Clueless Chase
Page 5
“Who are you?” Sheriff Mables demanded.
“May I step inside out of the storm?” the man asked with a pleasant, calm voice. “It is a very stormy night.”
“Inside…very carefully!” Sheriff Mables ordered.
The man stepped inside and then closed the front door with his right foot. He spotted Mary running to a woman lying on the floor. “I did not mean to frighten that poor woman,” he said in an apologetic voice.
“Who are you?” Sheriff Mables demanded.
“If you allow me to lower my hands, I’ll show you.”
“All right…lower your hands…but if you make one wrong move—”
“I assure you, Sheriff, I’m on your side.” The man slowly reached into his front pocket and pulled out a badge. “My name is Mitchell Burbank…Detective Mitchell Burbank.”
“Detective?” Mary asked in a shocked voice.
“Homicide, to be exact,” Mitchell told Mary.
“Homicide?” Sheriff Mables asked. He stepped forward and examined Mitchell’s badge. “You’re a long way from home, Detective.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Detective Burbank said. He put his badge away and examined the newspaper’s front room.
Mary quickly soaked in the man’s features. Detective Mitchell Burbank was in his early fifties, distinguished in appearance, and carried himself in a manner that spoke of intelligence and strength. His face, even though adapted to the sun of southern California, had a rugged desert feel to it. Mitchell Burbank was not a soft man.
“I saw you standing outside of the hotel earlier today,” Mary pointed out as she fanned Betty’s face with her hands.
“Yes, I saw you enter the hotel,” the detective responded.
“Mr. Wyman said you claimed to be Monroe Baker’s agent,” Mary continued. “Why did you lie to Mr. Wyman?”
“Mrs. Holland, I’m chasing a killer. It wouldn’t be fitting to announce my true identity, now would it?” Mitchell understood Mary’s concern. He even admired her courage to stand up to him. “In my line of work there comes a time when you must hide who you really are.” He looked at Mary and felt sadness touch his heart. How he had wanted children…but his wife had died of cancer at an early age, leaving him a widower at the age of thirty-five. Mitchell never remarried. He vowed to go to his grave loving only one woman, even if it meant never being able to have children. If he had had a daughter, Mitchell thought, she might have turned out like Mary Holland: bold, intelligent, beautiful, daring, and brave.
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be fitting,” Mary agreed.
“You should have told me you were in town,” Sheriff Mables fussed. He put away his gun and puffed on his cigar.
“I couldn’t chance exposing myself,” Mitchell said. He pushed back the hood attached to his raincoat, revealing thick gray hair. “Monroe Baker has been murdered. I intend to track down the killer.”
“Now wait a minute,” Sheriff Mables barked, “this is my town, Detective.”
Mitchell nodded his head. “Yes, it is, Sheriff. However, the killer I’m after is from Los Angeles. It’s my duty to bring the killer back…a tad too late, I’m afraid.” Mitchell frowned. “I found Monroe dead.”
“Why didn’t you report his death?” Sheriff Mables demanded. “You left a dead man lying in a room.”
Mitchell shook rain off his body. “I needed to check the train station and bus station as quickly as possible,” he explained. “I saw Mrs. Holland enter the hotel and rushed off.” Mitchell stopped shaking his raincoat. “I was very upset with myself. Somehow, the killer managed to slip past me and kill Monroe Baker. I was worried the killer might escape town. I couldn’t risk being held up at a crime scene. Besides, I was sure Mrs. Holland would find the body.”
“You didn’t find the killer, I take it?” Sheriff Mables asked.
“No,” Mitchell admitted in a disappointed voice. “The train and bus station were both empty.” Mitchell shook his head. “The killer didn’t leave town.”
“Do you have any idea who the killer is?” Sheriff Mables asked.
“A woman,” Mitchell replied.
“A woman?!” Mary exclaimed.
Mitchell nodded. “Mrs. Holland, Los Angeles is a very…particular town with many faces to it. Beyond the warm sunshine and bright Pacific, there lies a very ugly darkness…a darkness that consumes a person’s heart. That darkness is called fame.” Mitchell pointed to a wooden chair. “May I sit down?”
“Please,” Mary said. Betty let out a weak groan, fluttered her eyes open, saw Mary, and then tried to sit up. “Easy, honey.”
“I…fainted again…didn’t I?”
“I’m afraid so,” Mary said.
Betty struggled to sit up but stopped when she saw Mitchell. “It’s him!” she yelled and nearly fainted again.
“That’s Detective Mitchell Burbank,” Mary quickly told Betty. “He’s not here to harm anyone.”
Mitchell placed a warm smile on his face. “I apologize for frightening you. Please forgive me.”
“Oh…it’s…okay,” Betty said in a shaky voice. “It’s…Mary saw a man wearing a black suit. We assumed he was the killer…and then you appeared. Oh my, what a fright.”
Sheriff Mables helped Betty stand up. “Detective, how do you know a woman killed Monroe Baker?”
Mary walked Betty to her desk and helped her sit down. “Yes, Detective, how do you know a woman killed Monroe Baker?” Mary asked.
Mitchell slowly crossed his right ankle over his left knee and folded his arms together. “Mrs. Holland, I possess information that only a handful of very select people have. I’m going to share this information with you. Before I do, I must swear you all to secrecy.”
“Of course,” Mary said.
“You can trust my office,” Sheriff Mables assured him.
“Cross my heart and hope to…uh, hope to…” Betty stumbled over her words. “I can keep a secret,” she finally said.
Mitchell nodded. “I’m sure you can.” He smiled at Betty. It was clear to Mitchell that Betty was a sweet and honest woman. He leaned back in his chair and focused on his thoughts. “Eight months ago, Monroe Baker finished filming a movie in Los Angeles…a beach movie, to be exact. His co-star was a woman named Bridget Carson.”
“Oh, oh!” Betty exclaimed, “I just love Bridget Carson. She is always so wonderful in every movie she stars in.”
Mitchell nodded. “Bridget Carson is a very talented actress and a lovely woman. Sadly, she is now dead.”
“Dead!” Betty gasped.
“Don’t faint…don’t faint,” Mary begged.
Betty grabbed her chest, drank down some air, and managed to stay conscious. “Bridget Carson is dead?”
Detective Burbank nodded. “She was found floating face down in her swimming pool.” He let the information soak into the room and then continued. “It was rumored that Bridget Carson and Monroe Baker had a short romance while filming the beach movie. Nothing serious…a kiss here and there…a night out on the town…that kind of thing,” Mitchell explained.
“Monroe Baker was a handsome man,” Betty dared to say.
“He was a handsome man,” Mitchell agreed, “but a lousy person. Monroe liked to…have his calendar full, if you understand my meaning. He never committed to one woman even though he led each woman he romanced with wine and roses to believe she was going to be the next Mrs. Baker. Bridget Carson became wise to this fact and showed him the door.”
Mary rubbed her chin. “Detective, are you trying to imply that a woman Monroe Baker was involved with killed Bridget Carson?”
“You’re a very bright woman, Mrs. Holland.” Mitchell unfolded his arms and pulled a damp notepad from the right pocket of his raincoat. “Monroe Baker reported being stalked by a woman he could not name. However, he did admit that he recognized the woman’s face and suggested he had taken the woman out for dinner a few times in the past.”
“What a rodent,” Betty said in a disgusted voice.
“Remind me to never visit Los Angeles,” Betty said in an upset voice. “At least in Pineville my friends and neighbors know my name.”
“Los Angeles has a good side,” Mitchell told Betty. “Warm sunshine, great diners, beautiful landscape…and not everyone who calls Los Angeles home is bad. I know some good people. The studios, you must understand the thirst for fame and money—is the monster drinking the heart out of people.”
“I’d rather stay in Pineville all the same,” Betty confessed and shivered all over.
Mary patted Betty’s shoulder. “Detective, please continue.”
“Right. Monroe Baker filed a report but because no crime had been committed there was nothing we could do. He could not furnish a name for the woman stalking him and admitted the woman never stalked him while he was at home. In all truth his complaint was more humorous than serious…or so we thought.” Mitchell shook his head. “Sometimes you come across a person who becomes attached to the actor or actress in a very dangerous manner. That person, for whatever reason, becomes infatuated with the actor or actress…no one really understands why. Maybe the person can’t differentiate between the character the actor or actress played on screen and the person they are in real life. Most of the time the person turns out to be harmless and only needs a firm talk to stop them. In Monroe Baker’s case, the officer who took his complaint assumed the woman stalking him was harmless.”
“This seemed far from harmless,” Sheriff Mables said in a gruff voice. “You guys dropped the ball.”
“Sheriff Mables, I’m a homicide detective. I don’t become involved in a case until a person is killed,” Mitchell explained in a very calm voice. “Monroe Baker didn’t become a fly on the tip of my nose until after Bridget Carson was found dead. After I was officially assigned to investigate her murder I began to discover distinct clues that pointed me back to Monroe Baker.”
Sheriff Mables worked on his cigar. He began to speak but thunder erupted and shook the entire building. “Storm is getting worse. The wife will be worried out of her mind. I need to get home,” he said. “Detective, I recommend we all go to my house and talk more over a hot cup of coffee.”
Mary began chewing on her thumbnail. Even though Sheriff Mables’ house brought back bad memories, the idea of sitting in a warm kitchen drinking coffee reached out to her tired mind. “Maybe Sheriff Mables is right,” she said. “I wouldn’t want Mrs. Mables to be alone in this storm much longer anyway.”
Mitchell put his notepad away. “A cup of hot coffee does sound inviting.”
“Then it’s settled,” Sheriff Mables said. “Let’s—” He stopped talking when the telephone sitting on Betty’s desk rang.
“I’ll answer it,” Mary said in a quick voice. She snatched up the phone. “Hello…oh, hello, Heather…Yes, he’s here…What? Okay, yes, I’ll tell him…Yes, I know the storm is getting worse by the minute…Yes, I know it’s dangerous to be on the phone…Heather…what…Monroe Baker…Heather…I…” Mary looked at Mitchell. “Heather…it’s dangerous to talk on the phone. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.” Mary quickly hung up the phone.
“What did Miss Mouth want?” Sheriff Mables asked Mary.
Mary pointed at the front door. “Sheriff, you’re not going home anytime soon. Heather said Mr. Wyman has been trying to find you.”
“Why?” Sheriff Mables asked.
Mary shrugged her shoulders. “All Heather said was that Mr. Wyman needed you back at the hotel.”
“Oh no,” Betty said. “Something bad has happened.”
Sheriff Mables dropped his cigar down onto the floor and stomped it out with his right foot. “Detective, are you coming?” he asked, yanking open the front door.
“You bet,” Mitchell said. He stood up and looked at Mary. “Mrs. Holland?”
“I’ll stay here with Betty,” Mary said.
“You better come along, Mary,” Sheriff Mables insisted. “You have a keen eye for stuff. Betty, you better come along, too. I don’t want you staying here alone.”
Betty looked at Mary with worried eyes. “It’ll be okay,” Mary promised. Betty sighed, stood up, and helped Mary put on a blue raincoat. Fifteen minutes later, they all walked into the front of the hotel covered with rain and leaves.
Sheriff Mables walked past Betty and searched the lobby for Mr. Wyman. Milton was standing behind the front counter in his usual spot. “What is it, Milton?” he demanded.
Milton pointed to the stairs. The poor man was holding a baseball bat in his hands. “Monroe Baker’s room…I heard noises…” he said in a shaky voice. “I went upstairs to investigate…”
“Get a grip on yourself, man,” Sheriff Mables ordered Milton.
Milton kept his eyes on the stairs. “Someone came running out of the room…pushed me down…and ran downstairs.” Milton turned and looked at Mitchell. “You,” he whispered. “You…killed Monroe Baker.”
“Milton, this is Detective Mitchell Burbank from California. He’s working undercover,” Sheriff Mables explained.
Mitchell approached the front counter. “The person who pushed you down. Was it a man or a woman?” he asked in a quick voice.
“I…don’t know,” Mitchell confessed. “The person I saw run out of Monroe Baker’s room was wearing a long black raincoat…His…or her head was covered with a black hood.”
“We better get upstairs,” Sheriff Mables told Detective Burbank.
Mitchell nodded and followed Sheriff Mables up to Monroe Baker’s room. Mary and Betty trailed behind them.
“This is so scary,” Betty whispered in Mary’s ear.
Mary took Betty’s shaking hands. “Stay near me, honey,” she said and walked Betty into the murder room. She stopped and let her eyes wander around. As far as Mary could tell, nothing in the room had been disturbed. “What was the killer looking for?” she asked.
“Exactly,” Mitchell told Mary. “Whoever this woman is, she’s searching for something.” Mitchell studied the room and then walked over to the window and looked out into the storm. “She’s a very daring woman to return to the scene of the crime…daring and desperate…which makes her very dangerous.”
“Dangerous and deadly,” Sheriff Mables pointed out. “She killed a full-grown man, Detective Burbank. I’m sure Monroe Baker didn’t turn his back to the woman and say, ‘Here you go, stab me at will.’”
“True, but there were no signs of a struggle,” Mitchell noted. “Monroe was attacked when his back was turned.” Mitchell turned away from the window and looked at Mary as a flash of bright lightning raced across the stormy night sky. “Mrs. Holland, what are your thoughts?”
“I think the killer is looking for her name,” Mary told Mitchell and stopped talking when she heard a loud noise in the far distance. The noise sounded like a train racing straight for town. “Oh dear…it’s a tornado,” Mary exclaimed. Betty immediately fainted. “No…not now,” Mary begged, feeling panicked and overwhelmed.
Outside in the storm, a dark funnel raced toward town with furious eyes.
Chapter 4
Mary shook Betty awake and ran her downstairs to the lobby. Milton was ready and waiting. “This way to the basement!” he yelled and yanked open a door standing at the far end of the lobby. “Hurry!”
The sound of the tornado grew fierce and deafening. The entire hotel began to shake—or so it seemed to Mary as she raced with Betty downstairs into a wide basement holding old boxes, furnishings, and other odds and ends that were neatly stacked and placed in certain locations. She spotted an old table resting next to a coffee table that had a badly cracked leg. She zoomed across the cold concrete floor and dashed under the table. Seconds later Milton crawled under the table as Sheriff Mables and Mitchell made their way u
nder a second table a few feet away.
“My wife is away visiting her sister,” Milton said, covering his head. “I was against her leaving because of the talent show but now I’m very grateful she didn’t listen to me.”
Mary covered her head and waited for the tornado to arrive. She closed her eyes and listened to the growl of the tornado racing toward town, destroying everything in its path. She felt the hotel shake, furniture rattle, and heard windows breaking. “Oh dear,” Mary whispered in a scared voice. “Betty, cover your head.”
“My head is covered!” Betty cried.
And then the tornado arrived, ripping trees down, tearing roofs off some businesses, knocking down some power poles, and turning over a few parked cars before racing away and slowly dying out a mile out of town, leaving the basement in complete darkness.
“Is everyone okay?” Sheriff Mables asked. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a box of matches, and lit one. “Mary, Betty, Milton…talk to me.”
“We’re okay.” Milton coughed and waved dust away from his face.
Betty slowly uncovered her head. “Are we alive?” she whimpered, refusing to open her eyes.
“We’re alive,” Mary sighed. She uncovered her head and looked across the floor toward Sheriff Mables. “Is it safe to come out?”
“The tornado has passed,” Sheriff Mables assured them. “Everyone upstairs, okay? I have to get home and check on my wife.”
Mary helped Betty crawl out from under the table and then hurried upstairs. As soon as she was in the lobby, Sheriff Mables ran past her, burst outside into the night, and vanished.
“I’ll light a lamp,” Milton told Mary as he worked his way through the dark lobby toward the front counter.