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

by Austin, Terri L.

  “After I talk to your friends, you’re free to leave,” he said. “Go back to Missouri and stay out of trouble.”

  What Special Agent Hot Shit didn’t seem to understand was that I never went looking for trouble. But I never walked away from it either.

  NINE

  We were finally deemed free to leave around three a.m. Ax, Roxy, and Ma sat on one bed and eyed me.

  “We have to find Ron’s killer,” Ma said. “He was a good egg.”

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  Roxy sighed and popped her gum. “Fine. But don’t you want to get home by Christmas morning? And by that I mean, how long are we going to stay in this motel hell?”

  That was true. I needed to be home by tomorrow morning. But still…I felt an obligation to right a wrong. Damn sense of justice.

  “When I overheard Ron arguing with his partner or whatever, they said something about a deal. Ron was obviously working with someone and that someone killed him, took the jewels, and is trying to sell them. We can sleuth all day, see what we can uncover. If we leave by tonight and don’t stop fifteen times,” I shot Roxy a pointed glance, “we can make it home by morning.”

  Ax settled back against the headboard and began tapping away on his tablet.

  “I’ll see what I can find about this Aaron Brady guy. There should be a news article about missing jewels somewhere.”

  “Where should we start?” Roxy asked.

  “Well, since Ron had pics of all the drag queens, why don’t we search the office? My ankle’s feeling better, I should be okay. And Shelley Fabulous said all the queens came from the same talent agency. Maybe you can check that out, Ax?”

  “I’m on it,” he said, not looking up from his screen.

  “I’ll come with you,” Ma said. “You might need a diversion.”

  I stood and tested my ankle. Although it was still very tender, I could walk on it. But my foot was too swollen for tennis shoes, so Roxy loaned me her Hello Kitty slippers.

  We left Axton in the room and walked down the hall together, parting ways with Ma after she stepped into the shoddy elevator. Our plan was that she would harass the front desk clerk, lure him up to our room with complaints of cold water, while Roxy and I slipped inside the office and scoped it out.

  Ma hadn’t changed out of her robe. Before the doors closed, she adjusted her glasses and sniffed. “Be careful girls. There’s a killer on the loose.”

  “You, too,” I said.

  Roxy and I hit the stairs. I took it slow and easy. That elevator was such a piece of crap, we figured Ma would get to the lobby about the same time we did.

  When we made it to the ground floor, Roxy and I flanked either side of the metal door. Then she sneaked a peek out of the square, safety glass window.

  “Well, crap,” she said.

  “What?”

  She wagged her thumb at the door. “Have a look.”

  I took a turn at the window. In the lobby, a mob of people—motel guests, Elvises out of their costumes, and drag queens gathered in groups. Riled up because of the murder, no doubt.

  “Well, there go our plans for searching the office,” Roxy said.

  I lifted my brows. “You could always pull the fire alarm. Worked in grade school.”

  “That might have worked when you were eight, but I think you’ll need a better plan than that. With our luck, the cops would come right back.”

  I heard the elevator bell ding. “We’d better intercept Ma.”

  We filed into the lobby which was filled with a cacophony of loud voices. Occasional words rose above the others, mostly ‘murder’ and ‘naked’.

  Ma walked off the elevator, gawking at the crowd. “Well, hells bells. So much for that.”

  I glanced around, noticed Man-Margret out of costume. Wrapped in a blue, silky robe, his head was covered with red fuzz. While he looked completely different when dressed as a woman, that telltale mole above his upper lip gave him away. “Ma, go distract Man-Margret while Roxy and I check out his room.”

  She grinned. “You got it, toots.”

  Roxy moved over to one corner to call Ax. He could get Man-Margret’s room number in his sleep. I retrieved my cell from my purse and handed it to Ma. “You know how to work this, right?”

  Giving me a haughty glare, she grabbed it out of my hand. “I’m sure I can manage. What’d I do, just fall off a turnip truck?”

  “Sorry. Call Roxy if Man leaves the lobby?”

  We left her to it and climbed back in the elevator, slowly chugging upward to the sixth floor. According to Ax, Man-Margret’s real name was Kevin Adams and he listed his permanent address at the motel.

  I hobbled behind Roxy, who had the door popped open before I even reached her. We slipped inside, locked the door, and flipped on the light.

  Ah, the King Creole room as evidenced by the movie poster and colorful, badly painted Mardi Gras masks scattered along the pink walls. God, this motel’s decorator should be slapped with a cease and desist.

  “Very tidy,” Roxy said.

  “Very.” The bed covers were neatly folded down. Five red wigs on dummies lined up along the top of the dresser, starting with the shortest flip and graduating in lengths to longest wavy ‘do.

  I opted to check out the bathroom while Roxy searched the dresser and closets. I peeked behind the shower curtain and the toilet tank. Then I opened the gargantuan makeup trunk. Zebra print, telescope handle and wheels. Unfortunately, it contained nothing but actual makeup.

  I poked my head out the door. “No luck. You?”

  She shook her head. “But her outfits are crazy awesome.”

  I switched off the light and walked toward her. “You’re supposed to be looking for jewels or proof of murder and thievery.”

  She sighed and fingered a blue cashmere sweater. “Fine.” She sank to the floor and searched the shoes. “His feet are freaking boats. You check the dresser.”

  I speedily dug through the first two drawers. “You should see his bras. Like torpedoes.” In the third drawer, I found the falsies that went with them along with a few male garments of jeans and t-shirts.

  Roxy’s phone buzzed. “Yeah? Shit.” She rose quickly and grabbed my sleeve, pulling me along. “Ma tried to distract him, but he gave her the slip a few minutes ago. She lost sight of him.”

  I toddled out of the room as fast as I could, my sore ankle protesting with every step. Roxy reached back and shut the door just as the elevator bell chimed. Man-Margret stepped off and appeared slightly startled at the sight of us.

  Roxy and I walked nonchalantly—well, I limped—down the hall and after we passed him, I breathed a sigh of relief. We were almost to the elevator when his voice stopped us.

  “Hey, you two aren’t staying on this floor,” he said. “I remember putting you on three.”

  I slowly turned to face him. Roxy shot me a panicked look before doing the same.

  “We’re looking for our grandma,” I said. “She wanders off sometimes. Maybe you’ve seen her? Crazy hair.” I pointed at my own.

  “Huge glasses.” Roxy circled her eyes with both hands.

  He frowned. “Right. I saw her down in the lobby. She keeps complaining about the lack of hot water.”

  I clutched my chest. “Whew, what a relief. With the cops here and the murder…”

  “Yeah, what have you heard about the dead guy?” Roxy asked.

  He held up one hand. “Management says we’re not at liberty to discuss the matter and we apologize for any disturbance.” He rambled through his little speech like he’d said it a million times. “As a thank you for understanding, you may pick up your voucher for a free cocktail at the front desk.” He whipped his key from his pocket and scampered into his room before we could utter another word.

 
“That was a close one,” I whispered.

  Roxy nodded. “Quick thinking about the search for Ma. Even with a gimp ankle, you’re bringing your A-game.”

  “They don’t call me Rose ‘A-game’ Strickland for nothing.”

  TEN

  In the lobby, we found Ma in the middle of a group of gyrating men, singing Deck the Halls. Roxy almost had to drag her away, kicking and caroling to the side of the room next to the dusty Christmas tree.

  “Sorry,” Ma said. “The Elvises needed someone to sing harmony. I got caught up in the moment. What did you find out?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “And my ankle’s hurting again.”

  “Well, why don’t you girls go upstairs and get a little shuteye. I’m going to stay down here and ask a few questions.”

  I shook my head. “Not a good idea. There’s a killer on the loose, remember?”

  “You know, he could be long gone by now,” Roxy said. “Why would he stick around?”

  “I don’t know, but he could be one of the impersonators,” I said.

  Ma shook her head. “No, hon. If there’s one thing I know, it’s people. These Elvises are all right. And I’m going to stay, so head on up to bed and I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  I hated leaving her, but she was going to do what she wanted. Besides, my ankle was killing me. “Fine, but keep my phone. Call if you see anything suspicious.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Now skedaddle, you two.”

  When we got back to the room, Ax glanced up. “Got some info on your missing jewels. According to a newspaper article, an elderly socialite, Rebecca Farnsworth, hosted a party in Jackson, Mississippi last week. Charity affair. Governor, sport stars, local celebs. Her jewels were locked in a vault. When she went to wear them a couple of days later, they were missing.”

  I curled up on the empty bed. “Ron said he put his ass on the line. Maybe he’s the one who stole them?”

  “Makes sense,” Roxy said, flopping down next to me. “But where does this partner come in?”

  Ax took a long pull on his can of Red Bull. “The reporter doesn’t state it directly, but the article hints that the cops suspect someone on the inside.”

  I raised my brows. “I need to get down to the lobby, start talking to people and try to find the other voice. Surely the queens have to be involved somehow.”

  “Or the talent agency does,” Ax said.

  “Rose, you need to rest your foot for a few and I need a couple hours of beauty sleep.” Roxy turned on her side and clutched the pillow between her hands. “Ax, will you wake us up?”

  “Yep.”

  Time was ticking away, but between the pain in my ankle and having zero sleep the night before, I might do better after a small nap.

  Two hours later, Ax didn’t have to wake us. Stoner Joe had wandered to our room and tapped my head until I opened my eyes.

  “Rosette. I had the strangest dream that cops were here asking about Elvis on Ice. Like, I saw that show with my Gran-Gran when I was a kid.” His stomach howled like a basset hound. “I need meat. Maybe potatoes. Definitely some Cheetos. You guys ready to get food?”

  “Yep.” Ax climbed off the bed, grabbing his tablet.

  “I need to brush my teeth and clean up a bit. We’ll meet you down there in five,” I said.

  It actually took fifteen because Roxy needed to change. My nagging about the time kept her from going full on Roxitude, but she switched up her kimono dress with a black and white ensemble dotted with musical notes.

  My ankle felt better, but still a little twingy, so we took the elevator. We boarded with fellow passengers and all talk was of the murder.

  “I heard he was doping,” said a guy with a flat, Minnesotan accent.

  “No, he was shot,” said a woman wearing a Graceland sweatshirt. “Right through the heart.”

  Roxy and I kept our traps shut. When the doors creaked open, we lit out of there.

  The lobby was still a circus and people wandered in and out of the Suspicious Minds Bar. No sign of Ma anywhere, but I did spy Daniel next to the velvet Elvis, talking to a group of tourists. He’d changed out of his jumpsuit and looked GQ cop in his black jacket and narrow tie.

  Ax and Joe headed toward us. “Ma’s in the bar. They’re serving the Elvis sandwich for breakfast. I’m going to head back to the room and do some more research, look into the backgrounds of the drag queens.”

  “Thanks, Ax.” I patted his shoulder as I walked by.

  Roxy and I squeezed into the crowded bar. I stuck my hand into my purse and searched for my phone, then remembered I’d given it to Ma the night before. We halted in the back of the room because there wasn’t an empty seat in the place. When we heard a sharp whistle, we turned to find Ma standing and waving at a table near the stage.

  Weaving through the throng with Roxy in the lead, we stopped in front of Ma, who pulled us both into a one-armed hug. Still wearing her robe and slippers, her eyes looked a bit droopy. “Girls, I want you to meet the gang.” She sped through the names of six people sitting at the table. “They talked to Ron in passing, but no one I’ve spoken to knew him at all.”

  That was disappointing. I wondered if Daniel was having the same bad luck.

  Shelley Fabulous Fabares, holding a tray high above her head, walked by us. She used her booming, cranky, male voice today. “Move it. Coming through. Sit your ass down, Female Elvis, I’m trying to get by.”

  I snagged the sleeve of her wrinkled blouse. “What’s with all the people?”

  “We’re not even supposed to be open, but everyone was hungry. It’s just me, Tad, and the Colonel over there.” She tipped her head toward the bar.

  Tad, AKA Mary Tyler Nun, was out of drag. Unless you counted false eyelashes and lipstick.

  “I’ve put in a call to the other waitresses. Hopefully, they’ll be here soon. Now let go of my shirt,” Shelley said.

  “Roxy could help out,” I blurted. “She’s a waitress back home.”

  Roxy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Great,” Shelley said. “Get yourself an apron behind the bar and start with the table by the window.” She hurried off to deliver sandwiches and beer.

  “Sorry about volunteering you,” I said. “But maybe you can ask questions. Listen in on conversations?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” she said. “But you owe me for this one.”

  Ma, who’d been sitting and chewing the fat with her fellow out-of-towners glanced up. “Where’s Roxy going?”

  “She’s decided to play waitress for a while. Are you going to eat that sandwich, Ma? I’m starving. And I need my phone.” She handed over both and I threaded my way back to the lobby. The sandwich was cold, but how warm does peanut butter and banana need to be?

  Daniel found me stuffing my face two minutes later. “Still here?”

  “I thought I might talk to a few people. See if I recognize a certain voice.”

  Lines of tension radiated from his narrowed eyes. “I thought I told you, I don’t need help.”

  “Are you getting anywhere with these people? What if I just tag along and while you ask questions, I listen to voices?”

  Pursing his lips, he glanced away. A few seconds later, he stared down at me. “Fine. But you stay quiet and simply keep your ears open.”

  I nodded and shoved the last bite of sandwich into my mouth.

  He walked back to the bar. At the doorway, he stopped and looked around. “Let’s start with the table in the back corner and work our way to the other side of the room.”

  I stumbled after him, my ankle still playing up.

  Daniel asked standard questions about Ron—if any of the guests knew him, if they’d seen him talking to anyone. I had to lean in close to hear people’s answers. Trying to distinguish v
oices in this noisy bunch was next to impossible.

  Once he’d quizzed everyone, he moved on to the next table. And so it went for the better part of three hours. After which, I needed a break.

  “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee. You need one?” I asked.

  “No, thanks. You know, I’ve interviewed some of these people twice. If anyone knew anything at all, they’d have told me by now. People love to feel important, and having information about a murder victim would make them a hero.”

  I tried to catch Roxy’s eye as she sailed around the room bearing a coffeepot in each hand.

  Daniel leaned down and whispered in my ear. “What’s she doing here, anyway?”

  “Helping out. They’re short staffed.” I limped to the bar. Tad, the drag nun, ran back and forth filling orders. The Colonel chatted with two tourists, while the silver ends of his bolo tie danced along the bar top. He looked like he’d be gabbing for a while.

  I waited patiently until Tad got around to serving me. “Coffee, please. Large as you’ve got.”

  He slammed a mug down, sloshed some coffee into it, and gave it a nudge in my direction. Then he was off helping another customer.

  I took a sip. Ugh. Truly awful.

  Daniel pressed himself against my back. I got a whiff of his woodsy aftershave. “Let’s keep going,” he said in a low voice. “We only have a few tables left.”

  “Just give me five minutes,” I said. “My ankle’s starting to swell again.” I carefully protected my cup as I left the bar and walked into the lobby. The whole place was starting to smell of unwashed bodies.

  Speaking of which, I meandered over to Stoner Joe, who sat on the floor by the glass doors. A bag from a Mexican fast food chain sat next to him. I didn’t know how he’d gotten such delicious booty as it was barely after nine, but the thought of a taco made my mouth water. He watched a poker game that some of the tourists and two impersonators were playing at the battered coffee table.