Heartache Motel: Three Interconnected Mystery Novellas (Henery Press Mystery Novellas)

by Austin, Terri L.

  “Thank you.” I fiddled with the silk poinsettia necklace I had made to accompany my viridian green sweater dress with the gold spangle trim. The red cowboy boots were old, but the color fit the theme. “I have always felt that you should show the joy of the season as much as possible.”

  “I’m feeling all kinds of holiday cheer. This Blue Hawaii room is something else.”

  “Something else, all right.” I closed the door to our kitsched-out room decorated with fake palm trees and a round, platform bed. “I like the mural, though. You’ve got to admire a muralist who has the guts to paint Elvis riding an eight-foot wave on a surfboard. In tiny, white shorts. And judging by the shorts, the artist felt enthused by certain parts of Elvis’s anatomy.”

  “I need to get me some of those Elvis shorts,” said Todd.

  I reflected on the glorious idea of Todd in tiny, white shorts as we sauntered down the graffiti dappled hallway. We stopped at the elevator.

  Cracked gold faux-finish in keeping with the sixties theme or lack of interest in updating. It groaned in protest at the push of the down button. The doors jerked open revealing an avocado green box covered in even more explicit graffiti, lit by a flickering single florescent bulb.

  I hesitated. Our previous trip in this elevator made low-rent carnie rides feel safer. And cleaner.

  “Byron should be in the bar,” Todd said and yanked me into the elevator before the heavy doors slammed shut on my spangled skirt. “Sounds like everything’s ready to go on this end.”

  “We still need to cast our bait,” I reminded him, then mumbled a quick prayer that we’d live through another elevator journey.

  We hurriedly slipped through the Jaws of Death elevator and crossed through the lobby. The placard for the Suspicious Minds Bar advertised several seasonal shows. As Man-Margret mentioned, the Blue Christmas Review had top billing tonight. Todd tapped a happy rhythm against the small of my back as we entered the dimly lit bar, decorated for Christmas circa 1965. More impersonators worked the bar dressed in various shades of Elvis’s gals. At the leather topped bar, a tall, slim man with a thin mustache and the McIntosh thick mane of blond hair sat slumped over a mug of beer.

  “There he is,” said Todd, hurrying toward his cousin. “Byron. Merry Christmas! Man, it’s good to see you. You remember Cherry from high school, right?”

  “We were in drama club together.” Byron offered me a sad smile and pumped my hand. “Hey Cherry, how’re you doing? Still painting pictures? Last time I saw you was my wedding, but near the whole town was there. Look at you in that Christmas getup. You always did dress...interesting.”

  “It’s been a long time,” I said and gave Byron a quick hug.

  “Thanks for meeting me. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “We’re ready to help,” said Todd. “Got it all figured out.”

  “Shh.” Byron cut his eyes toward the bartender. He waited until a waitress passed to make a loud sniffle. “Y’all make a nice couple. Just like me and Tina did.”

  “Byron.” Todd clasped him on the shoulder with dramatic finesse. “What happened?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just so depressing. Tina will be done with me for sure this time.” Byron began to weep on cue. “Today we were supposed to go Christmas shopping for the kids, get a tree, and a frozen turkey to fry for Christmas dinner. Nothing I like better than standing in my driveway and frying a bird on Christmas day.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. At the end of the bar, a huddle of waitresses waiting on drinks had stopped to watch us. “Byron, it can’t be that bad. You’ve got another two weeks until Christmas. Tina will forgive you.”

  He shook his head and his voice grew louder. “My bonus and our savings. Gone. And I just told my boss what happened and now I’ve lost my job. I’m such an idiot.”

  “I think we better have a beer with this story.” I jutted my chin toward a beefy bartender rinsing glasses and pretending not to listen to our conversation.

  Byron glanced at him and nodded at me. “Yeah, I could use another beer.”

  Todd flagged the bartender, a large, balding man in a cowboy hat, bolo tie, and tweed jacket.

  “You the Colonel?” The hat and tie gave him away, but I thought it proper to ask.

  He touched his hat. “Y’all staying at the Heartache?”

  “Honeymoon suite.” Todd grinned and wrapped his arm around my shoulder for a squeeze.

  I offered Todd a sharp glance to cool it with the honeymoon suite stuff and turned my attention to the aging cowboy. I introduced ourselves and added, “Todd’s on his way to Vegas to play in the amateur poker tournament,” emphasizing the words Vegas and amateur.

  “Vegas, huh?” The Colonel glanced down the bar and waved to one of the impersonators. “Priscilla, come down here and meet these folks.”

  He turned back to us. “Priscilla books some acts for us and sometimes performs here. She’s a crowd favorite. I also know her from making the rounds. She’ll want to meet an amateur on his way to Vegas.”

  “You found an Elvis loving drag queen while playing poker? What are the odds?”

  “You’re in Memphis, honey.” The Colonel smiled. “We all love Elvis. And the Heartache is known for their specialized acts. Naturally, Priscilla would hang out here.”

  “Naturally.” I looked sidelong at Byron, but he was too busy staring at Priscilla to notice.

  Priscilla turned from her conversation with a customer to eyeball our group. Her daisy-scattered, towering bouffant nearly scraped the low bar ceiling. Chocolate colored skin gleamed against a white, fringed halter dress that exposed a gravity defying amount of cleavage and killer abs. The skirt ended mid-thigh, exposing Priscilla’s muscular legs before hiding her knee and calf in tall, white Go-Go boots.

  “Lord, I love that dress,” I mouthed in prayer, feeling ashamed by my cobbled Christmas creation. The sweater dress did hug my body, but an ironing board showed better curves.

  Priscilla caught my stare. “Honey, you could never pull this off. You need something to pour into a dress like this.” She strutted toward our end of the bar and fluttered her falsies at Todd. “That’s why I look so heavenly. I fill it in in all the right places.”

  Todd beamed in response.

  “Baby doll.” She tipped a finger under Todd’s chin. “You are all kinds of delicious. What are you doing hanging with these country bumpkins? I book shows when I’m not starring in them. We could have an act that will knock folks dead.”

  “Never mind that,” said the Colonel, “I just wanted you to meet my new guests, not book new acts. Now Cherry, what’s wrong with the cousin? I saw him crying over his beer.”

  Byron looked up from his mug. “I got nailed in a poker scam.”

  “Poker scam?” Priscilla’s lip curled. “Or just a bad beat story?”

  “Just a minute, I want to hear about this,” said the Colonel. “And you should, too, Priscilla. If there’s a scam running around here, it could affect our games.”

  “Man-Margret at the front desk told us you played poker,” I said. “But I’m getting the feeling the law doesn’t look kindly on gambling in Tennessee.”

  “That’s why we like to go across the river, honey,” said the Colonel.

  “Or play in establishments not known to the law.” Priscilla winked.

  “We’ve got the same problem in Georgia,” said Todd.

  “I don’t know about that, Todd.” I turned to his cousin. “Let’s hear it, Byron. Was it a scam or did you just lose your shirt? What happened?”

  THREE

  The Door Card

  “It started when I got a call from a Mr. Smith with FBN Business Solutions. He was interested in speaking to me about setting up a slew of machines in his office.” Byron studied the Colonel. “I sell business supplies. Copiers, faxe
s, phones, computers, fire extinguishers. Whatever your office needs, I can provide. Even coffee makers.”

  “Thanks, but not a lot of need for business machines in a bar,” he said. “Particularly at the Heartache.”

  “Well, I was real excited,” Byron continued. “This would be a big commission and I’ve had a really paltry year. I got the call last week. I drove into Memphis to meet Mr. Smith at FBN. Our meeting was scheduled at eleven-thirty and because of the long drive, I thought I could take the rest of the day to do some Christmas shopping or visit the track, because I wouldn’t be expected back at the office.”

  “Whoa. Or visit the track?” I said.

  Byron’s face lit brighter than Rudolph’s nose. “Like the Colonel said, across the river in Arkansas, there’s a greyhound track with gaming that’s real fun. I don’t get there much because Tina doesn’t approve of gambling.”

  My mouth zipped into a thin line, but I reminded myself this was not the time to judge. Christmas and all.

  “What happened at FBN?” asked Todd.

  “I made the sale,” said Byron. “He wanted near everything. The office was new. He said they were just setting up. Something about a satellite office.”

  “What does FBN do?”

  “Dunno,” said Byron. “I try not to ask too many questions if they’re willing to buy stuff. So we shake hands on the deal and I get out my paperwork when another guy—Bill, I think his name was—sticks his head in Mr. Smith’s office and says, ‘Hey Smith, you want us to cut you in on the action?’ Then he sees me and gets all embarrassed.

  “Well, Mr. Smith gets a little heated with him and says, ‘Don’t bother us with your poker game. I’ve got Byron McIntosh here. I’m sure Byron doesn’t even play poker.’ Bill apologizes and backs out the door. But because I want to make a good impression, I say, ‘Sure, I’ve been known to play a game or two.’ Then I compliment Mr. Smith on how nice it is to see a company that lets their employees kick back on their lunch break.”

  “Dang,” said Todd, “If I knew you could play poker on the job, I would’ve checked into office work a long time ago.”

  “Me and you both, baby,” said Priscilla. “However, the world needs Priscilla in the entertainment industry and not hiding in a stuffy office.”

  “So what happened, Byron?” I said, anxious to hurry the story along.

  “Mr. Smith says he needs to look over the paperwork and leaves me alone. I’m sitting there twiddling my thumbs. Well, actually playing Hold ‘Em on my phone. But nobody’s taken this long to look at the paperwork. Pretty soon, I’ve got to use the john. So I poke my head out in the hall, don’t see anyone, but hear some guys in the next office. I think, I’ll just ask them where the bathroom is and maybe they’ll know what’s taking Mr. Smith so long.”

  “And they were having a little stud in the break room?” Priscilla smirked. At my look, she amended, “Seven Card Stud.”

  “Actually, Omaha Holdem,” said Byron, “which turns out, is not my game.”

  “Obviously, honey,” said Priscilla. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be hearing this story.”

  “Don’t feel bad. Was it hi/lo?” Todd groaned at Byron’s nod.

  “Why’d you go in there?” I asked.

  “Seems that Mr. Smith got an emergency call and had to step out. Forgot about me in the rush. The guys felt bad and invited me to come in and sit in on a hand or two to wait him out. Plus this guy, Joe, needed a stand-in to make a sales call. I know I don’t play like you, Todd, but I know my way around a table good enough. I figured I could make some extra change for Christmas.”

  “How many of them were there?” I asked.

  “Just five guys including Joe and Bill. Everything is going great. The play is easy. These guys don’t seem to know what they’re doing. I’m cleaning house for Joe.”

  Todd groaned again.

  “What?” I said.

  Instead of answering me, Todd said to the Colonel. “We’re going to need a round of shots with that pitcher of beer.”

  “That bad?” I said.

  As Byron nodded, a tear rolled off his cheek and fell into his empty glass.

  “Get on with it Byron,” I said. “What happened?”

  “Joe comes back and I show him the stack of chips I won. He tells me I played so well, he’ll split the chips. The other guys whine to Joe about their bad luck and how good I am.”

  “Byron,” said Todd. “You should know better.”

  “I figured them for a bunch of fish. So when they offered to cut me in, I decided to stay. And when Joe returned, he said Mr. Smith called and wouldn’t be back. After all, I was planning on driving across the river to do the same thing against semi-pros. It seemed like a good opportunity. And they were fun. Nice, too. Until I lost.”

  “How much did they take you for?” asked Todd.

  Byron threw back his shot, polishing it off with a deep slurp of beer. “By the end, I lost my bonus and was in the hole pretty deep. I borrowed against the house, so Joe walked me to a bank and I cashed out my savings to pay them back. I didn’t want to lose my sales deal with Mr. Smith by looking like a bad sport.”

  Todd shook his head.

  “Todd,” exclaimed Byron. “These guys were good. I went from shark to minnow in a few rounds. I couldn’t believe it. Never experienced anything like it.”

  “Hard lesson,” I said. “But how did you lose your job?”

  “I figured with the big commission I’d get from FBN’s sale, I’d eat crow to my boss and he could front me some money to cover Christmas. I didn’t tell Tina, of course. Particularly because I used my wedding ring as collateral for borrowing from the house.”

  “Those guys let you do that?” I slapped my forehead. “Byron! How could you?”

  “I don’t know what happened. I got sucked in. By winning so much, I kept triggering kill hands. The final kill blind is what did me in, but I really thought I had the winning hand.”

  “Kill blind?” I turned to Todd.

  “They were playing on a limit and Byron’s wins probably brought the pot ten times or so over the largest bet. It’s a way of doubling the stakes, so a player winning on dumb luck doesn’t bet on fool hands.” Todd turned to Byron. “But I guess you weren’t given fool hands?”

  “Nope. By the end, we were past double kill blinds. It was like I was on drugs or something. That pile of chips kept growing in front of me. I know I have trouble controlling myself when I get on a roll, but I should have seen it coming.” He shook his head.

  “Gentlemen players would have stopped you,” I said.

  Priscilla guffawed. “It’s money, girl. You think the other players were going to slow down when Byron kept winning?”

  “Was he really winning?” said Todd. “I’ve never seen a game like that.”

  “Pretty boy, have you played with the big dogs in Memphis?”

  “No,” Todd’s beauteous features reddened, “but I think I could tell if someone were cheating. Sounds like collusion to me. Those guys were working together to draw Byron in.”

  “Dang, Byron.” I hugged him. “I’m sure Tina will forgive you if you just fess up.”

  “Tina pledged to honor me rich or poor, but you think she’s going to keep that promise when she finds out what happened?” Byron hung his head. His straight hair swung to hide his face. “Tina’s going to pack up the kids and move back to Georgia before you can kiss Todd a Happy New Year.”

  “And I’m looking forward to that,” said Todd.

  “Never mind us kissing at New Year’s,” I said. “What happened with your boss?”

  “Remember I had to leave the contract with Mr. Smith because he left for an emergency?”

  “Right, an ‘emergency’.” I made quote signs with my fingers.

  “By Thursd
ay, Mr. Smith hadn’t faxed his signature or sent back the contract.”

  I slapped my forehead. I needed to stop doing that before I gave myself a permanent hand print.

  “So I tried calling all day Thursday and Friday. Nothing. I’m panicking now because my boss is asking me for that contract every fifteen minutes. So this week, I drove back to FBN. Nobody’s there. The door is locked, so I went to the management office. The building manager said nobody’s rented that office in a few months. She showed it to some guy earlier in the week, but not a Mr. Smith, Joe, or a Bill. And definitely no FBN. She finally opened the office to prove it hadn’t been rented, and she was right. The office was empty except for the basic office furniture.”

  “I called my boss, reported it, and he fired me.” Byron’s face fell into his hands and his shoulders shook. “Then I called the police anonymously. It’s illegal to gamble in Tennessee, and I was afraid of getting charged. There’s no way to get the money back. And no way to get my wedding ring.”

  “Oh, Byron.” I rubbed his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. You were stupid to play poker, but you were conned by professionals. Nobody could have seen that coming.”

  Todd grunted and swigged his beer.

  “You’re that good, baby?” Priscilla questioned. “You think you could have beaten these guys?”

  Todd shrugged. “Don’t see that it matters whether I could or not. Doesn’t change things for Byron. Now he’s broke, lost his job, his wedding ring and his wife, nearly got arrested, and his kids get no Christmas.”

  Byron broke into a sob, muffled only by his beer mug. Over his head, the Colonel and Priscilla exchanged a long look.

  FOUR

  The Angle

  “How terrible for you, baby.” Priscilla covered Byron’s forearm with a large hand bedecked in glittering cocktail rings. “At Christmas, too.”

  The Colonel lifted his hat and scratched his nonexistent hair. “I’ve got a buddy in Mississippi who told me a similar story. Hit and run games all over the area.”