04 Cold Case and Cupcakes

by Harper Lin

  “Number nine. Just out this door, to the left, second from the end on the first level. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Thanks.” Amelia took the key and left the office in search of her room.

  Suddenly, she wondered if Dan had already viewed the surveillance tapes from the hotel. If he hadn’t and they recorded several days at a time, he might see her on here and wonder what was going on. And then if she told him about her dinner with Gavin, he might think the absolute worst.

  “You can’t do anything about it now,” she mumbled, looking at the windows of all the other units that were pulled tightly shut.

  Finally, she reached room number nine. She slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. It smelled of disinfectant and cigarettes.

  She shut the door behind her and peeked out the window. No one was peeking back. There weren’t any parted curtains quickly falling back into place. There weren’t any strangers walking out of their doors to check out her car or stare at the closed door to unit number nine.

  It was almost depressing how absolutely no one paid any attention to anyone else. But that was the appeal of the No-Tell Motel, she supposed. It was not surprising that there were no witnesses. Amelia didn’t think it was an honor-among-thieves scenario. She was convinced no one came forward with information about David Scranton’s murder because no one saw anything, plain and simple.

  She dropped her purse on a table and walked around the room. The carpet was an odd rust color that was worn down from years and years of people walking over the same path.

  The bedspread was of a scratchy fabric printed with blue and brown leaves found nowhere in nature. The walls were paneled. There was a huge dresser across from the bed and a television bolted securely to the wall above it.

  Nothing was coming to her. She had just spent thirty-five dollars to sit in a stinky room for five minutes and had come up with not one single idea of why she was there, what could have happened to David Scranton, or how it tied to Preston Dwight.

  She stood up and went to the bathroom. It had white tiles, and the bleach smell was very strong. A thin gray shower curtain hung across the tub, and Amelia instinctively pulled it aside. Too many horror movies caused her to do that. A crazy person or a monster usually lurked behind a closed shower curtain. But all Amelia found was a white tub with rust around the drain.

  She turned to the little sink and turned the cold-water lever. A small drizzle of water came out. It was enough to fill her hands for her to splash her face. It was the least she could do to feel refreshed.

  She didn’t even want to touch the towels to dry off. Even the toilet paper was a better option, so she pulled a wad off and dabbed around her eyes and around her chin. She didn’t see a trash can, so she tossed the paper into the toilet and flushed.

  The water swirled around, but the paper didn’t go down. In fact, it kept swirling, and the water continued to rise.

  “No,” Amelia ordered. The water didn’t listen. “No. No. No!”

  It rose and surged over the edge of the bowl like a miniature waterfall covering the floor and spreading toward the door and the ugly rust-colored carpet.

  “No! I’m not paying for this.” She grabbed the raggedy towel and dropped it in front of the water to stop the advancement at least for a few minutes while she grabbed the key to the room and ran out to the motel office.

  “Hello,” the manager said, forcing that odd smile again as if he were thrilled Amelia had come back.

  “Hi. The toilet in my room overflowed.”

  His eyebrows immediately arched, and his face took on even more of an appearance of a bulldog being scolded.

  “The toilet? Oh no. I’m so sorry. Good thing we have our plumber right down the street.” He picked up his cell phone and made a call. “Hey, Tim. It’s Ivan. Can you stop by? I’ve got a toilet overflow.” Ivan looked at Amelia, giving her a quick wink. “Thanks, buddy. Sure. I can move the occupant. No. That’s fine. I appreciate it.”

  He hung up his phone and looked at Amelia.

  “The plumber for the building is just down the street. He’ll be here in twenty minutes or so.”

  Amelia swallowed.

  “Oh, how convenient. Is that the Waterware place I drove past on my way here?”

  “It is.” Ivan’s face lit up. “I’ve known the owner for years. He handles all my units here. He does a good job. This is an old building. He’ll fix the toilet in that room. If you don’t mind, I’ll move you to another unit.”

  “That would be fine.” Amelia nodded, looked at her watch, and then smiled at Ivan.

  “Let’s see. Lucky number eighteen.” He took off another key and gave it to Amelia, who quickly handed him back the key to number nine.

  “Here you go.” She smiled. “So the plumber can get in.”

  Ivan nodded and smiled back. Without another word, Amelia turned and walked out of the office, hurrying toward the door with the number eighteen on it. Once inside, she locked the door along with the chain.

  She peeked out the window. Fortunately, she could see the entire parking lot, as well as unit number nine.

  True to his word, within twenty minutes, Tim Casey pulled up outside the motel office in a white van with Waterware Plumbing and Remodeling printed in red letters on the side.

  He pulled into a vacant spot just a stone’s throw from her room. As he climbed out, he popped open the back of the van, and Amelia could see the interior. It was as messy and cluttered as his office had been, minus all the photographs.

  Don’t know anything about David Scranton? Really? How could he possibly not know about the murder here? How could that be? She squinted, trying to see without being seen herself. When Tim went inside, Amelia grabbed a chair from the little table in the room and made herself comfortable.

  Tim emerged again from the office, twirling a key on his finger, when he suddenly stopped. He stopped in front of Amelia’s car. Looking at it, he looked around.

  Without thinking, Amelia leaned back into the shadows and held her breath. Through the sheer panel curtain, she watched Tim look across the lot at every unit as if looking for something. Or someone. Peeking through the tiniest crack, not daring to cause the slightest motion in the curtains, Amelia watched.

  “He is looking for me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Tim shook his head then continued walking, letting himself into unit nine. Amelia couldn’t leave. She didn’t dare risk running into him in the parking lot. But it was clear to her that he was hiding something.

  “But what? A successful guy with all his connections and friends, why would he lie?” Amelia held her breath and waited.

  Staring at the truck, Amelia studied all the things that were in the back. From where she was sitting, she could see black tubing and white tubing. There were some hanging light fixtures, probably for finding leaks in crawlspaces and basements. There were half a dozen spray cans of WD-40 and, of course, several plungers. There were also some odd things in there. A portable generator stuck out. A hair dryer. A fire extinguisher. A vacuum cleaner.

  When Tim emerged again, he walked to the back of the truck, grabbed a plunger and a wild contraption that had to be some kind of drain snake especially made for a toilet, and headed back into the unit.

  Looking at her watch, Amelia wondered how long this would take. It wasn’t as if she had any particular place to go, but she didn’t want to stay where she was, recalling how Tim had stared and watched her as she walked to her car. It was just a plain sedan, but right now it might as well have had red-and-purple flames along the sides with Amelia Harley’s Ride spray-painted across the hood.

  It was another fifteen minutes before he came out of unit nine, closing the door behind him and strolling back to the office. He paid no attention to her car this time. It was another ten minutes before he got back in his van, revved the engine, and tore out of the parking lot as if the devil were chasing him.

  “Must be a real plumbing emergency.” Amelia sighed. Stretching he
r arms over her head, Amelia stood, unlocked the door, and left it open, leaving the door key sitting on the table.

  “I’m not coming back to this place. And I’m not going to worry about key-returning etiquette.”

  With her keys in her hand, she quickly walked to her car, climbed in, and started the engine. She wouldn’t feel safe until she was back in her house.

  As she began to back out, her phone chirped in her pocket, making her jump. Thankfully, it was Dan. She answered with a breathless hello as she pulled onto Wolf Road.

  “You sound out of breath. Are you exercising?”

  “No.” What could she say? Just a white lie. A tiny white lie. “I’m just running some errands, and I jogged to hold the door for some pregnant lady.”

  Where in the world that concoction had come from, Amelia couldn’t say, but it was good enough. Dan seemed to buy it.

  “Oh, well, since you did your good deed for the day, how about I treat you to lunch at Moody’s. I don’t have a lot of time, but I get an hour for lunch. It’s the law.”

  Amelia giggled.

  “That sounds great. How about I meet you there?”

  “See you in half an hour.”

  The line went dead. Amelia dropped the phone in her lap to drive and headed in the direction of Moody’s. It would take her about that long to get there if traffic held up. When she looked ahead, things seemed clear.

  When she checked her rearview mirror, she saw a familiar white truck quickly approaching. She gripped the steering wheel, trying to watch behind her and the road ahead of her at the same time.

  “Get a hold of yourself, Amelia. There are white work trucks all over the place. The chances of that being Tim Casey are…”

  She tried to nonchalantly get a look at the driver, but he kept his vehicle close enough to perhaps be following her but far enough away she couldn’t get a good look at the driver.

  “It’s not him,” she said out loud. “I’m being paranoid. I’ll just get where I’m going. Dan will be at Moody’s.” She hit the gas and quickly sped down Harrison Boulevard, cutting over to Montrose, and finally on Ashland Avenue. She pulled into Moody’s parking lot, slipping quickly into a spot next to Dan’s car. The van didn’t seem to be in sight.

  Thank goodness Dan was already here.

  Stepping out of his car, Dan appeared to Amelia like a guardian angel. His beige suit and brown beat walkers normally made Amelia’s heart skip a beat. Today, she got out of her car and nearly ran up to him.

  She looked back to the street. A white van drove past. The driver wore sunglasses, and he seemed to be looking at her.

  Was he Tim Casey? Or was she just being paranoid again? The van drove away and disappeared.

  “What’s the matter?” Dan asked.

  “Nothing.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Dan’s cheek. “Just happy to see you. I’m starved. Let’s go in.”

  As usual, Dan’s face set off a flurry of hellos and how are yas from the staff. Amy, Dan’s favorite waitress and special friend, was there to give them a quiet seat in the main dining room near the fireplace, which was dark and cold for now.

  “She’ll have the Italian sub. I’ll have a po’boy,” Dan said, his face serious and calm like always.

  “Mixing it up a little, huh, Detective,” Amy said playfully. “I’ll get these for you right away.”

  “Thanks, Amy.” Dan leaned back in his seat and looked at Amelia. She had her hands casually on the table, and he took one of them in his. Immediately, she flashed back to her dinner with Gavin. But she didn’t pull her hand away from Dan. She squeezed his hand affectionately.

  Amelia wanted to tell him about Tim, but she only had a gut feeling, not proof. Not yet. Would Dan be able to help if she told him? She decided to hold off until she could think things through.

  “So, any news with the David Scranton case?” Amelia tilted her head to the left. Her confession would have to wait.

  Dan loosened his tie.

  “I’ve got something here I’d like you to take a look at.”

  Amelia straightened in her seat, folded her hands in front of her, and leaned forward.

  “But I have to warn you. It’s disturbing.”

  She tilted her head to the left again as Dan withdrew an envelope from inside his jacket.

  “Is that a crime scene photo?” She couldn’t hold back the eagerness in her voice. It was macabre and dark, yet Amelia was very interested to see it. She was curious, and for Dan to let her in on this tiny bit of information showed that he not only trusted her, but valued her opinion.

  “It’s two. One of the boy, Preston Dwight. Another of David Scranton.”

  Amelia’s eyes bugged, and she held her breath as he slid the photos across the table to her.

  She put her hand over her mouth.

  The photo of Preston Dwight thankfully did not reveal his whole face. There was his neck, his chin, and his lower lip. The boy’s skin was not just pale, but gray.

  “You see the mark around his neck?” Dan whispered.

  Reluctantly leaning closer to the photo, Amelia trained her eyes on that small detail and nodded. “Have you ever seen anything like that before?”

  The indentation around Preston’s small throat was oddly patterned.

  “Now, I’ve seen rope markings. I’ve seen nylon stocking markings. I’ve seen more than I care to admit. But I couldn’t tell you what made that marking. If I found that, I’d have an idea of the murder weapon used on Preston and…”

  Dan pulled out the other image and placed it on top.

  “David Scranton.”

  In this second photo, David Scranton’s whole face was visible. His eyes stared out, forever seeing the image of his killer. He was in the bathtub with his shirt on. The sleeves had been sloppily rolled up, and his wrists had been cut to make it look as if he had tried to commit suicide.

  The bathroom layout was all too familiar. In fact, Amelia began to panic that perhaps it was the very room she had just been in. That could be room number nine or room number eighteen.

  “This is a stupid question, but you’re sure he didn’t kill himself, right?”

  Amelia had to say something. She had to bring herself back into the present, at Moody’s restaurant, sitting across the table from Detective Dan Walishovsky. Otherwise, she was afraid she might faint.

  “If you look at the crime scene, you’ll see there is very little blood. Almost none. If it were a real suicide attempt, that white tile floor would be red.” Dan’s voice was steady, like a professor teaching an intro to forensics. “But look at his neck.”

  Squaring herself, Amelia looked.

  “That’s the same weird marking as Preston had, all right.”

  Amy arrived with a plate in each hand.

  “Hope you guys are hungry. Detective, I told them to add a few slices of raw onion and an extra pickle slice for you.”

  “You’re going to make some man very happy someday, Amy,” Dan quipped, allowing Amelia enough time to flip the crime scene photos over and pull them onto her lap.

  “You guys enjoy your lunch.” Amy winked at Amelia before she walked away.

  Amelia looked at her favorite Italian sub sandwich and was afraid some of her appetite might have left her. Dan, unfazed by the images in the photos, dug right in.

  “Well, I can tell you.” Amelia picked up her sandwich, the smell of salami, pecorinos, and vinegar enticing her empty stomach. “I’ve never seen anything that would make a mark like that. Two lines with a squiggly line down the middle?”

  Wiping his lips with a paper napkin, Dan shook his head.

  “Sometimes a fresh set of eyes helps move things along.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know.” Amelia took a bite of her sandwich. “This is so good.”

  Dan stopped chewing and looked at Amelia with a very devilish grin on his face.

  “If I didn’t know that you were a baker during the day, I’d swear you were a seasoned homicide detective.”


  “What?” she asked with a mouth full of food.

  “Only a real detective can look at crime scene photos one minute then eat a meal the next. You surprise me, Amelia. All the time.”

  It was a wonderful compliment. Amelia flashed back to all the times she tried to talk to her ex-husband about his work and how he would condescendingly explain something as simple as a subpoena or filing a motion. But that was because he was too busy explaining his unhappy marriage to a twenty-five-year-old. The guy had to be exhausted.

  As she took another bite, Amelia quickly pushed her ex-husband from her mind.

  “So what is your next step?”

  “We’re looking into the three main suspects that were named in the paper.”

  “Well, Starla-Ann is dead.” Amelia took a sip of water from the glass Amy brought for her “Remember, I told you that.” Peeking up at Dan playfully, she squeezed his hand.

  “Yes, your detective work is to be commended.” He snickered. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t still look into it. Did she have a guilty conscience?”

  “I don’t know about that. I don’t think so. She wasn’t much, but I think she loved her little boy. I think I agree with her sister. She died of a broken heart.”

  Dan nodded, but his expression didn’t change.

  “I know. I know. But it was her sister. What was she supposed to say? Not all mothers are like you, Amelia. I hate to tell you how many are the complete opposite. When the world dealt you lemons, you turned around and made some lemonade cupcakes that put your little hot-pink truck on the map and some food on the table to boot.”

  Amelia blinked as she tried to keep the blush from her cheeks.

  “You are a good mother, a truly good mother. I think it’s against your DNA to think there might be women out there who have no right to have any kids.”

  “I just don’t think that was Starla-Ann. I think she was poor and maybe a little stupid. But I don’t think she was evil. Not like that.”

  Amelia took another bite. She sure was hungry.

  “Lemonade cupcakes?” Dan said. “That sounds delicious. Do you make those sometimes?”

  They finished their food, with Dan insisting on paying the tab, and walked back out to the parking lot, where Amelia quickly scanned the lot and the street for the white Waterware van. There was nothing even close to that. She had nothing to worry about. You’re being paranoid, she told herself again.