Lula jumped up and slung the ice cube over the railing. “I need a refill, and since Edgar doesn't have his liquor license yet, I have to get it from my private supply. So if you'll excuse me....” She stood and bent her head close to Fonnie. “Wanna know a secret?” she whispered.
“Sure,” Fonnie said. “I'm always open to secrets.”
“I heard Melanie telling people she came to the wedding because she wanted to spend more time with Stephon. I know for a fact that's a lie. She and Edgar had already planned a tryst.” With that pronouncement, Lula stumbled her way inside the motel.
Fonnie became lost in thought. Keisha's disappearance had nearly preempted her concern for Melanie. Now the faces of both women stared at her through the cumulus clouds. One black, one white, one sweet, one not-so-sweet, both pleading for help. And there's not a thing I can do, she thought.
The sound of footsteps brought her mind back. She turned and leaned forward eagerly as Brian came up to her. “Learn anything?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not really. They've sent the broken highball glass found in Keisha's room to the crime lab.” He flopped down in a chair and frowned at her. “You didn't mention the glass to me, Gram. Didn't you know about it?”
“I do remember them looking at a piece of glass, but Steinberg didn't mention it to me. Is it important?”
“It might be. Fingerprints. And Steinberg said there seemed to be the residue of some substance in it.”
“Substance? What does substance mean in cop talk?”
“Maybe a drug.”
“Keisha would never take drugs. You know her, Brian. You tell that detective Keisha is as clean as new snow.”
“I did. But she may have had a visitor who wasn't all that clean.”
Fonnie took a ragged breath. “It's all so terrible. Do the police think the same person is responsible for both disappearances?”
“Steinberg didn't say so, but I think they're working under that assumption.” Brian glanced around the verandah. “What happened to Tyrone? I wanted him to go with me when I interviewed Stephon.”
“He's in the computer lounge. Jeremiah put him to work.” Fonnie went on to explain what they planned to do. She squinted at him. “Why are you interviewing Stephon? And why do you want Tyrone with you?”
“Stephon seems like a good place to start. He may know something he hasn't told or doesn't realize is significant. And he may talk more freely with Keisha's brother there.”
“True. But until Tyrone gets back, you could start with Tony Cauthen. His name keeps cropping up in connection with Melanie. It may be nothing, but you need to explore it.” Fonnie gazed out to the calm ocean and tried to steal some of its serenity. It helped a little. She then turned back to Brian. “But don't talk to him in front of Clara. She's pregnant and I don't want anything upsetting her.”
“You think Tony's account of his actions would upset her?”
“It's possible,” Fonnie said.
The pounding inside Keisha's head was incessant. She pushed herself to a sitting position and cradled her head in her hands. She felt something warm and sticky and realized it was blood, but it didn't seem to matter to her. She knew she'd fallen and had probably blacked out again. She wondered how long she'd been unconscious. She lifted her head, and as she did so, the pain in her neck and throat eclipsed any other thought. If only she could get a drink of water.
She remembered she was in a bathroom. A bathroom meant a sink, running water. She reached behind her, grasped the edge of the commode, and pulled herself up. Her hands groped in the darkness until they came in contact with something solid—something that dipped in the center. She fumbled for the faucets, found them, tried to turn them. They didn't move. Maybe her hands were too slippery. She wiped both hands across her shirt, grabbed the faucets again. She leaned against the sink to balance herself and willed every bit of her energy to open the water spigots. She felt a slight movement under her right hand. She kept up the turning motion and in a few moments she heard the trickle of water.
Keisha paused just long enough to breathe a prayer of thanks before immersing her hands in the blessed flow. She cupped both hands under the spigot, felt them fill up. Trembling, she brought her hands to her lips. The water caressed her chapped lips and dribbled down the front of her shirt. With the next hand full, she opened her lips and poured water into her mouth. At first the coolness felt wonderful, but when she tried to swallow, the pain was overwhelming. She clenched at her throat, gagged, and spit out most of the water.
At that moment, as her own hands touched her neck, she remembered what had happened in the darkened stairwell. She had been bounding up the steps to return to her room when she was grabbed from behind. An arm tightened across her chest. A hand covered her mouth. She started kicking and thrashing. Her resistance was short lived as powerful hands girdled her neck, squeezing tighter and tighter.
Now, as the horrific memory flooded over her, Keisha dropped her hands to her sides, leaned against the sink. She took short, quick breaths, tried to control her emotions. She slowly lifted one hand and followed the slight indentation on the side of her neck. Someone had tried to choke her death. Maybe he thought he'd succeeded. Or maybe, after she'd lost consciousness he'd tossed her into this room, and simply left her to die.
Those hands. There had been something familiar about those hands. She couldn't remember what it was, but she knew those hands had touched her at a previous time.
Before she could follow that train of thought, another memory popped to the forefront of her brain. She recalled why she had been in the stairwell. She'd taken Buzz's room key to the desk clerk after clearing out the room. Keisha remembered neatly packing Buzz's clothes, and placing his suitcases in the back of her closet. And she remembered one more thing—the piece of paper. The paper covered with Buzz's comments and question marks. The paper she'd crammed into her jeans' pocket. The paper she'd planned to think about later.
She slowly lowered both hands and explored all her pockets. They were empty. The paper was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Fonnie looked up in surprise as Tyrone lumbered out of the lobby, came up to her and Brian. She inched forward in her chair. “Where did you lose Jeremiah?”
“Not to worry. I finished my reconnaissance mission. Didn't find anything advantageous to us, but Jeremiah wanted to look some more. I gave him the search engine speed course. I think he's become enamored with the internet. He said he'd be here shortly, but I wouldn't count on it.” Tyrone slumped in a rocker. He turned to Brian. “Anything new to report?”
“No, but you and I are going to do a little investigating of our own. There are a couple of guys I want to chat with.”
Fonnie waved them off. “Good luck. I'll wait here for Jeremiah.”
Several minutes later she saw Jeremiah coming her way. He was rubbing his eyes. “How was your trek into cyberspace?” Fonnie asked.
“Fascinating. It's amazing what one can learn about another person.”
“So what did you learn about Buzz?”
“He specializes in personal injury cases and he's a member of the Million Dollar Forum.”
“Million Dollar Forum? What on earth is that?”
“It's a group of trial lawyers who have received a verdict or settlement for their clients of one million dollars or more.”
“Wow,” Fonnie said, “I had Buzz pegged for a buffoon. He must have been more impressive in a courtroom than in social situations.”
“Apparently, but I don't think we've come any closer to finding a motive for murder. I guess it was a crazy idea.”
“Not at all. We have to follow our instincts, no matter how harebrained they may seem.”
Jeremiah's eyebrows shot up. “You sound as if you may have a harebrained scheme lurking in that lovely head of yours.”
“I may,” Fonnie said.
“So out with it.”
“What we need to think about is the 'why' of Keisha's abduction.”
When Jeremiah made no comment, Fonnie went on. “Lula said that Keisha was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which, to my mind, means she accidentally came across some incriminating evidence against somebody. That somebody found out and took measures to get rid of the evidence and maybe of Keisha.”
Jeremiah nodded his head. “I agree. So we work backwards to where Keisha could have come up with this evidence.”
“Right. And the only logical place would have been in Buzz's room when she packed his bags.”
“But the police have those bags now,” Jeremiah said, “and if they found anything there, they're not letting it be known.”
“Of course they didn't find anything. Keisha kept it on her person. So we figure out who knew Keisha was going to Buzz's room, or who may have seen her go in there.”
“Fonnie, I'm sure the police have figured that out and have questioned every possible suspect. What more can we do?”
“Not we—you,” Fonnie said. “You are going to talk to those same suspects. Only instead of trying to get information, you are going to give it.”
“But I don't have any information.”
“Yes, you do. You know that Keisha came to my room before she went downstairs with Buzz's key.”
“But she didn't.” Jeremiah stared hard at Fonnie. “Did she?”
“No, she didn't. But you could start that rumor and give the guilty party something to worry about. He may wonder if Keisha told me something or gave me something to hold for her. He might get so worried, he'd try to search my room and we could set a trap for him.”
“Whoa there. Speaking of crazy ideas, that one tops the list. You'd be setting yourself up as a target. Brian would have my head if I went along with that.”
Fonnie gave a loud sigh. “I guess you're right. Forget I said anything.” At the same time Fonnie was apparently submitting to Jeremiah's common sense, she was planning how to spread the rumor herself. She had to do something to shake up the villain and perhaps make him show himself.
As daylight dwindled, the breeze became cooler. Fonnie gave a slight shiver. “I need to go inside. Want to find a cup of coffee?”
“Not now. I'll catch up with you later. I'm going to wander down the street, check out the stores, find out what the scuttlebutt is. Something new may surface.”
Fonnie slowly made her way inside, pondering her next move. She realized the tale she planned to tell needed an adjustment. If the bad guy had seen Keisha exit Buzz's room, then he knew she'd not come to Fonnie's room. But it was possible that when Keisha took Buzz's suitcases to her room, she could have phoned Fonnie. That's it, Fonnie thought. She'd tell people she had received a phone call from Keisha—that she couldn't remember exactly what Keisha had said because she'd been half asleep. But maybe she'd remember later, and when she did, she would tell the police. Fonnie nodded her head in satisfaction. That ought to be enough to put the perp on edge, she thought.
As luck would have it, she had a chance to put her plan into action immediately. Hank, Doris, and Midge were just entering the front door. Fonnie slid down on one of the sofas and beckoned them over. They approached her as if she were the chief mourner at a wake. Doris eased down next to her and grasped her hand. “We're so sorry about Keisha. After the police talked to us, we felt as if we simply had to get out for a while. We took a long drive up the coast.”
Hank pulled up a chair, brushed a hand over his thinning hair. “We thought about asking you to come along, but figured you'd want to stay on the spot—in case anything new came up, you know.”
“Of course,” Fonnie said. “But thank you for thinking of me. Actually, there may be something new if only I could get my poor memory to kick in.”
“What do you mean,” Midge asked.
That was Fonnie's opening to proceed with her scheme to flush out the villain. None of the three people in front of her were suspects in her mind, but she knew this conversation would make the rounds until the intended person heard it. She had no idea what would happen after that. But she was positive, whatever happened, she would be ready for it.
Keisha groped her way out of the bathroom and found another bench on the other side of the door. She desperately wanted a drink of water, but wasn't able to bear the pain of trying to swallow it.
She knew a little anatomy and wondered how her attacker had injured her throat so badly without crushing her windpipe. How come she couldn't swallow and couldn't talk but she was still able to breathe? Maybe the short while she'd been able to struggle dislodged his hands enough to save her life. In any case, she wasn't going to give up now. She had to find her way out of this prison.
She twisted her body to see if the fragment of light was still there. It was, but it was dimmer. The day was fading. It would soon be night again. Would that make it twenty-four hours she'd been in this dungeon? Probably, but no time to think of that now. If there was a way in here, there had to be a way out.
She started scooting along the bench again, this time along the opposite wall, searching for another door or a light switch. The bench came to an end where the wall turned the other corner. Keisha stood up and kept going, feeling her way along the wall. She had gone only a short distance when her foot bumped into an object. It was a soft object—perhaps a bag of some kind. She bent down to shove it out of her way.
Her fingers felt a piece of fabric. She followed the smoothness until her hand met something cold and round—an arm. She gasped. Her hand flew up. She toppled to the floor and dropped her head on her knees. A moan escaped through her lips. She recoiled at the thought of what she had touched. Someone else had also been thrown into this hellhole—left to die as she had been. But was the person dead? She had to find out.
It was several minutes before Keisha forced herself to touch the arm again. Her fingers found the fabric and moved upward. She felt a face, probably a feminine face, and long strands of hair. She held her hand over the face, could feel no breaths from the mouth. She felt for a carotid pulse as she'd been taught in her CPR class. Nothing. She was sharing her cell with a dead girl.
Her hand moved back down the arm, came to the wrist, collided with something metallic and she heard a faint tinkle. Her fingers explored a bracelet and she could make out a fish and a lion. It had to be Melanie's zodiac charm bracelet.
She swayed back and forth as she held tightly to Melanie's hand. It was soft and spongy. Since Melanie had been missing a full day before Keisha had been attacked herself, she realized that rigor mortis must have already come and gone. She faintly remembered learning that rigor mortis was only a temporary rigidity of the muscles after death.
Her other hand found the silver ring that held lip gloss. Keisha had been amused when she first saw the charm bracelet and the ring. Imagine glamorous, sophisticated Melanie wearing jewelry meant for a teenager. She wished now she'd told Melanie that it was a beautiful bracelet—wished she'd told her that she was a beautiful person. But it was too late.
Keisha's fingers fondled the ring; her mind pictured the lip gloss inside. She bit her own parched, chapped lips and imagined how wonderful it would be to apply a bit of the emollient. She didn't think Melanie would mind sharing. She found the clasp, pushed it. The ring snapped open. Keisha twirled a finger around inside expecting to find a soothing salve. Instead she touched only hard metal. There was no salve, no lubricant for her arid lips. She dug all around inside the ring. Maybe she could find a tiny trace left in a corner. All she found was what felt like a fine powder. She didn't know what to make of it. She withdrew her finger, wiped it on her trouser leg, and snapped the lid shut.
One of her father's favorite hymns floated through her head, There is a balm in Gilead. But there was no balm for her today. The disappointment was too much to bear.
Tears slid down her cheeks. Somehow, they brought a measure of relief. It felt good to cry—to cry for Melanie, to cry for herself, to cry for lost futures.
Chapter Eighteen
When Fonnie finished telling her story of Keisha'
s phone call she excused herself, said she was going to her room for a short nap. “Maybe I need to give my brain a rest.”
“Good idea,” Hank said. “You just relax and take it easy. Things have been pretty rough for you today.”
“That's right,” Doris said. “And let us know if we can help in any way.”
Fonnie had no intention of actually taking a nap, but when she got to her room she felt every bit of energy slip away. Maybe she had better rest, she thought. She would need to be at her best for whatever came next.
She took off her shoes, stretched out on the bed.
The shrilling of the phone woke her. Brian's voice sounded concerned. “Are you all right, Gram? It's after seven. Aren't you going to eat dinner?”
It took Fonnie a few moments to collect her thoughts. She must have fallen asleep. She looked out the window into the darkness.
Brian's voice came again. “Gram?”
“Yes, yes. I'm fine. I'll be down in just a little bit. I'll meet you in the dining room.”
When she arrived, she was pleased to see Stephon sitting with Brian and Tyrone. The three boys, as she thought of them, seemed to be getting on well together. They were in deep conversation but it looked like a friendly exchange. Good, Fonnie thought, maybe I can erase the nebulous doubts I'd been having about Stephon. If Tyrone likes him then he must be completely innocent.
“Glad you could join us, Stephon,” Fonnie said as she sat down. She looked around the table and said to no one in particular, “Any news?”
All three shook their heads.
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