Murder at Mabel's Motel

by G. A. McKevett

  Some claimed the exotic piece of luggage was stuffed with money. Their theories were given more credence when Dolly purchased the decrepit house by the graveyard and paid cash for it.

  Over the years, Dolly had enjoyed a higher standard of living than her neighbors without any visible means of supporting that lifestyle.

  But even the nosiest of McGillians could corral their curiosity when it was to their advantage to do so. The fact that Miss Dolly Browning frequently donated sizable sums to the town’s many charity drives and causes kept any meaningful inquiries in check.

  In recent years, as her paranoia and claims of being stalked and tormented by her “enemies” had increased, folks had chalked her complaints up to “ol’ timers’ dementia” and steered clear of her whenever possible.

  Over the past forty years, Dolly Browning had gone from being known as “the pretty mystery lady with the alligator suitcase full of money” to being called “that crazy lady in the haunted house with all the cats.”

  “I’m going to warn you,” Manny said as he pulled the cruiser in front of the house and turned off the engine. “This house is a mess and it stinks to high heaven. She’s got more cats than you’ve ever seen in one place, and she doesn’t feel the need to even provide them with litter boxes, let alone clean ones.”

  “I know,” Stella said. “It’s sad. When she caught colds or that crick in her back acted up, Elsie and I brought her some frozen casseroles, to tie her over till she was up to shopping and cooking again. Pies and cakes, too. Let’s just say, we caught wind of it on more than one occasion.”

  “It is sad,” Manny said, keeping his voice low as they walked up the broken walkway to the house. “I’ve called Adult Protective Services about her a time or two, but they claim there isn’t anything they can do. Except for the cats and that business of thinking somebody’s after her, she’s as bright as she ever was and able to take care of herself.”

  “Nobody chooses to live in a giant, dirty litter box if they’re all there mentally,” Stella argued. “If she wasn’t so well off, I expect some government agency would’ve stepped in a long time ago and hauled her outta there, kickin’ and screamin’ if necessary.”

  Manny gave a wry chuckle. “Yes, I reckon that’s true. If you live with a zillion cats who aren’t housebroken, and you’re poor, then you’re considered ‘nuts.’ But if you’re rich, you’re just ‘eccentric, ’ and they leave you alone.”

  “Do you really think she’s in danger here with Billy Ray on the loose?” she asked as they got out of the car and walked up the weed-choked sidewalk to the house.

  “No. I don’t. Billy’s probably already hightailed it out of here. I figure he hooked up with Deacon as quick as he could, got some clothes and transportation, and is on the run. He knew I’ve got a tight case against him. He’d be stupid to hang around.”

  “Well, he is Billy Ray Sonner, and stupid is as stupid does.”

  “True, but even a mosquito’s smart enough to move out of the way if he’s about to get swatted.” Manny knocked on the door, being careful to use his fist only on the wood and not on the cracked beveled glass oval in the center of the door. “I just want her to know what’s going on, in case she wants to go stay in a motel out of town or whatever.”

  A moment later, they heard a shuffling of feet and the deep barking of a dog.

  “That’s gotta be Valentine,” Stella said. “I forgot about him.”

  “How could you forget Valentine?” Manny said. “Biggest dog I ever saw in my life. He’s the other reason I’m not all that worried about her safety.”

  The door opened a crack, and an enormous black muzzle pushed through the opening, followed by an equally impressive chestnut head.

  Stella had been around dogs her entire life and, while she had respect for them, she had no fear of them. But she was very curious to see the rest of this particular canine.

  “I didn’t get a clear look at Mr. Valentine in all his glory before,” she told Manny. “She always knew we were coming and put him away in the bedroom.”

  “Valentine, no!” they heard Dolly shout. “Down! Sit!”

  To Stella’s surprise, when the door was fully opened, she saw the dog, who was as tall as a Great Dane with the musculature of a mastiff and the face of a German shepherd sitting docilely at the elderly lady’s feet.

  He looked up at Dolly with large, soulful eyes filled with remorse when she said, “Bad dog! How many times have I told you not to stick your face out when I open the door? One of these days, you’re going to give somebody a heart attack.”

  She waved a beckoning hand and stepped back so Stella and Manny could enter. “Come on in,” she said. “Don’t worry. He’s all bark and no bite.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Stella said, astonished at the size of the animal—especially his mouth when he gave a big yawn. “ ’Cause he could open those jaws and swaller ya whole.”

  Dolly laid her hand on the dog’s head, which was higher than her waist, and smiled at him affectionately. “Valentine’s just a big puppy dog. Won’t even chase a cat.”

  Stella and Manny looked around at the felines, who were everywhere. Like Valentine, they also seemed excited to be having visitors, as they darted in and out among the old furniture, boxes, and miscellaneous clutter, some peeking at them, others running around as though they had mousetraps attached to their tails.

  “Are you sure you’d miss one if he decided to have it for lunch?” Manny asked.

  His question was asked playfully, but the dark look that appeared instantly on Dolly’s otherwise friendly face told Stella that the high number of kitties she housed was a topic best left undiscussed.

  “Let’s just say,” she told Manny in a somber tone, “as long as you’re nice to me, I can guarantee you that Valentine won’t eat you.”

  “That’s most reassuring,” Manny said with a half chuckle.

  Once they were standing in the entry hall, Manny held his hand out for the dog to sniff it. “I remember when you got this guy as a pup,” he told Dolly. “I recall looking at his feet then and thinking he was going to be a big boy when he was grown. I had no idea how big though.”

  “I know! He surpassed my hopes for an impressive watchdog.” She reached down and patted the massive head. “That’s why I gave him a sweet name like Valentine. People are afraid enough of him already. I thought the name would help.”

  “I’m glad you’ve got him,” Manny told her. “If I had my way, every lady who lives alone would have a Valentine in their house. It’d make my job much easier and I’d worry a lot less about them.”

  Dolly looked around at her house, the once elegant home that was now terribly cluttered with cardboard boxes, old magazines, books, and newspapers. “I wish he was better at catching those culprits who sneak in here and steal my stuff. If he can’t hear them when they’re taking it, he should be able to let me know when they’re returning it.”

  Stella and Manny exchanged a quick, knowing look.

  There it was again. Dolly’s paranoia resurfacing.

  Not for the first time, Stella wished Dolly would make an appointment with Dr. Hynson about her anxiety issues. He might be able to prescribe a pill that would calm her concerns or arrange some sort of counselling for her.

  Stella hated to see a kindhearted person like Miss Browning suffering so.

  “Would you like to sit down?” Dolly asked, leading them into what had once been the house’s grand parlor, but was now little more than a crowded junk room with a few chairs and a sofa.

  Stella saw that each piece of furniture was currently occupied by at least five cats. As in the entry hall, they were everywhere. In that small room alone, there were at least twenty.

  The stench of feline urine and worse permeated the atmosphere. Stella tried to breathe shallowly, knowing she would be taking a bath, washing her hair, and laundering her clothing the moment she got home.

  “We’re not going to stay long, Miss Browning,” Manny
said, rescuing them from having to clear away the kitties and sit on surfaces covered with cat hair and heaven only knew what else. “I just want to fill you in on a couple of things before I call it a night.”

  “You mean, like how you arrested Billy Ray Sonner and that knucklehead you call a deputy let him go?”

  Manny cleared his throat. “I see you’re already informed.”

  “I went to the grocery store for some food for my friends here.” She waved a hand, indicating the cats. “Violet told me all about it.”

  “I reckon she did,” Stella said. “Violet always has the best gossip, and she ain’t against sharin’.”

  “But what she didn’t tell me,” Dolly continued, “and what I most wanted to know, is how that young lady from the service station is doing. I’ve been so worried about her.”

  “Thanks to you, Miss Browning,” Manny said, “she’s doing much better than expected. Doc Hynson says she might even be able to go home tomorrow.”

  Dolly didn’t appear as happy as Stella had expected her to be. In fact, she looked terribly concerned.

  “But if that fellow who harmed her is still on the loose and if they release her, she might be in danger.”

  “Please don’t worry,” Manny told her. “I’ll take measures to ensure her safety.”

  “I hope you do, Sheriff. Something has to be done about those boys. They’re evil. We can’t have that sort of wickedness here in our town. Don’t allow it, Sheriff. Please! You have to do something!”

  Stella watched, dismayed, as Dolly’s mood deteriorated rapidly. One moment she was smiling, the next deeply upset, almost to the point of hysteria. She couldn’t bear to see the elderly woman, who had been so generous and kind to so many in their town, suffering the effects of dementia.

  Dolly Browning was under attack, and her enemy, who seemed intent upon destroying all that she was and ever had been, was within her own brain.

  Stella reached out and put her arms around Dolly, holding her tightly, as she did when she comforted her own grandangels.

  It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Stella’s eldest, Savannah, was taller and larger overall than Dolly. The older woman felt like a child in her arms, a frightened little girl in desperate need of comfort.

  But although Dolly melted into the embrace and accepted it fully for a moment, she quickly pushed Stella away and turned back to Manny, her face as angry as it had been friendly and then distraught only moments before.

  “You have to catch that Billy Ray. Again. And make sure he doesn’t get loose this time. Those other two fools who run around after him, they’ve got a chance at being human beings, but they never will be if they’re following a monster like him. There’s only three of them now, but if he’s not caught and put away, there’ll be more.”

  “I’m going to catch him, Dolly. Lawmen all over this county are looking for him right now. But for the moment, I need you to answer a couple of questions for me. You’ve already helped me so much, by letting me know Yolanda was hurt and needed assistance. Now I need to know a couple more things.”

  Stella could see that Dolly was fighting to regain her composure. Her breath was ragged, her face flushed, but she finally calmed herself enough to say, “Ask away, Sheriff. I’ll do my best to answer you truthfully and fully. I want so much to help.”

  “I know you do.” Manny gave her one of his most charming “Sheriff Gilford’s got this” smiles. Then he said, “You heard it was Billy Ray I’m after. But before you heard folks say that, did you have any idea who it was that you overheard shouting and then running away back there behind the garage?”

  “Of course I did!”

  “Okay. Did you see them?”

  “No.”

  “Did you recognize their voices?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “What exactly did you hear when you went back there? Please think hard and don’t leave anything out.”

  “I don’t have to think hard, Sheriff. I’ll remember what I heard, every bit of it for the rest of my life. Whether I want to or not.”

  “What was it, Dolly?” Stella asked. “What is it that’ll haunt you for the rest of your days?”

  “That girl crying, begging him to stop. I heard the other two men telling him, ‘You’re gonna get us all in trouble! Stop it now! Leave her be!’”

  Stella shot a quick look at Manny. She was sure they were thinking the same thing: Dolly’s account matched Earle’s perfectly.

  Manny nodded and asked, “Miss Dolly, did you hear any names mentioned?”

  “No.”

  “Then, how did you know it was the Lone White Wolf Pack back there in the darkness?”

  “Because I heard the things that Billy Ray was saying to that poor girl, the names he was calling her.”

  Manny hesitated, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he said, “I’m sorry to have to ask you this in mixed company, but could you tell me what it was he said?”

  “No. I won’t repeat those awful words, Sheriff,” Dolly said. “I’m sure, if you give a second’s thought, you’ll think of some, and that will be them. They’re the words men, awful men, use to describe women. Words meant to hurt and demean females and injure their spirits.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Manny said. “I understand. But I’m sorry to say that more than one man in this town is low enough to use those words, especially if he was in a fit of rage. Some even if they weren’t. So, how did you know it was Billy Ray Sonner?”

  “Because he used other ones, too. He called her horrible names that are only used for brown-skinned people. People who are from south of the United States border—or their ancestors were.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Manny nodded. “I understand.”

  Dolly turned to Stella, her eyes moist with tears. Her voice was soft with compassion when she said, “I know about your mother. She was a full-blooded Cherokee. I’m sure that when you were growing up, you heard the terrible words she was called.”

  “Yes, and the things I was called myself for being her daughter,” Stella replied, fighting back the feelings that surfaced so quickly at the mention of those times. “Of course I did. But I knew my mother was none of those. She was beautiful and strong, intelligent and kind. I was blessed to have her for a mother . . . even if it wasn’t for long.”

  “Not everyone is as fortunate as you,” Dolly said. “You know who she was and who you are, no matter what others say. Some people don’t have that unshakable knowledge of who they are. They can be permanently scarred by what others say, how others define them.”

  “That’s true,” Stella said, recalling how Elsie had described the pain of hearing herself called cruel names, by being told she was “less than” because her skin was black and her ancestors from Africa. Dear, gentle Elsie was among those who bore permanent scars from her woundings.

  “Billy Ray Sonner and his fool followers are the only ones I’ve ever heard say those words in this town,” Dolly continued. “Nobody else here would call that beautiful young woman such ugly things just because she’s a woman and not a white one.”

  “You’re probably right,” Manny said. “They’re getting more and more bold about their meanness by the day. Though I can’t prove it, I’m ninety-nine percent sure it was them who lit that cross on the Tuckers’ yard last week.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Stella said. “I heard Billy Ray ranting the other day outside the post office about how remiss Franklin Tucker was in his duties as a father, lettin’ his girl marry a white boy and her bein’ black. ‘Muddyin’ up the pure white race’ was how he put it. I told him he was a jackass for sayin’ such nonsense, but I could tell it went in his left ear and flew outta his right. Not enough brain matter in there to even slow it down.”

  “See? It’s growing! This sort of evil starts like a little spark, but it explodes into a forest fire before you know it!” Dolly said. She stepped closer to Manny, placed her hands on his chest, and looked up at him with pleading eyes
. “Stop it, Sheriff, please. For the people of this town and their children. For the children yet to be born. Stop it—while you still can!”

  Chapter 9

  As Manny drove Stella home, there was very little conversation between the two. Dolly Browning’s words, the frightened look in her eyes, and the alarm in her voice had shaken them both, more than either wanted to admit.

  Exhausted, Stella was happy when Manny turned off the main highway and onto the humble dirt road that led to her little shack of a house.

  It might be small, its porch sagging, its roof leaking during an especially heavy rainstorm, but it was home. Tonight, even more than usual, the sight of it brought a measure of peace to Stella’s troubled heart.

  She and Arthur had bought that house a dozen lifetimes ago, when they were young and newly married. They had thought it a mansion! They couldn’t have been more excited if they’d been moving into the White House.

  But time changed things.

  A terrible tractor accident had taken Art, and another accident—thankfully, less tragic—had given her a houseful of grandchildren to raise on her own.

  But the dirt road and the humble house remained the same, and sometimes, Stella really needed to feel that some things never changed.

  “Glad to be back home?” Manny asked, as though reading her mind.

  For as long as she’d known him, it seemed he could do that. She wasn’t sure if it was because he knew her that well, or if it was just a gift he had. An ability that made him an excellent sheriff. He seemed to know what everyone was up to at any time.

  She wondered if he would ever catch Billy Ray, or if the flea-bitten weasel was going to get away with what he’d done to Yolanda Ortez.

  “I am glad to be back,” she admitted. Then she thought perhaps she’d been rude, suggesting the date he’d planned for them was lacking somehow. So she added, “Not that I didn’t have fun on our—”

  He laughed. Long and hard. His deep voice filling the interior of the cruiser. “That’s okay, darlin’,” he said when he’d finally recovered himself. “You don’t have to pretend you had a good time tonight. Overall, I’d say our first date was a dismal failure. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”