by Bailey Cates
Ah, and there, at the far end of the lot, half hidden by a patrol car: Detective Quinn’s nondescript gray Chevy.
Ben parked his truck right behind Declan’s. The temperature was still in the eighties, and we rolled the windows all the way down for Mungo. I reminded him to stay inside. I could have sworn he rolled his eyes before he stood on his hind legs and put his front paws on the side of the door to watch us walk toward the fray.
No one had cordoned off the lot yet, but we paused at the edge. None of the bustling police and paramedics seemed to notice us. That wouldn’t last long, I was sure.
“Stay here,” I whispered to Ben. “I’ll be right back.”
Luckily, he didn’t follow as I quickly strode around the edge of the lot and made my way toward where most of the activity seemed to be centered, at the doorway of Unit 11.
I’d seen more dead bodies than I liked to admit, and it was something I’d be happy never to have to do again. However, there was something in particular I wanted to see in this case. When the officer by the door was called away, I edged to the opening and carefully looked around the jamb.
The room was a mess. Drawers had been pulled out, even in the brightly lit bathroom at the back, and the bed had been stripped. The cushions of the single armchair leaned haphazardly against the wall. There hadn’t been time to process the scene, so the room was also empty of people—except the one on the floor. Tucker was sprawled between the foot of the bed and the pressboard dresser that served as a television stand. He wore the same chinos and button-down shirt he had earlier that day. One of his loafers was half off his foot. I was pretty sure the smudge of red at his temple was blood.
Finally, I gathered my courage and looked at his face. His not-exactly-perfect face. Gone with the shimmer of life was the glamour he’d hidden behind. Gone, too, was the slimy feeling I’d sensed from him. He was just a blond man with eyebrows that were bushier than I remembered, a slightly crooked nose, and a rather weak chin. Still, I recognized him as Rori’s ex.
There was a buzz in the air of the room, I realized. The feeling of ozone if not the smell itself. Closing my eyes, I reached out with my witchy senses. They confirmed my initial thought that strong magic had taken place here. However, all I sensed now was aftermath. The magic itself had left the building.
Was I feeling the remnants of Tucker’s glamour now that he was dead, or was this something else?
“Please, ma’am. You need to move along,” a uniformed officer said. “We’re asking residents to return to their rooms until we can speak with them.” He gestured vaguely.
“All right, Officer. Thank you.” I turned and headed down the row of rooms.
Ben waited by the corner of the building where I’d left him. “What did you see?”
“Nothing good,” I said. “Whatever happened, I think Declan was right when he said Tucker Abbott didn’t die of natural causes.”
Another van turned into the parking lot and managed to secure a spot. Two crime-scene techs exited the vehicle and beelined straight to the open door of Unit 11.
The roar of an engine on the street behind us turned out to be Jaida arriving. She swung into an open spot down the street and seconds later was hurrying toward us.
“What’s the sitch?” she asked.
“Don’t know yet,” I said. “You made good time.”
“Traffic was light,” she said in a distracted tone as her assessing gaze flicked over the scene. “Let’s go see what’s up.”
We started toward the office. As we neared, I saw movement behind the glass door, and a moment later, it swung open. Declan came out with Rori. He wore his uniform pants and dark blue SAVANNAH FIRE T-shirt but had changed from work boots into running shoes. One hand was clasped protectively around his sister’s shoulder as he scanned the area. His blue gaze paused on Ben’s truck, then found me.
We met halfway, and I reached out to touch his arm. His hair was limp with perspiration, and worry creased the skin around his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked Rori.
“I guess so.” Her throat worked, and her eyes were red and swollen.
“Oh, honey.” I gave her a big squeeze.
“Hi, Ben,” she said when I stepped back. Then she gave Jaida a quick, uncertain half smile before saying, “I’m sorry about all this.”
“Hey there, yourself,” Ben said in a gentle voice. “Now don’t you fret. We’re gonna—”
Frowning, I broke in. “What do you mean? Why would you be sorry?”
Her wave indicated the whole fracas in the parking lot. “All this. You having to come here. The timing so close to the wedding.” Her eyes teared up. “Everything.”
Alarmed, I looked at Declan, then back at her. “You can’t possibly think this is your fault.”
She sniffed.
Declan squeezed her shoulder and sighed. I could tell he was frustrated. “My little sis here takes on a lot of burdens. Tucker was especially good at triggering her guilt. I keep telling you, Rori—you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know,” she said in a small voice.
Jaida stepped forward and introduced herself. “Jaida French, attorney at law. I’m a friend of Declan and Katie’s.”
“Oh, okay. Um, nice to meet you.” Rori looked between Declan and me uncertainly. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“I hope not,” Declan muttered.
“What happened?” I asked.
Rori took a deep breath, and it seemed to re-center her. “Tucker called me.”
Just like he said he would.
She went on. “He told me he needed me to come here tonight.”
Declan’s face flushed, but he didn’t say anything.
“Go on,” I prompted.
She made a face. “He said he wanted me to bring the music box he’d given me.”
“Wait,” Jaida said. “What music box?”
“Her ex-husband gave it to her this afternoon,” I said.
Rori nodded. “He said he was sorry but he owed someone some money and needed to sell it. He wouldn’t let up. Finally, I told him I’d bring it.”
“Rori!” Declan’s face had turned bright red. “What were you thinking?”
Beside me, Jaida sighed. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about Tucker’s glamour. However, he’d convinced Rori over the phone to come to the motel. Could he have used his Voice—a magical augmentation of words that made them irresistible? Because that took conscious, focused effort. I also happened to know from experience that using one’s Voice could be quite effective even over the phone.
Not knowledge I was proud of, by the way.
“What did Eliza and Mother have to say about you coming here?” Declan didn’t mask his distaste.
“I didn’t exactly, you know . . . tell them. I took an Uber.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she almost wailed. “I had to come, or he’d just keep bugging me. I don’t know what nonsense he was up to—and yes, I did know he was up to something, because Tucker was always up to something—but I wanted to give him the music box back—along with a piece of my mind—and get closure. Final and forever closure.”
He opened his mouth to say something else but then closed it with what appeared to be great effort.
“Okay,” Jaida said. “So what happened when you got here?”
“I knocked on the door. No one answered, but it wasn’t quite closed, so I pushed it open.” She shuddered.
“And then?” I asked, as gently as I could.
“I’d like to know that, too,” came a voice behind me.
We all turned to see who’d spoken. Detective Peter Quinn looked cool and collected as usual. Tan and always smartly dressed, he managed the Savannah summer like a pro in his sports jackets and ties. The silver in his hair reflected the blu
e and red lights, and his gray eyes betrayed absolutely nothing he was thinking.
“Hello, Quinn,” I said. Then I corrected my informality for Rori. “Detective Quinn, I mean.”
“Ms. Lightfoot. I got your message. Very informative.”
I half smiled and let his sarcasm pass.
“Ben.” He nodded to my uncle. “McCarthy.” Another nod, and then he looked at Rori. “And you’re Aurora McCarthy?”
She swallowed audibly and nodded. “Yes sir.”
He licked his lips. “I see. You’re related to Declan here?”
“He’s my brother,” she answered. “See, he and Katie are getting married. I’m in town for the wedding, along with my mother and sister. All my sisters. And their families. But only Eliza is here now. And my mother . . .”
Quinn waited until she grew quiet, then said, “All right. Now that we have that established, would you like to tell me about the dead body you found?”
“He’s my ex-husband. Tucker Abbott. I opened the door to his room when he didn’t answer. The light in the bathroom was on, and there he was . . . on the floor.” She shuddered.
“He was expecting you?” Quinn asked.
Rori nodded miserably.
He frowned, then looked around at the rest of us. “Ms. McCarthy, I’d like to speak with you someplace a bit more private. The motel manager has agreed to let me use one of the rooms here for interviews. Will you please come with me?”
She looked terrified but said, “Um, I guess.”
Jaida stepped forward. “My client will be happy to assist in any way she can.”
Rori threw her a grateful look and visibly relaxed.
The barest flash of irritation crossed Quinn’s face as he realized Jaida wasn’t going to let him talk to Rori alone, but it disappeared so quickly I wasn’t sure I’d seen it at all. He nodded and gestured for them to follow him.
“We’ll wait here,” Declan called.
His sister shot him a weak smile over her shoulder.
“Let’s wait in the office,” he said to Ben and me. “It’s cooler.”
Chapter 5
It wasn’t just cooler; it was like an icebox inside the office of the Spotlight Motel. I shivered and looked around. There was a wooden counter to my left and a row of three plastic molded chairs on my right. Two vending machines took up most of the opposite wall, a well-stocked hot drink station between them. Behind the counter, there was a tight space that fit a recliner, side table, and small television. An open doorway on the far side of the recliner led to another room, and I glimpsed enough to realize there was a small apartment attached to the office.
Maybe the motel could be considered seedy, but everything I saw in here was as neat as a pin and very clean. The floor was spotless, and the items on the counter were neatly arranged, including the framed nameplate that read DAYLEEN in red and purple counted cross-stitch. Two healthy Boston ferns hung in the corners, and the air smelled faintly of coffee and lavender room spray.
A woman hurried through the doorway from the apartment. “I’m so sorry, but we’re not taking any more guests this . . . oh, it’s you again.” She said this to Declan. “How’s your sister?”
“Talking with the police detective now.”
She waved her hand in our direction. “And they’re with you?”
“Yes. Ben, Katie, this is Dayleen Stefanos. She takes care of things around here.”
We nodded to each other.
“Hey, I’m going to go check in on what’s going on,” my fiancé said. “I’ll be right back.” He exited, and I saw him heading toward a group of firefighters who were talking in the parking lot.
I guessed the motel manager to be in her mid-forties. She was tall and lean, with a face that had seen plenty of sunshine over the years and long yellow hair in a braid that fell over one shoulder. The white tank top she wore over cutoff jeans revealed well-muscled arms. Ginormous gold hoop earrings brushed her shoulders whenever she turned her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her mascara smudged.
“Nice to meet you, Dayleen,” Ben said. “Are you any relation to Nick Stefanos?”
Her brown eyes flashed. “He’s my brother. You know him?”
Of course he does. Sometimes it seemed as if my uncle knew everyone in town.
“We’ve played golf a few times,” he said. “Good guy. Terrible putter, though.”
“Yeah,” she said softly and looked away. I could tell she wasn’t thinking about her brother or his golf skills.
Ben took a step forward and leaned against the counter. “Rough night, huh?”
“I’ll say.” She frowned and ran her hand over her face. “Rougher for Tucker.”
No kidding.
“Terrible having something like this on your property,” Ben said. “You own the place?”
She shook her head. “I live here and manage it.”
She’d called Rori’s ex by his first name, as if he might be more than a guest of her establishment.
I moved to stand by Ben. “Did you know Tucker Abbott well?”
Her eyes filled, and she nodded her head. Finally, she managed, “He’d been living here almost two weeks.”
Two weeks? No way would it take that long to exterminate termites, even in an entire apartment building. He lied to Rori about why he was staying at the Spotlight.
“Such a sweetheart. His girlfriend had kicked him out,” Dayleen continued. “I think he’d lost his job, too.”
Well, that answered that.
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Where was that?”
Beside me, Ben cleared his throat, but I ignored him. Asking questions in a situation like this was second nature. Besides, I was honestly curious about what kind of work Tucker had done.
But Dayleen’s shoulders came up to her ears and dropped, a gesture I took to mean she didn’t know.
I barreled ahead. “So you two became friends?”
“Uh-huh.” She sniffed.
“Good friends?” I raised my eyebrows, while at the same time giving her an encouraging and sympathetic smile.
She understood. “Oh, not like that. I mean, he’d come hang out in here sometimes. You know, when he needed someone to talk to. But that was all. He wanted to get back together with his girlfriend.”
Dayleen was a soft shoulder to cry on.
She ducked her head. “Besides, Tucker was a little young for me.”
A soft shoulder who had a crush on him.
“Was he close to any of the other residents?”
“Nah. We don’t get many guests this time of year.” Suddenly, her head came up. “Oh, God. Someone is going to have to tell his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend.”
“Do you know how to get ahold of her?” I asked.
“Huh-uh.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Effie.”
“No last name?”
She looked stricken. “He never said.”
“It’s okay. Did she ever come here?”
Ben side-eyed me, but I ignored him.
“She might have, but I don’t know what she looks like,” Dayleen said. “A couple of women came to see him. A couple that I know of, that is. It’s not like I sit around and watch the units all day. I have a life, you know.”
“Well, of course you do,” Ben said. “I imagine you have security cameras to keep an eye on things.”
Bingo.
However, a regretful expression settled on Dayleen’s face. “We have the cameras all right. They haven’t worked for almost a year, though. I keep telling the owners, but it hasn’t been a priority.” She gave a little snort. “I bet they’ll fix them now.”
I suppressed a sigh and could sense Ben’s disappointment as well.
“Were the two women together?” he asked.
“No. Diffe
rent days. One was this afternoon. A man a couple of days ago, too. Blond guy. Kind of scary. Whenever Tucker had visitors, it always seemed like there was an argument. I don’t know why. He was so nice. From the sound of it, I thought he and the guy were going to fight right there in the parking lot. Next thing I knew, though, he was driving off, and Tucker went back into his room.” Talking seemed to help distract her from the upset of a dead body in her motel.
“Do you know if anyone else came to see Tucker today?” Ben asked.
She waved her hand. “Mostly I just hear cars and voices from in here.” She glanced at the television, and I wondered how many hours a day she was glued to it. Couldn’t blame her, of course.
“I imagine you’ve already told Detective Quinn all this.” I turned and looked out the window at the fracas in the parking lot. All the emergency lights had quieted except a patrol car at the far end of the lot. Declan stood in the cluster of firefighters, listening as one of them spoke and gesticulated wildly. He could have been describing the victim, but for all I knew, he was telling a story about his latest fishing trip. I returned my attention to Dayleen.
“Nooo . . . not yet. But I will.” Her eyes sharpened with suspicion. “You sound kind of like a detective yourself.”
Ben jumped in. “Occupational hazard, I guess. We’re firefighters.” He gestured to where Declan was nodding to his chatty colleague. “Something like this, I guess we just start asking questions and solving problems.” He reached over and gave my shoulders a one-armed squeeze. “Guess my niece here picked up on the same tendency.”
I watched as her suspicion drained away when she learned he and Declan were firefighters. Not that Ben was anymore, and after becoming fire chief, he hadn’t actually fought any fires for years. Still, he had a point. Helping and problem solving were in his blood.
Then she squinted at me. “You’re a firefighter?”
“Me? Oh, no. I’m a baker. We own the Honeybee Bakery down on Broughton Street.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that place. My best friend swears you make the best rosemary scones she’s ever tasted.”
“You should come in.” I extended the invitation automatically. “I’ll let you try one for free.”