Hopefully it didn’t get as rowdy as last night. I opened the door, then wished I had decided to push through my issue and work instead of taking a break.
Clothes were strewn onto the chair and both beds. T-shirts, shorts, pants and nightwear belonging to Steve and me intermingled across the room. At least our articles of clothing were getting along. I snagged some of my undergarments and stuffed them in a dresser drawer. My face heated. How humiliating.
My make-up bag was unzipped and stretched across the bed closest to the door. All of the items were dumped to create a small molehill. The least Steve and Detective Bell could’ve done was put everything into a drawer, or back into the bag it came from. I sat on the bed and placed my items back into the proper compartments.
Forget it. I came up here to get my tablet. I wanted to relax not get myself more irritated. I opened the nightstand drawer and took out my tablet which was right beside the Bible where I left it. At least Steve and Bell put the valuables away.
I locked up tight and headed back down to the first floor. Two giggling women stepped into the elevator as I tried maneuvering myself out. They leaned into each other, arms wrapped around shoulders as they swayed. It looks like some croppers got into the adult beverages a little early.
I settled into one of the mauve chairs, tucking my feet underneath me, and turned on the tablet. I tried reading a romantic comedy but my mind wouldn’t let me into the story’s world. I just couldn’t let go of my own world, and the mess I found myself in.
I exited the book and went onto the web. Even though I was furious at Steve, I couldn’t let Bell ruin Steve’s life by labeling him a murderer. I knew just one step above nothing about Steve’s family. Were Adam’s parents the type to seek revenge against those who believe the worst about their son? And if so, had they added Steve onto the list or was he an unintended casualty? If Steve’s dad was worried about his son, why didn’t he offer his help when asked?
If Violet had checked the hotel registration, she’d have seen that Steve and I had separate rooms. Had something been placed in Bob’s and Garrison’s room?
This was getting worse and worse. I texted Bob. Wherever he was, he needed to get back here. My finger paused above Ted’s name. No. If I talked to him, he’d know something was wrong, and I’d end up telling him—and fall apart. Right now, I had two jobs to do and wanted to be strong, not an emotional mess.
I started searching for female private investigators in Morgantown, West Virginia. Private investigators didn’t add gender to their search terms. I clicked on a few links and held in a groan. Or pictures. What was I thinking? Of course they wouldn’t add pictures to their site, they wanted to be incognito on assignments… which probably also meant using a false name.
“Can we talk?”
I glanced up, and was proud of the fact I didn’t try to hide my search from Steve. “No.”
“We need to settle—”
I motioned from me to Steve then back to me. “This? Probably, but I don’t think either of us is in the state of mind to do it. You got knocked in the head yesterday and didn’t get a good night’s sleep. I didn’t get a good night’s sleep and got knocked in the head today. It’s best we wait.”
“What if waiting makes it worse?”
“Trust me. Waiting wouldn’t be the problem today.”
Steve knelt by the chair. “Faith—”
I cut him off again. “I thought we got to an okay place last night. I don’t like roller coasters. Never have. And our relationship has been a massive one with huge downs the last twelve hours. I’d rather stay off the ride right now. I don’t even know what issues have been resolved, or which ones we need to work on.”
“I can name one.” Steve’s voice lowered to a rumble.
“And I can add a few names to that list. The search put you in a foul mood.” I placed the tablet face down on my lap. “So, let’s wait until emotions settle down. I need time.”
I was proud of the adult and rational way I was handling the situation. Okay, not entirely grown-up as I chose avoidance, but a public place wasn’t where I wanted to get into the nitty-gritty of our relationship problems.
“The search wasn’t pleasant, especially when something came up missing.” He searched my gaze for an answer I couldn’t give him.
Even though I was hurt and fighting feelings of betrayal, I still couldn’t quiet the voice needing the truth. Needing justice. And needing to help the people I loved even when they hurt my heart. A group of croppers entered the foyer. I texted him one word. Gun?
A buzz came from Steve’s pocket. He pulled out his phone and shortly after rolled his eyes. “No. It was something else.”
“Maybe if you and Detective Bell had cleaned up after the search, you’d have found whatever was misplaced.”
Steve stood. “I’m going to the room.”
“Okay.” I turned my attention back to the tablet and what I found, or in actuality what I didn’t find—a clue to Violet’s real identity.
I decided to switch “targets” and went to find Marsha Smith, or who was the real Marsha Smith who worked with Cropportunity. There were no pictures of Marsha on the Cropportunity website or Facebook page. Approximately 30,480 and something Marsha Smith’s resided in West Virginia. I didn’t have enough time to look at all their profiles.
No wonder Detective Bell was showing the picture to everyone he could. Who was the real Marsha Smith who co-owned Cropportunity? Why would the mother lie?
Then again, why would Lydia Clement lie about Marsha? How could she not know who her partner was? Okay, I didn’t but I was a one-time vendor. My reputation and livelihood weren’t tied to Marsha. Lydia’s was. You’d think she’d have done a little more research.
“You paged.” Bob placed his hands on the back of the arm chair and leaned forward.
“This case has two questions it’s hinging on. Who’s Marsha Smith, and who’s Violet Hancock.”
“I can answer one of them.” Bob walked around and sat on the arm of the chair. “Violet Hancock is an alias being used by a private eye who works for a firm in Charleston.”
Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the back of the chair. “I was hoping for something more…”
“Nefarious,” Bob finished the sentence for me.
“Yeah. She knows something about me and I was hoping it could be negated because she’s a ne’er-do-well.”
Bob fought back a smile. “Is what she knows the truth? If not, it’ll be recognized as idle gossip soon enough.”
“Unfortunately, it is true.”
Bob draped an arm around me and gave me a quick hug. “Then it can’t be discounted. The most damaging thing about secrets isn’t the actual what, but the lengths a person goes through to hide it. It makes people wonder why and suspect there’s more to the truth than what they know.”
“Because you’re afraid of being judged, and you know the information deserves someone being judgmental about you.”
“But as you’ve learned from dabbling in investigations, that’s what this job is about. It’s what those of us with untrusting natures, or jobs requiring a little cynicism do. You take the obvious explanation and dig down another layer or two. Sometimes, the top layer is all there is. Other times, there’s more to it.”
“And the more a person acts like there is nothing there, the more you know something is buried.”
Bob nodded. “Especially if a person keeps finding a reason to stand in the same spot and shove everyone else away.”
I scooted as close as I could to Bob and lowered my voice. “The obvious in this case is Marsha Smith is not Marsha Smith. She’s the identity thief. Detective Bell is showing a picture of a woman identified as Marsha Smith. He says her mother made the ID. Then there’s the membership card I found with the creative spelling. Marcia Smyth
. There was also a piece of paper with names and numbers written on it. Looked like credit card numbers. The card reader Marsha was using didn’t work so I figured she wrote them down and planned on using her laptop to make the credit card payments.”
“Then I say we need to go have a little talk with Marsha. Detective Bell asked I stay out of it as my arrest more than likely put me on Marsha’s radar, but Marsha is good at pinpointing the time to run. She makes stupid mistakes and just as the police get to the door, she’s gone. Bell’s bringing Ted onboard as Marsha doesn’t know him, but I’m afraid by the time he’s caught up on everything—”
“She’ll be gone.”
Bob nodded. “She knows you’re on to her and that means the law will soon be on her tail.”
“We have to stop her.”
“Yes.” Bob scanned the room. “If helping people obtain justice is a burning desire in you, and you’re going to keep doing it, I’ll train you.”
“Are you serious?” Fear and excitement tunneled through me. “Ted will not be happy.” Along with my grandmothers and Steve. Not that I really cared about what Steve thought about my decision. It was my life to live as I saw fit.
“It’s not about making Ted happy, it’s ensuring you have your full life back and aren’t taking second-best because you don’t think you can ever have the life you really wanted. Let’s go make sure Marsha finally faces justice.”
Bob and I stepped off the elevator. The smell of smoke tickled my nose.
A door opened and a woman stuck her head out. She pointed a finger toward us. “This area is no smoking.”
“We’re not.” I held my hands out, showing I wasn’t holding anything.
“Someone is. I’m notifying the front desk.” She slammed the door closed.
“Or burning something,” I said.
Bob and I tore off for Marsha’s room. The closer we got, the more intense the smell. Marsha was gearing up to run. Bob stood off to the side and motioned for me to knock.
I wasn’t sure about Bob’s skills with breaking down doors, and knew mine were non-existent. I rapped.
“It’s Faith. Something’s burning on this floor. I wanted to check on you.”
Bob glared at me.
I rolled my eyes. It was obvious there was smoke in the air and white plumes were coming from under Marsha’s door.
“If you don’t open up, I’m going to call security. I’m worried.”
“I’m fine.” Marsha’s muffled voice came through the door.
“Are you smoking? Quick, open up and I’ll help you get the evidence out of the room.”
Marsha flung the door open. “What did you—”
Bob and I pushed our way inside. Water was running in the bathroom.
“No!” Marsha raced for the bathroom. Her hand reached for the flusher. Bits of singed paper floated in the toilet.
I grabbed her around the waist and pressed her into the only spot of vacant wall in the room, right between the sink and the commode. “It’s over. We know who you are. Well, who you aren’t.”
“I am Marsha.” She tried doing a pushup against the wall.
“No, you’re not.” I leaned my entire weight onto her.
“Yes, I am.”
Maybe she was Marsha… or Marcia… but not the Marsha Smith who was Lydia Clement’s business partner. “You are not the Marsha Smith who works with Lydia.”
“Yes, I am.”
Bob turned off the bathtub faucet. “The police got a hold of someone who has positively identified the Marsha Smith in the morgue as the one involved with Cropportunity.”
Marsha wiggled and squirmed. “Lydia will tell them that I am her partner Marsha Smith.”
I put more pressure on her back.
“Well, her mother says otherwise and has enough documents and pictures to back up her claim. What do you have?” Bob asked.
“Oh.”
The sound coming from Marsha sounded like a surrender. Marsha stopped struggling and flattened herself against the wall. “I was just borrowing her job for the weekend.”
“And her name.”
“No, I am Marsha Smith.” She spelled her name. “I was changing it to Marcia Smyth because of my ex-husband. Like I told you. Just not the one who owns this business with Lydia Clement. And for the record, I didn’t kill her.”
“Like we can believe that.” I wondered how long I’d have to keep her against the wall, and how long she’d be compliant. I didn’t trust her I-give-up attitude.
“Then who?” Bob asked.
“I’m not talking.” Marsha plastered her face to the wall.
Bob drew out some long pieces of paper and draped them over the edge of the tub. A paper shredder was located on the other side of the toilet near the shared wall with the neighboring hotel room.
“You don’t have to tell us anything,” I said. “We’ll be able to figure it out.”
“No, you won’t.”
I decided to test one of my theories. “Well, my guess is Lydia. She had to have known you weren’t her partner Marsha Smith.”
Before I knew it, Marsha tossed me off her. I let out a screech as my derrière smacked the bathroom floor, and I barely avoided knocking my elbow onto the toilet. I reached for her foot as she ran for the door. The bruise to my rear was worth it. I got my answer. Lydia knew.
Bob caught her around the waist and lifted her off the ground.
She wiggled and squirmed, lashing out with her hands and feet. The most surprising thing was Marsha remained silent. She didn’t scream. She wanted to escape but had no intention of asking for help.
If she screamed, it was over for Lydia. Marsha didn’t threaten Lydia to put on this charade. Lydia did it of her own free will.
But why?
I grabbed Marsha’s feet before she kicked Bob in a very painful place. “Lydia killed her. She knew you were pretending to be Marsha Smith, co-owner of Cropportunity.”
Marsha Smith, the identity thief in our custody, pressed her lips together.
“Did she also shoot Morgan to keep your secret?” Bob asked.
Tears flashed in Marsha’s eyes.
None of this made sense. Why would Lydia risk her freedom and life for a pretend business partner? She wouldn’t. But, she’d risk it for someone more important to her. The image on the membership card flashed in my eye. I had wondered if the woman in the picture was Marsha or Lydia as the facial structure was similar. Lydia knew about Marsha’s drinking problem. She had been concerned and angry about it.
An image flicked in my mind… Lydia at the jewelry consultant table looking at the necklaces. Something for her sister. “How long have you and Lydia known each other?”
The fight went out of Marsha. She went limp. Her arms and legs hung straight down, even her neck drooped forward.
“Sisters?” I asked. I couldn’t think of another person, besides a child, a woman would be willing to kill someone for.
“You don’t have to say anything to us,” Bob said. “The police will be here soon.”
Marsha refused to look at me. “Lydia told me it was time to go. I figured the manager wasn’t accepting any more excuses about the delay of payment so we had to leave now. I didn’t want any documents on me or left in the room that the police could use to tie us to Marsha Smith.”
“Like taking off before the retreat ended wouldn’t have been suspicious,” I said.
“I had to do whatever I could. I never thought this would happen,” Marsha said.
Bob lifted her and placed her on the edge of the bed. He kept a firm hand on her shoulder.
“I never should’ve told Lydia about the threats. She gave me the retreat’s money to pay off the last person who I borrowed an identity from,” Marsha said.
; “Stole,” Bob corrected.
“I thought the reason Lydia wanted to leave was because the manager refused to accept any more excuses about the money.” Marsha sniffed. “I guess there were other reasons.”
Bob twisted so his left side faced me. “Faith, get my phone. Text Ted to come up here ASAP.”
“I can use mine.” I removed it from my pocket.
“He’ll question you. He won’t me,” Bob said.
He made a good point. I reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. I sent a quick message. Lydia wasn’t in the parking lot when the real Marsha Smith got run over and also wasn’t in the crop room for a while. “Lydia killed her real partner.”
Marsha nodded.
“And Morgan,” I said.
Again, Marsha nodded. “I knew a PI was after me. When I told Lydia, she said she’d take care of it. I didn’t think she meant killing someone.”
“The police will keep looking for you and her,” Bob said. “Murder is something they won’t give up on like some of your identity crimes.”
Small sobs erupted from Marsha. “I started new lives to get away from him. But I missed my sister. She missed me. We had no one but each other. I became me again for her. She said everything would work out. The police would have a better suspect than her. She said this was all your fault. You’re the one who called Marsha.”
I knew Lydia’s victim in the plan—me. “Where did Lydia go?”
“To your room.”
Steve was there! Lydia had a gun.
I tore out of the room.
“Faith—” Bob yelled out.
A curse followed my name. I couldn’t wait for Ted to get there. I couldn’t let Lydia hurt Steve. I had to make sure he was okay.
My phone vibrated. I ignored it, not wanting to hear about the risky decision I was making. I knew it wasn’t smart but I had to help Steve. The phone hummed again, the movement an insistent pulse in my hand.
Christina Freeburn - Faith Hunter 03 - Embellished to Death Page 24
