by Jada Ryker
“You make solving murders sound like playing Twister or Scrabble. ‘The last round of murders’ sounds like there’s sure to be another murder competition.” Alex laughed, the corners of his eyes attractively crinkling.
Marisa resisted the temptation to change the subject. “I had a brownout between getting to the club and Diana bawling me out and texting you to come and get me.” She took a deep breath. “During the brownout, I got drunk and a sheriff latched onto me.” She forced a smile. “And then you picked me up.”
Alex was surprised. “A sheriff latched onto you? You make it sound like he’s a blood-sucking tick.”
“I think that’s an apt description. I don’t remember talking to him or meeting him. Diana knew him. He’s an ogre. She calls him Sheriff Creature. She and the others saved me from him.” Marisa stopped.
Alex stared at her.
“Nothing happened, Alex.” I’m pretty sure nothing happened. “I’m sorry. I was tired of the pain and I wanted it to stop.” Marisa swallowed a sob.
He placed a gentle hand on her arm. “You slipped. That’s all, Marisa. Don’t beat yourself up.” His hand tightened. “Promise me next time you feel tempted to drink, you’ll call me. Or you’ll call someone from your support group. Fred and Jason and Cindy and the others are all there for you.”
Marisa twisted her head so he wouldn’t see the tear slip down her cheek. “I will, Alex. I promise.”
Alex touched her face. He traced the trail of the tear with a gentle thumb. His other hand curved on her back. As if she’d break if he moved too quickly, Alex slowly pulled her close.
Marisa rested her head on his shoulder. She breathed in his clean scent. His hand was warm on her back, even through the sweatshirt. “I keep thinking if he hadn’t been murdered, Mosely could have stopped drinking.” She tried to laugh, but it was a strangled sob. “Probably wishful thinking, since he almost drank himself to death six months ago.”
“You told me about it a few months ago, but not the details,” Alex said, his body warm and solid against hers. “What happened?”
“Mom is the classic enabler. She took care of Mosely. She even paid his truck insurance.” Marisa sighed. She reluctantly moved away from Alex’s embrace. “Let’s walk.”
Alex fell into step next to her.
Marisa stared at the ramshackle mobile homes and gravel driveways as they walked. “Mom works her ass off for the money she makes at the sewing factory, which is practically a sweatshop. She financed his drinking and his carousing. Our mom decided to visit her sister. She left my brother some money to buy groceries and pay the light and water bills. She came home to no electricity, no water, and Mosely lying unconscious, hooked up to machines.”
“Oh, no.”
“He used the money she gave him to go on the binge to end all binges,” Marisa said. “He literally drank himself into a coma. I guess it’s a good thing he secretly gave his on-the-side girlfriend a key. If Sandra hadn’t found him, he would have died on the floor.”
“You don’t like Sandra.” Alex’s tone added a question mark.
Marisa shrugged. “Sandra is at least ten years older than our mother. She has one leg and a prosthetic device. When Mosely introduced her to me, Sandra informed me she’d lost her leg due to intravenous drug use.”
“I thought Mosely had been dating the woman I met in your kitchen.” Alex frowned. “I think Fern was her name. She left her abusive husband just before he was killed last spring.”
“You have a good memory, Alex. My brother caroused the bars with women his own age, but he always went back to Sandra.” Marisa swallowed. “Macon thought Sandra was a mother figure for Mosely.”
“As your former therapist, Macon loved to hunt for hidden psychological agendas.” Alex’s laugh was devoid of humor.
“Sandra’s big attraction was her occupation, which is liquor store cashier. Mosely started and ended each day with hard liquor. I suspect she stole it from the store and gave it to him.”
“Your mom left to visit her sister,” Alex said. “When she came back, Mosely was in the hospital.”
“While he was in the intensive care unit, he went through DTs. After that, he was moved to a regular room. I took off from work to help my mother sit with him in the hospital. He was so unpleasant. He ranted and raved about wanting to smoke and drink. I tried to keep him calm. I also tried to tell him it was the perfect time for him to stop drinking. He’d already gone through the DTs.”
“You can’t reason with someone who doesn’t want to hear you.” Alex met her eyes very directly.
Marisa wondered if he was referring to her or her troubled brother. “After two days in the regular room, he begged the doctor for increasingly high dosages of pain medication, claiming he was in extreme pain. He blamed the pain on his legs.”
“I remember Mosely wearing braces on his legs when we were all in elementary school,” Alex said.
“After multiple surgeries and years of crutches and braces, the children’s charity hospital fixed his legs. He used his medical history to get out of working, even though he stood for hours on end in redneck bars.” Marisa’s eyes filled. “Alex, I am such an idiot. I really thought Mosely would use the opportunity to get sober. By the time he was discharged, he’d been without anything to drink for ten days.”
“What happened when he was released?” Alex asked, touching her shoulder.
Marisa rubbed her temples. “On the way to my mother’s mobile home, my brother asked me to stop at the liquor store. I said, ‘Hell, no.’ Mom ordered me to stop at the package store. She said if she didn’t buy it, he’d leave the house to get it.”
She swiped at her eyes with her fingers. “It was the turning point for me. After all of the years of angst, I decided I was done with them. I cried the entire way home. I made up my mind to stay away from them both, at least for the short term. The boycott didn’t last long, but it made me feel a little better.”
Alex’s hand was warm on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Before he left the hospital last spring, the doctors said Mosely would be dead within a year if he didn’t stop drinking.” Marisa sniffed. “The prophesy was fulfilled, although it wasn’t alcohol that killed him. It was a vicious murderer.”
Keeping his hand on her shoulder, Alex turned away from her to stare at the wooded hill at the far end of the trailer park. “Do you know Stanley Blaise?”
Marisa blinked at the unexpected change of subject. She dragged her thoughts away from her brother. “Stanley Blaise? He’s one of our hospital employees, but I don’t really know him.”
“He’s an operating room technician at the hospital. Several years ago, he finished the night shift and headed for home. He was t-boned by another vehicle blocks from the hospital. Stanley regained consciousness and realized he was in Room Seven of the emergency room.”
Despite the sun’s warmth, Marisa shivered. “The ER only uses that room for the worst cases. Patients who are not expected to live, with or without medical intervention, are put in that room.”
“Stanley knew he was on the brink of death. He lost consciousness. While he was out, he had a strange experience. He was in a clearing. Towering trees surrounded him. At his feet, clear water flowed through a creek. Using strategically placed stones, Stanley crossed the water. When he arrived at the far bank, a man turned to face him.
“The man was wearing a long robe and holding a large, open book in his hands. His white hair fell past his shoulders. As his mouth curved into a gentle smile, the lines in his face deepened. ‘Welcome, Stanley.’
“People appeared around the man. Stanley realized they were dead members of his family. Shocked, he approached. They moved to surround him. As they crowded close, Stanley felt a soothing sense of security and happiness.”
“Wow,” breathed Marisa. “Stanley had a near-death experience.”
“Yes. Next, he said his best friend from high school appeared. His friend James died the night of their senior pr
om. He’d been drinking and driving. James had struggled with alcohol since middle school. He told Stanley the best thing about being dead was the freedom. He was finally free from the compulsion to drink. He found the happiness and comfort in death that had eluded him in life.”
Marisa thought about Stanley’s story. “You think Mosely is happy and at peace now.”
“Yes. I believe Stanley had an unexplainable experience. I also believe Mosely is in a better place. He’s free of his demons.”
“Thank you, Alex. I feel a little better. We’re nearly back to my mom’s place. Let’s finish the work.”
“We’ve come full circle.” He indicated her mother’s trailer.
“Yes, Alex. We’ve come full circle, both literally and metaphorically.”
Alex smiled, his mouth quirking up on one side. “After we finish your brother’s room, let’s go out for dinner.”
“Great idea.” Marisa quickened her pace.
“No strip clubs, though.” Alex laughed and lengthened his stride.
I’m glad he’s not mad at me. Feeling lighter, Marisa skipped at his side.
* * * * *
Standing in the center of the room, Marisa surveyed the cleaning progress. “The bed’s cleaned off. Let’s pull off the bedding and pop it in the washer. By the time it’s cycle through the washer and dryer, we should have the room finished. We can put on the clean bedding as our finishing touch.”
“Great idea.” Alex strode to the head of the twin bed, and pulled at sheets and blankets.
Marisa tackled the foot of the bed.
They drew off the covers. Marisa gasped. The mattress was stained with a dark red substance. “Is that blood?”
“If it is, then I’d be surprised if the person who lost it walked away from this room under his own power.”
Marisa backed away to the doorway. She leaned out and called, “Mom!”
With the warm October weather, Barbara Adair was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and shorts. The cuffs of the shorts touched her bony knees. Her tiny feet were covered by white socks and fuzzy pink house shoes. Under her short, spiky hair, the same dark brown shade as Marisa’s hair but threaded with gray, her thin, wrinkled face was tear stained and creased with grief. She looked up at her daughter. “Yes, Marisa?”
Marisa pointed a shaking finger at the bed. “What happened, Mom?”
Barbara’s bloodshot green eyes filled with tears. “Your brother tried to kill himself. He cut his wrists with his hunting knife.” Her lips trembled. “The Emergency Medical Technicians couldn’t get a gurney through the trailer. One of them simply threw Mosely over his shoulder and carried him to the ambulance.” She closed her eyes and put her fingers to her trembling mouth.
Marisa slid her arm around her mother’s waist and drew her close. “Was it because of his drinking?”
Barbara shook her head. “It was because of that girl posting terrible things about Mosely on that Phiz Phase website.”
“What girl?” Marisa exchanged a puzzled glance with Alex. “What are you talking about, Mom?”
Barbara slipped out of her daughter’s embrace and walked to the cluttered corner of the room. She moved towering piles of clothes, magazines, and trash, revealing a small desk. She smacked the computer, sending piles of loose papers cascading to the matted brown carpet. “Your brother spent a lot of time online. She was stalking him and writing terrible things about him. His girlfriend Fern broke up with him because of that girl’s lies.”
Marisa was mystified. “Who are you talking about, Mom?”
“Alisa Atkins. You and your brothers went to school with her. Do you remember? She was a beautiful child, with pale skin and masses of gorgeous red hair. Under that pretty exterior, she was rotten through and through.”
Marisa sucked in a startled breath. Her horrified gaze flew to Alex.
He stepped to her side and took her hand.
Marisa sighed, enjoying the heat of Alex’s hand on her freezing one. She tried to tether her teeming emotions to the warmth of his hand. “I remember, Mom. How can I forget her? She led a pack of bloodthirsty bullies. They loved to terrify kids, including me and Mosely.”
Barbara walked to the soiled bed. “Alisa found your brother online, and she stalked him like a predator. She haunted the same chat rooms. She posted on the same forums. Alisa wrote terrible things about him.”
Marisa’s mother rubbed her forehead with nicotine-stained fingers. “Some were true. He had run-ins with the law and problems in his relationships with women.” She looked up. “But Alisa also wrote lies. She said terrible things, like he was a child molester, a racist, and beat up homeless people for fun.”
Marisa shook her head. “Mosely was far from perfect, God knows, but he wouldn’t do those things.”
“Alisa even crafted real-looking news reports, complete with photographs,” the older woman said. “Her friends helped her spread the lies throughout the internet. Mosely posted his protests and even contacted the sites, but nothing changed.”
Barbara choked, tears streaming down her face. She turned her back on the blood-stained mattress. She reached into the pocket of her shorts. She offered the folded paper to Marisa.
Marisa turned the paper over in her hand. “What’s this? And what are the splashes of brown?”
“It’s the suicide note your brother wrote. I found it after the EMTs left. He tried to kill himself because of Alisa. The doctors saved him, and he came home. But I wonder if he deliberately put himself in danger a few months ago. Did he want to be murdered? Did he manipulate events to put himself in the path of a cold-blooded killer?” Barbara buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Marisa released Alex’s hand and put her arms around her mother’s shaking body. “Mom, you’re hurting. We can comfort each other.”
Barbara raised her head and threw her shoulders back. “Comfort, hell.” She turned her ravaged face to Marisa. “We’ll join forces and track down the bitch Alisa. And we’ll make her pay.”
CHAPTER THREE
“I’m happy the assisted living center moved everyone to this lovely hotel after the fire instead of leaving us to fend for ourselves. It’s a beautiful building with luxurious furnishings.” Althea Flaxton admired the sunshine gleaming on the waxed wood as she slid her books on the built-in shelves.
“The Hotel Beatrice is reputed to be haunted. If a ghost stalks you in the night, you may not be so thankful.” Clay Napier hefted Althea’s old manual typewriter onto the desk and carefully centered it on the shining mahogany surface.
Althea reached for more books. “After matching wits with murderers, I’m not afraid of ghosts.” She pushed them into place, her emerald engagement ring catching the light. She turned to face her fiancée.
“I’m sorry the firemen couldn’t douse the flames before everyone’s belongings were destroyed,” Clay said. “I know you were attached to your typewriter.” He pulled a snowy white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his handsome face.
“Thank you for scouring the internet and finding one just like it.” He’s my age and his face is barely lined, Althea thought. His body is strong and straight. And he loves me with all of his heart. She blinked away her unexpected tears. And I’m turning into a maudlin old woman. “The center said the repairs will be finished in the next couple of months. Can you imagine if we’d had to rent apartments in the meantime?”
Clay laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “On the application, we’d have to disclose our previous living arrangements. Last spring, we left the Home Away From Home nursing facility after a fire closed it. Then, in the summer, the assisted living center was heavily damaged by bombs, and we had to move. I don’t think prospective landlords would be impressed by our track records.”
“They’d wonder if we’re elderly firebugs or terrorists in deep cover.” Althea shook her head.
Clay sobered, his face rearranged into compassionate lines. “Thea, I’m sorry about your estrangement from Ma
risa.”
Althea bent over the books to hide her spasm of pain. “I understand her anger. I took the details of her life and used them in my books. I never told her I’m an author. I betrayed her. I’m so sorry.”
Clay drew her upright and into his arms. “You need to tell her, Thea.”
A frantic knock rattled the door and echoed throughout the suite. Althea disentangled herself from Clay and moved to the door. “What on earth?” She dragged the heavy door open.
A mob of people streamed into the suite, laughing and chattering. Althea’s hand flew to her chest. “What’s going on here?”
Clay pushed through the crowd. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled.
Everyone stopped talking.
“What’s with the invasion?” Clay stared into the startled faces.
An elderly woman danced her way through the crowd. “I rounded up everyone in the hotel. People from the assisted living center, other guests, and the staff. I brought the party here, Clay, so everyone can see my television interview.” She waved a slim silver pointer like a magic wand, grazing several people.
Althea didn’t recognize the intruder. The woman’s body was gaunt under the stylish navy jacket and skirt. The high collar of the white blouse brushed the pointed chin. Short brown curls bounced around the pale, wrinkled face. The dark eyes sparkled with mischief.
Clay’s face cleared. “You’re Berea Kenton.”
The woman laughed happily. “Of course.”
Althea’s brows rose in disbelief. The last time she’d seen Berea Kenton, her short hair had stood up in thin white spikes, a worn pink house dress had covered the bony figure, and her face had been settled in the tragic lines set twenty years ago. “You look different.”
Berea pirouetted. “Like a million bucks?” She chortled, the happy tones echoing. “How about fifty million bucks?”
Althea exchanged a puzzled glance with Clay. She turned to the sea of faces. She sighed in relief when she recognized two former employees of the assisted living center, and before that, the nursing home. “Starla and Flora May. Do you know what’s going on?”
