“We have the place all to ourselves,” Amanda said in a delighted voice. When Conrad walked them to the table, Amanda quickly urged Sarah toward the table first. “You sit down here,” she said, “and I’ll sit here. Conrad, you sit right there.”
Conrad gave Sarah an ‘oh no’ look but sat down in the spot Amanda had requested. Sarah rolled her eyes good-naturedly and sat down next to him. “She sprayed me down with her perfume,” she whispered to him as Amanda sat down across from them.
Conrad sniffed Sarah and then grinned. “You smell like a flower garden full of babies.”
“I know,” Sarah said and then suddenly found herself blushing. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Conrad had never gotten quite that close to her before.
“So,” Amanda began as she scanned the menu, but stopped abruptly when she spotted Snyder’s two men walk into the restaurant, look around, and take a table near the entrance. “My, that didn’t take long.”
A woman walked out of the swinging door leading into the kitchen. Spotting Sarah and her group and then looking over at Snyder’s two men, the woman seemed to make a decision. She approached the detectives’ table. “My name is Norma,” she told them in a bored voice. “I’ll be your waitress. What can I start you off with to drink?”
Sarah looked up at Norma. The woman had to be at least sixty, she thought. “Coffee, please.”
Amanda frowned. She didn’t care for the wrinkled brown uniform Norma was wearing. And, as she examined Norma’s grumpy features, she itched to take a comb and curlers to the woman’s short, messy gray hair—but it would take more than a little Midnight Flowers to do something about the smell of cigarette smoke lingering on the woman’s clothes. She sighed. “Coffee for me, too.”
“Coffee,” Conrad said, “black.”
“I would like some cream and sugar,” Amanda said quickly.
“Me, too,” Sarah said.
Norma ran her tongue along her gums, her upper lip bulging. “Today’s special is meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” she said, nodding her head at the menus sitting on the table. “Everything else is on the menu if you are not interested in the special.”
Norma’s voice was robotic with boredom. It was clear to Sarah that she had said the same words so many times she probably didn’t even have to think about it.
“I’ll go with a cheeseburger and some fries.”
“Same here,” Amanda added.
“Cheeseburgers and fries all around, well done, skip the mayo and onion,” Conrad requested.
Norma raised her eyebrows, nodded, and wandered over to Snyder’s men. Sarah watched as one of them told Norma to take a hike. The man’s hostile tone and cruel expression brought fear to Norma’s face. She quickly hurried back to the kitchen. “We’re not going to get very far with those two tagging us all day,” Sarah told Conrad in a low voice.
“Yep,” Conrad said. He slid his eyes over to the two men, who returned his look with faces that could make a grizzly bear slink away in fear, and wondered how he was going to slip free of their grip.
Amanda glanced over her shoulder to look at one of the men, stuck out her tongue, and then looked back at Conrad. “Anything?” she asked in a hushed voice.
Conrad sighed. “Amanda,” he whispered, “those two guys are trained killers. Let’s not irritate them, okay?”
“Please don’t antagonize them,” Sarah begged.
“Fine.” Amanda pouted and crossed her arms.
Conrad spotted a tall, fat man in a navy blue police uniform walk into the restaurant, pause to study Snyder’s men, then scoot awkwardly around them as if they were poisonous. He made his way over to the detectives’ table. “Detectives Spencer, Garland, and Funnel?” Chief Messings asked in a polite voice.
Amanda looked up at the police chief and wondered what beanstalk this gigantic man had fallen from. Seeing the smirk on Amanda’s face, Sarah shot her friend a desperate look and shook her head. Amanda rolled her eyes. “Yes?” she answered simply, instead of asking why he was apparently an enemy of healthy food.
Chief Messings offered a cheesy smile. “My name is Chief Messings, Winneshabba Chief of Police. Can I sit down?”
“If the chair will hold you,” Amanda coughed into her hand. Sarah kicked her ankle under the table. Amanda winced in pain but also suppressed a smile.
The chief pulled out the fourth chair at the table and sat down next to Amanda, his cheeks a little pink as he avoided looking at her. Sarah realized with chagrin that he had overheard Amanda’s unsubtle joke. “Is something the matter, Chief Messings?” Sarah asked politely.
Chief Messings shifted in his chair, glancing with lightning-fast eyes at Snyder’s thugs and then back at Sarah. “I was told you three are here because of Mickey Slate?” he asked, his tone aiming for professional and serious, but Sarah could see he wasn’t very good at hiding his nerves.
“Mickey Slate was a close friend,” Conrad answered. “I believe he was murdered, and I intend to find out why and by whom.”
Sarah felt like kicking Conrad for his bluntness but didn’t. She knew he was handling the case his way, and she had promised to respect that. “We’re looking for answers,” she chimed in after Conrad in a more cordial voice. “We were very upset to find out that the body had been cremated.”
Chief Messings fidgeted in his seat, then swiveled to watch as Norma emerged from the back of the restaurant, carrying three white cups of coffee on a brown tray. “Chief Messings, what brings you here?” she asked, setting the coffee mugs onto the table.
“Business,” he replied. “Bring me a cup of java, will you?”
“And some cream and sugar,” Amanda reminded Norma. Norma gave Amanda a sour look and hurried back into the kitchen.
“Are you here on official business?” Chief Messings asked Conrad.
“Maybe,” Conrad answered, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “My people back in New York are interested in knowing who killed Mickey. We also have people in London and Anchorage.”
Chief Messings frowned. “New York, London, and Anchorage?” he repeated.
Sarah didn’t blame him for his skepticism. He might be a bit of a buffoon, but Conrad’s straight talk made it clear that tourism was a flimsy cover story at best.
Conrad nodded his head. “Detective Garland has her people in Los Angeles. Detective Funnel has her people in London. My people are in New York. We’re here working—that is, visiting—as a team.”
Chief Messings’ frown deepened. “I see.” He bit down on his lower lip. “Well... I hope you find the answers you need.”
Amanda grinned at Conrad and decided to test the chief. “Actually, you can help us with something. We want to talk with a suspect,” she explained.
“A suspect?” Chief Messings asked the polite smile faded from his face.
“Yes,” Sarah said, hoping Amanda’s gambit would prove to be successful. She chose her words with care. “You know how it is in a hotel...” she tilted her head in the direction of Snyder’s men without looking at them. “You never know who’s listening. We would like to use your facilities for questioning, if possible.”
At that moment, one of Snyder’s men abruptly stood up and walked out of the restaurant with his phone at his ear. The second man remained seated, his attention focused squarely on Chief Messings. Sarah watched the portly police chief swallow uncomfortably.
“Well... I, uh...” he struggled to speak. “No promises, but maybe we can talk down at the station, huh, detectives?” he asked hopefully.
“Of course,” Sarah said in a professional tone, and watched as he seemed to take a breath in relief.
Chief Messings looked at her. “You’re kinda famous,” he commented. “I remember seeing you on the news.”
“Oh?” Sarah asked, even though she knew exactly what Chief Messings was referring to.
“Don’t act so humble,” he said. “It’s not every day someone catches a serial killer. You single-handedly captured the Alley Killer
. That’s impressive.” She realized too late that his excited voice was easily audible across the small restaurant. Perhaps it wasn’t anything that Snyder’s men didn’t already know about her. Still, she felt the need to tamp down his enthusiasm.
“The Los Angeles Police Department captured the Alley Killer, Chief Messings. I couldn’t have made a move without the help of every single police officer and the other team members that offered their valuable services. Police officers work as a team and that’s what matters the most.”
Conrad nodded his head, appreciating Sarah’s fast wit and ability to push Chief Messings into a corner. He moved forward. “You know, your cooperation in this case would be very helpful, Chief Messings. We can work together as a team.”
The chief’s face went pale. “Uh... right now I’m... well, busy with other... duties. I will do what I can to help, of course, but my time is very valuable.”
Sarah decided to test him even further. “We understand. Maybe you can help us with something else, however. That man sitting over there has been harassing us ever since we got here. Would you please tell him to leave?”
Chief Messings froze in his seat. His eyes slowly rotated to Snyder’s man as if considering him for the first time. “I...” he tried to speak. “I... well... he seems... perfectly peaceful at the moment.”
Norma walked over to the table, and followed Chief Messings’ glance. “That creep told me to get lost,” she said with no subtlety, her complaint carrying clearly across the empty restaurant. “All I did was ask him what he would like to drink. If he’s not a paying customer, he’s the one who needs to get lost.”
Chief Messings swallowed. “I...” Sarah watched as beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. “I...” His hand drifted down to his belt and he made a twitching movement as if to adjust it.
In that moment, Snyder’s thug stood up and walked out of the restaurant. If Sarah hadn’t been watching closely, she almost would have missed the signal that had passed between the two men.
“And stay out,” Norma said to the man’s retreating back. She handed Chief Messings his coffee. “Your cheeseburgers will be out in a few minutes.”
“Make them to go,” Conrad said and picked up his coffee cup. “Chief Messings,” he said in a firm voice, “I need a background report on a man named Snyder Smith.”
Chief Messings’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. “Mayor Smith is a well-respected citizen in this town,” he said weakly. “I... can’t do anything without a court order.”
Sarah picked up her coffee and took a sip. Amanda did the same, giving up hope on ever receiving her cream and sugar. So what if the coffee was black, she thought. If Los Angeles could handle it, then so could she. “So get a court order,” she said.
“On what grounds?” Chief Messings asked nervously.
Conrad decided to take advantage of the situation and bait a second line. “We believe Snyder Smith may be connected to McCallister Security.”
The chief turned to give Conrad a bewildered look. “Who?” he asked.
“McCallister Security,” Conrad repeated. “Mickey Slate worked for McCallister Security, in their legal department.”
Sarah scanned the police chief’s pallid face. The large man seemed to have no clue what Conrad was talking about, which meant, she knew, that this was a dead end for now. “Chief Messings, we’ll work on getting the court order you need to run a check on Snyder Smith for us. What judge do we need to speak with?”
Chief Messings took a gulp of coffee and stood up. “I’m afraid I have to go. I’m a very busy man. We can talk more down at the station. Good day,” he said and hurried away.
“Weasel,” Amanda whispered.
“Yep,” Conrad agreed.
“Totally,” Sarah added and grew silent as her mind began to sift through possibilities.
A few minutes later, Norma brought the cheeseburgers and fries out in three white plastic to-go boxes. So much for their relaxing lunch break. Sarah went back up the suite, gathered her and Amanda’s coats along with an umbrella, and hurried back down into the lobby. “Snyder’s men aren’t around right now,” she noted to Conrad in an undertone, handing Amanda her coat.
“Yep,” Conrad said. He held out the three to-go boxes. “We’d better move.”
Amanda took the umbrella from Sarah and followed her outside into the rainy parking lot. “The rain is coming down even harder,” she observed, raising the umbrella over her head.
Sarah hunched under the umbrella and cast her eyes at the low, dark gray sky. “It’s cold enough to snow,” she said, following Conrad to the rental SUV.
“We don’t need snow right now,” Conrad said as he walked past a shiny red Dodge Charger with California license plates. Sarah spotted the license plates and slowed down. A sad expression flitted across her face.
“Are you okay?”
“Huh?” Sarah asked, still staring at the license plate. Images of her ex-husband driving his black BMW down their neighborhood street pushed themselves into her mind.
“Come on, love.” Amanda pushed Sarah past the car.
Sarah sighed and climbed into the SUV. “We’d better hurry to the motel,” she told Conrad as she quickly buckled up, but Conrad was already focused, starting the car and backing out of the parking lot. She caught a glimpse of his steely eyes in the rearview mirror.
Amanda, nestled in the back seat with the three to-go boxes, waited until Conrad had driven out of the half-full parking lot before handing out the food. “Here, love,” she told Sarah.
Reluctantly, Sarah took her to-go box and opened it. “I’m not really hungry anymore.”
“Eat,” Conrad echoed, taking his box from Amanda with one careful hand. “If Dean over at the Snowflake Inn got in trouble with Snyder, we could be driving to a homicide scene, Sarah. We need our energy.”
“Please eat, love,” Amanda pleaded. She said a prayer of thanks for the food. “Amen.”
“Amen,” Sarah and Conrad whispered.
Conrad took his cheeseburger out of the to-go box and took a big bite, keeping the steering wheel steady with his other hand. “Chief Messings is bought and paid for,” he commented. “But there’s room to manipulate his puppet strings.”
“I think so, too,” Sarah agreed.
None of them said another word until Conrad pulled the SUV into the filthy parking lot connected to the Snowflake Inn. “Careful now,” Sarah said, darting her eyes around to check the corners, “Snyder’s men could be anywhere.”
Amanda polished off the last of her fries, closed the to-go box in her lap, set it aside, and looked out of the rain-spotted front windshield. The only other vehicle she could see in the parking lot was a sedan that had seen better days. It probably belonged to the owner of the motel. She waited until Conrad had parked next to the vehicle before she spoke. “Maybe I should wear a gun?”
Conrad looked at Sarah, who nodded her head. “Okay.” Conrad bent forward and retrieved his backup weapon, a small 9 mm Luger, from his right ankle holster. “The gun is loaded and ready to fire.”
Amanda stared at the gun and then, feeling slightly uneasy, took it from Conrad. “Show me how to fire this baby,” she said.
Conrad quickly showed Amanda the safety mechanism and how to fire the gun if and when needed. “Got it?”
“Got it,” Amanda said, sliding the gun into the empty to-go box sitting next to her. “You guys ready?”
Sarah stared out into the rain falling hard on the pavement. Her gut told her exactly what was waiting for them in the motel lobby: a dead body. “Let’s move,” she said and opened the car door.
Conrad jumped out of the SUV. He scanned the parking lot and the empty motel rooms, then focused his eyes directly on the worn, shabby building that served as the Snowflake Inn’s lobby. “Let’s go,” he said, ignoring the rain.
“Leave the umbrella,” Sarah called out to Amanda as she jogged after Conrad.
Amanda wasn’t in the mood to get soaking wet, but she
did as Sarah asked. Racing out of the back seat with the to-go box in her hand, she chased after Sarah as the cold rain saturated her hair and ran down her face. Conrad glanced over his shoulder and saw Amanda running to catch up. When he reached the green door, he stopped and waited for his companions. “Look,” he said, nodding at the door.
Sarah examined the door in the harsh glare of the light from the lone streetlight. The paint of the door was peeling off, but that wasn’t what caught her eye: the wood around the lock was slightly splintered. Without a word, she withdrew her gun from her holster, and nodded her head at Conrad. “Let’s get in there.”
Conrad looked at Amanda. “Take your gun out of that silly box and be ready for action,” he told her.
With nervous hands, Amanda retrieved her gun and threw down the to-go box. Suddenly she no longer felt excited; instead, she felt terrified. “Okay... let’s... get in there,” she said, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the knot in her stomach.
Conrad nodded. Using his right shoulder, he rammed the door open and charged into the front lobby, which reeked of cigarette smoke and stale beer. With his gun at the ready, he searched the room. “Clear,” he called out over his shoulder.
Sarah ran across the dirty brown carpet toward the green linoleum front desk counter. Behind the front counter sat a shabby recliner with its back to the lobby so it could face an aging television that was still blaring. On the small desk behind the counter was a mess of papers, hotel room keys, and dirty ashtrays. Drawing in a deep breath, she stood on tiptoe to look down at the recliner. “Body,” she called out in a neutral voice that somehow still betrayed the strain of her discovery.
Conrad ran to the front counter and looked over. The body of Hank Dean was sitting in the recliner as an old episode of Family Feud blared on. Only now, Hank Dean wasn’t calling out quick and senseless answers to the questions like he used to do. Now, the man was sitting very silent and very still. “Stupid lunch break,” Conrad swore under his breath. A pattern of dark, sickly bruises were clearly visible around the man’s neck, and his head lolled to one side at an unnatural angle.
Snow is not the Time Page 5