Heartache Motel: Three Interconnected Mystery Novellas (Henery Press Mystery Novellas)

by Austin, Terri L.

  “Why don’t you come with us, Axton,” Ma said. “It’s always nice to have a man on a trip.”

  I wasn’t sure when her last trip occurred, but I was guessing it had been decades. Ma started the diner with her now deceased husband, Frank, in the mid-fifties. She’d been slinging hash a long time. The woman was a workhorse. She deserved a vacation. And she’d been so good to me.

  If she wanted to see Graceland, then God help us, we were going to Graceland.

  TWO

  An eight hour trip from Missouri to Memphis. Should be a zip down the highway, right?

  Wrong.

  My first clue that this pilgrimage was a disaster in the making came when we drove Ma’s LeSabre, Cha Cha, to Axton’s house. He bopped out the front door with his backpack slung over one shoulder and a duffle bag in hand. Behind him, at a much more sedate pace, Stoner Joe shuffled out of the house carrying a plastic Walmart sack.

  Joe Fletcher, Axton’s perpetually stoned roommate, was the last guy you’d want on a long car ride. His brain fired on one cylinder and he was an all-around pain in the ass.

  “Shit,” Roxy said. “He’s going to ruin the whole trip.”

  “Who is that boy?” Ma asked.

  I climbed out of the passenger seat and sauntered toward them. “Hey, Joe.”

  “Rosario. What’s shaking, my sistah from a different mistah?” He wheeze-laughed and fondled one string of the purple, crocheted tuque permanently attached to his head.

  “Axton, can I talk to you for a sec?” I plucked the sleeve of his jacket and yanked him to the rear of the car. “What the hell?” I asked, lowering my voice so Joe wouldn’t overhear. “He is not coming with us.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll pay his way. I can’t leave him home, Rose. Look at him.”

  Joe stood next to the car, his mouth wide open, squinting up at a maple’s bare branches. I glanced at the tree. Then back at Joe. Neither one had moved.

  “He’s okay during the day,” Ax said, “but after the first night, when all the Funyons are gone, what’s he going to eat?” Ax batted his blue eyes at me. “Please? It’s the season of charity and kindness, after all.”

  Oh brother. “Fine, but try and keep him in check, would you?”

  Axton smiled. “Thanks, Rosie, you’re the best.”

  We stuck Axton’s bags and Joe’s Walmart sack in the trunk. When I went to climb back in the car, Roxy had snagged the passenger seat. She rolled down the window, furiously chomping her gum. “If you think I’m getting squashed between those two, you’re demented.”

  I reached out and tugged on her blue braid. “We’ll take turns.”

  She batted at my hand. “Forget it.”

  So I squeezed myself into the backseat between Ax and the door. Before Ma could pull out of the driveway, I leaned across Axton’s lap and glared at Joe. “Hey. No toking up in the car.”

  He grinned. “No worries, man. I’ve got some special popcorn balls.” He pointed to his temple. “I’m always thinking ahead.”

  Yep, this trip was off to a great start.

  By the time we reached Memphis, I’d taken the wheel and it was almost midnight. We’d been on the road for over twelve hours and had stopped to pee and eat eleven times. Along the way, Ma snored, Roxy complained, Ax fiddled with his computer, and Joe said things like, “That taco dog is driving a car, man.” After the third such non sequitur, I quit asking.

  Ma had made reservations at a hotel down the street from Graceland. I pulled into the lot, past the guardhouse and circled the building three times in search of a parking spot. I wound up blocking two cars near the front entrance and decided to find a better location after we checked in.

  Through the passenger window, Ma gazed up at the pink neon heart near the top of the building. “We’re here, kids. We’ve made it to Memphis.”

  Climbing out of the car, we stretched our legs before grabbing the bags. Ax and I carried Ma’s as well as our own as we tromped inside.

  Despite the late hour, a swarm of people filled the lobby. Their loud chatter was an indistinguishable buzz until a man standing next to the bank of elevators spoke into a microphone. Something about a scavenger hunt. I had to jerk Ma out of the way as people stampeded toward him.

  “What are all these people doing here?” Roxy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ma said, “but it sure looks like a kick.” She wandered to a grouping of blue Christmas trees decorated in silver balls, then spun to gawk at the memorabilia covering the walls.

  At one end of the lobby, photos of Elvis from his Army days covered two tables. At the far end, a roped off, life-sized nativity scene was set up. Wax statues of young Elvis, sexy sixties Elvis, and jumpsuit Elvis were featured as the wise men. Each wax figure held a cheap wooden treasure chest. Not very reverent, but kind of kitschy fun.

  Stoner Joe gravitated toward it and Roxy left in search of the ladies’ room. Ma, Ax, and I took up residence behind a group of Asian tourists at the front desk.

  When it was finally our turn, Ma gave her name and the harried desk clerk tapped on his keyboard. “Oh my. I am so sorry. Check-in was hours ago and we gave your room away. I do apologize.”

  She adjusted her specs. “Mister, I made my reservation a week ago. Gave my credit card number and everything.”

  Roxy wandered up to us. “We checked-in or what?”

  Ma pointed at the clerk. “They’re overbooked.”

  “The Christmas With Elvis Conference is full this year,” he said. “And we’re booked solid through the weekend. Let me give you some coupons for Memphis tourist sights to make up for it. Again, sincerest apologies.” He shoved a stack of flyers at her, then glanced past Ma’s shoulder. “Next.”

  As we walked away from the counter, Ma grumbled, “I can’t believe this. It’s midnight and we have no place to stay.”

  A man in a white Elvis jumpsuit approached us. Large, colorful rhinestones adorned his short cape. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Memphis at Christmas is crazy.”

  “I had my heart set on staying here.” Ma glanced around at the tourists mingling in the lobby. “This place is legendary.”

  “If I might make a recommendation, there’s a place called the Heartache Motel down the highway a piece,” he said. Around five-foot-seven with sandy hair, he looked nothing like the king, but his smile was infectious. “It’s nothing fancy, but I’m staying there myself. They have theme rooms, too. And there’s an Elvis impersonator contest tomorrow night. I plan on winning.”

  “Ooh, that does sound like a hoot,” Ma said. Adjusting her glasses with one hand, she held out the other. “I’m Ma Ferguson.”

  The man grinned and shook her hand. “Ron Michaels. If you decide to stay there, we’ll have us a party, Ma Ferguson.”

  She turned to Roxy and me. “What do you think, gang?”

  I was so tired, I didn’t care where we crashed. “Sounds good.”

  Roxy, who’d been staring at the bling on Ron’s cape, twirled her finger. “Turn around, let’s see your outfit.”

  He obliged. Facets of the stones caught the light, making the gems sparkle and glimmer. He’d artfully mixed the red, blue, green, pink and clear rhinestones in a sunburst pattern. But there was a blank space where a couple appeared to be missing.

  “Looks like you lost two rhinestones, Ron,” I said.

  He spun around so fast, the edge of the cape slapped my arm. “What? Where?” His blue eyes widened as he dropped to his hands and knees. “I have to find them.”

  “Relax,” Roxy said. “You can buy more. There must be a craft store around here.”

  He glanced up at her. “You don’t understand. Had to special order them.”

  Roxy and I hit the floor and helped him look, but the lobby was so busy, we kept running into people’s legs. Ma wa
lked in circles, her eyes trained on the carpet.

  Axton, who’d been checking out memorabilia, knelt down next to me. “What are we looking for?”

  I tipped my chin at Ron. “That guy lost some bling off his cape. He’s wigging out.” Ax helped search, too, but after about ten minutes, we gave up.

  Ron stood, rubbing his hands down his cheeks. The smile was gone and his skin appeared paler than his jumpsuit. “I have to go.” He shoved people out of his way to get to the front entrance.

  “We’ll meet up with you later,” Ma called after him.

  On our way back to the car, I snagged Stoner Joe who sat crisscross applesauce next to a Christmas tree. While Ax used his GPS to find the motel, I drove through the dark Memphis streets. So far, nothing about this trip had gone according to plan. But I had a good feeling about this Heartache Motel. Sounded like fun.

  THREE

  Turns out, I have no psychic abilities whatsoever.

  Calling the Heartache Motel a dump would be an upgrade. A sad little tree with half its orange lights burned out stood in a corner of the empty lobby. The place was dirty. Dusty. Smelled worse than Stoner Joe after a convenience store burrito.

  “Awesome,” he said, spinning in a circle. He pointed at the gold-framed velvet Elvis hanging on one wall. “That looks just like my uncle. Dude.”

  Roxy sidled up to me. “I better not contract a disease from this shitpile.” She pulled a bottle of hand sanitizer from her poodle purse and poured a dollop in her palm.

  Ma slung her arm around my shoulder. “Let’s see if we can get us a room, toots. I’m ready for a shower.”

  Together we walked up to the front desk. Ma rang the bell and we waited a couple of minutes. Then she gave it two more dings before a tall, muscle-wrapped redhead stepped out of a closed door and strutted toward us.

  At seven-feet-tall, she was dressed dragtastically in a pair of pink cigarette pants and fuzzy matching sweater. An Alice band held back her long, red waves and a mole dotted the divot above her upper lip. “Hello,” she said in a deep voice. “I’m Man-Margret. How can I help you?” She really did look like an amped up version of Ann-Margret a la Viva Las Vegas. The silver charm bracelet at her wrist jangled softly. Every charm was the same—half of a broken heart with a jagged edge.

  “I get it,” Ma said. “You’re like Ann-Margret, but you’re a man.”

  “Only when I pee, honey.” She waved a hand. “Now, what can I do you for?”

  “We need two rooms with two queen beds in each,” Ma said.

  “You’re in luck. We have a few rooms left.” The drag queen spun on her very high heel and eyed a pegboard of metal keys. She snatched two and faced us. “The Clambake and The Roustabout. Forty-nine ninety-five a night for each. Ask for more towels and it’ll cost you three dollars apiece. No cable, but you might want to check out the bar, Suspicious Minds. We have a special on our Rock-a-hula drinks at happy hour.” Her gaze took in Roxy. “Oh, doll, that outfit is delicious.”

  Roxy tossed a blue braid over her shoulder. The flouncy purple and blue dress, which boasted a white bow bigger than her head, was a little wrinkled. But the plaid was so loud, you hardly noticed. “Thanks.”

  Ma handed over her credit card. “And give us five extra towels. What the heck? You only go around once.”

  The clerk winked her spiky, false lashes. “You know that’s right, sweetie.”

  As we grabbed our bags and headed for the elevator, Ax caught my elbow. “I’m not so sure about this place, Rose. Looks kind of low rent.”

  “What gave it away?” I whispered back. “The drug deal we interrupted in the parking lot? Or the hourly rates posted next to the front desk?”

  We stepped onto the rickety elevator. It reeked of old piss and etched into the green wall paint were obscene, exaggerated drawings. Who knew balls could be spelled with an ‘o’ and a ‘z’? Ma punched the third floor button and the car slowly creaked upward. The fluorescent light buzzed off and on a couple of times, like a scary movie right before one of the actors turns up dead, killed in some bloody, horrific way.

  “Seriously,” Axton muttered in my ear, “we could die here.”

  I shushed him, but he was right. Tomorrow we would find a new place. But in the meantime, we were stuck.

  The elevator doors slowly sputtered open. The whole car lurched, gave a death-rattle shudder, then stopped.

  “Dude, this is like a rollercoaster. But cooler,” Joe said.

  Ma was oblivious. “Girls, we’re in three-oh-two. Boys, you’re in three-oh-one.” She handed Axton a pink keychain in the shape of a heart.

  We walked to the end of the narrow, dim hall and as Ax opened his door, I glanced inside the boys’ room. Clambake, indeed. A fisherman’s net was nailed onto the wall alongside red, plastic clams. The room smelled like old socks and there were so many stains on the carpet, I couldn’t make out its original color.

  “Sleep well,” I said.

  “On to our room, girls. The Roustabout sounds exciting.” Ma slid the key into the lock.

  “Any moron could jimmy these doorknobs,” Roxy said. “We need to make sure we take our valuables with us in the morning.”

  The Roustabout, wallpapered in a dizzying graphic of red and white stripes, featured the face of a hand-painted circus clown covering one entire wall. His sinister smile promised nightmares. The final touch? A poster of the king riding a motorcycle shellacked onto the bathroom door.

  “This room is giving me a headache,” Ma said, plopping down on the bed. “The mattress is kind of lumpy, too. But, it’s a room, right?”

  Roxy walked to a small hole near the clown’s nose and wiggled her finger inside it. “Bullet hole.”

  “Well, this has been an adventure, I’ll say that.” Ma unzipped her suitcase and dug around, pulling out a pair of flannel pjs. “I’m going to shower and hit the hay, kids.” She headed to the bathroom and as soon as she turned on the water, the pipes wailed in protest.

  Roxy curled her lip at the bed and pulled the spread back with two fingers. “I’m looking for bedbugs. If I find one, I’m sleeping in the car.”

  I left her to it. Hoisting my purse over my shoulder, I picked up the mauve, plastic ice bucket and walked out of the room.

  I heard raised male voices. At first I thought someone’s TV was too loud, but then I realized they were coming from the direction of the stairwell. The door had been propped open, providing an echo that carried into the hallway.

  The ice and vending machines lived in an alcove right next to the arguing voices. I debated with myself. Go back inside or brave it out?

  I was really thirsty and needed a Coke. Damn.

  I mustered up a backbone and decided to be quick. Scurrying down the hall with my bucket clenched in both hands, I ducked into the little room.

  “God, you are the biggest dumbshit I’ve ever met,” the first voice yelled.

  “Watch what you say to me.” This voice was deeper, but no less angry. And it sounded familiar. I thought it might be the dude we’d just met at the other hotel, Ron what’s-his-face with the cape. But with the echo and all the yelling, it was hard to tell. “I’ll find them. And it doesn’t matter anyway. We’ve got enough to make a deal.”

  The ice machine was the old scoop kind. Anybody could reach in with their filthy hands and grab a cube. Or take a whiz. I decided to forego the ice and instead, shoved a dollar into the soda machine.

  “That’s not the point,” the first voice said. “I made a promise and if I can’t deliver, I’m as good as dead. If you screw this up for me, Aaron, so help me God, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.” Aaron? Were Aaron and Sparkly Cape Ron the same person?

  “Don’t you threaten me, you little piss-ant,” said the second voice. “I’m the one who put my ass on the line. Don’t you forget that.”<
br />
  Not liking the direction their conversation had taken and desperate to get away before one of these guys found me eavesdropping, I pushed the Coke button for the third time. Finally, with a thunk, the can rolled down the machine and into the slot.

  “Shh, you hear that?” asked the first voice.

  I froze. I thought about that bullet hole Roxy found. I grabbed the can and ran as fast as I could through the door and back down the hall, peeking over my shoulder to make sure no one followed.

  I was halfway home when I ran smack dab into something blocking my path. “Oomf.” My left cheek took the brunt of the hit.

  “Hey there, you all right?” His accent was as smooth as a shot of Southern Comfort.

  Cupping my cheek with my free hand, I swung my head and came face to face with an Elvis impersonator. Why didn’t anyone ever imitate young, hot Elvis? And if anyone could, it was this guy. Tall, broad shoulders, lean waist. Instead of sporting leather pants the way God intended, he wore a white jumpsuit and wide belt that sparkled with a dusting of rhinestones. Dark, oversized sunglasses hid his eyes. I wondered if the sideburns were real. For sure the hair wasn’t. It was more synthetic than the bedspreads in this place.

  “Where’s the fire, darlin’?”

  A door to my right opened. “What’s going on? Some of us are trying to sleep.” Ah, Ginger Elvis with the perfect pompadour. He was more than a little husky and wore nothing but boxer shorts. The tip of his dingdong stared at me from the opening in his fly.

  “Hey, man. You’re exposing yourself to the lady,” said the clothed, handsome impersonator.

  “Sorry about that.” Boxer Shorts adjusted himself. “There now, Elvis has left the building.” He gave me a saucy wink.

  Eww. I darted around the man blocking my path and sped off to my evil clown room. After slamming the door, I slid the chain home.