Betsy knew the hour was closing in on midnight but having slept most of the day, her exhaustion was more emotional than physical. She had lost her baby, lost her home, and was close to losing everything she needed to prove her baby still lived and to fund her search. She felt overwhelmed and tears welled up in her eyes. Where they came from, she had no idea. She thought she’d cried them all earlier that day.

  Sally had failed to close the door fully and it drifted open a crack as a slight breeze filled the room. Betsy walked over to close it, while perseverating, "I'm Betsy, I’m Betsy, I’m Betsy" so her mind would respond by rote. She glanced outside and noticed the car in front of the room next door had changed. A red Ford pickup had been there minutes ago, but now a white Chevy Impala occupied the space. Farther up the line of rooms, the two previously empty spots each now held a vehicle.

  She drifted away from her door a few steps for a better look at the doors and windows of the rooms. Subtle lighting emerged from around the edges of the curtains. Suddenly the door to one room opened up and a man walked out, slipping on a coat as he crossed the walkway to his car. A young woman, her dark brown hair slightly disheveled and wearing only a light, lacy white chemise, struck a seductive pose in the open doorway. She blew a kiss to the man as he looked back before opening his car door. When she looked up and noticed
Betsy, her affect flattened and she quickly turned back into the room.

  Betsy stood there for a moment, unsure what she had witnessed. Yet, before she could return to her room, the scene recurred at the room two doors down from the first woman, with a different young woman wearing lingerie Betsy had only seen once before in a magazine she had found under her pa's mattress while cleaning the house. She glanced around and caught a stern-faced Sally peering from the office window. Pretty sure she now understood what she’d seen, she rushed back to her room and upon reaching for the doorknob her heart quickened. Why was there a hardened steel hasp fastened to the outside of the door, minus a padlock? Had she just been “sold” into bondage at a brothel?

  Five

  **********

  Emory Albritton repositioned his great-great-grandfather's oak desk in front of the picture window overlooking Cashiers Lake. The small frame building on Canoe Point needed more remodeling than he could afford, but was structurally sound and came with two acres, acreage he hoped to sell for a nice profit in years to come. Cashiers, North Carolina was a sleepy little town in Jackson County in the western tip of the state and just a moonshiner’s midnight run from the South Carolina state line. However, he knew that was about to change. The scenic beauty of the area, which now included the Nantahala National Forest along with man-made lakes like Thorpe Reservoir eight miles north of Cashiers, had attracted visitors for nearly a century.

  Albritton finished unpacking his legal books, stacking them into two secondhand bookcases filling one wall of the office. The next box he opened held his diplomas. He was a Tarheel through and through. A "Carolina blue" blood. Magna Cum Laude from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, followed by a law degree from the same institution. Filled with enthusiasm upon graduating, he had found a position as an Assistant District Attorney for District Court 30A in Macon County. His older brother, Mike, was a deputy sheriff in the adjacent county and they got together frequently for good times. More importantly, the job allowed him to live in his childhood home, now his family’s vacation home, in Highlands while working in Franklin, the county seat, just thirty minutes away. Living rent-free had enabled him to save for this building, his first office, which he had purchased with the “help” of an old elementary school classmate, Dewey Hastings. Dewey certainly knew the area and its people. And they knew him, not always in a positive way. Albritton would be counting on that in the future.

  His year in Franklin had confirmed what he’d believed for years. The area was ripe for development. After a year of prosecuting small-time criminals, the county’s staff attorney position opened up and he jumped the ship of criminal law for the more genteel ways of land management, zoning disputes, and the like. During that two-year stint, he witnessed the growing presence of moneyed businessmen and retirees and positioned himself for the coming land boom. Now, at age twenty-eight, he felt ready to strike out on his own.

  He inspected the glass in each frame for smudges and cleaned them yet again with an ammonia-based cleaner before hanging the diplomas on the wall behind his desk with care. He glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. He hustled to repeat the cleaning and hanging of numerous other framed awards and honors, photos with the governor and various state and federal officials, and finally a large map of Jackson County showing land plats of one hundred acres and more. He took a moment to inspect the map after hanging it and then walked to the picture window. The small lake appeared as smooth obsidian under a starless sky. Yes, the growth occurring now in Lake Toxaway after the town rebuilt the lake would extend west to Cashiers in no time. Land prices around Cashiers had increased ten percent over the past two years and Albritton expected his nearly $75,000 in school debt to be erased within seven years. Less if he lived frugally. Then, after he'd made his fortune, maybe a career in public service.

  He walked over to his desk and picked up one more item to hang. He checked his watch again. Five minutes into the new day. He carried the one-by-two-foot sign to the front door and stepped outside. A bracket extended out from the wall at one side with two chains hanging down. He held up the sign, slipped its two slightly opened eyebolts into their respective chains, and let go. The chains jingled a bit as the sign wobbled and came to rest. He stood on his stoop and looked down Valley Road toward town. To the empty night sky he announced, "It's official, Cashiers. My shingle's hung and I'm open for business. Emory Albritton, Attorney-at-Law."

  Six

  **********

  Betsy rushed into the room, slamming the door closed. She crawled onto the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest, crying, wondering what in the world she had gotten into. House of ill repute. Brothel. Cathouse. Whorehouse. Bordello. The names flooded her mind. How could this day have gotten any worse?

  Then, with a glance at the door, she realized she couldn't leave it closed. The simple click of a padlock would make her a prisoner, force her into a life of prostitution. She’d never be able to sleep knowing it was open. The dilemma seemed a no-win situation, an impasse she was ill prepared to face, even without the emotional drain of the day.

  She jumped up and raced back to the door, afraid that Sally or Jim or some unknown person had already caged her. To her relief, the door opened without resistance. She looked about the room for something she could place between the door and the jamb that would make it impossible to padlock without leaving the door open wide. She found an old wire hanger, which she wrapped around the bottom corner of the door in a way that it stayed in place but stopped the door at the frame. She nestled the door to the frame and moved the table behind it so no one could come in without some effort and a lot of noise. She took hold of the knob and pulled. The table kept it from freely moving. Then she pushed the door and saw with satisfaction that the door would not close tight into the frame. She stepped back and sighed, her pulse and breathing easing toward normal.

  She moved back onto the bed, pulled her knees tight to her chest again and stared at the door, willing it to stay put. In what seemed like no time, her eyelids became heavy. She fought the fatigue by changing position and when that became too comfortable, she moved to one of the straight, hardbacked chairs. For the first time that night, she noticed her breasts aching, but this time she welcomed the discomfort that helped her stay awake.

  After a while, she noted she was leaking and the heaviness of her breasts made sitting in the hard chair more uncomfortable. She walked to the bathroom, picked up one of the stiff, worn towels and returned to the bed. She raised her top, pulling her arms from its sleeves, removed her bra, and wrapped the towel around her chest. Its scratchiness irritated her, but she wanted to minimize the laundry she would have to do. She pulled the top back down and shifted to her left side. The aching and irritation only helped her stay awake for a short time.

  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, wake up! What’s with the door?”

  The voice and rattling at the door started Betsy awake. She sat up and instantly wrapped her left arm around her chest to hold the towel in place and provide support. She blinked a number of times to clear the sleep from her eyes and saw bright daylight outside. Two eyes framed in long, light brown hair peeked through the crack in the doorway.

  “What’s with the door? You might want to get this stuff off it before Sally sees it. She don’t take kindly to anyone messing with the room.”

  “Who’s there?” Betsy asked, her voice cracking from dryness.

  “I’m Jennie, Jennie Mae. Room six.”

  “Room six?”

  “Yeah. I saw you last night and I guess you saw me, too.”

  Room six. The lady in the lingerie. Betsy recalled the image of the man leaving the room, but the room number hadn’t registered. Only now did the position of the room jive with the number as she thought about it.

  “Okay. Yeah, I, uh, remember. Just a minute.”

  She sat up on the edge of the bed and glanced around until she found her bra. She picked it up and walked to the door where she pulled back the table and pulled off her
wire contraption. She opened the door and saw a young woman not much older than her, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, her long chestnut hair combed nicely, her face holding just a touch of makeup. She looked no different from some of Betsy’s high school friends, which made it difficult for Betsy to reconcile what she had seen last night with the person standing before her.

  “C’mon in. I, uh … Give me a minute.” Betsy walked to the bathroom where she removed the towel and redressed. She returned to the room and saw the woman standing in the door. “Hi. I’m, uh, Betsy.”

  “So, what’s with the door?”

  Betsy shook her head. “Did you see the door? There’s a hasp on it. I’m not about to let myself get locked in.”

  Jennie laughed. “Silly. No one’s gonna lock you in. Besides, even if someone put a lock on there, all you have to do is use the window. Look for yourself.” The woman pointed to the window.

  Betsy walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. There was a sliding window with a standard interior catch, plus a small metal rod in the track. Betsy tried to open the window but it wouldn’t budge. She pulled harder and managed to rock it open a bit at the top, but the pane fell back into place.

  “Take the metal bar out, girl. That’s there for your security, not to lock you in.”

  Betsy saw it now. She removed the bar and the window slid open. She’d never seen sliding windows before. She peered out the window and saw no way to lock it from the outside. What a dummy, she thought. Gettin’ all upset over nothing.

  “So, why the lock?”

  “Jim and Sally go to Florida for January. We all do actually, and they had someone breaking in using a duplicate key. So, she put these on to secure the rooms while they’re gone. Cheaper than changing all the locks and keys.”