Books by G.A. McKevett
Savannah Reid Mysteries
JUST DESSERTS
BITTER SWEETS
KILLER CALORIES
COOKED GOOSE
SUGAR AND SPITE
SOUR GRAPES
PEACHES AND SCREAMS
DEATH BY CHOCOLATE
CEREAL KILLER
MURDER À LA MODE
CORPSE SUZETTE
FAT FREE AND FATAL
POISONED TARTS
A BODY TO DIE FOR
WICKED CRAVING
A DECADENT WAY TO DIE
BURIED IN BUTTERCREAM
KILLER HONEYMOON
KILLER PHYSIQUE
KILLER GOURMET
KILLER REUNION
EVERY BODY ON DECK
HIDE AND SNEAK
BITTER BREW
AND THE KILLER IS . . .
Granny Reid Mysteries
MURDER IN HER STOCKING
MURDER IN THE CORN MAZE
MURDER AT MABEL’S MOTEL
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
G.A. McKevett
MURDER at MABEL’S MOTEL
A GRANNY REID MYSTERY
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2021 by Sonja Massie
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2020944010
The K logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2906-4
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: February 2021
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2908-8 (e-book)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2908-0 (e-book)
For Juliana,
who has poured so much love
into so many other people’s children.
Including ours.
You are forever “Our Juli.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Leslie Connell, my dear friend, faithful copyeditor, and First Reader. What would I have done without you all these years?
I wish to thank all the fans who write to me, sharing their thoughts and offering endless encouragement. Your stories touch my heart, and I enjoy your letters more than you know. I can be reached at:
[email protected]
and
facebook.com/gwendolynnarden.mckevett
Chapter 1
“Woo hoo! Git a load of Granny!”
“She’s got lipstick on!”
“Red lipstick! Looks like she’s been suckin’ on a red lollipop!”
“That’s ’cause she’s goin’ on a date!”
“Granny and the sheriff, sittin’ in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g!”
“Yeah, she’s gonna get red lipstick all-l-l over his face!”
“Hush up, the lot of you! That’ll be quite enough!” As Stella Reid looked around her kitchen table at her snickering grandangels, she tried her best to fake a frown to go with the command. But, in spite of her best efforts, a grin slipped through.
For a moment, she locked eyes with her oldest, Savannah, and saw the knowing smirk on the child’s pretty face. Much to Stella’s sorrow, Savannah was mature, far beyond her thirteen years. The residue of having lived her formative years in the household of a mother who made poor choices. Usually, right in front of her children.
The result of those foolish decisions was Shirley paying her debt to society in a Georgia penitentiary and her brood eating all of their meals and sleeping every night in the custody of their grandmother.
Raising seven children was a mighty task that didn’t leave a lot of free time for outings of any sort. Let alone of the romantic type.
So, tonight was special. Very special. In fact, it scared Stella to even think what Sheriff Manny Gilford’s invitation to dinner and a walk by the river might mean.
“Gran and the sheriff aren’t going on a date,” Savannah was telling her siblings in a tone that sounded as insincere as that of any grown-up trying to convince children of some falsehood. For their own good, of course. “They’re just going to the Burger Igloo for a hamburger, so they can have some peace and quiet to discuss business.”
“Monkey business!” squealed Marietta, the second oldest. Like her sister, the girl knew far more about activities between the sexes than Stella would have liked, but Miss Mari had none of her big sister’s common sense or respect for privacy.
Marietta was, as Pastor O’Reilly would say, Stella’s “thorn in the flesh.” But being considerably less spiritually minded than the good reverend, Stella simply called Marietta a “pain in the hindquarters.” But never to her face.
Like her brother and the rest of her sisters, Mari had been called far too many names, much worse ones than that, by her own mother. Often while dancing at the end of Shirley’s belt.
Stella was determined to not repeat her daughter-in-law’s mistakes. The children deserved a peaceful, steadfast, loving hand to guide them for the remainder of their childhoods, and she was determined to supply that.
But looking down at her sometimes thorny, pretty much always butt-pain granddaughter, Stella could see the child’s mental wheels turning as she considered her next comment. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes warned Stella it would be a doozy.
“I heard what you said to Savannah when the two of you was sittin’ out there in the porch swing on her thirteenth birthday.” Marietta looked around the table, making sure everyone within earshot was listening. “You told her she was a lady now and had to watch out for boys.”
“Marietta, you stop right there, gal. That was a private conversation, and you shouldn’t’ve been sneakin’ around, listenin’ with your ears out on stems—”
“Hey, you hear all sorts of good stuff that way!” Marietta shoved a spoonful of carrot slices into her mouth, pushed them to the side of her mouth, like a squirrel filling up its cheek pockets, and continued to talk around them. “You told her they’re only
interested in one thing and—”
“Don’t you say another word, Marietta, or I swear I’ll stick you in your bedroom till you’re thirty-eight.”
“Good idea. Then you won’t have to worry about her, and boys, and what it is they’re so interested in,” Savannah mumbled, buttering her bread.
“What they’re so interested in,” Marietta continued unsubdued, “is suckin’ on your face, then gettin’ your clothes offa ya and wrasslin’ you onto a bed so they can—”
“Marietta Reid!” Stella was around the table and had a firm hold on Granddaughter #2, thankfully, before she could finish her sentence.
As Stella pulled the girl from her chair and onto her feet, she glanced around the table and saw the startled, wide-eyed expressions on the faces of her four younger grandgirls: Vidalia, Cordele, Jesup, and Alma. She could tell that they sensed they had been about to hear something their grandmother didn’t want them to, which, of course, made the missing information fascinating, even unheard.
Savannah, who was seldom rattled by anything or anyone, even Miss Contrary Mari, looked mortified. In Stella’s home, such intimate conversations about delicate topics were limited to the front porch swing and only with the older siblings. Stella figured such information was to be disclosed strictly on a “need-to-know” basis.
Her hand tightened around Marietta’s arm as she felt the girl trying to pull away from her. Even the pertinacious Marietta knew when she’d gone too far and was about to “get her comeuppance.”
Stella led her away from the table and through the humble, shotgun house to the girls’ bedroom with its three sets of bunk beds. Turning on a plug-in nightlight, Stella waved a hand toward the top bunk on the far side of the room. Mari’s bed.
“Yank off them shoes of yours and crawl up there onto that bed, young lady.”
“I ain’t tired!”
“Well, I am. I’m plum wore out with your shenanigans. I’m in desperate need of a time-out, so you’re fixin’ to take one.”
Stella gave her a less than graceful boost up onto the bunk, where the girl sat, huffing and puffing like a river toad with a chest cold.
“I didn’t finish my supper! I’m still hungry!”
For a moment, Stella considered telling the child she was going to bed without eating the rest of her meal. But Stella couldn’t bring herself to exact that particular punishment. She knew far too well how many times her daughter-in-law had sent the children to bed hungry, and it had nothing to do with misbehavior. . . except Shirley’s.
In the little town of McGill, Shirley Reid was famous for three things: having more children than she knew what to do with; her addiction issues; and being unfaithful to her long-distance trucker husband when he was out of town, being unfaithful to her.
On rare occasions, when Shirley Reid managed to get her hand on some money, she seldom bought food for her children. Most of her cash was spent on mood enhancers, bought from local dealers on the streets. Her purchases found their way into Shirley’s lungs, down her throat, up her nose, and occasionally, in her veins.
No. While Stella’s grandchildren had to be disciplined from time to time, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, deprive them of food.
“I’ll stick your plate in the oven and keep it warm till you’ve had a good, long think about what you said in there and how un-suitin’ it was for you to utter such things in front of the little ’uns.”
“They’re gonna know about it sooner or later,” Marietta protested as Stella turned to leave the room.
“Yes, they will. But later’s better than sooner, when it comes to matters like that. Let ’em be young’uns as long as they can. They’ll have plenty of time once they’re grown to fret about grown-up stuff.”
“Like whether or not, after y’all get your hamburgers ate, Sheriff Gilford’s gonna ask you to go to the motel and do nasty stuff with him?”
Stella caught her breath and whirled back around to face her granddaughter.
In the next few seconds, she prayed the fastest prayer she’d ever offered up to heaven, asking for the fruits of the spirit: love, wisdom, patience . . . and the strength not to jerk a knot in the kid’s tail then and there.
She walked over to the bed, reached up, and took her grandchild’s hand in hers. Looking deeply into the girl’s eyes, Stella could see a bit of fear and was grateful for it. A child who harbored absolutely no fear at all in their hearts was in for a lifetime of troubles and woes. A little old-fashioned trepidation made a body more careful. She was relieved to see Mari had a tad.
Not enough.
But a little.
“My darlin’ girl,” she said, keeping her voice softer than the feelings coursing through her. “I love you to pieces. You know that I do. You are one of the seven bright stars in my crown and always will be—in this life and when I’m walkin’ the streets of heaven, good Lord willin’ and I make it there. But when you just said what you did, my heart hurt somethin’ fierce. I’d a’thought you’d have more respect for me and for Sheriff Gilford, too, for that matter, to say such a thing. Neither one of us has ever given you any reason to think we’d behave in such a way. It was most unkind of you to suggest that we would, child.”
To Stella’s surprise, Marietta didn’t reply with one of her everready smart-aleck retorts. Instead, she stared down at her own hand and her grandmother’s that was closed tightly around it.
When she didn’t answer, Stella added gently, “I do believe that if you apologize to me, you and me both’ll feel a heap better.”
Marietta drew a deep breath, then looked up at her grandmother. When their eyes met, Stella saw the girl’s tears of remorse.
Marietta Reid was feeling remorse! Enough of it to actually make her cry. A little.
Stella’s heart soared, borne on the wings of hope for the future! Miracles did happen, after all!
“I’m sorry, Granny,” she said. “I didn’t really think much about what I was gonna say before I spit it out. I was just tryin’ to make a funny. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or make you think I thought you was a wanton woman.”
Stella suppressed a chuckle. “Wanton woman? Where did you hear the likes of that?”
“Savannah.”
“Savannah?”
Marietta shrugged. “She reads too many blamed books.”
Laughing, Stella reached up, pulled her granddaughter down from the bunk, gave her a hug and a kiss on the top of her head. “I reckon you’ve demonstrated genuine repentance for your transgressions. All’s forgiven. Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.” Marietta grinned up at her, the same mischievous smirk that had gotten her in trouble before. “But you talk funny, too, like Savannah. I reckon it’s from readin’ the Bible too much.”
As Marietta stepped in front of her, Stella reached down and gave her a swat on her rear. “You better be glad I do, turkey butt. Sometimes, that’s all that keeps me from cleanin’ your plow!”
“What’s cleanin’ my plow mean?”
“Let’s just say—you aggravate me like you did, before I’ve done my daily readin’, and you might find out, sweetcheeks.”
Chapter 2
Not for the first time, when eating at McGill’s premier dining establishment, it occurred to Stella that the tables in the Burger Igloo were pretty much the same as the one in her own kitchen. But the café’s red and chrome, mother-of-pearl “retro” furnishings had been purchased new only a few years ago. They were far less scratched and scuffed than hers, which had been bought shortly after she and Art had been married, back in the fifties, when the dining set had been her pride and joy, the latest in fashionable breakfast sets.
The Burger Igloo’s chairs were boring, lacking the character of hers. They weren’t split, faded, and stained.
They were “less loved.”
Sadly, the restaurant’s tables lacked the one unique feature that greatly enhanced the appearance of her “worn to a frazzle” table—the raw plywood extender leaf that enab
led a passel of kids to dine at one setting without anybody having to stand at the counter to eat.
Stella had learned that children take a dim view of kitchen counter dining. Any suggestion they should do so produced grumblings of discontent, even among the most well-behaved young’uns.
Yes, the Burger Igloo’s tables and chairs were boring, compared to Stella’s. But otherwise, the restaurant was nicely furnished with charming décor that was reminiscent of the 1950s: old movie posters on the walls, black-and-white tiles on the floor, the jukebox near the window which, these days, played mostly music by Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, Whitney Houston, and Madonna.
But tonight, Stella was hardly aware of the ambiance of the charming burger joint. She had scarcely even tasted her deluxe burger.
All she could think about was the fellow sitting across from her in the booth.
Although neither Stella nor the sheriff could be considered “youthful” these days, Manny Gilford was a “fine specimen of a man,” as Stella’s best friend, Elsie, often observed.
“Mighty easy on the eyes, that fella . . . even when he’s walkin’ away from ya,” her neighbor, Florence, had said more than once.
Elsie and Flo weren’t the only ones.
Long ago, Stella had noticed that when the sheriff entered a room every citizen of McGill took notice. Mostly, women gazed longingly at him, taking in his thick silver hair and powerful physique, which was complemented by his freshly pressed uniform, and his face, still as handsome as when he had been in his teens, twenties, thirties, and forties. The women of McGill, Georgia, might have grown up with him, but Manny had always maintained a certain mystique, which garnered adoration from females, appreciation from law-abiding citizens, and grudging respect from lawbreakers.
Murder at Mabel's Motel Page 1
