Run into Trouble

by Alan Cook

  An approaching siren told Drake that the police were on their way. Melody looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “We have to get out there and show them where Grace is. Get some clothes on.”

  ***

  “I wonder how many murder cases the sheriff’s department gets here.” Drake voiced his thought to Melody.

  They were back in his room following several hours of confusion and trauma while the San Luis Obispo County sheriff’s department carried out their initial investigation. It had taken some time for a detective and other specialized personnel to arrive on the scene following the arrival of the sheriff’s officer. They were in a rural part of the county, some distance from the populated area surrounding the city of San Luis Obispo. The staff appeared to be doing a competent job. The initial finding was that Grace had been shot at point-blank range with a bullet from a small caliber gun.

  Fred, Peaches, and the runners had been notified. They all reacted with shock and disbelief. Fred immediately cancelled the day’s run and booked them for another night at the motel. The other guests were more or less inconvenienced, depending on how close their cars were parked to the murder scene. Some were temporarily blocked by police vehicles. The cars on either side of Grace’s body were checked for blood and other evidence.

  Melody said, “We need to catch our breath for a minute. I told the detective all I know, which, unfortunately, isn’t much.”

  “I told him something that I also need to tell you.”

  Drake hesitated then blurted it out. “Grace and I were together last night.”

  To his surprise, Melody didn’t show much of a reaction. “I suspected it. She refused to go out with me. She was gone when I returned. She came back a few minutes after me looking…well, looking like a cat who’s been in the catnip. She’s had her eye on you since day one.”

  “I figured the autopsy would show it, so I didn’t want there to be any question. I also gave the detective the gun we got from Sterling. It hasn’t been fired, so there shouldn’t be a problem. I didn’t want it to be found in a search.”

  “One reason I immediately ran to your room was because I had an irrational fear that you might have done it. But when I saw you, I knew better.”

  “I had no reason—”

  “I know; I said it was irrational. You don’t kill the cow that gives you cream.”

  “It was the first time…”

  “And only, unfortunately.”

  They sat in silence for a minute. Drake tried to organize his thoughts. “The detective talked about a possible mugging. I don’t think—”

  “I told him several times that she was meeting somebody. She had no money on her. Her clothes weren’t messed up. It wasn’t a rape attempt or anything like that.”

  “The last time she went out early she met Sterling.”

  “Sterling’s consorting with the girl from Ipanema.”

  “Which leaves him out of the picture. What about Fred?”

  “What about Fred?”

  “She had information that could get him fired.”

  Melody thought about that. “Possible motive. I don’t think we want the local authorities looking into that.”

  “No. It’s out of their jurisdiction. Maybe now’s the time for us to talk to Casey.” Drake had a pang of guilt. “Maybe we should have talked to him before.”

  “If Fred did it, we couldn’t have foreseen it. Casey’s on his way. He’ll be here this afternoon. Fred told me that.”

  “Meanwhile, I’m going to call Blade and fill him in. I don’t think the Las Vegas mob had anything to do with Grace’s death, but since he’s involved in the betting and also the Malibu incident, I want to keep him informed.”

  ***

  Casey was eating dinner with Drake and Melody in a restaurant a few miles from the motel so the other runners weren’t apt to show up. He had suggested dinner when the two had requested an audience alone with him.

  He talked to all the runners, giving his usual speech about how sorry he was, sounding sincere. It turned into a sort of memorial service; he said some nice things about Grace, and others did too. Melody spoke, but Drake couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

  Casey mentioned that he had talked to her parents who were, of course, shocked, but apparently they had been fearful ever since their daughter had decamped for the wickedness of California. They lived in New England and wouldn’t get her body for some time because of the pending autopsy.

  Casey had talked to the sheriff who would not try to keep any of them in town. The run would continue tomorrow. As he listened to Casey talk, Drake had to admire the fact that he took care of everything. Maybe he would make a good senator.

  Casey read the wine list and selected the most expensive bottle. Melody agreed to drink some, a rarity for her. He turned to Drake. “Will you join Melody and me in enjoying this California wine, or would you rather have beer?”

  “I’m sure the wine is exquisite, but I think I’ll stick to beer.”

  “A man of conviction. This race has been marred by tragedy. That makes me very sad. I’m hoping that the rest of it will come off without a hitch. I was in L.A. at a convention when I heard about Grace. Actually, I was at an early breakfast meeting and didn’t get the word until sometime after it happened. My first thought was, ‘Oh no, not again.’ As I was driving up here, I tried to think whether better planning could have prevented either Grace or Harrison from dying, but the circumstances were so unforeseen.”

  “Grace is partly who we need to talk to you about.”

  Drake launched into his story, starting from the time when he had received the first letter. He had copies of the letters with him, which he showed to Casey. Casey paid close attention and asked an occasional question. Drake continued speaking off and on when not interrupted by the waitress, through the salad course and into the main course. He told about having a “friend in the service” who had helped with fingerprints and identified Sterling.

  Melody talked about the threat to her mother and questioned whether Sterling knew anything about her mother. Casey agreed with that thinking.

  Drake told about finding Sterling without mentioning the part played by Peaches. He said that Grace had admitted that she delivered the letters to the motels, at Fred’s request. He didn’t mention that Grace had accused Fred of sexual harassment. When he stopped talking, Casey took a sip of wine.

  “I wish you had told me all this before. Of course, if wishes were horses… If I may try to net this out—Fred was apparently involved in a scheme to bet on the race. He may have a motive to kill Grace. Both of the people who can implicate him—Sterling and Grace—are gone. Your friends are taking care of the Las Vegas contingent, which eliminates the threat to my runners.”

  Casey took another sip of wine. “I will certainly speak to Fred, but not tonight because it’s been a long day and I’m dead tired. I’m staying at the motel. I’ll go back to L.A. tomorrow. It’s going to be difficult to prove anything against Fred. I don’t think Fred’s the type to kill anyone, but you never know. Tell me immediately if you come up with any more evidence.”

  There was nothing more to be said on that subject. Drake asked Casey whether he had heard anything new about the Malibu incident.

  “I have a feeling that something is going to turn up soon. Something that will make us realize that we can’t just sit on our hands, fat, dumb, and happy, and let America be overthrown.”

  Drake and Melody asked him a few questions about what he meant, but he didn’t come up with anything more except vague generalities.

  ***

  “Casey was certainly correct about being tired. He almost drove off the road. If you hadn’t yelled…”

  Melody’s voice trailed off. Drake was still shaken up.

  “Avis wouldn’t have been happy about having a totaled Lincoln Continental. To say nothing about our personal unhappiness. I’m glad for his sake that he’s staying at the motel tonight. Also, I thought that his
response to us telling him about Fred was rather tepid. I suspect he’s not going to fire him.”

  “Let’s see what Peaches has dug up.”

  They had left Casey making arrangements at the front desk. Melody knocked on Peaches’ door. When it opened, Peaches gave a welcoming look to Melody and a neutral look to Drake. Maybe he shouldn’t have come to Peaches’ room, but Melody had insisted. They went inside but didn’t sit down.

  Peaches looked at Melody when he spoke. “I didn’t find anything. I went through Fred’s room very carefully. No gun, nothing incriminating.”

  Melody had asked Peaches to search Fred’s room while Fred was out to dinner. She thanked him.

  “I also searched the car and the bus. After Fred returned with the van I searched that. Nothing.”

  Fred had taken most of the runners to dinner in the van. Drake wasn’t surprised. “He’s too smart to leave a gun where it could easily be found. The sheriff’s officers checked the bushes and the trash containers and didn’t come up with anything. Wherever the gun is, it’s well hidden.”

  Melody asked, “Did you get into any trouble with the detective for having a gun?”

  Peaches shook his head. “It’s licensed and everything. It hasn’t been fired. I’m not a suspect. I wish I could help. Grace was a good girl. She didn’t deserve to be killed. I said I’d protect her, and I didn’t.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Drake had also been having guilt feelings. “There was nothing you could do. We don’t know that it was Fred.”

  “We don’t know that it wasn’t.”

  There was obviously no love lost between Peaches and Fred.

  CHAPTER 23

  Today’s run goes from the top of the first hill on Route 1 north of the Santa Maria River to Port San Luis, west of Avila Beach. You may take any route you like, but we recommend that you stay on roads the whole distance, as the beach is impassable in some areas and loaded with speeding dune buggies in the vicinity of Pismo Beach. Although you’ll start on Route 1, you may choose to take local roads through parts of Oceano, Grover City, Pismo Beach, and Shell Beach.

  ***

  “Casey and Fred didn’t give us much time to mourn for Grace.”

  Drake was momentarily taken aback by Melody’s statement, because she was less sentimental than most women, which was one of the things he liked about her. He knew she was deeply frustrated by the fact that they were leaving the scene of the crime without having any evidence as to what happened. Both of them felt the kind of guilt that comes from thinking they should have been able to save Grace, without knowing exactly how they could have done it. So Melody’s emotions were understandable. Drake, himself, harbored a pent-up fury, which threatened to erupt.

  “The damned race must go on, in spite of a rising body count. Nothing is as important as the publicity for California, or maybe it’s the publicity for Giganticorp, or just maybe it’s publicity for Casey’s Senate run, although I don’t see how negative publicity like this can help him.”

  The newspapers had played up the story as big news, even though they had little in the way of facts to write about. But when did reporters ever let a paucity of facts get in their way? Several reporters had asked questions of Melody, since she had been rooming with Grace. Melody refused to speculate about what had happened, leaving them to make up their own theories or repeat what the sheriff’s office said about a possible mugging.

  Drake, the oldest runner, was asked a few generic questions, the kind answerable with a bland statement such as, “She was a wonderful young woman. I don’t know why anybody would want to hurt her.”

  He was glad the men and women of the press didn’t have enough insight to ask him penetrating questions. The liaison between Grace and him hadn’t been leaked to them. Thank goodness. They had talked to the other male runners, trying to uncover a hint of a romance gone bad, but that attempt had failed.

  Drake and Melody were taking their frustrations out on the road, running hard on the relatively level terrain, pulling away from all the runners except the ubiquitous Tom/Jerry and Phil/Brian teams, which they hadn’t gained on except for the two days in which they finished first.

  Melody voiced a thought that had been bouncing around in Drake’s head. “Why don’t we quit the race? This isn’t fun anymore.”

  “Well, for one thing, we’re being paid to run. A thousand dollars a day isn’t chicken feed.”

  “Since when did you ever let money dictate what you did?”

  “Since I’ve grown old enough to worry about my future. A few more days and I’ll have enough money to buy half my own cabin in Idyllwild. Fifty percent makes a healthy down payment.”

  “I get the feeling you’re half serious. All right, we’ll stay in the race, at least for the moment, with the understanding that we’ll try to dig up evidence on what happened to Grace. I think the murderer is amongst us and that his name is F-R-E-D.”

  “I’ll have another talk with F-R-E-D.”

  “This time I’m going to join you. I want to look him in his piggy eyes when he goes into his music hall routine designed to obscure the truth.”

  ***

  “I have a message for you, Mr. Drake.”

  If there were any words in the English language that could get Drake’s heart racing faster than those just uttered by the desk clerk at the Avila Beach motel, he didn’t know what they were. The man picked up a folded piece of paper and handed it to Drake. He handed an identical sheet to Melody.

  “Here’s one for you, Miss Jefferson.”

  Drake and Melody cast alarmed glances at each other before they focused on the pages. Drake saw his name written in green fountain pen and knew that the writer was Fred. He unfolded the paper and read the beautifully written message.

  “I’d like to see you and Melody in my room as soon as you get here.”

  It was signed “Fred.” Drake’s level of concern went down a few notches. Melody held her message up, side-by-side with Drake’s. They were identical, except that hers stated Fred would like to see her and Drake. Melody looked from one to the other.

  “It must be important if he wants to see us when we’re hot, sweaty, tired, and bedraggled.”

  Drake quashed the impulse to say that at least Fred wouldn’t be tempted to harass her. “Maybe he’s trying to catch us off guard.”

  “But we’re not off guard, are we? Let’s go.”

  They obtained Fred’s room number from the desk clerk and marched down the corridor to his room. He opened the door within a few seconds of their knock. The harsh odor of cigarette smoke issued forth from the room.

  “Come in, come in. Thanks for coming so promptly.”

  Melody went into the room first and wrinkled her nose. “Your note implied that it was important.”

  “Yes. I’d like you to meet my new assistant for Running California, Charles Ortiz. Charles flew down from San Jose this afternoon. Charles, these are Melody Jefferson and Oliver Drake, but call him Drake.”

  They shook hands. Charles was a good looking young man, tall and thin. He had a high-wattage smile. But Drake was upset. This was what was so important that they had to do it unshowered? Meet Fred’s new assistant? An assistant brought in when Grace’s body was barely cold? He was tempted to say something sarcastic about the situation when Fred spoke again.

  “Charles will be helping me with the race, as I said, replacing Grace.” His voice actually broke a little when he mentioned Grace’s name. Nice touch.

  “Charles, go ahead and get yourself settled. We’ll eat dinner together, and I’ll bring you up to speed. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Charles beamed his smile on Melody and Drake, said, “It was nice to meet you both,” and then left the room.”

  “Have a seat.” Fred waved his arm to include a chair and the bed. “I’m sorry I only have one chair. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Melody sat on the chair and sneezed, her nose irritated by the smoke. Drake sat on the edge of the bed, keepi
ng his body straight. He didn’t want to get too comfortable. In response to Fred’s query about a drink, he pulled a container of Gatorade out of his pouch and sipped what remained of it. He didn’t intend to give in an inch to Fred.

  The seating arrangement didn’t leave Fred much choice if he wanted to face them both. He leaned against a small dresser, folded his arms, and tried not to look awkward.

  “I’m sorry to say that there’s nothing new about Grace. I’m in touch with the sheriff’s department. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

  Drake decided not to comment because that might defuse the tension. He glanced at Melody. She was keeping a stone face, just as he was. Neither one of them was giving Fred any aid or comfort. They waited for him to continue.

  Fred usually gave the impression of being able to handle any situation, but at the moment he looked distinctly uncomfortable. He wiped his face with the large handkerchief he carried, even though it wasn’t that hot. His face was red. When he spoke again, he sounded as bad as he looked.

  “Look, I know what you two are thinking. You think that I killed Grace. As God is my witness, I swear to you that I didn’t do it. I may not always have behaved as well as I should have toward her, but I would never have killed her. I’m not that kind of person. I have my faults, but they don’t include murder.”

  He stopped speaking, obviously wanting to say more but apparently worried that anything he said might make matters worse.

  Drake was tempted to remain silent, but Melody spoke in a calm, unhurried voice, reciting facts. “Grace’s alarm went off at quarter to five yesterday morning. The last time that happened she went to your room and you told her to go to the parking lot and pick up a letter for Drake. How do we know that’s not what she did yesterday?”

  “Because…” Fred stopped talking, went into deep thinking mode, and then tried again. “First of all, you have no proof that I had anything to do with those letters. Grace probably told you that story to get herself off the hook. I suspect she wasn’t above feathering her own nest, if you know what I mean. You didn’t get another letter, did you?”