Blue Coyote Motel

by Dianne Harman

  "This is Detective Lawrence," the voice on the other end said.

  "Hello Detective, I'm Sean Moriarty. I believe you called me a few minutes ago. How can I help you?"

  Detective Lawrence continued, "Mr. Moriarty, I'm investigating the murder of Jeffrey Brooks, the owner of the Blue Coyote Motel. The records we got from the motel computer indicate that you were a guest there on two occasions. I was wondering if you could tell me anything that might help with the investigation. Have you ever met the owner, Jeffrey Brooks? He lived on the property with his wife, Maria, who is missing. She closed out their bank accounts, abandoned her van, and flew first to Paris, then on to Marseille. Her trail ends there. Did you ever talk to her about her husband, their life, France, or anything else that might shed some light on this case?"

  Sean quickly made a decision not to reveal anything he knew about the Blue Coyote Motel. As a psychologist, he was a keeper of secrets and there was nothing to be learned from the secrets he carried about the motel.

  "Detective, I wish I could help you. I stayed there twice. It was a convenient place to stay when I was on the road between Los Angeles and Phoenix. I never met Jeffrey. My dealings were always with Maria, who seemed like a lovely young woman. I'm sorry for the loss of her husband. There must be some explanation for her leaving. I certainly never had the impression that she was anything other than a loving wife. Once I overheard her talking to someone about her husband. It seemed that she was concerned about his mental health, but that's just about the extent of my knowledge. Could he have committed suicide?" Sean asked.

  "No. Our tests clearly indicate he was killed by a gunshot to the chest, but it was not self-inflicted. From the looks of him, he may have had a mental breakdown. Who knows? Maybe it was too much for her. Well, thanks. You have my number in case you think of anything else," Detective Lawrence said.

  Sean texted the other guests who had been at the motel that Memorial Day weekend. He told them not to answer their phones and that he wanted all of them to join him in a conference call in two hours. He gave them the number to call and the code.

  He didn't feel good about lying to the detective. He had met Jeffrey, but what use would it be to dredge up the Freedom gas, the Freedom pills, and the work that he was now doing with Sam, Luisa, and Jill? Enough pain had come to all of them. They didn't need to be involved and there was nothing that any of them could do for Jeffrey or Maria.

  Sean justified his lie to the detective by telling himself that what he knew was privileged information. There was a legal right and requirement for him to keep confidential any communications between a psychologist and his patient. In reality, wasn't he doing therapy with all of them when they talked on Wednesday nights? He was well aware that a psychologist had the same confidential rights as a lawyer. Information about the patient could not be released unless the patient was intending to do harm to another. None of his "patients" were intent on harm. They were just trying to help themselves and doing a very good job of it.

  Two hours later, with all of the Blue Coyote guests on the line in the conference call Sean had arranged, he told them about his conversation with Detective Lawrence. No one was surprised that Jeffrey had been murdered, but everyone was surprised that Maria was a person of interest. Everyone had liked her and there was concern for her safety and hope that time would reveal that someone other than Maria had committed the crime.

  Their collective lives were going well and their addiction to Freedom was slowly fading. Sean had made it clear to them that they were the victims of an unintentional addiction. Theirs wasn't anything like other people who were addicted to cocaine, alcohol, or other controlled substances. None of them had willingly taken or sought the drug in the beginning. They had no idea that they were even inhaling a drug into their systems. Even though some of them had taken Freedom after their second visit to the Blue Coyote, what had changed in the last few hours was that they could never get Freedom again, so a relapse wasn't possible.

  Sean told them to expect a phone call from Detective Lawrence and the position he had taken with the detective. He suggested they all do the same. There was nothing to be gained from telling the detective about Freedom. He told them he had lied about not meeting Jeffrey, but was loosely justifying it as part of the psychologist-patient confidentiality requirement. None of them wanted to get involved and they readily agreed to follow Sean's suggestions.

  They said their good-byes and hung up, knowing they would "see" Sean on Wednesday at 9:00 p.m. Five minutes later, Sean's phone rang.

  "It’s Doug. I need to talk to you. I guess I'm the only one still taking the Freedom pills, but from what you said a few minutes ago, I won't be able to take them any longer. I took the last pill I had several weeks ago and was just getting ready to write a check to Jeffrey for another three months' supply. I couldn't afford a larger supply. Now I'm going to have to adjust my lifestyle and learn to get along without Freedom. Would it be possible for me to join your group?"

  Sean replied, "Of course. We talk via Skype Wednesdays at 9:00 p.m. If you don't have it, get it installed. Our weekly sessions have been very successful. You're probably going to have a few uncomfortable weeks, but soon the whole thing will seem like a bad dream from the past. I remember you told me how wonderful your life has become. At the time, you didn't know it was because of the drug, but trust me, you can still maintain the good life you've made for yourself and you can do it without the drug.

  "The others have all made it and so can you. Your body is going to go through a period of withdrawal. The Freedom drug is just that, a drug, and your body will experience withdrawal from an addictive substance. For a time, your body's going to crave the substance, but it will adjust to not having it and you'll get on with the business of life. I know it will work and welcome to our group. When you get to know all the people in the group better, you'll come to really like them. They're human. We all are."

  Sean found Jeanne looking out the window at the snow beginning to pile up in the driveway. It had been a cold late winter in Denver. It felt good to be inside with a warm fire and the woman he had come to adore standing next to him. His past life, the alcohol problems, the young boys, the church, they all seemed like a distant memory. He had been one of the lucky ones. He silently vowed to help each member of his Wednesday group achieve the peace and love of life he felt.

  CHAPTER 40

  Detective Lawrence called Ralph on his cell phone two weeks later. "I told you I'd let you know if we found anything out about Maria. It looks like she left the country. She cleaned out their bank accounts, abandoned her van at a Wal-Mart on the outskirts of Phoenix, took a flight to Paris and then on to Marseille. Obviously, we don't have jurisdiction there and even if we did, we'd have to find her first.

  "We haven't found the gun yet, but her fingerprints are all over the lab and everywhere else. So far we haven't found any signs that anyone else was ever in the lab. The bits of food we found on the plate in the lab match the food prepared in the kitchen behind the office. Looks like Maria took him a meal and then we just don't know. I'd feel a lot better if she hadn't skipped.

  "There's something else. Evidently the decedent, Jeffrey Brooks, was a brilliant scientist. He was even touted as being a future Nobel Prize winner for his work on an anti-aging hormone. The company where he used to work, an outfit called Moore Scientific Laboratories, says he quit because of medical reasons. The unofficial word on the street was that he was giving the anti-aging hormone he had discovered to Maria, his beautiful wife. Evidently he violated company policy when he gave her the hormone and they fired him. They gave him a large sum of money so he wouldn't sell the formula to some other drug company.

  "There's talk that he had become mentally unhinged, although we don't have any direct evidence of that. Anyway, that would be very hard to determine unless someone had been around him lately. From what we've been able to find out, he never left the motel, so we haven't run across anyone who saw him. Maria dealt with the publ
ic, handled the banking, and bought everything that was needed for the motel.

  We found a computer in the reception area with information for the motel guests on it and we've already started contacting each of them to see if anyone has any information about Maria or her deceased husband, Jeffrey. So far it's been a dead end. The coroner did an autopsy on his body to see if he'd taken any drugs, but it'll take a couple more days to get those results. If you think of anything else, let me know and again, thanks for your help."

  “I appreciate the call, Detective. I hope she’s alright. She was a nice lady. If anything comes to mind, I’ll call you.”

  All Ralph could think about was that Maria was gone. Nothing that he knew of Maria fit the picture of a woman capable of killing her husband, taking the money, and leaving the country. He prayed that there was a rational reason for all of this. She had been his dream woman, his private fantasy. She was the only thing that had kept him going during his long drives and his loveless marriage. Maria gone? He felt like he was the one who was dead. Secretly loving someone was lonely, and knowing he would never see Maria again made it even lonelier.

  CHAPTER 41

  Because of time zone changes, Maria landed at Orly airport in Paris the day after leaving Phoenix. She had slept most of the way, keeping her carry-on bag close at hand. The bhurka had served its purpose and she was anxious to get rid of it. She needed to keep it on for one more plane ride and security check. If the US authorities showed her picture to the French airport security, the burkha would effectively hide her face.

  The one thing she couldn't do anything about was her passport. Maria knew that counterfeit passports were readily available in the States, but it had been more important for her to leave the United States than to stay there and get a fake one. There would be a trail to Marseilles and there was nothing she could do about that. Maria had plenty of cash and she knew that if you paid cash, you generally weren't asked for identification. When she got to wherever she was going, she would begin to form a new identity. She would color her hair immediately and look into getting some plastic surgery. Contact lenses could change the color of her eyes. She hated the thought, but it probably would be a good idea for her to gain about twenty pounds. She mulled over possible new names as she thought about her new identity.

  When her plane landed in Marseille, Maria went into the airport women's restroom, entered one of the stalls, and pulled the burkha over her head. No one was in the restroom so she put it in the covered wastebasket and slung her carry-on bag over her shoulder. Dressed in jeans, jacket, and sweater, other than being uncommonly beautiful, she looked like any other American tourist. Once again, she wrapped a scarf around her head and put on her big Jackie O. sunglasses.

  She told the taxi driver to take her to the Sofitel Hotel, which she remembered from a recent magazine article she had read about Marseille. She paid cash for three nights and declined to show identification or give them a credit card. Maria's instincts had been right. If you had enough cash, no one asked any questions, however, she did need to cut up her credit cards. That was something she hadn't had time to do when she left the Blue Coyote. Even though she'd slept on the plane, she still felt jet-lagged. She rode the elevator up to her room, pulled down the bedcovers, and quickly fell asleep.

  When she woke up she felt refreshed and ready to begin her new life. She started a list of what needed to be done. The list was long, but one of the first things she had to do was find a permanent place to stay.

  Maria had grown up in a bilingual household and Spanish was the language her family spoke at home. She had taken French classes in high school for four years, more than completing her foreign language requirement. She soon discovered that she had an ear for languages and they came easily to her. Even though it had been several years since she had spoken French, when she looked in the telephone book there were very few words she didn't know or couldn't guess at their meaning. There was a lot of similarity between Spanish and French. Maybe that's why it had been so easy for her in high school.

  Maria got dressed, went to the concierge and asked him where she could find a real estate office. The language encounter with the concierge confirmed that she would be able to easily communicate in French.

  She walked up and down the streets near the hotel, orienting herself. After a couple of wrong turns she located the real estate office that the concierge had recommended. Rather than enter the office, she decided to return to it on the following day, as she needed to take care of some other things before she was ready to talk to anyone.

  She found a drugstore and bought a hair coloring kit and some scissors. At the women's clothing store next door, she purchased a couple of tunics and some very plain slacks. Everything in her railed against the dowdy look she was beginning to achieve, but it was critical that no one remember her. She needed to blend into a crowd.

  Before she went to the real estate office the next day, she needed to come up with a name. Maria decided she would go to the French Office of Immigration and Integration and tell them that all of her personal identification had been stolen from her while she was on the plane, that it must have happened when she went to the bathroom during the flight. She wore a money pouch beneath her clothing, but her passport, driver's license, credit cards, and social security number had all been stolen from her carry-on luggage. That was the story she planned to tell. She just hoped they'd believe it.

  Walking back to her hotel, Maria stopped to eat at a brasserie located at the corner of Palais du Pharo and Boulevard Charles Livonbistro. She pulled the door open and was greeted by aromas of garlic and rosemary. Bouquets of lavender were everywhere. While she waited for her meal, she took out a pen and paper and continued with the preparations needed to reinvent herself.

  Arriving back at her room in the Sofitel Hotel, she cut her hair; her beautiful long black hair laying in clumps on the bathroom floor. She couldn’t help but cry as she prepared the light brown hair dye. Next she got out her make-up bag and tossed it in the wastebasket. She needed to look plain, so there would be no need for makeup. Looking in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. Maria was gone. Finally, she needed to get rid of her credit cards. She cut them up into fine pieces and flushed them down the toilet.

  The next morning she dressed in her new clothes. There was nothing to equate the beautiful young Hispanic woman with the mousy woman she had become. She took a cab to the French Office of Immigration and Integration where things went smoothly. They believed her story and gave her a one-year residence card, which the French called a "carte de sejour." She had become Elena Johnson.

  At the real estate office, a middle-aged Frenchwoman named Simone asked if she could help Elena. She introduced herself and told Simone that she was interested in renting a cottage in Provence. Did she have anything available?

  The agent told her that she had received a call earlier that morning from a gentleman who was an artist and had decided to move to northern France. He was anxious to rent his cottage. She hadn't seen it yet and was planning to take a look at it that afternoon.

  "Would you like to accompany me?" Simone asked. "If you've not been to Provence before, I think you'll enjoy seeing the countryside and then, who knows, maybe you'll even like the cottage."

  They agreed that Elena would return after lunch and the agent would drive them to see the cottage. The ride through the countryside was breathtakingly beautiful. Acres of vineyards, olive trees, and lavender fought one another for Elena's attention. Old stone homes and wineries were everywhere. She fell in love with the beautiful Provence countryside and knew she had made the right decision when she decided to make France her new home.

  After an hour and a half, Simone pulled off the highway, entering a two-lane dirt road. Ahead of her, Elena could see a small village, which they drove around, continuing up a small hill. Near the top was a charming stone cottage with bright blue window shutters, surrounded by a stone wall with brightly colored flowers covering it.

  T
heir knock on the door was quickly answered by a man who appeared to be in his 40’s. He was of average height, but what caught Elena's attention was his bright red hair, which was pulled back in a long ponytail. His name was Michel. A tall woman wearing a Chanel scarf came in from the herb garden outside the kitchen and warmly greeted them, asking them to call her Suzette. There were packing boxes everywhere. It looked like they would be moving in a day or two.

  Michel told Simone and Elena to take their time looking around. He apologized for not being able to show them the cottage and grounds, but said that they had to get the boxes packed as the movers were coming the following morning.

  The cottage was perfect. It had a large room with a huge fireplace, a kitchen that had recently been renovated, two bedrooms, and a large bathroom with a claw foot tub. The location of the house was very private, but still within walking distance of the village

  Michel and Simone discussed the rent. Elena told them she wanted to rent it and asked Michel when he and Suzette were going to move out. They told her that they would be leaving the following afternoon, after the movers had finished, and Elena could move in then.

  While Michel and Simone filled in the blanks on a simple lease form that Simone provided, Elena strolled down to the village which consisted of a small market, church, petrol station, post office, bakery, bistro and about seventy-five or so homes. Beautifully colored flowers and vines trailed up the stone wall leading down to the village. Bikes filled the cobblestone streets, which were too small for modern cars. In the center of town was a stone base with a plaque attached to it honoring the men who had died in World War II. It was like taking a step back in time and it was a step Elena was more than happy to take.