The Locked Room

by Marti Talbott

  STEVEN AND OLIVER WERE exhausted after spending the afternoon painting the house. They sat in the nearly empty restaurant with the same view of the lobby, and ordered a plate of nachos they intended to share.

  “It was a nice funeral,” said Steven. “Davet would have been pleased.”

  “It’s hard to believe he’s gone, isn’t it,” Oliver admitted. “I’m disappointed Paige didn’t show up.”

  “So am I. My wife still won’t answer me and I can’t wait to get home.”

  “I don’t blame you. I hear white roses will soften your wife up,” said Oliver.

  “Really, where did you hear that?”

  “I read it in a book some...”

  Steven abruptly grabbed Oliver’s arm and nodded toward the woman who just came through the door.

  “Is that her?” Oliver whispered.

  Steven didn’t take his eyes off her for a second as he whispered, “After she checks in, I’m going to follow her. I’ll call you when I know for sure.”

  Oliver tried not to stare at the woman but he couldn’t help himself.

  “ALLOW ME TO SHOW YOU to your room,” the clerk said.

  Paige grumbled, “Don’t bother, I can find it.”

  “May I at least carry your luggage?” he persisted.

  Paige narrowed her eyes and barked, “I am perfectly capable of carrying my own overnight bag.” She grabbed the card key and headed into the elevator. Just as the door began to slide closed, a hand stopped it and a tall man got in with her. She glanced at him and then looked away.

  It was just long enough for Steven to see one light blue and one dark blue eye. He said nothing, did not look at her again, and when the elevator stopped on the second floor, he stayed inside. He let the door almost close, watched her walk down the hall and then opened the door again. Steven slipped around the corner, peeked out long enough to see the room she stopped at, and then remembered to breathe. As soon as he heard her close the door, he called Oliver and whispered, “Call the sheriff and then come up to the second floor.”

  “It’s Paige?”

  “It’s Paige,” Steven whispered. After he hung up, he stayed where he was and kept an eye out just to make certain she didn’t leave.

  SHERIFF STEELE RAN to his car, got in and then pulled up in front of Colette’s house. He furiously honked the horn until the detective came out and started down the sidewalk.

  “Get in, Steven thinks she just checked into the hotel.” Faster than he should have, the sheriff drove down the side streets, turn down Main Street and then sped toward the hotel. Not bothering to properly park, he pulled up to the sidewalk, hopped out and then followed the detective into the hotel.

  They ignored the man behind the counter, got in the elevator and rode up to the second floor. When they burst out of the elevator, they found both Steven and Oliver standing in the hallway. Without a word, Steven walked to a door and pointed to show the sheriff which room. Then he got out of the way.

  “May I?” Andy asked when the sheriff started to knock. “I’ve waited a long time for this day.”

  “By all means,” said the Sheriff.

  Andy paused for just a moment, softly knocked and then waited. At length, the door partially opened. “Yes?”

  “Paige Fowler,” said Andy forcing the door open wider, “You’re under arrest.”

  Paige panicked and tried to get to her purse, but just in time, the detective grabbed her around the waist. He turned her around and tightly held her arms, while the sheriff handcuffed her hands.

  “My name is Mary Martin,” she demanded.

  “My hat, it is,” said Andy Tucker. “Where have you been all these years?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she barked.

  “Let’s continue this at the station shall we, before half the town comes to watch,” said the Sheriff. He hung on to her hands and practically shoved her out of the hotel room door.

  “Hello, Mother,” said Steven.

  Paige Fowler’s mouth dropped. Befuddled, she repeatedly looked back at him as the sheriff forced her down the hallway and into the elevator. She was still looking at him when the elevator door slid closed.

  Steven lowered his gaze. “Goodbye, Mother.”

  “Are you okay?” Oliver asked.

  “I will be.”

  Still inside her hotel room and with Steven and Oliver watching through the door, Andy reached for Paige’s purse. He opened it, whistled, and then carefully pulled the pistol out. “Good thing you spotted her when you did.”

  Oliver leaned against the hallway wall and heavily sighed. “It’s over?”

  “It’s over,” Steven answered. His hands were shaking so he stuffed them in the pockets of his blue jeans. “Come on, let’s go tell Margo.”

  “Mind if I come along?” Andy asked, putting the gun back, laying her purse in the chair and then closing the door. “I’d like to see her again.”

  “Not at all,” said Steven.

  In her suite on the fifth floor, Margo was delighted to hear the news, but not as happy as Steven and Oliver expected her to be.

  “What’s wrong?” Oliver asked.

  “I got a call from a LA reporter. I don’t know how he found me, but he’s in town. If he gets wind of the arrest it will be in the morning papers and we need to get to Colette before the press does.”

  “She’s right,” said Steven.

  “Of course she is, she is always right,” Oliver said.

  Andy nodded. “I know how to find her. She’s staying with a friend who lives a few blocks away from her house. All we have to do is find Colette’s pickup.”

  CHAPTER 9

  IT WAS THE LAST PERSON Colette expected to see when Margo knocked on the screen door of Emma Rose’s one-bedroom duplex apartment. “You were at the funeral, weren’t you?” she asked.

  “I was,” Margo answered.

  “And you brought the painters with you? Wait, you know them?”

  “Very well,” said Margo. “I wonder if we might speak to you.”

  “About what?” Colette asked.

  “I have come to tell you about your mother.”

  Colette caught her breath. “Finally. Please come it.” She waited until the woman, the painters and another man entered the small living room. “Who are you?” she asked the man.

  “I am Detective...or I used to be. I’m Andy Tucker, the detective on the Fowler case.”

  “The one in the newspaper?” Ben asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Colette turned her attention back to the woman. “Who are you? I saw you kiss your fingers and touch Dad’s casket.”

  “I am Margot Bouchard Allen, Davet’s sister.”

  Shocked and dismayed, Colette looked behind her, located the sofa and sat down before she fell down. “What?”

  “I don’t mean to upset you, but there is no pleasant way to say what I have to tell you. “Davet and I were born in France. Most people pronounce my name Margo, but it is spelled with a ‘t’ on the end.”

  “I never knew my father had a sister,” said Colette.

  “It is a very long story. May we sit down?” Margot asked.

  “Of course,” said an equally surprised Emma Rose. With Artie and Ben’s help, she brought enough chairs out of her kitchen so everyone could sit. As an afterthought, she asked. “Colette, would you like us to leave?”

  “Please stay,” she answered. “That way I won’t have to repeat this to all of you.” She was glad when Ben sat on the sofa with her and took her hand. For a long moment, she stared at Steven and Oliver. “You are brothers, aren’t you?”

  “Sorry we lied to you about that,” said Steven. “You’ll understand why in a little while. Margot will explain it.”

  Satisfied with that answer for the moment, Colette looked at Margot again. The woman did look a little like her father. She could see the resemblance now. “Dad would never say a word about my mother. It was some deep dark secret he kept from me.”

&n
bsp; Margot blinked a couple of times and tried to decided how to begin. “He wasn’t your father, Colette, he was your grandfather.”

  Colette narrowed her eyes. “That’s not true.”

  “I’m afraid it is, dear.”

  Ben let go of Colette’s hand and put his arm around her instead. “Let her explain.”

  Colette had a feeling she didn’t really want to hear the explanation, but at length, she agreed. “Okay.”

  “A thousand times over the years, I told Davet to tell you the truth, but he just couldn’t,” said Margot. “It was too painful for him. I almost had him talked into it when you ran away.”

  The last thing Colette needed was to be reminded that she deserted her father, so she changed the subject. “Do you know about the rocking chair in the locked bedroom?”

  “It was Cheryl’s.”

  “Cheryl is...was my mother?” Colette asked.

  “No, dear, Cheryl was your grandmother.”

  “I’m totally confused now.” She looked again at Steven. “Why did the painters come with you? I don’t get this...”

  “I am your brother,” Steven answered.

  “Okay, well this is too weird for me.” She started to get up, but Ben pulled her back.

  “All these years you wanted to know about your mother and you can’t run away now,” Ben said. “Just hear what they have to say.”

  Colette didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she looked at Oliver. “I suppose you’re my brother too.”

  “I am,” said Oliver. “And I am glad to finally meet you. In fact, I have an album at home filled with dozens of pictures of you growing up.”

  “So do I,” Steven added. “Davet...I mean, grandfather, made certain we didn’t miss a moment of your childhood, and Colette, we have missed you. A thousand times we talked about coming to see you, but it just wasn’t safe until now.”

  “Safe?” Colette asked. She could feel her anger and frustration rising. “What is that supposed to mean? And what about the wedding dress. Was that’s Cheryl’s too?”

  “Oh dear,” Emma Rose said. “It’s mine, Colette. I couldn’t pay the rent one month, and I was too proud to take charity from Dave, so he bought the dress from me. I’ll never wear it again, and well, you know what happened to my marriage to Ronnie. The dress is cursed now.”

  At last, Colette looked at the detective. “Don’t tell me you’re a relative too.”

  Andy chuckled, “No, I am just an old friend of the family.”

  “But you are a detective?” Colette asked.

  “I used to be. At the time I was the lead detective on your...on the Fowler case.”

  “Oh,” said Colette. “I meant to read about that in the paper, but someone tore the article out.”

  “I did,” Ben confessed, “and Artie got rid of it.”

  “So I have been surrounded by this grand conspiracy my whole life?” she asked bitterly.

  Artie said, “Our part wasn’t that grand. You had just buried Dave and Ben didn’t want you to get upset over the article.”

  “I wasn’t upset then, but I am now.” Colette grumbled.

  “I can explain if you’ll let me,” said Margot.

  In a huff, Colette folded her arms. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  Yet, to Margot it was easy to see her niece was getting more upset by the moment, so she took her time removing her gloves and laying them in her lap. “Your mother’s name is Paige – Paige Fowler.”

  “Is?” Colette asked. “She’s still alive?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Colette nearly shouted. “My mother has been alive all these years?” She suddenly dropped her eyes. “My mother didn’t want me, is that it?” No one answered, so she closed her eyes and leaned her head against Ben. “Dad told Walt at the mortuary that I look just like her. Is that much true at least?”

  Steven answered, “You don’t look like her now. Her face got mess up somehow.”

  “But she is a Cherokee, right?” Colette wanted to know.

  “No,” Margot answered. “Your grandmother Cheryl was part Cherokee and was very proud to be. I think Davet wanted you to be proud of it too. He was horrified when you got older and the kids started making fun of you. That’s not what he intended at all, but it was too late to change the record.”

  “Wait right here, I need to write all this down.” She got up, hurried to a desk against the wall, and came back with a pen and paper. For a moment, she just stared at the blank paper unsure of what it was she wanted to write down. Instead, she said, “Okay, I’m ready. Continue.” Margot didn’t continue, so Colette said, “Go on, I’m listening.”

  “I was just remembering how much Davet loved his wife,” Margot said. “They met in college and he couldn’t bear to be away from her, even to come see me in Denver.”

  “You live in Denver?” Colette asked.

  “I do.”

  “If you live in Denver, how did you know to come to the funeral?” Colette asked.

  Margo cleared her throat a little. “Davet had the onset of Alzheimers and was getting worse. When my husband passed away, I moved into a retirement home. Last week I convinced my brother to move in with me so I could take care of him. That’s where he was going when he was run off the road.”

  The thought of her father being sick softened Colette’s tone a little. “Oh, so that’s why he had the house painted red, and left all his luggage behind? He had Alzheimers?”

  “I suspect that is exactly the reason,” Margot answered. “As I was saying, Davet and Cheryl met in college and he married her two weeks after graduation. I’ve never seen him so happy.”

  “What was her Cherokee name?” Colette asked as she got ready to write.

  “I never knew her Indian name. If she had one, she didn’t say. Cheryl worked while Davet finished law school and...”

  Colette’s jaw dropped. “He was a lawyer?”

  “Be patient, dear, I’ll get to that in a minute.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Anyway,” Margot continued. “he failed the bar exam twice before he passed it. They were both thrilled, and she had some good news of her own. She was pregnant.”

  “With my mother?” Colette asked.

  “Right. A couple of months after Paige was born, a drunk driver broadsided Cheryl’s car and she died. Her baby suffered a head injury, but Paige survived and seemed to recover well. Davet was devastated. He didn’t have a job yet, which was a good thing because he could hardly function. He and baby Paige came to live with us and stayed until he got back on his feet. When he was finally able, he went to work in a restaurant and learned all he could about how to run one.”

  “He never practiced law?” Ben asked.

  “He couldn’t bring himself to. All his dreams died with Cheryl.”

  “So what happened to my mother... Paige?” Colette softly asked.

  Margot drew in a long, slow breath. “This is the hardest part to tell. With the insurance from Cheryl’s accident, Davet put a down payment on a restaurant of his own and it became very successful. With the money, he spoiled Paige. Whatever she wanted he gave her. He loved her because she was all he had left of Cheryl, but she was a wild one and he couldn’t control her. When she got pregnant without a husband, he was disappointed, but he bought her a house, paid for everything and even gave her a living allowance.”

  “In Denver?”

  “Yes, in Denver,” Margot answered. “Please dear, let me finish. This is as difficult to tell, as it will be to hear”

  Colette lowered her eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Let’s see, where was I. Oh yes, a year later, Paige married Mace Fowler. He was an airline pilot and she lived and breathed only for him. A couple of times, she got wind of an affair, but he swore it wasn’t true and she believed him. Mace was a very personable man, charming and exceedingly handsome. Soon, he began to work his way up the ranks of the airline until he landed a desk job in marketing. They had five child
ren, and...”

  “Five?” Colette interrupted. She looked at Steven and then at Oliver. “Where are the other two?”

  “Colette,” Steven said a little more harshly than he should have, “what Aunt Margot is struggling to tell you, is that they died in a fire.”

  The detective dropped his gaze, Colette and her friends gasped, and in the silence that followed, Margot wiped an involuntary tear off her cheek.

  At length, Oliver said. “Even I don’t know all the details. I was just a little guy when it happened.” He looked with pity at Margot and then turned to Emma Rose. “Perhaps you might have something for her to drink?”

  Seated next to Colette, Emma Rose rolled her eyes and quickly stood up, “Some kind of hostess I am. Tea, coffee or soft drinks?”

  “Tea for Aunt Margot would be great,” said Oliver. “She’s one of those strange European tea drinkers, you know.”

  He made Margot laugh. “I learned it from my British cousin. Tea would be lovely.”

  “Anyone else?” Emma Rose asked. All the others shook their heads, so she rushed to her small kitchen to pop a measuring cup full of water in the microwave, find a cup and saucer, and a tea bag.

  “So I’m not half Cherokee, but I am French with a little British thrown in?” Colette asked.

  “And a few other nationalities if you go back far enough, I imagine,” Margot answered. “We French get around.”

  Colette finally smiled, released more of her anger and no longer felt the need to lean against Ben. It was good to have time to breathe. Already she was starting to like the family she never knew she had, especially Oliver, although it was going to take some getting used to. She watched as Emma Rose served the cup of tea to Margot, watched Margot blow on it, and then take a sip.

  “I’m better now,” said Margot. “Shall we continue?”

  “Please,” Colette answered.

  “Very well.” Margot set her tea on the table next to her and again folded her hands in her lap. It was a relaxed pose she learned to take during her years as a psychologist. “Like I said, they had four children together plus the one she had out of wedlock. You were just a few days old and because Paige couldn’t decide on a name, Davet gave you his favorite French name.”