“She slapped you? Really?” Barry asked. “Were there witnesses? Do you want to file a report?”
Marlee laughed. “No, she’s just insecure, and I’m sure Eddie filled her head with all kinds of lies to cover the fact that he hit on me. Cami is no friend of mine, but I don’t want to press charges against her… unless she hits me again. Then I want her thrown in jail.”
Barry showed a slight smile. “If she does it again, you let me know. Nobody hits my pretend girlfriend and gets away with it.” They both laughed, which reassured Marlee that Barry understood the nature of their non-relationship. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with a love-sick cop.
They chatted amiably about the case and the coroner’s ruling of accidental death. “I don’t know why, but I feel like we’re missing something,” Marlee said. “I think there’s more to the story.”
“There always is,” Barry said. “We never know all the details about the victim and what happened before their death. Beth had a boyfriend in a band. She was pregnant. There was a lot you and her other friends didn’t know about her. Maybe Beth drank so much because she knew she was pregnant, and her boyfriend had dumped her. It could have been her way of committing suicide.”
Marlee’s blood began to boil. “I seriously doubt that. I don’t know why she was drinking if she was pregnant, and I don’t know why she didn’t tell me or some of her other friends from the dorm. The only person she told, as far as I know, was Cami, and I think Beth only told her in a moment of weakness. Either that or to make Cami jealous since she’s seeing Eddie now.”
“Do you think Beth planned to have an abortion? If so, I guess it wouldn’t matter if she was drinking. And if Eddie was the father and didn’t want anything to do with her, Beth might have been ready to end the pregnancy,” Barry said.
“I really wish I knew what was going on in Beth’s life and in her head. It’s sad that she had such a secret life that none of us knew anything about,” Marlee said. “I don’t know what I could have done to help her, but I would have listened and not judged her.”
“Speaking of a secret life, there’s more that we found out about Beth during our investigation,” Barry said.
Marlee raised her eyebrows, unsure if she was ready for additional shocking information about her friend. In the span of a few minutes Marlee learned that Beth was pregnant, her blood alcohol level was at a deadly level, and that her death was ruled accidental. “What is it?”
“Beth was working as a prostitute.”
Why do truck stops get such a bad rap? I’ve eaten some of my best meals at truck stops.
Chapter 10
“A prostitute? No way!” Never in a million years would Marlee have guessed this was the new information Barry was going to reveal. “You’re kidding, right?”
The officer shook his head from side to side. “No, I’m not. It was brought up during our meeting this morning. Not that it makes much difference now since the case is closed.”
“It does too make a difference. A big difference! And what do you mean the case is closed?” Marlee’s head swirled as she took in the news. At least she was sitting down so there was no worry about falling down. In addition to being a little slow on the uptake, Barry was showing himself to be an insensitive clod too.
“I meant it didn’t change anything with the case that Beth was a hooker.” Barry continued to dig himself in deeper every time he spoke.
“She’s not a hooker! Quit saying that!” Marlee shrieked. “Who said she was, anyway?”
“The manager of one of the motels over by the truck stop. He told detectives that Beth visited guys there regularly. The motel is known for prostitution, so we put the squeeze on the manager and he told us everything we wanted to know to keep himself out of trouble,” Barry reported.
“How did the investigation lead to the motel in the first place? It seems like a reach to just conveniently stumble upon a motel where the manager reveals this to the police,” Marlee said, skeptical that this information shook out the way Barry was reporting it.
Barry stammered, caught without a quick answer. “Detective Barkley didn’t say what led him to the motel. I suppose it came out during an interview that Beth was a prostitute, so he went to the place the hookers hang out.”
Marlee rolled her eyes with such force that they nearly stuck in the back of her head. “What did you mean the case was closed? Nobody’s going to keep looking into Beth’s death because of the autopsy findings?”
“There’s nothing else to look for. There was no sign of foul play, and Beth’s blood alcohol level was at a deadly level. What’s left to investigate?” Barry was in serious need of sensitivity training.
“You’re an ass!” Marlee yelled, jumping out of the parked car and stomping off toward her dorm. At this point, she didn’t care what he thought since she most likely wouldn’t be dealing with him in the future now that Beth’s case was closed.
Barry opened his car door and watched Marlee storm off, but didn’t say anything. He just shook his head, unsure what had provoked her, and got back in the car. “She must have her period,” he mumbled to himself. He was twenty-nine years old, and he didn’t know if he’d ever understand women.
In spite of the cold temperature and biting wind, Marlee had worked herself into a sweat by the time she arrived home. She stomped into her room, flung off her coat, and heaved herself into the lawn chair recliner.
Jasmine sat at her desk, poring over a text book. An opened can of Coke rested on the desktop along with a crumpled Hershey bar wrapper. “What’s wrong with you?”
Knowing that keeping secrets didn’t matter much anymore, Marlee bared her soul. She told Jasmine about Officer Stevens and their deal to share information, her conversations with Cami and Eddie, and the findings of Beth’s autopsy. “They’ve closed the case. The police don’t even care that Beth died. Since the coroner didn’t find any injuries or bruises that someone else inflicted, he ruled it an accidental death!”
“You think it’s something else?” Jasmine asked, not nearly as upset as Marlee would have liked.
“Well, I don’t know. It just seems very quick for the coroner to make such a big decision. And too quick for the police to consider the case closed,” Marlee said.
“Do you think someone killed Beth?” Jasmine asked, still level-headed.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not,” Marlee babbled. “It’s just too soon to come to this conclusion about Beth’s whole life and her death.” Her head spun. She couldn’t articulate why she was angry. It wasn’t as if she really thought Beth was intentionally killed. Marlee couldn’t think of a clear motive for that, and she didn’t have any suspects.
“You’re just processing too much information that came to you at one time. It’s overload, and you don’t know how to handle it.” Jasmine was the picture of calm, cool, and collected.
“Why are you being so calm?” Marlee asked. “You’re usually the one falling apart, and I’m the sane one. I didn’t get the memo that we were trading places today.”
Jasmine laughed, and Marlee eventually joined in. She grabbed the Tickled Pink wine from the mini-fridge and poured half the bottle into an aluminum glass, sipping as she talked. “I just don’t understand. Four days ago, Beth was alive and well. Now she’s dead, and the police aren’t investigating anymore, and the whole thing just keeps getting worse.”
“Worse? How?” Jasmine asked.
“Beth was about six weeks pregnant. Also, Detective Barkley was told by a motel manager that Beth was a hooker.” Marlee shook her head, her face wrinkled into a disgusted expression as she continued to drink wine.
“A hooker? I don’t believe that!” Jasmine said in disbelief. “Do you?”
“I don’t either. I think it might be some misinformation that a motel manager gave to detectives to keep himself out of hot water. Apparently, he runs a motel that allows prostitution. It’s over by the truck stop on the edge of town. I’m sure the manager would say anythin
g to keep the police away,” Marlee said.
“That’s bullshit! Why would Beth be a hooker? She was working at 7-11, so she had money,” Jasmine said, chugging her remaining Coke.
“That’s exactly what I thought. Why would she be prostituting if she already had a job? Or, let’s say she was a hooker, then why would she keep working at 7-11? None of it makes sense. I think the manager gave the police false information about Beth. Maybe it was intentional and maybe it was accidental, but either way, he lied.” Marlee was feeling better already in the few minutes she had been discussing the case with Jasmine. Barry bought into the official story set forth by the police department. At least Jasmine joined with Marlee in seeing the potential holes in the official theory.
Jasmine rummaged through the mini-fridge and grabbed a can of Bud Light. “I’m so mad, I’m going to drink one of your crappy beers.” She took a sip and made a face. “Well, I might not drink the whole thing.”
“I’m going to the motels out by the truck stop tonight and talk to the managers to see which one said Beth was a prostitute, and then I’m going to ask him some questions of my own,” Marlee said, finishing the remainder of her cheap, sugary wine.
“That’s almost two miles away, and it’s supposed to get below zero again tonight,” Jasmine said, carefully taking another sip of the unsavory beer. “I can’t go with you because I have to study for tomorrow’s test. Maybe Polly can give you a ride.”
“Ha! Polly would probably charge me for gas money and then insist on butting in when I was questioning the motel managers. I’d rather walk. Besides, this extra walking the past few days seems to be doing me some good. These jeans aren’t as tight as the last time I wore them!” Marlee happily demonstrated that she could pull her waist band a few millimeters away from her skin. Just last week she’d been walking like the Tin Man because her jeans were so snug.
About halfway there, Marlee started to rethink her plan of walking to the motels on the edge of town. It was dark, and the temperature had dropped from cold to bone-chilling. Before leaving on the trek, she ate a hearty supper at the cafeteria and put on an extra sweatshirt under her winter coat. The coat kept her warm, as did her heavy gloves. It was her feet and ears that suffered from the cold. Nobody wore a stocking cap or ear muffs unless they were a complete nerd, and Marlee wasn’t about to go against convention. As for her feet, she forgot she was wearing white, thin-soled lace-up shoes without socks. Her toes began to crunch with every step, a sure sign of a poor choice in footwear, so she walked faster.
When she reached the truck stop, she went inside, mostly to warm up, but also to see if she could get some information. Rickety booths lined the walls, while tables and chairs filled in the center part of the building. Several men sat alone and in groups, smoking, drinking coffee, eating enormous meals, and telling stories. A counter with six silver stools attached to the floor was nearly empty, except for one grizzled old man in his mid-forties. He was bundled up in a parka, knee-high-laced snow boots, and an insulated hat with ear flaps. He barely even turned to look at her when she approached the counter and sat at the other end.
“What can I get for you?” asked a woman in her fifties, sporting a name tag that identified her as Helen. She wore dark pants and a light weight beige sweater with a pink apron over the top.
As Marlee settled onto the stool, she realized walking there had been the easy part. She hadn’t put any thought into how she would elicit information about motels that catered to prostitutes. “I’ll have coffee,” she said upon realizing Helen was still waiting for her order.
She grimaced as she took a sip from the boiling coffee. Marlee was convinced that coffee was the ultimate bait and switch. It smelled delightful but tasted awful. How anyone could drink such a vile substance on a regular basis was beyond her. She reached for the sugar packets and emptied three into the coffee. It was marginally better, but still not good.
Helen swung back around and asked if there was anything else she needed. Marlee looked around and lowered her voice. “I’m looking for someone,” she whispered, trying not to draw the attention of the truckers and other diners.
Helen eyed her up and down. “Who you looking for?”
“I don’t know for sure. I heard he runs one of the motels that caters to prostitutes and …”
“Oh, no! Wait just a minute! We don’t deal with any of you girls and that kind of thing around here. Drink your coffee and hit the road!” Helen snapped, drawing the attention of the man sitting at the counter.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Marlee stumbled over her words trying to speak as fast as she could, knowing she was on limited time before Helen bounced her out of the truck stop. “My friend died on Thursday night. Maybe you read about it in the paper? She went to college, but somebody told the cops she was a hooker. I don’t believe it, but I need to find the manager of a motel around here. He’s the one who told the police Beth was a prostitute.”
“Yeah, I heard about her. Found outside a party house, wasn’t she?” asked the man at the end of the counter.
“Yes. Her name is, I mean was, Beth Van Dam. She lived in the same dorm that I do. I’m just trying to find out why someone would spread lies about her,” Marlee said.
“It doesn’t make much difference now, does it?” growled Helen, unmoved by Marlee’s account of her friend’s death.
Taking a deep breath so as not to punch Helen in the nose, Marlee said, “No, it doesn’t, but I bet if you died, you’d like someone to clear up any lies that had been told about you.”
That did the trick. Helen, after thinking for a second and putting herself in Beth’s shoes, decided to show mercy on Marlee and her quest in clearing her friend’s name. “Robbie at the Moon Glow Motel is who you want to talk to. It’s the first motel east of here. All kinds of shady business going on over there. Not that I know any particulars. It’s just what I hear people saying.”
Marlee glanced at Helen and then the guy at the end of the counter. He nodded, as if in agreement with what the waitress said. She couldn’t drink anymore of the horrid coffee, so she left money on the counter and thanked Helen for her help.
“Hey! Don’t tell Robbie where you got your information, you hear?” Helen said.
She nodded in acknowledgement and walked back into the frigid night. As she peered to the east, she could see the flashing sign for the Moon Glow Motel. It was a few minutes away, which was nothing compared to the distance she’d already walked that night.
The Moon Glow Motel gave Marlee a creepy feeling as she approached it. It was a small, two-level motel, with doors opening to the outside. A small balcony with a wooden railing was on the top level. Strings of unlit Christmas lights, which had not been taken down, were wrapped around the balcony in a haphazard fashion. A young lady, in her early teens, paced back and forth on the balcony as she smoked a cigarette and drank from a dark bottle. Marlee mustered her courage and entered the motel.
The creepy feeling did not dissipate once Marlee was inside. The small lobby was consumed by two well-worn chairs, a shelf displaying pamphlets on area attractions, and a rickety table with an empty coffee pot. The front desk was only two feet wide and so high that Marlee could barely see over it. A bell and papers fastened to a clip board were on top of the desk, but no clerk was around. Marlee rang the bell and waited, looking down at the yellow carpet.
A man, about Marlee’s age, appeared and asked, “What can I do for you?”
She decided to go another route rather than the direct one. “I got a call from a guy here.”
“Was his name Warren?” asked the desk clerk.
“Might have been,” Marlee said.
“Okay, you can go up to room 202,” the clerk said, pointing upward. “You know the way, right?”
Marlee just stared at the guy as she decided what to do. She didn’t want to go to some strange man’s room, especially if he was expecting a prostitute. On the other hand, she wanted to find out as much about Beth and the Moon
Glow Motel as possible. “Why do you think I’m here?” she asked, giving the guy a hard stare.
His face changed expression as he realized he was not dealing with the prostitute that Warren in room 202 had requested. “Oh, excuse me. I think I have you confused with someone else. The man in room 202 was expecting one of his friends to arrive shortly, and I thought it was you.”
Marlee burst into laughter. “Nice try. I’m guessing Warren asked you to get him some company for the night, and you thought I was a hooker.”
“Who are you?” the man demanded. “Are you a cop?”
“No, I’m not, but I’ll tell them everything if you don’t tell me what I want to know,” Marlee said.
“Depends on what you want to know,” the man threw back at her, not easily intimidated.
“First, I want to know where Robbie the manager is,” Marlee said.
“I’m Robbie, and I’m the manager,” the guy said. “Why?”
“You’re my age. How did you get to be a manager?” Marlee asked, curious as to how someone barely twenty years old could be in charge of a business.
“My uncle owns this place. Is that all you wanted to know?” Robbie snapped, disdain dripping from his voice.
“No, I wanted to know about a college girl named Beth Van Dam. I heard you told the police she was a hooker,” Marlee said. “Is that true?”
“Yeah, it’s true. She was in here from time to time, and I don’t think she was selling Tupperware,” Robbie said as if it were no big deal.
“How do you know for sure it was Beth?” Marlee asked, concentrating on what she hoped was chewing gum matted into the yellow carpet.
Fatal Footsteps Page 7
