Murder and Misdeeds

by Helen Goodman

  Jeremiah was finishing a stack of pancakes when Fonnie slid into the chair opposite him. He grinned at her. “Good morning, Sunshine. You're looking pert today.”

  “Now that's a word I haven't heard in years—an old-fashioned Southern word.”

  “If it was good enough for my grandpappy, it's good enough for me. I remember that's what he'd say to my grandma when she'd come in the kitchen with a lively step, humming snatches of songs.”

  “I can't say I'm in the humming mood, but I do feel livelier than I did yesterday. Maybe things aren't quite as bad as I imagined.”

  “I don't know about that. Clara's pretty upset.”

  “Oh, was she a good friend of Melanie?”

  “It's not that. She's just worried about Tony. It seems he's been as jumpy as a grasshopper since the cops talked to him yesterday. Clara told me he left the search party early yesterday, made a run to the liquor store and was pretty smashed when she came in.”

  “She's upset about his drinking?”

  “That and the fact that apparently he was the last person to see Melanie Friday night. He insists he just escorted her to her room and that she was fine when he left her, but I'm not sure Clara is buying his story.”

  “Why wouldn't she?” Fonnie remembered Jeremiah had said earlier that the marriage was in trouble, but he hadn't gone into detail.

  “It seems that Tony has had some indiscretions in the past,” Jeremiah said. “I guess it's pretty hard for a woman to forget that.”

  The waitress came up and took Fonnie's order for oatmeal and cinnamon rolls. When they were alone again, Jeremiah went on. “Tony's a nice guy, a good provider, but I'm not sure he's cut out to be a family man. I think the coming baby has him worried. And I don't know what to think of his relationship with Melanie.”

  “Are you saying Tony may know more about Melanie's disappearance than he's letting on?”

  “It's possible. At least I think Clara is nervous about it.”

  “Poor thing.” Fonnie stirred another spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “I don't remember love being so complicated when I was young.”

  “And speaking of love complications,” Jeremiah said, “here comes a young man who looks a little troubled.”

  Fonnie glanced up and watched Stephon as he hurried toward them. He did look troubled, Fonnie thought. Now what? Had he and Keisha had a spat already this morning?

  Stephon pulled out a chair and slumped down like a collapsing balloon. He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “I don't understand women. I don't understand women at all.”

  Jeremiah nodded, “Join the club. Few men do understand the opposite sex. But what specifically is the problem now?”

  “Either Keisha is hiding from me or just refusing to answer her phone and her door.” Stephon wiped a hand across his chin and turned to Fonnie. “Have you talked to her this morning?”

  Fonnie shook her head. “No. When I called and she didn't answer I figured she was in the shower. Of course, she could have come down early, and gone for a walk. What do you think, Jeremiah?”

  Jeremiah scowled. He looked from Fonnie to Stephon and back again. “You mean, neither of you has seen or heard from Keisha since last night?”

  They both shook their heads.

  Jeremiah stood up and scooted his chair back so fast it started to tip over. He grabbed the chair and righted it. “I don't want to be an alarmist but I think we'd better check on her again. Doesn't she have a cell phone?”

  Fonnie nodded. “Of course, if she'd gone out early for a beach walk she probably would've taken her cell.”

  Jeremiah dug his phone out of his pocket. “What's her number?”

  Fonnie rattled it off, then prayed the phone would be answered.

  After several rings, Jeremiah shook his head and snapped the phone shut. “Let's try her door again. If there's no answer, I think we'd better get the desk clerk to let us into her room.” He paused. “No. On second thought, we'd better contact Lieutenant Steinberg, and let him check out the room.”

  Fonnie cupped her face in her hands and moaned. “Oh God,” she cried, “do you think something may have happened to her.”

  “No, no. But the way things are going around here, we can't be too careful.”

  Stephon jumped up. His hands and his voice shook. “Let's go.”

  On their way out of the dining room, Fonnie noticed Hank, Doris, and Midge coming in. She gave them a slight nod and kept going.

  When they reached Keisha's door, Stephon pounded repeatedly. The only response was an elderly gentleman down the hall sticking his head out to see what the racket was about.

  Jeremiah motioned to Fonnie. “Go to your room and check your phone. Just in case she left a message.” Fonnie did as she was told and returned shortly with a shake of her head.

  “Come on,” Stephon said. “We're calling the police.”

  The trio waited in the lobby for them to arrive. The detective and two uniformed policemen drove up within ten minutes. Jeremiah explained about why they were worried. Fonnie was too distraught to say anything, and Stephon paced back and forth.

  Lieutenant Steinberg listened without apparent emotion then signaled one of the cops with him to get the room key.

  “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” The desk clerk shook his head in uncertainty. “I've got to call Mr. Myers about this. He'll be so upset.”

  “Yeah, sure,” the young cop said. “Call your boss, but in the meantime give me the key card.”

  The detective led the way to the elevator followed by Fonnie, Jeremiah, Stephon, and the uniformed policemen. No one said anything.

  Fonnie kept her eyes on the floor, kept her hands clenched tightly, and tried to keep horrible thoughts out of her mind.

  The group paused outside the door. Lieutenant Steinberg knocked loudly. The sound echoed down the hall, bounced off the low ceiling, pounded against Fonnie's ears. She held her breath, praying that Keisha's sleepy voice would answer the knock.

  After a few seconds of silence, Steinberg motioned the others to stand back while he inserted the card. Fonnie craned her neck to see inside the room as the door opened. She could only get a glimpse of the bed, but she could see the spread was pulled up. Either it hadn't been slept in, Fonnie thought, or it had been made up. Her thoughts tumbled over one another. It was too early for the motel maid to have made it up and she was sure Keisha wouldn't have bothered to do it.

  Three pairs of eyes in the hallway followed the policemen as they surveyed the room, went into the bathroom, looked into the closet. Steinberg picked up a leather bag from the seat of a chair. He looked up at Fonnie in the doorway. “This her purse?”

  Fonnie nodded.

  The detective opened the bag, pulled out and examined a billfold. “Money, credit cards.” He dug further and came out with a set of car keys. “Doesn't look like she drove anywhere.”

  Fonnie made no motion to go into the room. Although there didn't seem to be any sign of a struggle, she wondered if she was looking at a crime scene. Had Keisha disappeared as mysteriously and completely as Melanie?

  She glanced at Stephon who stood close to her right elbow. If it were possible for a black man to look pale, he did. His face was contorted. He looked like a boxer who had just taken a blow to his gut. His shoulders slumped, his breathing came in ragged gasps. Fonnie reached over and touched his arm. She had had her doubts about Stephon the past few days, but now there was no doubt about the pain he was feeling.

  Her attention turned back to the room when she heard the young cop say, “Lieutenant, check this out.” The cop picked up something in a napkin. Fonnie could see that it looked like a piece of glass.

  Steinberg left the closet he was examining and crossed the room. “Hmm. Now why would she have saved half of a broken water glass?”

  The young cop bent his head closer. “It's not a water glass, sir. It looks more like a highball glass. Maybe she was sharing drinks with someone in here.”

  The lieutenant looked towar
d the door. His gaze seemed to hover on Stephon. Steinberg turned back and barked out orders. “Bag it. Get the crew up here. Seal the room.”

  The detective went back over to the closet, bent down, examined the luggage and read the name tags. Fonnie promptly forgot about the glass when Steinberg walked over to her and asked, “Why does she have luggage labeled 'Cyrus Garrison'?”

  “Cyrus? That must be Buzz. But I have no idea why she would have his luggage in her room. Maybe Midge, that's his wife, or rather his widow, would know.”

  “We'll see. In the meantime, I suggest you people stick around in the lobby until I have time to question everyone further.”

  Stephon leaned on the wall opposite Keisha's door. His head was tilted back and his eyes seemed fixed on the ceiling light fixture. Jeremiah went over to him. “Let's go downstairs. We can get a cup of coffee while we wait.”

  Stephon lowered his head and when he did, a tear rolled down his cheek. He nodded and trailed Jeremiah to the elevator.

  When the door opened, Edgar stormed off, and made a dash toward the policeman. “What in the hell has happened now?”

  Keisha was cold. Her body trembled like a leaf in a frigid windstorm. She wrapped her arms around herself, felt the goose flesh, the icy skin. She needed a blanket. There should be a blanket someplace here in her room if only she could find it. It was so dark. What had happened to the night light in the bathroom? And what had happened to her bed? It was so hard. She moved her right hand to feel under her hips. The bed felt like a cement sidewalk, hard and cold and unyielding. She tried to turn to see if any light was creeping in through the window drapes. A sharp pain jerked her head back. She let out a low whimper and the sound scraped her throat. She tried to swallow but the effort brought tears to her eyes. Her throat was parched. She touched the front of her neck and winced in pain.

  Her thoughts whirled around as in a miasma. Where was she? This wasn't her bed, her room. Why was it so dark? What had happened? Why did her throat feel like it was in vise? If only she could have a drink of water. If only she could cry out for help. She opened her mouth but the only sound that came out was a low raspy groan. She needed to remember what had happened. But her mind rebelled. The effort was too great. She sank back into a swamp of unconsciousness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fonnie led Stephon out to the motel verandah and motioned to some chairs. He shook his head. “I can't sit. I've got to walk. I've got to think. I've got to do something.”

  He took off toward the pier, his face lifted up to the sky, his hands raised as if in supplication. Fonnie followed at a distance. She knew she couldn't keep up with him, but neither did she want him out of her sight. She didn't know why. His grief and despair seemed genuine, but did he know something he hadn't mentioned, or did he have suspicions about someone?

  They reached the pier. Fonnie slumped on the nearest bench to catch her breath while Stephon stalked out to the end. The sky had become overcast and a cold breeze blew in from the ocean. Even though she had a sweater on, Fonnie shivered. She looked up and down the beach and wondered if the police would duplicate the search they had done the day before. There had been no sign of the missing Melanie. If the same person was responsible for the disappearance of both girls, it seemed likely they were being held in the same place. Fonnie closed her eyes and shook her head to drive out the horrible thought that both their bodies would be found in the same place.

  When she opened her eyes they came to rest on the statue of the Shepherd by the Sea. The front of the chapel faced the beach and the Shepherd was holding forth his hands in blessing to those who sailed there. The beach side of the chapel seemed much closer to the motel than did the street side. Fonnie couldn't see the Shepherd's face clearly, but she remembered His smile and felt His compassion.

  She began to sob. Tears had never come easily to her. A lifetime of self-restraint and a nursing career that commanded emotional control, seldom allowed her the relief of crying. Now she gave way completely. What had started as a professional relationship between Fonnie and Keisha had transformed into a deep friendship. Keisha had nagged and bullied Fonnie into learning to walk again after her stroke, had pushed her into independence. And even though there were times Fonnie lashed out at the young girl, she knew Keisha was doing it out of love. Now Keisha was gone and Fonnie could do nothing except cry and pray to the Shepherd by the Sea.

  Staring at the chapel, Fonnie was suddenly reminded of Keisha's father. He was a preacher, the minister of a large African-American church in Groverton. He had to be notified of Keisha's disappearance, as did her brother, Tyrone. Tyrone Riggs, even though he was still in high school, had also become a close friend of Fonnie's. He did her yard work and general maintenance around the house. They had often laughed together over his passion for big words. Tyrone would never describe a person as being 'nice.' The person would be 'amiable' or 'winsome' or 'congenial' but never just plain 'nice.'

  She got up from the bench, found a tissue in her pocket, wiped her eyes and her nose. Crying time was over. She had to make some telephone calls. She took a deep breath and started back to the motel, then glanced to the end of the pier. Stephon was leaning against the railing, his head bent down. She had no doubt but that he too was praying.

  Fonnie didn't see Lieutenant Steinberg when she entered the lobby, but a uniformed officer was standing by the front desk. She went up and told him she was going to her room and they could reach her there if they had any new information. The officer gave her a polite nod but not an encouraging one. She sensed there would be no information any time soon.

  Fonnie decided to call Brian first. Since he was going to be working the evening shift this week, he'd be home now.

  Fonnie's hands trembled as she punched in her home phone number. Brian answered on the second ring. His slow “Hello” sounded as if he expected further bad news.

  “Oh Brian.” Fonnie's voice cracked before she could say anything else.

  “What?” Brian nearly shouted. “Have they found Melanie? What's going on?”

  Fonnie sucked up a gob of air, tried to control her emotions. “It's so terrible.”

  “What's terrible. Tell me!”

  “Now Keisha's missing. She's gone. Just like Melanie. Not a trace.” Fonnie couldn't keep back the sobs that tore at her.

  “Gram, pull yourself together. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Fonnie did her best to explain. She told him of Keisha's empty room, of the bed not being slept in, of there being no sign of a struggle. “It's like she just walked out into thin air and disappeared.”

  “I'm coming up. You need to have someone with you. I'll call in to work and explain it's a family emergency.”

  “Yes. I need you here. But first you have to call Reverend Riggs. I don't know what you're going to tell him. Since his wife died, he seems to have depended on Keisha. This is going to be so hard for him—and for Tyrone. Poor Tyrone.”

  “I'll go over and see them. Since this is a school holiday, Tyrone will probably be home too. I'll tell them about Keisha and then I'm coming up. I'll be there this afternoon—as soon as I can. In the meantime, try to stay calm. The police will find her—they'll find both of them.” Brian tried to put a smile in his voice. “Like you used to tell me, 'Keep the faith.'”

  “I'm trying.”

  As Fonnie hung up the phone, she heard a soft knock on the door. A tremor of fear shot through her body. Was it a policeman, she thought, with news—bad news? She stood up slowly, made her way to the door, and squinted into the peephole. She gave a sigh of relief and quickly opened the door to Jeremiah.

  “Didn't mean to run out on you,” she said, “but I had to make a telephone call.”

  “Brian?”

  “Yes. He's going to notify Keisha's family and then come up here.”

  “Good. Now let me fill you in on what I've learned about last night.”

  Fonnie stepped back into the room, sat down on the side of the bed, and motioned Jeremiah
to a chair. Her voice cracked. “What did you find out?”

  He explained to her about Midge's request, about Keisha packing up Buzz's clothes, and then taking the key card to the desk clerk.

  “Did the clerk see where she went after handing in the key?”

  “No. He was too busy checking in the bus passengers.”

  “But somebody must have seen her,” Fonnie said. “Seen what direction she went in. If she was with anybody. What are the police doing?”

  “I guess they're doing whatever they're supposed to do—interviewing people, asking questions. I know they took Buzz's bags that Keisha packed. So they're probably going through them. And I overheard Steinberg give instructions to contact the Wilmington police to question those on the bus in case they saw anything. Melanie's picture is already on the TV news and Keisha's will be shortly. I guess all we can do now is wait—and pray.”

  “I suppose Detective Steinberg has checked all our friends for alibis.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And,” Fonnie said, “do you think he'll share that information with me?”

  “That's a definite 'no'.”

  “So I guess we'll have to start our own list.” Fonnie reached for the pad of motel stationery and a pen. “Now you told me that Clara said Tony was smashed last evening when she went to their room. I take that to mean he was drunk.”

  “I think that's the definition. But don't ask me if he was dead drunk or passed out or just tipsy because I don't know.”

  “We can find out. What I really want to know is whether Clara saw him before or after the time Keisha disappeared.”

  “Probably before. I saw her come up to the verandah with a bunch of other searchers. I remember thinking she looked pretty bushed and that she shouldn't have been out there all day—being in the family way like she is. I'm not sure if she got anything to eat or not. She may have gone right up to their room. If so, that would have been when Keisha was eating with you. I can ask Clara to be sure.”