Murder at Mabel's Motel

by G. A. McKevett

  The other male in their group was less impressive. Daisy’s intended, Donald, was as white as her daddy was black, slouching in his worn T-shirt and faded jeans.

  Donald worked at the bank as a teller, his future father-in-law having hired him. But no one thought for a moment that Don would ever be the bank’s president.

  Following in Franklin’s wake, poor Donald looked as though he would have preferred to be anywhere on earth than in a police station.

  Stella had heard a few snide remarks, as well as the outright rude ones that Billy Ray had made, about the young, black Daisy marrying a white-bread boy like Donald.

  Stella didn’t give a hoot about their colors, but she did think they were setting themselves up for a lifetime of trouble, forming a married couple named Daisy and Donald. She figured, if they didn’t mind hearing the occasional quack when they walked down the street together or up and down the aisles of the grocery store, then God bless them.

  “We’ve come by this morning to see if you’ve made any progress on our complaint,” Franklin said, his deep voice booming in the small office.

  “I figured that’s why you were here,” Manny said. “Would you like to sit down? I can get some extra chairs from—”

  “We won’t be staying long,” Franklin continued. “It’s been nearly seventy-two hours since we were terrorized in our home, each member of my family threatened, our property defaced in the most hideous way.”

  “I know, Mr. Tucker,” Manny said. “I saw the menacing graffiti on your garage doors, the burned cross on your front lawn. As I told you then, I’m furious that you and yours had to endure something like that, and here in my town.”

  “But what have you done about it?”

  “I did what I could, sir.”

  “Have you arrested anyone yet?”

  “No, sir. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any conclusive physical evidence at the scene. Plus, no one actually witnessed the acts of burning that cross or painting your doors, so we don’t have much to go on, sir. I’m very sorry. I wish we did.”

  “You know who it was!” Gertrude shouted, surprising everyone in the room. They all turned to stare at the otherwise quiet, dignified lady, who was known in the town as the very picture of gracious restraint. “What proof do you need? There are only three . . . individuals . . . in this town who are hateful and racist, who would do something like that.”

  “They don’t even try to hide it,” Daisy chimed in, as angry as her mother. “They cornered my fiancé and me the other night when we were coming out of the library—not even two hours before our home was vandalized—and called us awful names and told us we had no business getting married.”

  “That’s true,” Donald piped up, stepping forward, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans. “I would have hit them for what they called Daisy, but there were three of them and I . . .”

  His voice trailed away, and his face turned pink as he glanced up at Franklin, who seemed less than impressed with his narrative.

  Stella couldn’t help thinking that the Lone White Wolf Pack wouldn’t have shot off their mouths to that degree if the older and larger of the two men had been present.

  Donald Barton had a way about him that suggested he wore a permanent KICK ME sign on his rear, and Stella couldn’t imagine that an overtly masculine fellow like Franklin Tucker was as impressed with his daughter’s choice as the young lady was.

  That made Stella respect the father all the more, that he would suffer racist attacks with dignity and stand behind his daughter and future son-in-law, whether he approved of their union or not.

  “I didn’t know about you being harassed, Miss Daisy, Donald,” Manny told them. “Only about the cross burning. I’m glad you’ve brought this to my attention.”

  “Will it help you build a case against those criminals?” Franklin asked. “This town has suffered quite enough from them in the past, and now we hear Yolanda Ortez has been attacked, probably by Billy Ray Sonner. What can be done about him?”

  Manny shot a quick look at Stella, then cleared his throat and said, “Actually, Mr. Tucker, we haven’t officially announced this just yet, so I would appreciate you folks keeping it to yourself until we get a chance to make a public statement.”

  Franklin Tucker’s dark eyes searched Manny’s. “Okay, Sheriff,” he said. “You can trust my family and myself to be discreet. We’ll keep anything you tell us strictly among ourselves until you’ve made your announcement. What is it, Sheriff?”

  “I have every reason to believe,” Manny began, “that it was, indeed, Billy Ray Sonner who attacked Yolanda Ortez. But he’s no longer a danger to her, your daughter, Mr. Barton here, or anyone else.”

  “Why is that?” Gertrude Tucker asked. She shot a sideways look at her husband, then another at her daughter’s fiancé. “Has something happened to Billy Ray?”

  “It has,” Manny replied. “His body was discovered this morning.”

  “His body?” Daisy asked. “You mean, he’s dead?”

  Stella couldn’t help noticing the note of almost desperate hopefulness in the young woman’s voice when she spoke those two words.

  For a moment, Stella thought how horrible it was that anyone would feel relief, even joy, at another human being’s passing. What a dreadful legacy Billy Ray Sonner was leaving behind.

  It could be said that the best thing he had done in his entire life for his neighbors was to die and leave them in peace.

  “Yes, Billy Ray’s quite dead,” Manny assured her. “The coroner is examining his corpse even as we speak. And since he was the leader of his so-called pack and the others are nothing but brainless followers, I think the trouble you experienced is over now.”

  “I’m very happy to hear that,” Gertrude said. “I wish I wasn’t, because it sounds cruel, but I was very worried for my family. We’ve never had any problem here in McGill. Franklin and I have lived here twenty years and always felt welcome.”

  “That’s true,” Daisy added. “This was the first trouble, of a racist sort, that we’ve ever experienced. It was awful. Really scary. I’m glad he’s dead, too, as terrible as that sounds.”

  “I understand completely,” Manny told her. “I’m sure most of the people in this town, if they were really honest, would admit they feel the same way. Don’t feel guilty. It’s a sad situation, but it’s to be laid at Billy Ray’s door, not yours or your family’s. You have good reason for feeling the way you do.”

  Stella said nothing, as she studied the family members one by one. The women appeared to be extremely relieved. Donald still looked concerned and ill at ease.

  Franklin Tucker’s expression was enigmatic, and it puzzled Stella. Though he struck her as a stoic man, she would have expected a different and more animated reaction from him at hearing the news that the man who he suspected of tormenting his family was dead.

  However, she did notice that for a brief moment, he turned and gave his daughter’s sweetheart an intense, searching look.

  What’s he lookin’ for? she asked herself. A sign of guilt maybe ?

  Was Franklin Tucker thinking the same thing she was? That maybe the seemingly timid, passive young man, who had chosen not to defend his fiancée when outnumbered three to one, might have found revenge on a man who was alone in a deserted motel?

  She stole a glance at Manny and saw he was wearing his “extremely alert” policeman’s expression.

  Apparently, he, too, had seen the look Franklin had given Donald, and his suspicions were also aroused.

  As Stella watched, Manny donned what she liked to call his “Saturday night in the back room of the barbershop poker face.” He walked over to his desk, casually sat down, picked up a pencil, and began to scribble something on a notepad.

  “Just for the record,” he said in a tone as nonchalant as his expression, “may I ask where you were and what you were doing this past evening, Miss Daisy?”

  “Why does it matter where my daughter was last night
or any other night?” Franklin asked in a tone that would have intimidated a lesser man than the sheriff.

  Manny stopped his writing; looked up at Franklin, who was far too close for comfort; and said, “It’s just a routine question, Mr. Tucker. Certainly no disrespect to your lovely daughter. I’ll be asking everyone I meet the same question for days. Please don’t take it personally.” Manny turned back to Daisy and repeated himself. “Where were you last night, Daisy? As I said, just for the record.”

  “She was with me,” Donald blurted out.

  Manny gave him a long look that suggested he might not believe him. “Oh?” he said.

  “Yeah. We went for a drive down by the river. Then we went to my house and watched some television.” He turned to Daisy and nodded vigorously. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

  “Don’t answer that,” Franklin said, putting his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and drawing her close to his side. “You don’t have to answer any questions at all about anything, Daisy. None of us do. We’ve done nothing wrong. We’re the victims here.”

  He turned to Manny and, with a stoic, inscrutable face, said, “I’m sorry we can’t help you with your investigation, Sheriff, but considering what we had done to us, you’d be remiss in your duties if you didn’t consider us suspects in this hoodlum’s murder. Given that fact, I think we should postpone this conversation until we have our attorney, Mr. Joshua Glasser, present.”

  Manny studied him, saying nothing, for a long and uncomfortable time. Finally, he laid his pencil down, pushed the notepad away from him, and stood. Holding out his hand to Franklin, he said, “I understand. You certainly have that right. If I feel I need to question you or any of your family members further, I’ll speak to Mr. Glasser and set up an appointment.”

  At first, Franklin just stared at Manny and didn’t acknowledge what he had said or his outstretched hand. Then, to Stella’s surprise and relief, he grasped it, gave it a firm shake, and said, “Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate your cooperation.”

  With that, Franklin Tucker and his family filed out of the station, leaving Stella and Manny to sit and stare at each other in bewilderment.

  “Can you believe that?” Stella said, once she was sure the station house door was closed behind them, and they were out of earshot. “That was just plain ol’ weird.”

  “It was,” Manny said with a thoughtful nod. “Not what I would have expected out of them at all. They’ve always been some of the nicest, most law-abiding, and peaceful folks in this town.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t hold their behavior today against them. Getting a cross burned on your lawn and having your daughter and her intended harassed and threatened, that’d get the sweetest guy in the world riled up. The whole family, too.”

  “I agree with you, darlin’, and I don’t hold anything against them for marching in here and speaking their mind, calling me on the carpet, and such. That’s not what I’m referring to.”

  “Whadda ya mean then?”

  “I’m talking about the way they acted once I told them about Billy Ray.”

  “Like maybe they had somethin’ to hide?”

  “Exactly. Did you see the way that boy jumped in and gave himself and Daisy both alibis and how surprised she was to hear she’d spent the evening with him?”

  “Yes, I did notice that, and I also saw the way Franklin looked at him, all suspicious, like he didn’t trust him.”

  “If he doesn’t trust his own future son-in-law, why should I?”

  “I hear ya.”

  “Then there’s the other thing.” Manny paused to take a long drink from his coffee mug. “I told them Billy Ray was dead, that his body had been found. Not a single one of them was curious enough to ask how or why he died.”

  “That’s true, Manny! You never said he was murdered. They just seemed to know it.” She shivered to think that someone, or maybe even several someones, in that fine family might have done something to end Billy Ray Sonner. Not for Billy’s sake, but because she’d hate to see any of them go to prison for the rest of their lives.

  She looked at Manny and could see his own mental wheels were spinning. “What does this mean, Manny? What’re you gonna do?”

  “I’m going to bump them right to the top of my suspect list, even higher than Deacon Murray, Earle Campbell, or even Raul Ortez.”

  “If I had my druthers, it’d be one of those first two. Someone from that stupid wolf pack of his and not good folks who never did nothin’ wrong in their lives.”

  “Me too, Stella,” Manny said. “Me too. But one of the worst parts of working in law enforcements is, we don’t always get to choose who we have to lock up.”

  Chapter 15

  “Granny! Granny, look! I won again!” Little Alma exclaimed as she bounded off the bus and into Stella’s outstretched arms. “They gave me another blue ribbon! That means I’m the best speller in the whole wide world!”

  Stella and her ecstatic granddaughter’s hug was interrupted when Marietta stomped down the bus’s three steps and bumped into them so hard that she nearly knocked her grandmother and sister off their feet.

  “She ain’t the best speller in the whole wide world!” Marietta shouted, displaying an unusual degree of agitation, even for her. “Miss Prissy Pants Alma ain’t even the best speller in the school. She’s the principal’s pet, and Miss Richardson gave her the easiest words. That’s the only reason why she won!”

  “Marietta Reid!” Stella reached out and grabbed the girl as she flounced past, her chin in the air and the ugliest look Stella had seen in a long time on her young face. “You apologize to your sister this minute, young lady, for those unkind words.”

  “I will not! It’s the truth, and everyone there who saw that spelling bee knows it. After it was over, they were all whispering, ‘Alma Reid’s a cheater. She don’t deserve that ribbon. She deserves an ice cream sundae with poop on the top instead a hot fudge.”

  Savannah had exited the bus and was standing nearby, listening to the exchange. Calmly, she stepped up to Alma, put her hands on her little sister’s shoulders, and knelt so she could be eye to eye with her.

  “Alma, sugar,” the older girl said, “I was there during that contest and afterwards, too. I know exactly what happened. They gave you hard words to spell, and you spelled every single one of them perfectly and you won, fair and square. And afterwards nobody said anything about you cheating. Marietta is lying through her teeth, because she’s jealous of you.”

  “That’s right,” Vidalia agreed, as she, too, climbed down from the bus and joined the gathering.

  “Marietta don’t like studyin’,” Cordele added. “She won’t apply herself like you do, Alma, but she gets all in a dither when she sees somebody else getting a reward for their hard work.”

  Waycross nodded solemnly, like a judge about to deliver his verdict on a federal case. “Yep, that’s the truth of it. She’s just jealous of you, Alma, and all the good things everybody said about you winning, and especially that blue ribbon of yours. She wishes it was hers.”

  “I don’t want that stupid ribbon, and I ain’t jealous of the likes of her,” Marietta protested. “Alma’s dumb and ugly, too. Her front teeth stick out so bad she could eat corn off a cob through a fence post.”

  In the next three seconds, Stella had removed Marietta from the area and was marching her around the house to the backyard.

  She wasn’t exactly sure yet what she was going to do when she got to wherever she was taking her. But this was above and beyond even Marietta’s usual unpleasantness.

  “This just can’t be abided,” she said more to herself than the child who was dragging her feet and trying to pull away from her by twisting her arm.

  “You’re hurting me!” the girl screamed. “You lemme go, or I’ll tell the sheriff you was mean to me, and he’ll arrest your butt!”

  Stella knew how hard she was squeezing the child’s wrist, and while it might not be comfortable, she certainly wasn’t inflicting p
ain.

  Besides, Stella knew the difference in a child who was hurting and one who was furious.

  “The next time you see Sheriff Gilford, you go right ahead and tell him all about what I done to you. How bad I mistreated you.”

  “I’m gonna! You just watch me!”

  “Marietta Reid, I could pull the switch off one of these trees and make you dance a jig with it, and he’d tell me it was high time I done it and put a shiny gold-star sticker in the middle of my forehead.”

  The mention of the switch seemed to make an impression on Marietta. She stopped struggling and looked up at Stella with frightened eyes.

  “Are you going to switch me, Granny? I don’t want you to do that, okay? It burns real bad, and the marks don’t go away for a long time. I’d have to wear knee socks to cover ’em, and it’s too hot for knee socks right now.”

  Stella stopped, looked down at her granddaughter, and her heart melted.

  As a child, Stella herself had been in the care of a cruel man, who had readily employed switches when she had misbehaved, or when she was being good but he was angry and wanted to improve his mood by hurting someone incapable of fighting back.

  She knew, firsthand, about the terrible, stinging pain and the red welts that remained for days afterward. She knew about wearing knee socks on hot Georgia days.

  She pulled her granddaughter over to a bench next to her flower garden, gently pushed her down onto it, and sat beside her.

  “I’m not gonna switch you, Mari, ’cause I know how awful bad it hurts, and I don’t think I could find it in my heart to hurt you that bad, ’cause I love you dearly.”

  Marietta stared down at her folded hands in her lap and began to pick at a hangnail on her thumb. She said nothing, but Stella saw her lower lip was trembling a bit.

  “But what you did back there, what you said to your sister, was ever’ bit as mean and hurtful as pullin’ the biggest, heaviest switch you can find off a tree and hitting her with it, all over her back and legs with all of your might.”

  Marietta gasped and looked up at her grandmother. “It was not! I wouldn’t hit nobody with a switch. Not never. Not even stupid, weasel-face Alma! One time, Momma was beatin’ the tar outta Alma with a switch, and I took up for her. I told Momma to stop it, and so Momma whupped me, too.”