Oh, she was going to regret this. Quickly, she reasoned that if she was out for a few hours, she couldn’t watch the desk, field phone calls, or dish up grits and coffee. Besides, deep inside she was not entirely opposed to dinner with Truman.
“Seven-thirty,” she said.
Business done, she turned and walked away from Truman McCain. No, that was not a little bubble of excitement in her chest. There was nothing to get excited about. They’d eat, she’d ask questions about what had happened to him in the past eleven years—like she didn’t already know—and if Truman did dare to make a move she’d put him in his place so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him.
Sadie was actually smiling when she opened the bathroom door, but the smile didn’t last. The stench hit her so hard she reeled back a split second before she realized what she was seeing in the bathtub.
She backed away from the half-open door, her eyes on the body in the tub. A part of her mind logically catalogued the details. Male. Naked. Definitely dead, probably for hours. She didn’t recognize him, but then…would she, even if she knew who the man had once been? The face was distorted, and the neck…what was left of it…was…oh…
Another part of her mind screamed silently. Run.
After a few seconds, Sadie listened to that command. She turned and ran to the door. Truman wasn’t even halfway across the parking lot.
“McCain!” she shouted.
He stopped and turned, a half grin on his face. “You didn’t change your mind already, did you?” His smile faded, and he walked toward her with that slight limp that still surprised her, even though she knew what had happened. “What’s wrong?”
Sadie moved back, clearing the doorway so Truman could step into the room. “You need to call somebody,” she said softly. “There’s a dead man in the bathtub.”
His eyes snapped in that direction, and he moved past her. “Stay here,” he ordered in a soft voice.
As if she had to be told. She’d seen enough, thank you very much.
A glance was all Truman needed. He backed away, took Sadie’s arm, and led her outside. Grabbing the two-way radio that hung from his belt, he alerted dispatch of the situation. That done, he looked down at her without a smile, without even a speck of that McCain charm.
“Did you disturb anything?”
“Hell, Truman, I cleaned the room. All but the bathroom. I disturbed just about everything.”
He muttered the word that was very much on Sadie’s mind, a word that would have shocked Aunt Lillian out of her orthopedic shoes.
“I didn’t vacuum,” Sadie said. “And all the garbage I collected is in one bag.”
“Good.”
“Did you recognize him?” Sadie asked, curiosity pushing aside her early revulsion.
“No, but then I didn’t take a really close look.”
“I understand completely,” Sadie said honestly. Already she heard approaching sirens.
People didn’t get murdered in Garth, and from what little she’d seen she was pretty sure the man in room 119’s bathtub had not committed suicide. He’d been murdered, in a very ugly way.
Truman leaned slightly forward as the first patrol car pulled wildly into the parking lot. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he whispered.
“What?” she snapped.
“Sadie Mae Harlow, don’t leave town.”
Chapter 2
After stripping out of the outfit she’d been wearing when she’d found the body and then showering vigorously, Sadie had gladly changed into clothing she was more comfortable in. A pair of black pants that had a little stretch in them, sturdy boots, a leather jacket and a shoulder holster, where her pistol now rested. After what she’d seen today, she needed her weapon close.
She was still tempted to head down to the bank and insist on seeing Hearn. Two days was a ridiculous amount of time to wait to see a loan officer at a small town bank. There had been a framed photo of the man hanging in the outer office, where Sadie had done battle with the receptionist. Hearn was sixtyish, with a full head of gray hair and pale-blue eyes. Not bad looking for an older man, but he had that cocky smile that men who consider themselves better than everyone else can’t seem to wipe from their faces, no matter how hard they try. He was a VP, or some such, which didn’t mean much in such a small bank. He couldn’t possibly be booked until Thursday afternoon.
Besides, she needed something to take her mind off finding the body. She’d seen a lot of bad stuff, working for the PI agency in Birmingham and then for Benning, but she’d never run across a body that had been stewing for hours. She would never forget that smell, or the complete and utter deadness of the man in the tub. There had been no life left, not even a hint that he had been a living breathing man not so long ago. She shuddered and pushed the feeling aside. She couldn’t afford weakness of any kind, not in her profession.
She still had no idea who the man in Room 119 might be. Conrad Hudson, who had checked the man in late last night, had already left for the day when the body was discovered. The sheriff had sent a deputy—not Truman, but some horribly young and enthusiastic boy—to Conrad’s house to speak with him, but no one was home. Since Conrad spent every spare moment fishing, he was probably on the lake somewhere. He’d be found. Eventually.
The name in the register was a suspicious ‘Joe Smith,’ and the man had paid for the room in cash.
Drugs, probably, Sadie reasoned. A drug deal had gone bad and Smith, or whoever he was, had been murdered because of it. She would have to have a talk with Lillian about renting her rooms to just anyone who came along. Lillian was so naive, she probably never considered that anything illegal might go on at her motel. It was a family place, a simple motel that had seen good years and lean. Once a bad element moved in, it would be tough to save the Yellow Rose Motel.
Truman had taken a brief statement from Sadie at the scene and he’d taken control of the evidence, basically keeping everyone out until the proper team arrived to catalog everything. The Alabama Bureau of Investigation would be called in, since neither the city of Garth nor the county had the resources to investigate a murder. Those investigators would want to question her soon, but while she waited she might as well see about getting the reason for her trip out of the way.
Maybe Hearn would agree to allow Sadie to repay her aunt’s loan without letting Lillian know. It would take Sadie a few days to get her hands on that much cash, but it could be done.
“Sadie!” Jennifer ran up the stairs, shouting as she entered the living quarters.
Sadie stepped into the hallway. “What’s wrong now?” There was always a crisis of some sort around here. As long as it wasn’t another body…
“The ABI investigator, he wants to talk to you,” Jennifer said breathlessly.
“He’s here?”
Jen nodded. “And he does not look very happy.”
Sadie headed for the stairs. “Murder isn’t happy business.”
“Yeah, but he looks really pissed.”
“He probably got called in off the golf course.” Sadie pushed into the lobby, to find that it was quite crowded. Truman stood back a ways, positioned near the door, and a red-eyed Aunt Lillian sat in a rickety chair near the front desk. She’d been upset when Sadie had gone upstairs to dress, but now she was obviously shaken.
The man standing between Sadie and Truman eyed her suspiciously. “I was working a cold case, actually. I don’t golf.”
Sadie saw no reason to respond.
“Investigator Wilson Evans.” The stocky brown-haired man didn’t offer his hand.
“Sadie Harlow.” Instinctively, she looked toward Truman, who remained stony-faced as he fixed his gaze on her.
“We’ve identified the victim,” Evans said, his voice even and cool.
“That’s good.”
In the moment of silence that followed Sadie’s response, she automatically looked to Truman McCain. For a reason she refused to explore, she was glad he’d stayed.
“Aren�
�t you curious?” Evans looked Sadie up and down with suspicious eyes. She suspected he was sharper than he looked.
Aunt Lillian’s breath hitched and she made an odd noise that caught in her throat, as if she stifled a cry.
“Not really,” Sadie said honestly. “I don’t know many people in Garth anymore, and I seriously doubt…”
“Do you know Aidan Hearn?”
The mention of the banker’s name startled Sadie so much she blinked hard and leaned slightly back. “Hearn? Not really. Was that…” She tried to envision the possibility that the smiling man in the photo at the bank and the grotesque thing she’d found might be one and the same.
“I understand you made a bit of a scene in his office yesterday afternoon.”
Sadie’s eyes cut to Truman again. He didn’t smile, he didn’t offer silent comfort. At the moment he looked as cold as Evans. “I would hardly call it a scene,” she answered.
The detective flipped open his notebook and read from the small page. “You called him a tyrant…”
“He wasn’t there,” Sadie explained.
Evans didn’t so much as slow down. “And you intimated that if he didn’t see you immediately, he’d be sorry.”
“I had an appointment for Thursday.”
“You called his secretary a bimbo…”
“She is,” Sadie said beneath her breath.
“And on your way out of the room you kicked over a small trash can.”
“It had been a long day and the trash can was empty. Mostly.”
Evans flipped the notebook shut. “Do you have an uncontrollable temper, Miss Harlow?”
“Of course not!” she shouted.
Truman crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head, a little, and suddenly Sadie was eleven again, out of place and alone and feeling as if the world was conspiring against her.
“It’s my fault,” Lillian said softly.
All eyes turned her way. “What?” Sadie asked.
“I sent her there to speak to Mr. Hearn. He refused to even listen to my pleas, and I was afraid I’d lose the motel and the café if I didn’t get an extension on the loan. I called Sadie because I couldn’t think of another way.” Lillian lifted her head and looked squarely at Evans. “Sadie might lose her temper, and she might kick over a garbage can or say something she doesn’t mean on occasion. That mouth of hers has gotten her into trouble all her life.”
“Aunt Lillian…” Sadie began. This kind of “help” wasn’t going to help matters at all.
“But she would never hurt a living soul.”
Lillian had no idea how many living souls her niece had hurt. But they had all been bad guys who deserved what they got, and Sadie had never killed anyone in cold blood. Actually, she’d never killed anyone, not even bad guys. But she had wounded more than her share…
It took only a few minutes for Evans to take Sadie’s statement, while Lillian and Truman looked on. It was an oddly informal interview, allowable due to the unusual circumstances. From a certain vantage point in the office, Sadie could look through the window and see the investigators and deputies gathered around room 119. They used crime-scene tape to cordon off the area, and it wasn’t long before an ambulance arrived. They wouldn’t be allowed to move the body until Evans gave the okay, but they were ready. And curious.
Sadie moved to the counter where Conrad would’ve been standing last night. The door to 119 was clearly visible.
“Conrad must’ve seen whoever went into that room with Hearn,” Sadie said. “There’s a street lamp almost directly overhead.”
“We’ve got deputies and ABI agents searching for him,” Evans snapped.
Sadie’s stomach roiled, a little. She had learned always to listen to that gut reaction. “I think maybe you’d better find him quick. I have a feeling that whoever murdered Hearn won’t hesitate to take out anyone they think might be a witness.”
She recognized the new surge of emotion as outrage. Maybe she couldn’t wait to get out of Garth all over again. But by God, it just wasn’t right for people to get murdered here.
Sadie in tight black pants, her hair combed and her cheeks flushed pink, painted an entirely different picture than the tired woman in the ill-fitting pink uniform who’d made such a poor waitress that very morning.
Truman really did want to believe that Lillian was right and Sadie didn’t have it in her to murder anyone. But she did have a temper, and to be honest he didn’t know her anymore. She’d left home a girl and come home a woman, and who knows what had happened to her during the years in-between?
When he’d told Sadie not to leave town, he’d been—at least in part—jesting. When Evans delivered the same order, he wasn’t kidding at all. And Sadie knew it. A local man was dead, killed the same night she’d arrived in town for the specific purpose of seeing Hearn and convincing him to extend her aunt’s loan.
Since she’d cleaned the room, she had a very plausible reason for any of her own fingerprints that were found on the door knob. Not that there would be many fingerprints lifted from any other surface. Sadie—who had been wearing gloves to clean—had scrubbed every surface in the motel room.
She hadn’t touched the bathroom, though, and that was a good sign. And the discovery of the body had obviously disturbed her. Either that, or she had turned into a great actress.
She had definitely turned into a beautiful woman. Sadie wasn’t traditionally pretty, like her cousin. But she was the kind of woman who would always make heads turn, and he was certain that when she walked into a room men between the ages of fifteen and ninety muttered a drawn-out, appreciative damn.
His study of Sadie was interrupted by occasional bouts of hysteria from Lillian Banks. She’d lose it for a moment, then rein herself in and settle into silence. Was that fear in her eyes? Or plain old horror at knowing that a man had been killed in her motel and her niece was—for the moment at least—a suspect.
Logic aside, he didn’t think Sadie was guilty. Not of murdering Hearn, at least. But one thing was clear.
Women like Sadie Harlow weren’t content to stay in a place like Garth. She was here to help her family, but as soon as she was able she’d be gone.
“Be back by ten,” Jennifer said as she plopped down on the end of Sadie’s bed. “I’m supposed to work the front desk since Conrad still hasn’t shown up, but I have plans. I figured since you’re here you can do me a favor and fill in for me.”
Sadie didn’t argue that what she really needed was a good night’s sleep, or that it was entirely possible Conrad would show up late. It wouldn’t be the first time, from what she heard. “It’s Tuesday,” she said as she applied a bit of mascara. “What sort of plans could you possibly have?”
“Just…plans.”
Sadie sighed. She’d probably be home by nine. Still, it galled her a little that her flighty cousin had such an active social life, while she had none. Thirty wasn’t all that old. Why did she feel ancient?
No, she wouldn’t be thirty for two more weeks. Would she officially become a spinster over a cake with too many candles? Sitting alone in her small apartment, with her girlie things around her and the television on and… What was she thinking? The day’s excitement had addled her brain. Since a social life usually included men in some form or another, she was definitely better off without one. Bring on the spinsterhood.
Not that she wanted to look like a spinster…
It was strange, to be getting ready for her first date in ages when just this afternoon she’d stumbled across a dead body. Jen had commented on the tragedy and the smell, and then she’d shuddered and changed the subject. Unpleasant things did not deter Jennifer Banks. She ignored them completely so they barely slowed her down.
“I’ll be home before ten,” Sadie promised, wondering if she could even stay awake that long.
“Nice dress,” Jennifer said, relieved and smiling once again. “It looks expensive.”
“It is,” Sadie said. The classic little black dress
was her favorite. True, it made concealing her revolver a problem, but in this instance she’d deal with the discomfort of a thigh holster.
“If it was a couple sizes smaller, I might ask if I could borrow it.”
Sadie sighed, but did not growl or even turn to glare at her skinny cousin.
“Can I borrow those earrings sometime?” Jennifer asked, leaning to the side to get a better look at the diamond studs.
“Not on your life.”
In the mirror, Sadie watched as Jen stuck out her tongue. Some things never changed.
Sadie applied a little bit of hairspray to her curling dark hair, and then she dabbed some perfume behind her ears, just in case any of the day’s excitement had left a lingering odor that hadn’t scrubbed out in the shower. Eggs and grits, cheese, ammonia…and other things she’d rather not think of right now.
“You’re going to give poor old Truman a heart attack.”
“Why’s that?” Sadie asked absently.
“You look great, that’s why,” Jennifer said. “Makeup, sexy dress, perfume. The whole works. Trust me, no one around here looks like this. Are you guys, you know…”
“No,” Sadie said forcefully. “We’re just friends. There is no ‘you know.’ I’m not getting dressed up for Truman,” she added in a sensible voice. “I’m dressing for myself. I like to look nice now and then.” She’d had enough of bubble-gum-pink uniforms and maid’s aprons for one day.
“Yeah, right,” Jennifer said, a wicked smile on her face and in her voice. When Sadie stepped into her black heels, Jennifer whistled. “You can’t tell me you’re wearing those monsters for yourself. They look great, but that heel is a killer. Those shoes,” Jennifer said with a wag of her fingers, “say, Take me Truman, take me now. Why don’t you just go naked and save yourself all this trouble? Ten o’clock, Sadie. I swear, if you’re not home by ten, I’ll…I’ll…”
Truly, Madly, Dangerously Page 3
