“A date?” he asked.
“Yeah, what’s so odd about that?” she snapped back.
She was a big woman, and he was a little afraid of her. “Nothing. I think it’s good. Real good. So you want a room. For the whole night?”
“What do you think? That I’m a whore? That I want it by the hour?”
“No, no, Judy Jane. I didn’t mean that. Not at all. OK, a room it is.”
“I want 105,” she stated, brooking no argument.
“Sure. No problem. And for you, a discounted rate. How’s thirty-five dollars?” he asked timidly.
“Too much. Twenty-five. Or better yet, just let me have it for free. It’s not like you’re booked up.”
“OK. Sure. Free. For the night.” He reached toward a pegboard and handed her the key. “Have a nice night.”
“I intend to.”
Perfect. Not only was she going to spend the night with Dolores, she had managed to get the room at no charge. She tiptoed into the room after looking around and making sure no one was watching. She closed the door and then consulted her watch.
She sat on the bed, testing it, and she imagined herself making love to Dolores. She had wanted that woman forever. So many people thought Dolores looked like that bitch, Kennedy, but Judy Jane didn’t see it. Dolores was so much more attractive. And wicked in a good way. She looked at her watch again.
She got up and walked around, hesitating at the connecting door to Wylie’s room. She could hear muffled voices. She stuck her ear against the door and strained to hear the conversation. Too quiet. So Dolores had been right. They made up after their little fight and were getting cozy. Judy Jane had no idea what was planned for later, after she and Dolores made love, but it would be exciting. Dolores never did anything by accident, and she had been definite about wanting this particular room with access to the one next door. She was hoping, whatever it was, those two would suffer the consequences of hurting her and the woman she loved. She checked her watch again. Time surely could drag when you were in a hurry for something to happen.
Judy Jane went to the bathroom, peed, and checked her appearance in the mirror. She knew she wasn’t a beautiful woman, but she never cared about that. There were tricks she’d picked up along the way that would please Dolores and make her beg for more. That was what it was all about. She was finally going to get her chance. She was getting so excited just thinking about it.
Finally there was a tap on the door. Judy Jane hurried to it and swung it wide. Dolores practically ran inside.
* * *
Judy Jane smiled, showing yellow horsey teeth. Dolores closed her eyes and prayed for strength. She hoped Judy Jane wouldn’t question that she was barefoot.
Judy Jane reached for her, but Dolores pulled back. “Easy, Tiger. We have all night. Let’s enjoy ourselves. I brought some wine.” Dolores held up a bottle and then twisted the cap. “Damn, I forgot glasses,” she said.
“I had a feeling. I remembered.” Judy Jane went to retrieve them.
“Aren’t you the lifesaver,” Dolores gushed, pouring the rich, red liquid into the glasses. A slosh of wine spilled on Judy Jane’s shirt. “Oh, I am so sorry. Quick, run some cold water on it and it won’t stain.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Judy Jane said.
“You don’t want icky stains on your shirt. Go on. Wash it out. Then you can hang it up while it dries,” Dolores said suggestively.
“I’m not wearing a bra.” Judy Jane tried to sound seductive.
“All the better.” Dolores smiled. “Just take off your top, and I can enjoy the view.”
Now Judy Jane obviously thought that was a fine idea. Slowly, she unbuttoned the shirt and opened it to reveal the sagging flesh beneath. Dolores swallowed hard. She hoped the other woman would interpret that as excitement. She also hoped she wouldn’t lose her dinner. Judy Jane walked into the bathroom and switched on the water.
God bless Mexico and their liberal drug policy, Dolores thought as she poured a small envelope of crushed Rohypnol into Judy Jane’s glass. One of Sweet’s last jobs was to make a run and purchase some drugs for “medical use.” At the right suppliers, dinero was the only prescription required. Too bad about Sweet getting so greedy. What irony that he had given them the idea to get rid of all the little helpers. No one alive, no one to talk. It was almost too easy. Now if the final plan went as designed, they would be in the clear. Even if there wasn’t any money. James still could have possibly lied. If that were the case, they’d be rich besides. Win, win.
Judy Jane emerged from the bathroom, her pendulous breasts swaying with each step. Dolores smiled at the sight of those overripe breasts skimming the waistband of Judy Jane’s pants. Who could possibly find that appealing?
Judy Jane was smiled broadly. “Like what you see?”
“Beautiful.”
“Well, I’ve shown you mine. Let’s see yours.”
“First things first. I told you we’re not in a hurry. Here, drink.” Dolores held out Judy Jane’s glass.
“What should we drink to?”
“How about a good and successful night?”
“Oh, it’ll be successful all right. You wait and see.” Judy Jane leered at her. She held up her glass. “To success.” She drained the liquid. “Good wine.”
“More?” Dolores asked.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Only so I can take advantage of you,” Dolores said lightly.
“Then pour some more.” Judy Jane drained a second glass and reached for Dolores. “Take it off.” She indicated Dolores’s blouse.
The word “off” came out sounding a little garbled. Dolores hoped she hadn’t put too much drug in the wine. She knew it would intensify the effect, but she didn’t want Judy Jane to be without blood pressure.
She unbuttoned her blouse, watching Judy Jane. By the time she reached the bottom button, Judy Jane’s head was lolling to the side.
“What’s the matter, JJ? Too much to drink? What a shame. Don’t tell me you’re not up for tonight after all.”
“No, I’m fine,” Judy Jane slurred, giving the word “fine” five syllables. “Come here, baby.”
Dolores easily evaded her grasp.
“Waasamatta?” Judy Jane said as if her tongue were an obstacle.
“Not a thing. In fact, everything is right. You are the solution that will solve almost all my problems.”
“Dooon unnerstannnnd…”
“You don’t have to worry about a thing. In fact, why don’t you just rest for a while? Come on, lay back.” Dolores didn’t want to have to move the other woman’s bulk. Judy Jane outweighed her by a hundred pounds easy. “Come on, JJ, lay back.” The frustration was oozing out. “Lay back. Help me.” This was a demand.
Judy Jane was just conscious enough to help Dolores in her effort. She managed to slide over until her full weight was on the bed. Then she fell back like a rock, slamming her head into the back wall.
“That’ll leave a mark,” Dolores commented at the sound. “Not that it’s going to matter.”
Dolores leaned down and checked her pulse. Faint, but there. She was out cold, but still breathing. Judy Jane was not someone Dolores wanted to tangle with in a fight. The roofies had been just the ticket to get the job done with no muss or fuss. Freddie was so smart sometimes, it amazed her.
Just then a series of three taps sounded on the connecting door. Dolores went to work on the lock with two untwisted paper clips. Since the lock was old, it was a simple matter to spring it open. She swung it wide and smiled.
“All good?” Freddie stood there looking victorious.
Dolores nodded to him and indicated the bed. “Yes, Daddy. Perfect. You?”
“As planned.” He pointed to the unconscious Wylie on the floor. “See you outside.” He turned, stepped over Wylie’s limp form and disappeared out the door.
Dolores turned back to the nightstand and picked up the two wine glasses. She headed to the bathroom. She washed t
hem both and picked up a washcloth. Then she dumped the other woman’s glass into her purse and withdrew a shiny blade. She wiped the wine bottle of any prints and moved back to Judy Jane. “Oh, by the way, JJ, I am not a lesbian,” she screamed into the insensible face. “But even if I was one, I sure as hell wouldn’t fuck the likes of someone as fat and greasy and disgusting as you.”
She pushed the limp head to the side, exposing Judy Jane’s neck. She hesitated a moment, savoring her power. Dolores reared back and swung the blade across Judy Jane’s carotid artery. It was a strange feeling to cut through flesh. So satisfying. Dolores smiled, enjoying playing God. There was one quick spurt of hot blood, which quickly slowed to a steady pumping of gore. Dolores leaped to the side as it pulsated out of the gaping wound. She stared, fascinated, the force of the pumping decreasing as the pressure reduced. Before it could slow to a trickle, she took the wine glass and held it up to the slackening stream. She caught enough to fill the glass nearly full.
She spilled some on the floor and splattered some on the walls. Gore was everywhere. Grabbing her purse, Dolores intentionally stepped in the blood and tracked it into the adjoining room, making clear red-stained footprints. She walked to Wylie, laying in front of the door and grinned.
“Well, I guess you’re not so Mr. Wonderful now, are you? And you are going down. You and that bitch sister of mine. She thinks she’s so smart. Well, let’s see you both get out of this one.”
She dipped her fingers into the wine glass and sprayed blood across his chest. Spatter. Just like CSI. Television—what a great invention. She wiped her fingerprints off the knife with the damp washcloth and knelt beside him. She pressed the knife into his nerveless fingers and stood up.
Then she stepped into the flip-flops waiting outside the door. Just one of the many details they had seen to earlier. She walked to Wylie’s bathroom to wash. Dolores was careful to avoid stepping in any blood this time. She lifted her feet into the sink one by one and scrubbed them, making sure all traces of the red stains were gone. She washed the sandals and poured out the blood remaining in the glass. She rinsed everything thoroughly, along with the washcloth, making sure the sink was clean too, and dried everything with one of the towels. She wiped up the water that had dripped on the floor and stood back to view her handiwork. Satisfied, she went back to the other room, picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. When old Pete answered, she let out a bloodcurdling scream. She hung up, grabbed the used towels, put the glass into her purse, and strode out of the room like she was on a Sunday stroll. She got into the waiting car, which immediately pulled away.
Dolores wondered why she had hesitated to kill before. It was so much fun. Watching the life blood pump out and spray everywhere was exhilarating. Knowing she had sent someone to hell was extremely satisfying. She looked forward to doing it again soon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The world was swimming, and the ache in his head was consuming. It was like the worst hangover he’d ever had, but that had been years ago. He felt a persistent pain in his ribs, as if someone were kicking him.
“Stop it!” he tried to yell, but no sound came out.
Reluctantly, he peeled open his eyes, and the sunlight assaulted him like another blow to the head. He slammed them shut again, but a sound permeated the cotton of his brain.
“Wake up!” Again, there was a sharp blow to his side.
“What?” he managed, his mouth feeling dry and uncooperative.
“I said, wake up.” It was a familiar voice. Wylie opened his eyes and stared into the muzzle of a gun.
He was dreaming. A bad B-movie or an old, recycled plot punishing him in a nightmare. But it felt so real. And the pain in his head was undeniable.
Again, the voice. “Get up, Nichols. Very slowly.”
Wylie mentally shook himself to get a grip. He recognized his surroundings, and reality slowly pushed through the fog. He became panicked. He desperately looked around the motel room, memory flooding back. But she wasn’t there.
“Where is Kennedy?” he demanded, sitting up and regretting it.
“Don’t you know?” the voice demanded. It was Miller.
What was going on? Why was Miller holding a gun on him?
“Well, if you don’t know, she’s probably a hundred miles from here by now. But I can’t make any sense of this, so you’ll have to explain it to me.”
Wylie took a deep breath and looked around, blinking. He saw dark stains, on his shirt, next to him. It looked like blood. “Oh God, Kennedy? Is she hurt? Where is she?”
“Relax. I don’t think it’s her blood. Seems to me it belongs to Judy Jane. Her bled-out corpse is lying in the next room. Now get up.”
“Sure. Give me a minute. What happened here?”
“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
“Miller, my head is screaming for mercy and my fiancée isn’t here and there’s blood everywhere.”
“I got that. I’m a trained professional. Now tell me something I don’t know.” Miller’s tone was clear; he wasn’t amused by any of this. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”
“Could you get your gun out of my face?”
“I don’t think so. Since I’m charging you with three counts of murder, maybe four.”
“What?”
“You have the right to remain silent—”
“I know my rights. What is happening?”
“To think I liked you. This is going to kill Martha. How can I tell her?”
Miller grabbed Wylie by the arm and pulled him up. The room swam, and Wylie had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up. Miller stepped behind him, pulled his arms back, threw handcuffs on his wrists, and then pushed him to the door.
Wylie looked to his left into the adjoining room and saw Judy Jane’s bloodless corpse on the bed, her blue-white mouth gaping open. The room was decorated in dark-red splatters of what was obviously her blood. He closed his eyes, trying to make this scene less surreal.
A car pulled up outside. A man emerged and approached Miller. He held out his hand to shake, and Miller nodded, his hands occupied with Wylie. The man dropped his hand.
“Sheriff Miller? I’m Donovan. From Abilene. You called for help?”
“Yes, Detective. Thanks for coming. This has been a very quiet place until recently. Now I’m feeling a little understaffed.”
“No problem. I’ll take a look around, ask some questions, and meet you back in your office.” He indicated Wylie. “This the perp?”
“So far.” He shoved Wylie toward the vehicle and pushed him inside. Then he got into the driver’s seat and started the car.
“Where is Kennedy?” Wylie demanded from the backseat.
“I get to ask the questions.”
“Can you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Well, someone hit you, that’s for certain. And knocked you out, unless you’re one hell of an actor. But the fact remains that Judy Jane is dead, and you were holding the knife that apparently killed her.”
“You actually think I killed Judy Jane? Why would I?”
“Maybe because she gave Kennedy a bad time?”
“You really think that’s a reason to kill someone?”
“People have done it for less.”
“Look, Miller, you have to find Kennedy. I think they’re going to try to hurt her—or kill her.” Even saying the words made Wylie so sick he could barely breathe.
“Who?”
“Freddie.”
“Great. Well, until you come up with a better idea, here’s mine. You and Kennedy planned this from the beginning, and then she double-crossed you after you killed Judy Jane.”
“Oh my God!”
“Just shut up, Nichols, unless you want to confess.”
At Miller’s office the sheriff escorted Wylie to a cell. He unlocked the handcuffs, pushed him inside, and locked the door.
“Look,” Miller said, “all I know is Kennedy has a motive, and you were holding the weapon that a
pparently killed Judy Jane.”
“Motive? What motive?”
“Well, when all this started she thought PJ was worth a lot of money. By the time she found out the money was gone, she was in too deep to get out.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You have a better explanation?”
“Freddie took her. He came to my door and asked to talk to her. She went outside and when she didn’t come back in a few minutes, I went to check on her. Someone slammed me in the head. That’s all I remember till you woke me up. But it was Freddie.”
“Freddie is the mayor, for one thing. Why would he go around killing voters? Second, he has no direct relationship with Kennedy. And no motive for killing any of the vics. What did he have to gain?”
“But he came to talk to her just before she disappeared. Just before I was hit on the head.”
“Which means nothing. But OK. Say it’s Freddie. How did he open the connecting door when he was outside?”
“He had an accomplice.”
“When Pete called me, he said he heard a woman screaming. Kennedy. I think Freddie being there was just a coincidence.”
“No!” Wylie shouted.
Before Miller could debate further, Donovan entered the office. Miller looked up. “So what did you find?”
“It was definitely a woman in the other room with the vic. The footprints are small. It’s almost as if they were intentional. Like whoever made them wanted no mistake that it was a woman who walked through that blood.”
“What about the knife?”
“I bagged it, and I’m taking it back with me, but I think it’s a pretty good bet that it’s the murder weapon.”
“Anything else?”
“There was a bottle of wine in the woman’s room, but no glasses. Maybe she drank out of the bottle. Anyway, I bagged it too. I’ll have it checked for prints.”
“Thanks for your help, Donovan.”
“Sure. Dr. Michael is going to be thrilled to have to come back here again. Have to wonder if you’re trying to compete with Chicago.”
“Don’t I know it? But I was actually thinking Memphis. Don’t have any aspirations to be number one. Dr. Michael said he’s going to hit me for gas money.”
Texas Summer Page 17
