Pieces of January

by Ronald Paxton

  “Are you cold? We can eat inside if you like.”

  Missy shook her head. “This is great. I’ve always been an outdoor girl, believe it or not.”

  Bo ate some French fries and took a sip of his iced tea. “I’d like to hear about the life of Missy Hunt.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I was born and raised just outside of Rocky Mount, North Carolina. My parents got divorced when I was in the fifth grade. I haven’t seen or heard from my father since then. Mama said he took off with his girlfriend for parts unknown. Good riddance.”

  “Is your mother still living?”

  Missy shook her head. “She died three years ago from cervical cancer. It was awful.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bo said. “So, how did you end up in Shenandoah County?”

  “I tried to stay in Rocky Mount after high school, but there weren’t any decent jobs. Mama talked me into sending out a few college applications. I got accepted at Ferrum over in Franklin County and completed two years before I threw in the towel. I’ve never liked school, and my mother had just been diagnosed with cancer. I decided to go back home to be with her.”

  Bo nodded. “I barely finished high school myself. Algebra killed any interest I might have otherwise had in continuing my education. I hope there’s a special place in hell reserved for the person who put the alphabet in math.”

  Missy finished her first hot dog and smiled. “Anyway, I found a few low-paying jobs when I got back to Rocky Mount. I was a clerk at a hardware store and a maintenance helper for a small apartment complex. I also stocked shelves at a grocery store. After my mother died, I knew I had to get out of Rocky Mount before I suffocated. When I was at Ferrum, my girlfriends and I used to take weekend trips to the lake. We had a lot of fun, so I decided to see what it was like living here year-round. I’m glad I made the move.”

  Bo smiled. “So am I.”

  “In case you’re wondering, this wasn’t my first choice of professions. I was actually working part-time here at the marina when I met Finn. Mama had left me some money, but I still needed more income than the nine dollars an hour I was making here. I can’t say I love the escort life the way Melissa did, but it’s all right. I’m making my own way, and I’ve met a wonderful man named Bo Carson who knows where to find the best hot dogs in the county.”

  They finished eating, and Bo collected their trash.

  “Would you like some dessert?”

  Missy grinned. “Yes, I would. Let’s go back to my room and see what we can find to eat.”

  Bo laughed. “I like the way you think.”

  They made the trip back to the motel in silence. Missy had her hands in his lap, and he was cupping her right breast. Bo felt half a century melt away. He cruised down the road with hot little Molly Pratt. His whole life was in front of him, and the possibilities were infinite.

  He pulled into the motel lot and parked in front of Missy’s room. Her Toyota was still parked in front of the room next to the office.

  Missy opened the door, and Bo pinned her against the wall. He covered her face and mouth with his lips as he struggled to remove his pants.

  She pushed him back and removed her top. Bo watched as she pulled off her boots and socks, before removing her pants. A high, whistling noise escaped from his mouth.

  Missy dropped to her knees and removed his pants. Bo helped her up and attacked her breasts with his hands and mouth. She pressed her back to the wall as Bo pushed into her. It was over in less than a minute.

  “You did it again,” Missy whispered.

  Bo nodded. “I’m sorry. I tried to last, but…”

  Missy put her fingers to his lips. “I meant you gave me another orgasm.”

  Bo pushed her fingers into his mouth and sampled them.

  “And if you keep that up, I’ll have another one in about sixty seconds.”

  He laughed and led her over to the bed. “Do you have any appointments scheduled?”

  Missy nodded. “I’ve got a client coming in about an hour. I’m sorry.”

  Bo shrugged. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not trying to hurt your business.”

  Missy smiled. “Would you like to spend the night? We haven’t actually done that yet. Finn doesn’t call me after midnight. Is that too late?”

  Bo smiled. “I’d love to spend the night. I’m going to take a nap this afternoon so I’ll be ready for you.” He reached for his pants and turned away.

  “I like your body, Bo. You don’t need to feel self-conscious with me.”

  Bo turned and faced her. “It’s an old man’s body, Missy…not exactly the sight women swoon over.”

  Missy frowned. “You look good to me, Bo Carson, and don’t you forget it. I want you to promise me two things: don’t ever try to hide your body from me, and don’t ever use the word swoon again. Nobody says swoon.”

  Bo laughed and finished dressing. “By the way, I like your boots.”

  “Thanks. I got them from Belk. I don’t get a chance to wear them often. I usually go barefoot when I’m inside.”

  “I like that even better,” Bo said.

  Missy tossed a pillow at him. “Save that talk for tonight. Go home and get some rest, Mr. Carson. You’re going to need it.”

  Bo shut the door behind him and took a deep breath. A beautiful day with a gorgeous woman…life was good. If Dodd and his team could identify and arrest the Committee killer, life would be perfect.

  He crossed the parking lot and entered the motel office. Bruce was behind the counter, working his way through a stack of cash and checks.

  “Hey, Bo, how’s it going? I’m trying to do a bank deposit, but I keep losing count of the cash. I’m lousy at math.”

  “Don’t you have an adding machine or a calculator?”

  Bruce snorted. “I made the mistake of getting one of those small, hand-held calculators. The buttons are too small for my sausage fingers.”

  “Why don’t you count a hundred at a time and write it down? Then you can add up the figures by hand.”

  Patterson pointed a finger at him. “Now that’s the voice of experience. Thanks for the tip.”

  “You’re welcome. Listen, Bruce, I wanted to let you know Tommy Sale is dead. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  Bruce nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? So, was he the killer?”

  “The FBI isn’t sure. They’re going over his phone and financial records. I think the case is still officially open. Anyway, thanks again for looking out for Missy. I’ll see you later.”

  Bo glanced at the vending machines as he left the office. He and Missy had burned off some calories, and there would be a lot more of that tonight. A post-lunch snack sounded good.

  It was one of the old machines with a limited selection. Bo wondered how long the items had been in there. The calendar still said January, and Melissa was no longer around to keep the snack business humming along during the slow months.

  The third item from the left caught his eye. Bo felt a chill run down his arms and back.

  What’s the matter with you? It’s a popular candy bar. We even carry it at the store. It doesn’t mean anything.

  Bo inserted his money and selected the chocolate bar, even though it was one he rarely ate. Maybe the experience of eating it would help him connect the dots.

  If you say that out loud, people will think you’re crazy. Eating candy never improved anyone’s memory.

  He tried to think as he drove back to the house. Assuming the discarded candy wrapper he had found near the old boathouse belonged to the killer, it was at least possible he had purchased it from the motel vending machine. Salem had followed Grace Hanes and Hal Morris to the motel. It was likely either or both of them had been there on more than one occasion. Finn Watson visited the motel on a regular basis to pick up Missy for her out-call appointments and collect his cut on her in-call visits. Davis Lord was probably out of the picture, and Bo didn’t know enough about Jack Fowler to make any
assumptions one way or the other.

  Grace Hanes, Finn Watson, and Hal Morris—it was a good list, but how did it fit together? Did Hanes and Watson get their drugs from the same supplier? Did Hal Morris and Finn Watson even know each other? Did it matter?

  “Crap, I’m missing something.”

  He took a bite from the candy bar and smiled. Watching Bruce count his cash receipts by hand had brought back memories of his earliest days at the store when Martha kept the books in an ancient accounting ledger. Bruce Patterson was definitely old school. There wasn’t even a computer in the motel office.

  It hit him like a sack of doorknobs to the back of the head.

  “No, God, no, that can’t be it.”

  It couldn’t be, except for the fact that it all fit together.

  Bo pulled off the road and dialed Salem.

  “I need you and Anderson to meet me in the Passages Assisted Living parking lot now. It’s important. I just remembered who bought my typewriter.”

  He hung up and turned the car around. Less than a mile down the road, he pulled over again and called Salem.

  “Bring Dodd with you.”

  Bo checked his side view mirror and hit the gas. If he was right, Missy Hunt was living on borrowed time.

  Chapter 36

  Bo was waiting when Salem and Anderson arrived.

  “Dodd’s already here,” Anderson said. “He’s in the addiction center, re-interviewing Fowler and the staff about Melissa. What have you got?”

  “Boyd Patterson was the person who bought my typewriter. I remember how excited he was to get it for such a good price.”

  “Who’s Boyd Patterson?” Anderson asked.

  “He’s Bruce Patterson’s father,” Bo said. “Boyd owned and operated the motel where you and Salem saw Hanes and Morris shacked up. Missy’s staying there now because I thought it was safe. Anyway, Bruce took over from his parents and lives on the premises. Boyd has an apartment here at Passages.”

  Salem looked grim. “Let’s go. Anderson, call Dodd and have him meet us at Boyd Patterson’s apartment. Bo, you’ll need to take the lead on this. You’re an old friend stopping by to visit. I’m your son-in-law, and Dodd and Anderson are friends of yours.”

  “That’s a little awkward. Boyd and I were never more than casual friends. We both spent all our time working or with our families.”

  Salem shrugged. “All right, you’re checking out the apartments at Passages as a potential place for you to live when the time comes. We’re here to support you and give you our impressions of the facility. You happened to learn he was a resident and decided to pay a visit while you were here.”

  Bo nodded. “That should fly.”

  Dodd was waiting in the hall when they reached Patterson’s apartment. Bo briefed him on the situation.

  “This sounds promising,” Dodd said. “We’ll follow your lead, Mr. Carson.”

  Bo rang the bell and waited. The wizened creature that came to the door was barely recognizable as Boyd Patterson.

  Is that what I’m going to look like in ten years?

  “Boyd, it’s Bo Carson, from the store. Do you remember me?”

  Patterson looked at him uncertainly and then smiled. “You got old, Bo.”

  Bo laughed.

  “I did indeed, Boyd. That’s why I’m here looking for an apartment. I brought my friends along to help me decide because they’re younger and smarter than me. I saw Bruce at the store a few days ago. He said you were living here, so I thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

  Boyd held the door open and motioned his guests inside. “Bruce told you?”

  Bo could see his old friend struggling with the name.

  “Your son shops at the store. He told me the motel keeps him busy.”

  Boyd smiled. “Bruce comes to visit me every week.”

  Bo laughed. “Hey, do you remember that old Adler J-Five typewriter I sold you way back when? I wonder whatever happened to it.”

  “It’s in my guest room. Do you want to see it?”

  “Sure, Boyd, for old times’ sake.”

  The typewriter was sitting on a writing desk. There was an opened pack of white paper beside the machine. Bo felt his heart jump into his throat.

  “Does anybody still use it?”

  Boyd nodded enthusiastically. “Bruce types a lot of notes on it, mostly stuff from the Bible. He had to throw a lot of the notes away because he made so many typing mistakes. His fingers are too big for the keys.”

  “I guess those notes with the mistakes went out with the garbage,” Bo said.

  Patterson shook his head. “I saved them all in a box in case my son needs them for something. I never throw away his things. He’s a good son, and I try to be a good dad.”

  Bo was afraid he might cry. He glanced at Dodd for help.

  “Mr. Patterson, I bet it would make your son’s day if we surprised him with the notes. They’re a wonderful gift. I think he should know what a thoughtful father he has. If he still wants you to keep them here for him, I’ll bring them back.”

  Boyd opened the guest room closet and handed Dodd a shoe box. “Tell him it’s a present from me. I was saving them as a surprise.”

  “I’ll tell him, Mr. Patterson. It was nice to meet you. Take care of yourself.”

  They walked to the parking lot in silence. Dodd took a few minutes to examine the contents of the box.

  “This is it. I’ll call in my team and follow you to the motel.”

  They took Salem’s car. Bo didn’t trust himself to drive.

  Salem glanced over at his father-in-law as they started down the long driveway to the road. “You did a good job, Bo. I know that was hard.”

  There was no traffic on the road. Salem turned into the motel and parked in front of the office. Dodd pulled in next to him and got out of the car.

  “My team should be here in about thirty minutes to take him into custody.”

  Salem nodded his understanding of the unspoken subtext to the message.

  Bruce was behind the front desk, reading a newspaper.

  Dodd flashed his badge and slammed the shoebox down on the counter. “Bruce Patterson, you’re under arrest for the murders of Arthur Stack, Donna Tice, and Melissa Wright.” Dodd finished reading Patterson his rights and then handcuffed him. The motel manager looked stunned. The FBI agent opened the shoebox. “These are a gift from your dad, Mr. Committee for Morality and Decency. That’s certainly an ironic name for your one-man gang.”

  Patterson examined the contents of the box and slumped down in his chair.

  “I wonder what else we’ll find in your little apartment,” Dodd said. “We’ll know soon enough.”

  “I didn’t kill Melissa,” Patterson said. “I killed Tice and Stack, but not Melissa.”

  “You’re being modest, Bruce. Did you forget about the two in North Carolina? You’re a busy guy.”

  Patterson’s eyes flashed with surprise before he shrugged. “Yeah, they’re mine, too, but I didn’t kill Melissa.”

  Dodd stared at him. “If you didn’t kill her, you know the person who did because you hired them. Give me a name.”

  The motel manager smiled. “Give me a reason to give you a name. I’m looking for a deal.”

  The FBI agent glared at him. “I have neither the authority nor the inclination to offer you a deal, Mr. Patterson. Right now, I have some paperwork to complete. Don’t worry. I’ll leave you in capable hands.”

  Patterson’s eyes widened as Salem, Anderson, and Bo entered the office.

  Salem grabbed his arm and steered him out of the office.

  “We’ll be more comfortable back here in your living quarters. I need the name of the person you hired to kill Melissa. Can you give me that information, Bruce?”

  The motel manager shook his head.

  “Jesus, man, you look terrified,” Anderson said. “Calm down.”

  Salem looked at Bo. “I need you to find a bucket and fill it with snow.”

  B
o returned from the small kitchen a moment later and went outside.

  “I’ve got a lighter,” Anderson said. “Are we going to do fire and ice?”

  Salem nodded.

  Bo returned with a bucket full of snow. Patterson bolted out of his chair and tried to make a run for it. Salem dropped him with an elbow to the throat.

  Anderson walked over to the bucket of snow and unzipped his fly. “I’m making lemon snow cones just for you, Bruce.”

  He finished his business and handed the lighter to Bo. Without another word, Anderson began stuffing the snow down Patterson’s throat. The motel manager gagged and threw up his lunch.

  “Do you have a name for me?” Salem asked.

  Patterson moaned and shook his head.

  Salem removed Patterson’s shoes and socks. He glanced at Bo.

  “Give him a hot foot with that lighter.”

  Bruce shrieked in agony.

  “Do you have a name for me?”

  Patterson shook his head.

  Salem yanked off the motel manager’s pants and underwear. He nodded to Bo. “Roast his testicles and penis.”

  Bo swallowed hard and set the manager on fire. Patterson howled.

  “Do you have a name for me?”

  Bruce was crying, but managed to shake his head.

  Salem looked at Anderson and Bo. “Finish him.”

  The smell of fried pubic hair and burning skin filled the air as Bruce Patterson’s screams echoed off the walls. Anderson shoved the urine-soaked snow down the motel manager’s throat with the frenzy of a man bailing out a leaky boat with a tablespoon.

  “Do you have a name for me?”

  Snot ran from Patterson’s nose as he stared into the eyes of the most terrifying person he had ever met in his life. He nodded and stared down at his ruined flesh. “Grace Hanes,” he said.

  Chapter 37

  Salem finished loading the dishwasher and returned to the table with two bottles of water. He handed one to Krista and sat down. “That was a strange supper.”

  “I beg your pardon. You don’t like my cooking anymore?”