The Locked Room

by Marti Talbott

  The Locked Room

  (An M.T. Mystery)

  By

  Marti Talbott

  © 2016

  The last thing Colette Bouchard wanted was to go back to the small town that hated her almost as much as she hated it. Yet when her father passed away it was up to her to settle his affairs. She fully intended to arrange his funeral, sell everything, and then leave town – after, of course, she got a good look at what was in the bedroom her father forbid her to enter.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  Love and Suspicion

  CHAPTER 1

  More Marti Talbott Books

  CHAPTER 1

  SURROUNDED BY THE SMELL of frying hamburgers, Colette Bouchard disconnected the call and put her cellphone back in her pocket. “MARK,” she shouted, “I QUIT!” She pulled the ridiculous fast-food restaurant cap off her long, reddish brown hair, laid it on the table top, pulled her purse out from under the counter, and headed for the door. Her coworkers stared after her, as did all the hungry lunch customers standing in line.

  “NOW?” Mark yelled. He made it from the kitchen to the front just in time to watch the door close behind her. Disgusted, he shook his head as he watched her walk across the parking lot to her black, 1993 pickup truck. He mumbled a few choice words, glared at the other counter workers thereby forcing them to get to work, and hurried back to the kitchen.

  The temperature in Denver, Colorado was pushing 90 degrees without a cloud in sight. It was even hotter in her truck. Colette unlocked the door, got in, rolled down both windows, and cautiously touched the steering wheel with the tip of her finger. Just as she expected, it was blistering hot so she pulled two kitchen hot pads out of her glove compartment, and then started the engine. She wrapped the hot pads around the steering wheel, drove out of the parking lot, and headed home.

  Colette always thought her father was too mean to die, but according to the call from the sheriff just now, he was as dead as dead could be. That didn’t make sense. Bitter old men don’t die; they live to be a hundred just to get even with the world. Besides, she talked to him on the phone the night before last and he sounded fine. Funny thing – she’d talked to him more since she ran away than she had when they lived in the same house. Now that she thought about it, he did seem to want to tell her something when he called, but he hung up, so she did too.

  His real name was Davet, but everyone called him Dave – just Dave.

  Davet Bouchard never did say it, but she suspected he did love her a little, which was fine, because she only loved him a little. Maybe that’s what he wanted to say. “Too late,” she whispered.

  She absentmindedly found her way home with a thousand things running through her mind at once. “I wonder what killed him,” she muttered as she turned down Baltimore Avenue, slowed, turned into the driveway of a private home, and parked under the shade of a tree. The elderly couple she rented a room from treated her very well, and she hated having to leave them with no renter to add to their meager income. She spent several minutes with them, explained, accepted their condolences, and then went to pack her things. She fully intended to return, but had no idea when. Instead, Colette suggested they not wait and rent the room to someone else.

  In the small, hot bedroom, she opened the window, and changed out of her uniform into shorts and a T-shirt. Colette piled her long hair atop her head, pinned it and then started to pack. She pulled the top drawer out of the plastic two-drawer nightstand and moved the contents to the same worn out pink duffle bag she brought with her when she came. She did the same with the other drawer, grabbed clothes out of the closet and neatly folded them. Next, she added her makeup kit, and some miscellaneous items, plus two extra pairs of shoes to the bag. From the bottom of the second drawer, she collected several rolls of coins and put them in her purse. That was it then, she thought, until she stopped to stare at a book on her nightstand.

  Colette had just turned seventeen when she had a terrible fight with her father and decided to leave home. That was a little over two years ago and it turned out to be a lot harder to make her way in the world than she thought. Meanwhile, she studied to take her GED, a certificate equal to a high school diploma. Unfortunately, the test was next week and she was going to miss it. Oh well. She added the book to the bag and zipped it closed.

  She said goodbye once more to the elderly couple and was surprised when each of them hugged her. As soon as she was out the door, she tossed her bag in the back of the pickup and went to put that stupid uniform in the trash can, never to be worn again. Colette climbed into the driver’s seat, took a deep breath, and started the engine. Fastidious was her middle name, everyone used to say, and true to form, she remembered to put the hot pads back where she got them. Half the day was already gone and it would take the other half to make it through the mountains to the little town she never wanted to see again.

  Money was a problem, but wasn’t it always? It would be another week before she got a paycheck and her miserly boss never gave anyone an advance, no matter the circumstance. A person could be dying and he wouldn’t budge an inch, so she didn’t bother to ask. Just living took most of her earnings and left little for savings. Even so, she managed to wrap coins in the ugly paper wrappers the bank gave her. Hopefully, it would be enough to fill her gas tank and get her home.

  Like it or not, she had to go home. Being his only living relative made it her responsibility to see to his affairs, and if there was anything he constantly drummed into her head, it was that he expected her to live up to her responsibilities. Begrudgingly, Colette started the engine and headed for a nearby bank.

  IN A CRISIS, SOME PEOPLE go into shock and can’t think what to do. Colette was not one of those. As soon as she pulled into the bank’s parking lot, she spotted several people standing around a car and one of them, a woman, was crying. Curious, Colette went to see what was wrong. To her horror, a small child had been left in the back seat of a hot car and no one seemed to know how to get him out.

  Colette gently pushed a man away from the driver’s side window, grabbed her heavy purse straps with both hands, and began to slam the rolled coins against the window as hard as she could. The window cracked the first time she hit it, split the second time and on the third strike, a ‘V” shaped piece of glass began to cave in. At last, the fourth strike broke the glass. The window shattered, leaving dangerous shards sticking up, but the man standing next to her did not hesitate. He reached in and unlocked the back door. By then, another man had his wits about him, opened the door, unbelted the baby’s car seat, and pulled the lethargic child out. A woman with a magazine began to fan the toddler while the man who unlocked the back door pulled off all the little one’s clothes, including his diaper.

  Colette moved away from the car, heard sirens blaring somewhere in the distance and at last, heard the child begin to cry. Relieved, she moved to the back of the crowd and then slipped away and went into the bank.

  Her rolls of coins were worth exactly forty-three dollars. It was enough to pay for gas and maybe a sandwich on the four to five-hour journey – that is if her truck didn’t break down.

  At last, she drove up the I-70 on-ramp and headed west. She had to admit the four-lane highway offered breathtaking views of the Rocky Mountains and the higher the road took her, the cooler the air. Some of the higher peeks still had snow on top. Colette flipped on the radio, found her favorite music station, and relaxed.

  The death of her father seemed so unreal that she had difficulty grasping the concept. Not once in all t
he times she thought about him did she consider how she would feel if he died, nor did she regret leaving him even now. All she ever wanted was the answer to one question – what happened to her mother? He refused to answer. He could have told her if he wanted to, but he was just a stubborn, overbearing, bitter old man who didn’t care what she wanted. When her mother died, or left him, or whatever, he should have given his daughter up for adoption. She would have been happier and she had no doubt he would have been too. Instead, he kept all his secrets locked up tight in his mind, and in a spare bedroom she was forbidden to enter.

  At least now, he couldn’t keep her out of the bedroom.

  STEVEN JORDAN LOVED his home. Though he wasn’t a hunter, Rapid City, South Dakota offered 300 species of birds, coyotes, antelope, elk, beaver, prairie dogs, and rabbits. Occasionally it suffered a brush fire or a flood, but not often enough to be concerned about. The arid summers and long, dry winters with a short spring and fall suited him just fine. He especially enjoyed the Chinook winds that often warmed the winter temperatures and quickly melted the snow. Indeed, home was Rapid City, South Dakota where seven highways intersected, and thousands of tourists spent their vacations. It was also the home of Mt. Rushmore and the Badlands, where history came alive in the minds of visiting children and adults each year.

  A little under six hundred miles from Lost Bell, Colorado, Steven nervously checked the pocket of his tuxedo to make certain he had the wedding ring he would be putting on his bride’s finger in less than an hour. It was there. His black shoes were shined, his dark hair was neatly combed and it was ridiculous to be so nervous. Just the same, he was both nervous and excited.

  He had no doubt she loved him as much as he loved her. After all, she waited while he went off to college – something not many girls in their town did when faced with the temptations of all the uniformed men at Ellsworth Airforce Base.

  Steven finally sat down in the living room of the house he bought for his bride-to-be. Julianna O’Brian had all her belongings already moved in and put away. Later that day, while they left to drive across country on their honeymoon, Steven’s best man and Julianna’s maid of honor would bring all the wedding gifts to the house, leave them on the dining room table, and then lock the place up tight. All the lights were off, the garbage was taken out and if he had forgotten anything, he couldn’t think what it could possibly be.

  Steven attended college in Chicago, and came back to the little town of less than sixty thousand to become a medical technician in a hospital that badly needed him. The hospital served large portions of North Dakota, Montana, Nebraska, Wyoming, as well as South Dakota, and dealt with every known human condition, from broken bones to cancer. A nurse at the same hospital, Julianna was the woman for him and he loved her more than he loved drawing breath.

  At last it was time to leave and Steven was even more nervous when he got to the church. The wedding was going to be larger than he hoped, but Julianna kept adding names to the guest list until it numbered over three hundred. Steven didn’t mind, really. Pleasing the love of his life was all he wanted. As he waited in the pastor’s study, it never occurred to him she wouldn’t show up, and surprised himself by being relieved when his best man announced she had indeed arrived.

  It was time then to walk to the front of the church and await his bride. She wanted him to wear a blue tux to match her bridesmaid dresses, but the selection in Rapid City was either white or black. He let her decide and she chose a black three-piece suit. As her maid of honor and two bridesmaids dressed in light blue and white proceeded her, a pianist played the music they had chosen together, and all the guests stood up as she started down the aisle. Wearing a white gown, he didn’t think she could be more lovely than she already was, but just now she seemed to fill the whole room with her exquisite beauty.

  Steven’s eyes sparkled when he took her hand and waited while she handed her bridal bouquet to her maid of honor. Together, they turned to face the minister, who in turn, urged the guests to be seated and then began.

  It was halfway through the ceremony that Steven remembered what he forgot -he forgot to turn off his cellphone. It annoyingly buzzed to alert him of an incoming text, and he could not have been more embarrassed. “I am so sorry,” he said first to his bride and then to the minister as he dug it out of his pocket. He was about to turn it off when he noticed who the text was from. Instead, he ran his finger over the notice and read the message.

  “Davet dead, come now!”

  He turned the phone off, slipped it back in his pocket, and then apologized once more. Nevertheless, after that he did not hear a word the minister said. He automatically repeated his vows to Julianna, pretended to pay attention while she said hers, slipped the ring on her finger, and kissed his wife – all through the fog that had invaded his mind. Steven wrapped Julianna’s hand around his arm, grinned and patiently walked her down the aisle, but it was all a facade. The instant they were out of sight, he rushed her into the pastor’s study. He kissed her passionately before he said, “I love you, but I have to go.”

  “Go?” she stammered. “Oh, you mean...”

  “No, I mean I have somewhere I have to be.”

  “What?”

  “Do you remember when you asked me how I burned my arm?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “Do you remember what I said?”

  “You said the fire was still burning.”

  “That’s right. Today, I have to go put it out.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He pulled his wife into his arms once more and held her tight. “I know. Let me go, let me put the fire out, and then I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Is it another woman?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “No. Sweetheart, I wish it were and I had time to explain, but I don’t.” He kissed her once more, left her standing there and rushed out the door. The next plane to Denver would leave in less than half an hour and he had not a moment to lose. He ran down the hallway and out the front door to his ‘just married’ decorated car. Steven opened the trunk, pulled her suitcase out and set it on the sidewalk.

  “Steven, you can’t leave me, it’s our wedding day!” she screamed as soon as she got the front door open.

  He pulled the string of tin cans off the bumper of the car, tossed them away and then looked at the distraught expression on her face. “Please forgive me,” he said. He ignored the people, including his parents, hurrying out of the church with worried expressions and dropped mouths. “I’m sorry!”

  It broke his heart when Julianna started to cry and reach out her hand to him. Nonetheless, he got in the car, started the engine and drove away.

  Less than five minutes later, he parked his car in the parking lot of the Rapid City Regional Airport. If he missed the flight, he would have to drive, and flying was much faster. He rushed inside, went through security, paid for a one-way ticket, and then ordered a rental car that he could pick up at the airport in Denver. With only a few minutes to spare, he went to the rest room and changed his clothes.

  That done, Steven set the suitcase he planned to carry on instead of checking, on the floor next to one of several empty seats. Not having to wait for his suitcase in Denver would speed his departure too and every minute counted. At last, he took a seat in the waiting area and pulled his cellphone out. He already had four text messages, two from his wife and two from his best man. Steven ignored all four and read the ominous text one more time.

  “Davet dead, come now!”

  He turned his phone off again, closed his eyes and muttered a little prayer, “Please... just let us get there in time.”

  When he opened his eyes again, the flight attendant was motioning for him to come. Apparently, he had not heard the call to board. His mind was in such disarray he was surprised he could think at all. They had waited years for this day to come, and come it did – on, of all days, his wedding day. Even so, he boarded the sixty-six passenger plane, located his window seat, stowed h
is suitcase in the overhead compartment, and sat down. Before he forgot, he pulled his cellphone back out, logged onto the internet, looked up the number and called to reserve a room at the only hotel in Lost Bell, Colorado.

  Once more, he turned his phone off.

  A tall, handsome young man of twenty-three, Steven Jordan fastened his seatbelt and listened as the engines began to come to life. He watched out the window as the plane started down the runway, and then as it effortlessly glided into the air. A few minutes later, it made a wide turn toward Denver.

  JUST A FEW MINUTES after Steven got the text, the same text message appeared on Oliver Lawson’s phone. Unfortunately, he was in traffic on a busy New York expressway with no possibility of getting off anytime soon. Already his heart was racing. The day had come at last, he knew just what to do, and he wasn’t going to miss this for anything in the world. Even though he was much farther away from Colorado than Steven, and might not get there in time, he had to try. Thankfully direct flights from LaGuardia to Denver left several times a day.

  The first chance he got, he left the expressway, pulled into a shopping center and parked. Just as Steven had, he checked the text again to make certain he read it right. “Davet dead, come now!”

  A salesman who traveled all over the world for a living and hated it, Oliver ran his fingers through his light brown hair and tried to collect his thoughts. Their chances of catching a woman who had kept herself well-hidden for years were slim to none, but if Davet’s death didn’t put her within reach, nothing would. It was their best, and probably their last chance.

  Both of Oliver’s parents were attorneys. His father was a well-known defense attorney and his mother prosecuted domestic abuse cases for the state. They lived in an affluent part of the city and the children had various nannies to take care of them. Some were wonderful, some were horrible, and other nannies were just okay. Nevertheless, Oliver and his siblings never once felt unloved or unwanted by their parents. Oliver, his mother claimed, was the hardest to raise. He was too smart for the nannies and learned the art of manipulation at an early age. Oliver considered himself more of a charmer than a manipulator, but he had to admit the skill came in very handy from time to time.