Murder at the Moonshine Inn

by Maggie King

  “Hazel! What are you doing here?”

  Startled, I spun around to see Patty walking toward me, a red visor pushing her hair off her face. We hugged, but tentatively. Besides my recent realization that she could be either a killer, a killer’s moll or, at the very least, a person of interest, I didn’t want her to know how fast my heart hammered. Had she seen me taking pictures?

  “I saw your van turning in here earlier. I figured you were here to pack up so I thought I’d offer to help.” I hoped against hope that they had driven in there. If they were indeed homeless and camped out in their space or van, my cover story didn’t serve me well. I didn’t know how to explain my interest in the Camry, so I didn’t even try.

  Patty smiled and took my arm. “How sweet of you. Come on back and see the unit. Paul will be thrilled to see you. And you can look through Marcie’s books and take any that you want.”

  I felt a strange combination of elation and fear—elation that I’d get my mitts on those books, fear of being in the unit with the two of them, who’d just leaped to the top of the suspect list. My mouth dry, I managed, “Uh, okay. I just have to finish this text to Vince. I need to remind him to get milk at the store.” My hands trembled more than before and I’m not sure what I finally texted.

  “I was just out for my morning walk,” Patty said brightly.

  “Nice weather,” I managed, not up for small talk.

  As we walked, I didn’t spot a soul or even an open unit. At the far end of the property, the doors of Paul’s blue van stood open, revealing a number of packing boxes. Paul added one more. He did a double-take when he saw me. “Hazel!” he greeted me with a false note of bonhomie as we drew near. “So good to see you.” He planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “Uh, hi Paul. Good to see you, too.”

  “Hazel saw us driving in here this morning and she offered to help us clear out the space,” Patty said, her voice unnaturally loud. “I thought she could look through Marcie’s books and take what she wants.”

  “Good idea. Come on in and we’ll show you the boxes.”

  Not wanting to go in, I hovered at the entrance to the unit that measured roughly the size of a one-car garage. About a dozen cartons as well as a bare mattress and box spring filled the space. A packing-tape dispenser and thick black marker topped two of the cartons that served as a table. Had Patty and Paul been sleeping on that mattress? The van would be more comfortable, but perhaps they had air conditioning in here. What about toilet facilities?

  I felt my mouth going even drier. “So, are you going back to Pittsburgh today?”

  The next thing I knew, I was face-down on the mattress with a hand pressed over my mouth and my neck held in a vise-like grip. “Get some of that packing tape and put it over her mouth,” Patty ordered. A section of packing tape replaced the hand. In no time the two of them bound my wrists and ankles. Patty’s harsh tone and physical strength astonished me.

  “Sorry, Hazel,” Patty said. To my surprise, she sounded genuinely contrite. “After all, you are family. But we’re not sure how much you know, what Nina told you.”

  “Come on Patty, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Okay, okay. But where’s her bag? She’s got that frigging phone and I saw her taking pictures of the Camry.”

  Thankfully, the phone wasn’t in my bag. After texting Vince I’d shoved it into the pocket of my jeans. In my present position on my stomach, the phone dug into a bone, the name of which escaped me, adding to my discomfort. Hopefully Vince wouldn’t text or call just then. I held a dim hope that I’d muted the phone and then forgotten to turn the sound back on.

  I turned to see Patty slinging my bag over her shoulder. “Just so you know, Hazel, this whole sorry situation is Paul’s doing. I could have started a new life, gotten away from him and his gambling sucking up our pensions.”

  Then she stepped outside and said with great cheer, “Sit tight, Hazel. We’ll be back.” Then I heard the door roll shut, leaving me in pitch darkness.

  What? They were coming back? With a knife? Maybe the knives were packed up in the van and they needed time to dig them out. Had Rox and Nina’s murder weapons come from Patty’s well-stocked kitchen?

  Where was Vince? Did he get my text? At any rate, he knew where I was—as did Kat and the book group members. But none of us, including Vince, had suspected Patty and Paul so they wouldn’t be worrying. I didn’t know how long I could endure this Turkish bath-like atmosphere. Patty said they’d be back, but she hadn’t said when. If they were en route to Pittsburgh it could be hours or even days before they reappeared. No telling what they had in store for me.

  Every family had a black sheep. Mine had a whole flock of them. I cursed my sister for being such a thorough genealogist.

  I once worked with an English woman who dubbed difficult situations “sticky wickets.” I felt it safe to call being bound, gagged, and abandoned in a mini storage unit—emphasis on “mini”—a sticky wicket. Sweat leaked from every pore, making me doubt the units offered air-conditioning. I tried pulling my wrists apart but they wouldn’t budge. My hands and feet were fast losing feeling.

  What would Nancy Drew do? The famous girl detective had found herself trussed up countless times and always found a clever way to escape in the nick of time. In one adventure she located a box with a sharp edge and severed the cords that bound her ankles and wrists. Was there something like that here? There was, I realized with elation. The packing tape dispenser had a serrated edge. The same edge that had torn off the tape trapping me could extricate me. If I had my bearings right, the coveted dispenser sat on the cartons that should be inches from my right foot. To verify my estimate, I slid the lower part of my body to the right until my taped-together feet made contact with the boxes.

  So far so good. Now all I had to do was hoist myself to a standing position and get my bound hands on the dispenser. If such a strategy could work for Nancy Drew—and any strategy worked for the beloved sleuth—it could work for me. The fact that she was a fictitious heroine and a flexible teenager to boot didn’t matter. I couldn’t let limiting thoughts discourage me.

  I managed to roll over on the mattress—not an easy feat. After shedding rivers of sweat I at last stood. My victory was short-lived, however: the tape and my now-totally numb limbs made my position unsteady. When I fell against the boxes, the top one tumbled over and I followed. My heart sank when I heard the clunk of the dispenser on the concrete floor.

  Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the sweat. I admonished myself to press on and not give in to self-pity. Where had that dispenser ended up? One advantage was the smallness of the space—but in my present handicapped situation it might as well had been a ballroom. Guessing that I’d find the dispenser to my right, I lowered myself to the floor and started inching my way along.

  I hadn’t made much progress before light flooded the space amid the sound of rolling metal.

  Patty and Paul back so soon? Or a knight in shining armor arriving to rescue me?

  “Holy shit!” The voice didn’t belong to either of my captors. Neither did the face that appeared above me.

  Alice Cooper? Alice Cooper rescuing a damsel in distress?

  •••

  No, Alice Cooper was not my knight in shining armor. But Kat was right—Jake Madden bore an uncanny resemblance to the shock-rock musician. Jake produced a Swiss Army knife and freed me from my bonds. I ripped the tape off my mouth. Whew! I wouldn’t need a lip wax for a while—assuming I still had lips. It felt like they’d been removed along with the tape, leaving a burning hole in their wake.

  “Who did this to you? The Ratzenbergers?”

  I tried to speak but only managed a nod.

  “Incredible,” Jake said, shaking his head. He took a phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. After giving a terse explanation of the problem along with our location, he called Kat.

  “Soon this place’ll be hopping with cops,” he said as he shoved the phone back in his pocket
. “And Kat’s on her way.”

  I finally found my voice, even if it came out raspy. “How did you know I was here?” I croaked.

  “You texted Kat a help message. She called me.” He grinned and spread his arms wide. “Here I am.”

  “Well, I’m eternally grateful that you are here. But I meant to text Vince. My husband,” I explained when Jake looked puzzled. “I never know what this phone will decide to do.”

  If my mischievous phone had to act up, at least it had chosen a good person to contact. Better Kat than someone in South Africa—or a telemarketer.

  “You want me to call him now?”

  “No, I will.” I took my phone out of my pocket. To my surprise only forty-five minutes had passed since I’d sent my one-word text, meant for Vince, to Kat. I’d spelled Help Heeeellp. Thankfully, I wasn’t too far off for Kat to decipher.

  When Vince answered, I managed an abbreviated account of my situation before my voice broke.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah, just a bit shaken.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Hazel!” Kat, redolent of soap and shampoo, descended on me, enveloping me in a hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get your text right away. I was in the shower and then Tammy called and bent my ear. I never saw ‘help’ spelled that way but I imagine you were quite stressed.”

  “I’ll say. And you’re going to need another shower after hugging me.” We laughed. “I could sure use a towel.”

  “Well, I don’t have a towel, but—” Kat rummaged through her purse and pulled out a tissue packet.

  The police arrived next. In no time, the small storage space swarmed with bodies and the police hustled me and Jake out into the blazing sun. Just what I needed—more heat. I hoped no one would snap pictures of me in my soiled, sweaty, and rumpled state. The tissues only helped so much.

  I told the police that Patty and Paul had left not long before, probably no more than thirty minutes. “And they said they’d be back. Didn’t say when, though. They’re in a blue van. Ratzenberger’s the name.” I spelled Ratzenberger carefully. “I don’t know if they took their Camry.” I used my chin to point to the parking area. “It has a tan cover.” I rattled off the license plate number that was seared on my brain. At that point it wouldn’t surprise me if Patty’s inability to drive was a sham.

  Jake started off. “I’ll see if it’s still there.”

  One of the police said, “We’ll get the license number of the van from DMV.”

  Vince and Jake appeared at the same time. Jake said, “Camry’s still there.”

  Despite the heat, Vince and I fell into each other’s arms and didn’t move for a long moment.

  •••

  At home I treated myself to a long, hot shower, cringing at the many bruises that decorated my body. Then Vince and I drove to police headquarters where I gave my statement to Detective Fischella. Jake Madden was on his way out after giving his own statement. “You clean up well,” he grinned.

  Paul and Patty were stopped near downtown Richmond. I guessed they were headed for northbound Interstate 95. The reason for their slow progress in leaving the city owed to a stop at a state inspection station. Their inspection sticker was due to expire at the end of August, and it was then August 30th, and they didn’t want to chance being stopped for expired tags. Who knew the DMV would be so helpful?

  Later that day, Vince and I sat on the porch as he filled me in on Patty’s confession. In an interview with detectives, she readily described her involvement in the stabbing murders of Roxanne Howard and Nina Brown. She named Paul as Rox’s killer and herself as the driver. When they conspired to kill Nina, they reversed roles. Fortunately for them, the Florida dealer frame on their getaway car led Carl Ellbee to believe that the plate was issued in Florida as well.

  Patty never expected to benefit financially from Marcie’s death. After all, people didn’t leave money to their cousins. She wasn’t happy about Rox getting everything, but only because she didn’t like the woman.

  Everything changed the day Brad arrived on Patty’s doorstep with Marcie’s books. Remembering her cousin’s disorganized ways, Patty riffled the pages of each book, hoping that money would flutter out. As I’d guessed, what fluttered out was a copy of Marcie’s old will.

  “So I was right about the will,” I crowed.

  “Yes, you were,” Vince smiled. “And in the earlier will, Marcie left the bulk of her estate to Patty.”

  “Aha! Revenge motive. Understandable in a way. I mean, I’d be angry if I missed out on inheriting a fortune. Although I wouldn’t resort to killing.”

  “Good to know that my wife has good anger management skills.”

  “So, go on.”

  “Patty was dead certain that Rox had a hand in the will being revised. She figured that Rox poisoned Marcie’s mind against her and Paul—after all, they’d questioned Rox about Marcie’s care and then they’d balked at taking their cousin into their apartment. Rox didn’t like being challenged and that, in Patty and Paul’s view, led her to convince Marcie that her cousin didn’t love her, and only wanted her money to support her gambling husband.”

  “So I’m guessing that’s when Rox and Marcie took themselves down to the estate attorney’s office and revised Marcie’s will. The date on the will was about a month before Marcie died. That’s probably the very day that Foster saw them in the parking lot.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “So Patty finds the old will and realizes she missed out on a fortune . . . is that when she and Paul started planning Rox’s demise?”

  “Yes, but just in theory. After Marcie died, a year went by with no abating of their anger and resentment. That’s when they launched their plan to kill Rox. They followed her around. They knew she had a drinking problem and discovered that she favored the Moonshine Inn. Paul disguised himself to look like Andy—only thing was, he hadn’t seen Andy in some time and didn’t know he’d shaved his head.”

  “I remember Susie at the bar saying that Rox looked like she knew him at first, then realized that he just reminded her of someone she knew. She probably thought Paul was Andy. And we now know that Paul was good at disguises. From his theatre background.”

  Vince continued. “In Moonshine’s parking lot, Paul recognized Nina and caught her sign of recognition. He wasn’t sure if she saw through his disguise, but didn’t want to take chances. And he thought she gave him and Patty funny looks at Rox’s funeral. Then Nina disappeared for a while. Until the day Paul ran into her at Walgreen’s and she told him she was taking a playwriting class. She was surprised to learn of his theatre background and immediately asked him to critique her play.”

  “And that’s when he knew that she knew he was the one she’d recognized in the parking lot.”

  “Exactly. When Paul read the play, he was shaken. He over-criticized it, even though he found it quite good. But he wanted to discourage her from presenting it to her class.”

  Vince paused for a moment before continuing. “They didn’t want to kill Nina because they’d always liked her. But they agreed that they had no choice.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course they had a choice. So they knew where Nina lived? Of course, it might be in the phone book.”

  “When Nina gave Paul her business card, it had her address on it.”

  “Yeah, I remember thinking when she gave me her card that it was a bad idea to include her address.”

  “I have another question,” I said. “When I talked to Patty after Nina’s funeral, she asked me if I was an investigator. Apparently Brad told her that I’d looked into another murder. She sounded surprised. Do you think she knew all about Carlene, and her surprise was all for show?”

  “Probably. But I didn’t hear anything about that.”

  “So, what else did you find out?”

  “When they killed Nina, they took the same car they’d used at the Moonshine Inn, an old Camry of Patty’s that she doesn’t lik
e to drive anymore. This time Patty did the honors and wore a wig to make herself look like you. She’s a bit taller but she figured Nina wouldn’t notice. And the facial resemblance to you worked in her favor. Nina wouldn’t have hesitated to open the door and let you in her house.”

  “So, again, Paul got to make use of his costume and makeup skills. He was in Greater Tuna so he has to be a good mimicker and quick-change artist.” I described the play that featured two actors playing the entire cast of many characters. “It explains his performance at the redneck bar. And I suppose he was the ‘older woman’ driving the car.”

  When Vince nodded, I went on. “I rue the day I found out I was related to this bunch. Well, one good thing—it wasn’t Brad. He could benefit from anger management sessions but at least he isn’t a killer. Not of Rox and Nina, anyway. We still don’t know about his first wife.”

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  “What about my purse? Do the police have it?”

  “I’ll check,” Vince said.

  “Just before Patty left me in the storage unit today, she said ‘I could have started a new life, away from Paul and his gambling sucking up our pensions.’ I’d say that was yet another reason for her to be angry about getting cut out of Marcie’s will.”

  “Yes, well . . . now she’ll get that new life—”

  “In prison,” I finished.

  THIRTY-TWO

  ON LABOR DAY Vince and I threw a potluck party. Kat, Tammy, Jake Madden, and Mary Anne Branch joined the book group members and their spouses in celebrating the capture of two murderers. I felt sorry for Jake—he looked smitten with Kat, she not so much with him. We’d invited Brad and he said he’d be there, but might be late.