I shot her a look. She was worse than my nephew.
I knocked a few more times. “Ron? Are you in there?” I leaned one shoulder against the door. “This is weird. I don’t think he would flake out on his big performance.”
Roxy reached into her poodle purse and removed her lock-picking tools. She never left home without them. “Move.”
I twisted my head, checking up and down the hallway while she made quick work of the lock.
“Even Stoner Joe could break in here without a problem. This is an insult,” she whispered.
Once she had the door open, she darted inside and then flipped on the light. I slipped in after her. Ron was staying in the Fun in Acapulco room. A movie poster hung on the wall next to a sombrero and a pair of maracas.
Roxy ran to the bathroom and shut the door. While she was otherwise occupied, I decided to do a little snooping. Spread out on top of the cheap dresser were headshots of all the drag queens working at the motel. I picked up a photo and could barely make out Man-Margret—the red hair tipped me off. As I sifted through the rest, they all bore a resemblance to each other. Every shot had so much soft focus, the queens were merely fuzzy, colorful blobs. I flipped the picture around to the back, where the physical stats and work history were listed. I put the photo on the dresser and glanced at the unmade bed.
Roxy walked out of the bathroom a moment later. “Ron’s reading material of choice is Playboy and Today’s Fisherman.”
“A Renaissance man.” Bending to my knees, I glanced under the bed. Behind the frame leg, lay one of Ron’s missing rhinestones. Clear, rectangular, and as large as my thumb.
Roxy plucked it from my palm and held it up to the light. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was real.”
“Right. His cape was covered in real stones the size of the Hope diamond.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying it’s real, but it’s a good fake.” She placed it on the dresser. “What are all these headshots?”
“The drag queens.”
“Why the hell does he have professional photos of the dragsters?” she asked.
“Not a freaking clue.”
SIX
So where was Ron? My mind replayed the conversation from the stairwell. Who’d he been talking to? And what had Ron risked his ass for?
I had no answers and really, it wasn’t any of my business. I kept telling myself that, but the nagging little voice of concern wouldn’t shut up.
Roxy and I walked back to the bar and slid into our seats.
“Did you find him?” Ma asked.
“No, we even searched his room. Found pictures of the drag queens, but no Ron,” Roxy said.
“Too bad,” Ax said. “He seemed really psyched to perform.”
Ma waved her tiki glass toward the stage. “You missed the Pelv-off. But Axton took some pictures with that snazzy computer of his.”
“It was like an Elvis kaleidoscope,” Joe said. “Freaked me out.”
“Speedo Elvis won hands down, by the by,” Ax said. “My man was twerking it. And now I need another Rock-a-hula after witnessing that.” He signaled our waitress. “It was awesomely disturbing.”
Six-and-a-half feet of solid drag queen decked out in a red and white gingham dress, a sassy bandana tied around her neck, sauntered to the table. “Hey, y’all.” Stubby pigtails poked out on either side of her bouffant blonde wig.
“What movie are you from?” Ma asked.
Hand on her hip, she struck a pose. “Kissin’ Cousins. Elvis played twins.” She took Ax’s order and was back in a jiff, the requisite broken heart bracelet tinkling against her large wrist as she set the glass down.
“I’m going to go to the bar and grab a soda,” I said. I also wanted to question Shelley Fabulous. Why did Ron have pictures of the drag queens in his room?
The place was so packed, I had to wiggle between the standing room only peeps. For such a dive, it was crazy crowded. At the bar, I shoved my way between two heavy drinkers.
One of them gave me the stink eye, and I gave it right back until he downed the rest of his beer. Once he vacated the stool, I claimed it as my own.
Shelley Fabulous and a tall, chubby man, who dressed the part of Colonel Tom Parker, poured drinks and plunked them on the sticky, leather surface. Shelley stopped in front of me. “What can I get you?”
“Coke, please. By the way, you were amazing as emcee.”
“Thanks. It’s a pretty fun job.”
Before she could toddle off to fetch my drink, I placed my hand on her arm. “Hey, my uncle’s a female impersonator. How’d you land such a sweet gig? He’d love to work in a place like this.” I’m sure if I had an uncle, he’d love no such thing.
“Has he signed up with a talent agency?”
Bingo with the headshots. It still didn’t explain what Ron was doing with them, though. “Do you guys all work for the same agency?”
“Yeah, a local one. The competition for professionals is tougher than you might think.”
When she strutted away, my eyes drifted over the bar. Still no sign of Ron.
“You looking for someone in particular, darlin’?” a deep voice whispered in my ear. The young, hot impersonator—the one I kept running into. I twisted my head and gazed into those smoky sunglasses. He smiled, slow and sweet, like molasses in January.
“Hey, what’s with the sunglasses?” I asked. “It’s nighttime.”
“All part of the image, Rose.”
I spun on my seat to fully face him. “How do you know my name?”
“I overheard the older lady call you that this morning.”
Some of the tension ebbed out of my shoulders. “I didn’t see you in here earlier.”
His smile beamed a bit brighter. “You missed me, huh?” He slapped a hand over his heart. “Well, that’s real flattering.”
“I guess you could take it that way. I’m at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” This guy was as slippery as a raw egg and twice as fishy. All right, that made no sense, but something about him was sending my bullshit meter into overdrive.
“Daniel.” He held out his hand.
I stared at it for a brief moment before slipping my palm against his. “Nice to meet you. So, are you from Memphis or just visiting?”
“Just here to see the show. So who is that older lady anyway? Your grandmother?”
I was hesitant to give him even the slightest bit of information, but it was ridiculous not to admit she was my boss. “I work for her.”
Shelley strolled over to me. “Here’s your Coke, honey. Want me to put it on your bill?”
I smiled. “Yes, thanks.” I hopped off the stool. “See you around, Daniel.” As I walked back to the table, I felt his eyes on me. It made my neck itch.
I resumed my seat and Axton leaned over. “Who’s that guy you were talking to?”
“I don’t know, but I keep running into him and he’s very nosy. And he was quizzing me about that argument I overheard last night.”
“Sounds fishy to me,” he said. “Especially when Ron didn’t turn up for his performance.”
“Exactly.”
SEVEN
We watched a continuous stream of impersonators take the stage until they all blended into one big conglomerate. I kept an eye on Daniel. If he left, I was going to follow him, but he seemed content to hang around the bar, watching one mind-numbing performance after another.
Around ten, Ma ran out of steam. Stoner Joe had long ago pulled out a popcorn ball from somewhere and munched his way to getting baked. Now, he incessantly stroked one of the braided strings on his tuque like it was a talisman.
Ma stood up and bent at the waist, first one way, then the other as she worked the kinks out of her back. “Well, it’s t
ime to hit the rack, gang. You kids stay here, I’ll be fine going up on my own.”
“Forget it,” Roxy said. “There aren’t enough Rock-a-hulas in the world to make me sit through one more lip-synching impersonator.”
Stoner Joe blinked at us. “Dudes, I can’t feel my legs.”
Ax raised a brow. “I need to put him to bed.”
Together Ax and I helped Joe from his seat.
By that time, people were filing out of the bar. The lobby was crowded and the elevator filled up quickly. Ma, Ax, and Joe squeezed on board.
“I’ll take the stairs again,” I said.
Roxy popped her gum. “Ditto.”
Once more, she and I trudged up the stairs. But on the first flight, my foot landed weird and I twisted my ankle. “Shit.”
Roxy grabbed my arm, kept me from falling to my knees. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I think so.” I sat on a step and took off my sock and tennis shoe. I prodded at my ankle and foot. Nothing seemed broken, but it was starting to swell.
“Can you stand?” Roxy asked.
With her help and grabbing onto the railing, I tried, but sharp pain bit through me. “This is the suckiest vacay ever.” I sank back onto my butt.
She whipped out her phone. “Let me text Ax to come help.”
Within a minute, I heard the metal door on the floor above us slam shut. Ax scurried down the stairs. He held an ice bucket in one hand. “You okay, Rose? Do we need to go to the hospital?”
“No, I just twisted it. It’ll be fine.” I swung an arm around each of their shoulders and limped up the remaining steps.
At the third floor doorway, Ax stopped by the vending machine alcove. “Let me get some ice, so we can keep the swelling down.”
“Dig deep in there, Ax,” I said. “You don’t know who touched that ice before you.”
Roxy propped me in a corner. “Damn, I am so ready to go home. Or at least find a decent hotel.”
Ax poked his head out of the doorway. “I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. I just found Ron, guys. He’s dead.”
I crowded past him, hopping on one foot. Roxy wedged in beside me. I stood like a flamingo, staring into the ice machine. With a ring of purple bruising around his neck, it appeared Ron had been strangled.
He was also naked.
EIGHT
Detective Schultz, a man who’d eaten mustard earlier in the day—as indicated by the yellow blotch on his Frosty the Snowman tie—stood at the end of the bed, where I sat with my foot propped up on three pillows.
Axton sat with Ma on her bed, while Roxy perched next to me. She was all nervous tension, smacking her gum and bobbing her foot. The detective had been grilling us for an hour.
After finding the body, Ax had called the police. As Rox and I turned to leave the vending room, a silver flash caught my eye. On the threshold of the alcove, lay a silver charm. The same charm I’d seen on every drag queen in the motel.
“That wasn’t here last night,” I said, pointing to the broken heart.
“We can leave it for the police,” Ax said.
Roxy took one look back at Ron and visibly shivered. “Let’s get out of here.”
They helped me stagger back to The Roustabout room where Ma sat up in bed, clicking the remote control. “Can’t get this darn thing to work,” she said, slapping it against her palm. “What happened to you, toots?”
“Twisted ankle.”
“And we’ve got some bad news,” Roxy said, settling me into the bed and shoving pillows beneath my foot.
“We found Ron, Ma,” I said. “He’s dead. I’m so sorry.”
“Dead? Did he have a heart attack or something?”
“Looks like he was strangled,” Ax said. “We found him stuffed in the ice machine.”
Ma gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. After a moment, she took a deep breath. “Poor little Ron. Who would want to hurt him?”
“The guy he was arguing with last night threatened to kill him,” I said.
Ax went to the bathroom and returned with a cold, wet towel. He wrapped it around my ankle.
Roxy walked to the window and glanced out. “I wish we could get the hell out of here.”
Then Detective Schultz entered our lives. And he’d been asking us questions ever since.
Finally at around two a.m., he wound down. “Since y’all are tourists, I’ll need you to sign your statements, but you can go home tomorrow.”
“Before you do,” said a voice from the doorway, “I’d like to ask you a few questions first.”
I whipped my head away from Schultz and stared at Daniel the Impersonator.
Instead of dripping moonlight-and-magnolia charm, his southern accent held a ring of authority. He’d finally removed the sunglasses, wig, and sideburns. The unfortunate jumpsuit, however, remained in place. His denim blue eyes found mine. Although his light brown hair was matted down from the wig, it didn’t detract from his good looks. No doubt about it, Daniel was a flat-out hot tamale.
He stepped into the room and flashed a badge from a chain around his neck. “I’m Special Agent Daniel Teager.”
I’d been right not to trust his homespun, southern charm. I gave myself a mental pat on the back.
“Since when are the Fibbies interested in a dead Elvis impersonator?” Schultz asked.
“I’ve been undercover here for the last few days,” Daniel said. “I’m hunting down a cache of stolen jewels.”
Roxy elbowed me in the ribs. “The gems on his cape couldn’t be real, huh?” she whispered.
Daniel ignored us as he spoke with Schultz. “I have reason to believe that Ron Michaels, real name Aaron Brady, had them in his possession before his death.”
Schultz dipped his head in a curt nod. “Then I’d like you on the team, Special Ag—”
“Just Daniel. Or Teager if you prefer. And I’ll be taking over this investigation.” He turned his attention to the rest of us. “I’d like to hear your statements again. Starting with you, Rose.” He glanced down at my swollen foot. “Do y’all mind if we have a bit of privacy?”
Roxy hopped off the bed and jetted out of the room. Cops made her nervous. That misspent youth coming back to haunt her.
Ax offered his arm to help Ma stand. “We can hang in my room.” He bent toward me. “Joe’s probably hiding in the bathtub, thinking the cops are here to search him.”
Once they’d all left the room, Daniel sat on the other bed. “Your friends are certainly colorful.”
My foot ached and I was exhausted. “I knew there was something weird about you from the start. You’re too inquisitive to be an Elvis. And I’m not sure what I can tell you that I didn’t tell Schultz twenty-seven different times.”
“You overheard an argument last night. Tell me about that conversation.”
“One of the men shouting was Ron, I’m sure of it. We actually met him in a different hotel last night. He seemed like a really nice man. And he was kind to Ma.”
“He was still a criminal.”
So was Sullivan. Perhaps I was developing a fondness for them, because I felt really sad that Ron was dead. Even worse, that we’d found him shoved in an ice machine. He may have been a jewel thief, but he deserved better.
“Who was Aaron arguing with?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t know, but he used Aaron’s real name. I didn’t recognize that second voice. But Ron said he’d put his ass on the line. What did he mean?”
Daniel kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to give me a crumb.
“Fine,” I said. “They talked about a deal. The other man said if the deal fell through, he’d kill Ron with his bare hands.” I thought back to the bruises around Ron’s neck. Looked like his friend had made good o
n the threat.
“Anything else you can tell me?” He watched me with cop eyes, the kind that stare at you like you’re lying. Even when you’re telling the truth.
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath and tried to arrange my thoughts. The ankle pain was lessening, but my brain was a little fuzzy from lack of sleep.
“We met Ron last night at a hotel down the street from Graceland. He had on this cape encrusted with gems. Every color you can imagine. I noticed a spot where a couple of jewels were missing. He freaked out, then he took off. I think he was talking about the missing jewels to the other guy in the stairwell.”
“What else?”
I didn’t really want to tell him that Roxy and I had broken into Ron’s room, but our fingerprints were all over the place. So I fudged a little. “When Ron didn’t show up for his performance tonight, Roxy and I checked out his room to make sure he was all right. The door was unlocked so we went inside. I found one of the missing diamonds under the bed. I put it on the dresser with the drag queen headshots.”
Daniel didn’t blink. “You went into the victim’s room and searched under his bed? Why would you do that?”
I lifted one shoulder and kept mum.
“I did a little research on you, Rose Strickland. You’ve been involved in a couple of murder cases. How does a diner waitress get herself involved in so many crimes?”
That was actually a legitimate question. I’d gotten myself into a few messy murders—mostly trying to help out friends. My insatiable curiosity took a little credit, too.
Daniel propped his elbows on his thighs. “The official police reports said you were very helpful in apprehending the killers. But let me make one thing clear.” He leaned closer, his gaze holding mine. “I don’t need that kind of help. Understood?”
Instead of peppering him with all the questions swirling through my mind, I nodded. “Got it.” Of course his lecture wasn’t going to stop me. Ron might not have been citizen of the year, but he’d been strangled. And I’d found the body dumped in an ice machine at a rundown motel. If I could help find the person responsible, I totally would.
Heartache Motel: Three Interconnected Mystery Novellas (Henery Press Mystery Novellas) Page 4
