A faint rustling from the room behind the motel’s check-in counter jerked Jake’s attention to the present. The bell over the door had jingled when he’d entered the office, and he’d been standing there a good five minutes. Why hadn’t anyone come out to see what he wanted?
“Anybody there?” Jake yelled, resting his hand on his weapon.
Thankfully, Missouri allowed concealed carry. He obtained a permit at the same time he’d applied for his PI license. Now he was glad he had.
Was there something hinky going down? Jake called out again, and when there was no answer, he eased behind the counter. Flattening himself against the wall, he took a quick look into the room.
A fluffy white cat was perched on a newspaper spread across the lap of an elderly man sleeping on a beat-up recliner. The feline glared at Jake, then jumped to the floor and disappeared.
Jake smiled at his own paranoia and cleared his throat until the man woke up. The guy stared at Jake, then used the lever to lower the footrest and stood.
Smoothing a hand over the few strands of hair on his head, the guy said, “Can I help you?”
“Sorry to disturb you.” Jake stayed by the room’s entrance, not wanting to invade the man’s living quarters. “Are you the manager?”
“Owner,” the guy grunted, walked toward Jake, and held out his hand. “Dill Dorland.”
“Jake Del Vecchio.” Jake shook hands. “I’m a private investigator.”
“What can I do you for?” Dill’s faded brown eyes held a spark of interest.
“I’m looking for this woman.” Jake gave the guy Gabriella’s picture. “Is she a guest here?”
“Let me get my specs.” Dill rummaged in the recliner’s side pocket until he found a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, then perched them on his snub nose and peered at the snapshot. “She’s not staying here.” He thrust the print back at Jake. “Why do you want her?”
“Could she be staying with another guest?” Jake asked, ignoring the old man’s question. “May I show the photo to your housekeeping staff?”
“You already did.” Dill grinned, revealing several missing teeth. “I’m the chief cook and bottle washer. Only other person around here is my wife.”
“Could I speak to her?” Jake wondered if the guy was drawing the conversation out because he was cantankerous or just bored.
“Tootie!” Dill yelled toward the door opposite from where Jake stood. Then when a woman the size and shape of a gun safe emerged, the old man said, “This is the boss.”
“Ma’am.” Jake tipped his Stetson, then held out the picture. “Have you seen this person?”
Tootie studied the photo, pursed her lips, and wrinkled her brow. “She kinda looks like that lady that was here a while back.” She turned to her husband. “The one I told you about that was real put out that we didn’t have room service and claimed she was allergic to foam pillows.”
“I don’t recall anything about room service and pillows.” Dill shrugged at Jake. “The ball and chain here complains that I never listen to her. Or something like that . . .”
“Fine.” Tootie whacked her husband’s arm and said, “The woman with the all the fancy jewelry. You remember her?” Dill nodded, and Tootie said to Jake, “I’m pretty sure this is that lady.”
Dill crowded next to his wife, scrutinized the snapshot, and said, “Iffen it’s the one I’m thinking you mean, her hair was a different color and a lot shorter.”
“Idjit!” Tootie thumped her husband’s shoulder again, and this time the smack was so hard he stumbled back and had to grab a nearby table to steady himself. “She was wearing a wig.”
“When was she here?” Jake broke in before Dill’s wife did the guy bodily harm.
“It was right around the time there was all that talk about aliens.” Tootie nodded to herself. “I remember she saw the headline in the county paper when she was checking in and cracked up.”
“That’s right.” Dill scratched his crotch. “You made me carry her suitcase for her, and she got a call while we were walking to her room. She was hooting and hollering with whoever was on the line about the Martians invading Shadow Bend. She was saying that if her husband was in town, he’d jump on the ET bandwagon and waste even more of their money hunting creatures from outer space.”
“How long did she stay here?” Jake asked, taking out his notebook.
“Just the one night.” Tootie folded her arms. “And she left a mess.”
“A mess how?” Jake raised a brow. Considering the clientele this place had to attract, Gabriella must have really destroyed the room.
“Well,” Tootie tittered. “We have our share of guests who come here for some loving, but this lady must have really liked it rough.”
“Could she have been assaulted? Lots of women don’t report sexual abuse.” Jake frowned. “Did you see her when she checked out?”
“Yep. I did.” Dill rolled his eyes. “She called for me to put her suitcase in her car. She didn’t have a mark on her and seemed in a real good mood.” He winked. “If you know what I mean.”
“What kind of car did she have?” Jake asked, flipping through his notes to check what Gabriella drove.
“A snazzy red sports car.” Dill sucked in his cheeks. “I don’t know the make or model.”
Jake noted that Gabriella drove a red Lexus RC 350 coupe.
“Did you see the person who joined her in her room?” Jake asked.
Both Tootie and Dill shook their heads.
“Did you notice any strange vehicles in your parking lot that day?”
“There was that bright green one.” Dill dug in his ear as if searching for buried treasure. “Did you see it, Tootie?”
“Yep. I sure did. It looked like a metallic lima bean.” The woman shot an impatient glare at Jake. “And no, I don’t know what kind of car it was.”
After a few more questions, Jake thanked the couple for their time and walked out to his truck. He sat in the cab for a few minutes, digesting what he’d learned and deciding on his next move. Did Elliot know his wife was cheating on him? Had Gabriella run away with her lover or been killed by her husband for having an affair?
Either way, he needed to talk to his client before he did anything else.
It had been twilight when Jake arrived at the motel, but had gotten darker while he’d been inside. As he drove toward Country Club Estates, a plastic sack blew across the blacktop, and he noticed that the wind was picking up and it was drizzling again. October’s weather was turning out to be as unpredictable as a rabid squirrel guarding a bird feeder.
Twenty minutes later he pulled into the Winstons’ driveway. There were no lights shining from upstairs or the front windows, but when he walked around the side, he saw patches of illumination on the back lawn. Jake checked his watch. It was almost eight o’clock. Elliot must be relaxing in the family room.
Before returning to the front door, Jake stood still and listened. Beyond the sound of rustling leaves, the property was silent. He took a deep breath. There was a faint whiff of smoke. He glanced upward. No telltale white fumes from the Winstons’ chimney. It must be someone nearby who had their fireplace going.
A sudden gust of wind lifted the brim of Jake’s hat. He pulled it down, hurried around front, and rang the bell. Either Elliot was expecting someone or the man was a sprinter, because within seconds the door swung open.
At the sight of Jake, his eyes widened and said, “Did you find her?”
“Not yet.” Jake watched his client’s reaction carefully as he said, “But I do have some information about your wife’s activity before she went missing.”
“Oh. Well then, you better come in.” Elliot gestured for Jake to follow him and walked down the hall and into the kitchen. After waving Jake to a stool, he said, “I was just having something to eat. Can I get you a bowl of chili and a beer?�
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Jake hesitated for a second, but he hadn’t had anything but the dime store’s leftover pastries for supper. And maybe having a meal together would make Winston open up about his wife and their true relationship.
“Sounds good.” Jake smiled.
He was surprised that a guy like Elliot Winston was eating something so down-home. And he’d have pegged the guy for a wine drinker rather than knocking back a few brews.
A long counter ran the length of the room, and Jake took a seat on one of its stools. Stacks of papers littered the otherwise pristine quartz surface, and it was clear that Winston had been working as he ate.
As Elliot dished up dinner, Jake glanced at the scattered pages. A few had columns of numbers, but the rest were from various wildlife groups. One letter implored Winston to take a lion and a tiger that had been rescued from an abusive circus act.
“Here you go.” Elliot handed Jake a bottle of Fat Tire amber ale and slid a steaming bowl in front of him.
“Thanks.” Jake took a taste and nodded his appreciation.
“This is my mother’s secret recipe, but Gabriella hates the smell of chili, so I rarely get to make it.” His chin dipped to his chest. “I sure wish she was here to complain about it.”
“I’m sure you do.” Jake patted his arm. “Glad to see you’re eating. In a situation like this, lots of folks would forget to take care of themselves, which doesn’t help anyone.”
“I eat when I’m depressed.” Elliot stuck a finger in his waistband. “My pants are already feeling too tight.”
“Exercise is good for depression.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Elliot shrugged, then asked, “So what did you find out?”
“I’ve been showing your wife’s picture around at various businesses in the area, and one owner recognized her.” Jake took a swig of the malty liquid, swallowed, looked Winston in the eye, and then added, “It was a small motel just outside of Sparkville.”
“You’re sure it was her that they saw?” Elliot’s Adam’s apple bobbed when Jake nodded. “And they said she had stayed there?”
“Yes. She wore a wig, but they described her vehicle, and she wasn’t alone.” Jake ate another spoonful of chili to allow Winston to process the implications of what he’d been told, then said, “It was in early September.”
“I was out of town on business the first two weeks of last month.” Elliot’s shoulders slumped. “Gabriella was supposed to go with me. She likes shopping in New York. But at the last minute she said she thought she was getting a cold and canceled.”
“Sorry, man.” Jake wasn’t sure what else he could say, and he had to ask, “You didn’t have any hint that your wife was having an affair?”
“I knew she was restless.” Elliot leaned his head in his hands. “Even though I let her build this ridiculously large and elaborate house, she wasn’t happy living in Shadow Bend. Or the Midwest, for that matter.”
“Where did you live before?” Jake asked, then ate more chili. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry.
“Los Angeles.”
“When did you move here?”
“I inherited the land outside of town five years ago, and we bought this property then.” Elliot snatched up his beer and drained the half-full bottle. “I thought it would be a good place for the boys to go to high school. Our oldest was running with the wrong crowd in L.A., and I wanted to get the kids into a more wholesome environment. It took a little over eleven months to build the house, and we moved in as soon as it was ready.”
“Did Mrs. Winston object to coming to Shadow Bend?” Jake asked.
“Not at first.” Elliot scrubbed his fist over his eyes. “The country club set was excited to have someone from California among them, and she liked being a big fish in a small pond.”
“Did she spend a lot of time at the club?” Jake took another drink.
Elliot looked down for a long moment, then said, “I guess so.” His expression was regretful. “I don’t really know. Once I got the idea of using the land I inherited to open up a wildlife park, I . . . I wasn’t around much.” He shook his head “This is all my fault. I knew Gabriella was unhappy. She’s always required a lot of attention.”
“Maybe you should have noticed,” Jake said slowly. “But the only ones who are at fault for cheating are the people screwing around.”
Elliot didn’t appear convinced. He stood, went to the fridge, and came back with two more beers. When Jake shook his head, Elliot shrugged and returned one bottle to the refrigerator.
“There’s something else.” Jake hated to have to hit the guy with another blow, but it had to be done. “Your wife consulted an attorney to see if there was a way to stop you from using your money for the wildlife park.”
“I know.” Elliot’s voice was raw. “I saw the papers, but since the lawyer concluded that she had no recourse, I didn’t say anything to her. Maybe that was a mistake.”
Jake nodded, and as the men silently finished their meal, he studied Winston. Either he was a darn good actor or he’d had no idea that his wife had been seeing another guy.
“Did you find out anything else?” Elliot asked, then hurriedly chugged the remaining beer in his bottle as if he couldn’t bear to hear the answer.
“Not yet.” Jake flipped open his notebook and asked, “Do you know anyone that drives a small bright green car?”
“Not that I can think of.” Elliot got up, grabbed his and Jake’s bowls, and put them in the sink. “Was that what Gabriella’s lover drove?”
“Maybe.” Jake picked up the empty beer bottles, and when Winston slid open one of the lower cabinets to reveal the two trash bins built into it, Jake tossed them into the recycle container. “I’d better get going.”
“Okay.” Elliot followed Jake out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the foyer.
As Jake neared the door, he spotted something on the floor. He bent down and scooped up an envelope. ELLIOT WINSTON was on the front. There was no return address or postage stamp.
He handed it to Winston, who tore it open, slid out a single piece of paper, and unfolded it. He scanned the contents and gasped. Then gave it to Jake.
Typed in the center of the page were the words: IT WILL COST YOU A MILLION DOLLARS IN UNMARKED BILLS TO SEE YOUR WIFE ALIVE AGAIN. YOU’LL BE NOTIFIED WHERE TO LEAVE THE MONEY. YOU HAVE TWO DAYS. DO NOT INVOLVE THE POLICE.
CHAPTER 9
Poppy, Boone, and I had finished our dinners and were contemplating the dessert menu. Since Boone and I had to drive home, we’d both stopped drinking after our second margarita. Leftovers weren’t a problem, though, because Poppy had been happy to finish off the pitcher by herself.
As we ate, we’d continued to talk about Gabriella’s disappearance. Boone wasn’t able to contribute much because of the whole lawyer-client privilege issue, and since the Winstons didn’t hang out at her bar, Poppy just plain didn’t know anything more about the couple.
After we’d run out of gossip about Elliot and his wife, we turned to what was going on in our own lives. I updated my BFFs about Gran and Tony, my father taking on added responsibilities at the dime store, and Jake’s inviting me to go away for the weekend—which my friends encouraged.
Once we’d finished discussing my love life, I turned to Poppy and Boone and asked, “Do either of you know a good electrician? The lights in the employee restroom keep flickering, and I’m afraid either Jake or my father is going to electrocute himself trying to fix them.”
“I’ll get ahold of my handyman,” Poppy offered “If he’s available, I’ll text you when he can fit you into his schedule.”
My repair problems settled, Boone obsessed over the Halloween weekend activities. He was on the chamber of commerce committee that was organizing the event, and he was even more upset than Vivian at not being able to nail down the Malone house.
As Boone contin
ued about the house, he said, “Whenever I drive past the place I feel someone watching me, and I swear that I’ve seen a curtain twitch more than once.”
Boone’s preoccupation with the house led us into reminiscing about our high school adventures. Whenever Gran grounded me, I’d go out my window, cross the field between our two houses, and meet my friends in the Malones’ driveway.
“Dev”—Poppy poked my arm—“do you remember the time that Roberta Malone ushered you into her inner sanctum via a shotgun aimed at your heart?”
“How could I forget?” I shook my head. “Miss Roberta made me sit and talk to her for what seemed like hours. She wanted to know all about my life and future plans. Finally, just before she let me leave, she told me not to make the same mistakes as her. She warned me that the man I welcomed into my heart and into my bed needed to be willing to put me first. At the time, I thought she was a lunatic. But now that I remember her advice, I may need to consider it a little more seriously in the very near future.”
“Yeah, right.” Poppy snorted, then quickly changed the subject. “Did I tell you that business is booming at the club? I had to hire more servers and a bouncer for Friday and Saturday nights. The customers tend to get a little rowdier on the weekends.” She winked. “And I sure don’t want to have to call in the cops.”
During dinner, I hadn’t broached the subject of what was bugging Poppy. But now that she was nice and lubricated, and had mentioned the police, I considered how to tackle the topic. Should I go head-on or edge into it?
Before I could come up with an idea, the server appeared at our table to take our dessert order. We all went with the flan. Boone and I asked for a cup of decaf, but Poppy ordered an Irish coffee. She was definitely imbibing more heavily than usual, and I needed to find out why.
Once we had our dessert and drinks, I screwed up my courage, turned to Poppy, and asked, “What happened between you and your dad this morning?”
“I told you.” Poppy didn’t meet my gaze. “Just the usual crap.”
Refusing to be put off, I persisted. “You said your dad told you that unless you straightened up, you were going to hell.” I narrowed my eyes. “What triggered that sage piece of advice?”
Lions and Tigers and Murder, Oh My Page 8