“I wonder,” I said, thinking aloud, “if that cereal company was legit?”
“Of course, it must have been,” Flori said. “Don’t forget you got a free plane trip and free lodging in a very expensive hotel. It had to be legitimate.”
“But what about Hatcher and the rest? Do you think they were who they said they were? It could've been a front for something.”
“What do you think?” Stella asked. “You’re the one who met them.”
“Right now, I’m thinking the whole bunch were crooks. What I can’t figure out is why one of them would murder Grace.”
“We don’t know that any of them did. Maybe,” Flori said between mouthfuls, “Grace wasn’t who Grace said she was.”
“That’s for sure. But, murder? And, why dump the body in Parson’s Cove?”
“You don’t have a picture of Grace, do you?” Stella asked as she wiped some jam off her chin.
“I thought I showed one to you.”
“No, you just showed me Andrea. Remember? I told you I wasn't sure if I'd seen her before.”
I searched through my handbag for my envelope of pictures. I was glad I hadn’t given all of them to Reg and Maxymowich.
“Here,” I said and handed her the one and only picture that I’d kept of Grace. It was a good one. She was standing beside Mr. Hatcher at the door to the hotel. Neither of them knew I’d taken the picture.
Stella held it towards the light from the window.
She put it down on the table. “You know,” she said, “this ain’t no picture of Grace. You had a picture of Cecile but this isn’t his wife, Grace. I don’t know who this woman is. Never saw her before in my life.”
Why wasn’t I surprised?
Chapter Twenty One
“I’m not even shocked,” I said, as we made our way back to the car. “This whole thing is just one big charade. It’s like Alice in Wonderland. No one is as they seem.” I turned to Flori. “I might lose my mind over this.”
“No, you won’t, Mabel. I won’t let you. You know very well that it’s time to let Reg or Sheriff Jim know what’s going on. It’s up to them to tell that nice Captain. They can solve it. You don’t have to.” She turned to give me one of her motherly looks. “He should really know that the Grace you thought was Grace, really isn’t the Grace you thought she was.”
I settled into the back with the baby-seat and the wrappers.
“There’s only two things that I still want to do before I phone Reg. And, Flori, I will phone Reg afterwards. Let’s go and see if we can find Andrea Williams. We know now that her husband’s name is Ben so that should be easy. Since Ben is a cop, his wife can’t be a crook, can she?”
Stella laughed. “I’ve heard of worse things. Who knows?” She backed out without looking and started down the street. “Here in Yellow Rose lots of cops ain’t what they seem.”
“Well, let’s check her out first. Do we need to get a phone book?”
“No,” Stella said. “Ben and Andrea live on Avenue P ½. Now, you know why he trusted me. He axed where I lived and when I said P ½, he said, ‘Oh, you are neighbors.’ Then, I said, ‘Didn’t they live close to 39th street before?’ and he said, ‘No, I think they’ve always lived at 3602.’ Now what kind of a cop is that dumb, givin’ out personal information like that?”
“Stella,” I said, “you should’ve been a private investigator. You are awesome! I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who could think on their feet like you can.”
In three minutes, we were parked in front of 3602 P ½. Stella’s house was two blocks away.
“So, what do we do now, Mabel?” Flori asked. She was starting to fidget.
It was noon and the sun was right overhead.
3602 was the second house from the corner. It was an older home too, like most in the area. Compared to Cecile’s house, this was a mansion. The yard was neat and there were no shingles dangling from the roof. This was a small brick house, looking sturdy enough to resist any hurricane.
“I suppose,” I said, “I could go up and knock. If it’s the Andrea that I know, I can tell her about Grace. Well, at least, the Grace who was on the trip. The Grace who she thought lived with Cecile. Or, even if she didn’t know about Cecile, she knew where she lived and what her phone number was.”
“Maybe Stella should go with you. You don’t know what you’re getting into. This Andrea person might already know who the real Grace is. She could even be the murderer, Mabel.”
“No, she couldn’t, Flori. She’s the one who phoned Grace while I was in Cecile’s house. Plus, her husband’s a cop. Remember? Don’t worry, I’ll be all right.” I stepped out of the car, not feeling exactly as though I would be all right but putting on a brave face anyway.
There was a little overhang above the door and it provided a bit of shade from the sun. The rain was finished and it was hot and humid now. First, I rang the bell and when no one answered, I knocked. Everything was still and silent. It did seem strange that these two women had lived so close to each other and had never met. Something like that would never have happened in Parson’s Cove. In Parson’s Cove, everyone is your neighbor, even if you wish a few of them weren’t.
As I walked back to the car, Flori was frantically waving her hand as if to say, hurry up.
“What’s the matter?” I asked as soon as I shut the door.
“Mabel,” she said. “There was someone there. We could see the curtains moving. Let’s get out of here. It could be the murderer for all we know.”
I’d never given any thought to the murderer lurking about. After all, we were at a cop’s home. I guess it wasn’t on Stella’s mind either because as soon as Flori mentioned it, she stepped on the gas and left a puff of exhaust on the street.
She turned left and we drove up to the beach road. Before I could mention which hotels I thought we should check out, she pulled in front of a fast food restaurant.
“What are we doing here?”
Flori looked at her watch. “It’s lunchtime, Mabel. We thought we’d grab a quick bite.”
“But, you just finished having your coffee break.”
She nodded. “I know. That was our coffee break. This is our lunch.”
“But I’m still burping up breakfast.”
She turned in the seat to face me. “So, what do you want to do? Do you want to wait in the car?”
“Or,” Stella said, “you can take the car and then come back and pick us up. Do you want to do that?”
“You don’t mind me driving your car?”
“Not at all.” She and Flori waddled into the restaurant and I scooted into the front seat.
It took several minutes to get the seat and mirrors adjusted. Stella said she’d never moved anything since she bought the car twelve years before so everything was a bit stiff.
I really enjoyed working with Flori and Stella but suddenly on my own, I felt like perhaps I could accomplish more. Now, I would only have to worry about myself. There would be no voice from behind saying, “Don’t go there, Mabel.”
The first thing on my to-do list was check the hotels to see if I could find the elusive Mr. Hatcher. What would happen if I met him face to face? What possible reason could I have for coming to a small, unknown city in Texas? Of course, I could show utter shock at seeing him. I mean, why was he here? I could say I’d come to tell Andrea about Grace’s death and had he heard about it?
I was almost hoping I would meet up with him just to see the look on his face.
Most of the hotels were on the street facing the water. There were only three newer ones; the others looked sun-bleached and shabby. I decided to start at the farthest western end and work my way east.
The Gulf Motel was first. The office faced the street and there were twelve rooms hidden behind. There were no cars anywhere and the only movement was a housekeeper moving her laundry cart from room 8 to room 9. She stopped in between to take a long drag off her cigarette and knock the ashes off.
It
was hard to imagine him staying in a place like this; especially after that grand hotel in Las Vegas. However, since Hatcher was obviously a crook and/or murderer, this might be the sort of place he’d hide out in.
Before I went into the office, I pulled out my pictures and selected the one of Grace (I had to keep calling her that so I wouldn't be completely confused. Or, more confused that I already was) and Mr. Hatcher.
The office was small and crowded with an over-sized couch, chair, and giant television. The air was thick with a mixture of garlic and curry. Mostly curry. It stung my eyes. The man behind the desk was short, dark, and greasy looking but extremely friendly.
He stood up the moment the door opened.
“Yes, miss. What can I do for you? You would like a room? We have very good prices. Very clean rooms. How long would you like to stay?”
“No, no, thank you. I don’t want a room.”
“Well, what you want then? I am busy. I do not want to buy anything, thank you very much.”
“No, I’m not selling anything.” I held up the picture. “I’d just like to know if you’ve ever seen these two people.” I walked over and laid the picture on the counter. “Either one. Have you ever seen this man or this woman?”
Without looking down, he said, “No, these people have never stayed in my motel.”
“But you didn’t even look.” I held the picture in front of his eyes. “Now, can you say that?”
“I have told you, these people have never stayed in my motel. I do not keep criminals here. This is a place for families, not criminals.”
“I didn’t say these were criminals. I’m trying to locate them because someone has died and I need to notify them. Look at the pictures. Have you ever seen them?”
Finally, his eyes rested on the photo. He squinted as if trying to remember.
“Perhaps, I’ve seen the woman, but not the man. I have never seen this man before.”
“Do you remember where you saw the woman? Does she live around here?”
He shrugged. “I said that maybe I’ve seen this woman. She looks a little familiar, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t know for sure.”
On the way out, I stopped and showed the picture to the housekeeper. She studied it for a moment, took a drag off her cigarette, blew smoke out the side of her mouth, which blew back into my face, and said, “Kind of looks like someone I seen. What’d you say her name was again?”
“Grace Hobbs.”
She shrugged. “No, I never heard of anyone by that name. She kinda looks like that Williams woman who lives on P ½.”
“Well, kind of, but no, this is Grace Hobbs. You know Andrea Williams?”
She shook her head. “Nah. Not personal like. Somebody pointed her out to me one day, that’s all. I gotta get back to work now.” She took another drag, blew the smoke straight out in my direction, threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. I turned and stomped out of there. This gal knew more than she was telling me.
I made less headway with the next three hotels. If any of them did recognize Grace or Mr. Hatcher, they definitely weren’t going to tell me.
By the time, I hit the fifth place, I was ready to call it quits. Besides, it was almost time to pick up the women. I’m sure they would be anxious to leave. After all, no one wants to sit in a fast food restaurant longer than one has to. Well, maybe I shouldn’t speak for Flori and Stella.
This was one of the newer hotels and the last one I was going to visit. There were several cars in the parking lot. There were a couple of black newer models. Could it be Hatcher and the other man?
I knew by the startled look on her face that the young blonde-haired woman behind the desk recognized at least one of them.
“Do you know these people?” I asked.
She nodded. “They were both in here awhile back.”
“Really? When was that?”
“Oh, maybe a week or two ago. Can’t say for sure.” She smiled very sweetly, showing off a row of perfect white teeth. “I can’t remember everyone but I do remember them.” She rolled her eyes and snapped her gum.
“Oh? How come you remember them?”
“What are you, a cop or something?”
I laughed. “Are you kidding? Do I look like one?”
She grinned. “No, you look kind of old to be one but you never know.”
I let that one slide. “Actually, I’m trying to find Mr. Hatcher. The woman beside him in this picture is dead. I thought he should know.”
She grabbed the picture again. “She’s dead? What happened?”
“Well, I might as well tell you - she was murdered.”
Her eyes got big. She blew a large bubble with her gum, sucked it into the back of her throat, and snapped it.
“Wow,” she said. “Did that Mr. Hatcher kill her?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe her husband did.”
She scowled. “Her husband?”
“Well, I’m not sure on that one. Someone already told me that she isn’t his wife. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure who anyone is anymore.”
“Who’s her husband?”
“Maybe a man named, Cecile Tucker?”
She looked down at the picture again. “Well, I can tell you for sure, that’s not Cecile’s wife.”
“You know Cecile’s wife?”
“Sure and that’s not her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Cecile’s wife? Her name's Grace but that’s not Grace Tucker.” She shrugged. “Unless, Cecile’s got two wives.” She grinned. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot!”
“That would be a hoot, wouldn’t it? What does she look like?”
“Who?”
“Grace Tucker, I guess. Cecile Tucker’s wife.”
She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Kind of plain. Sort of dirty blond hair. A little overweight.”
“I know; like almost every other woman in Texas.”
“Pretty much. So, how was this woman killed?”
I pointed to my forehead. “Bullet, right there.”
“Shut up!” She blew another bubble, sucked it in and snapped it.
“Can you tell me now why you remember these two in particular? What did they do?”
“I was going to say that they caused a ruckus but, it was more, you know, one of those silent deadly fights. Started in the restaurant, over there, and worked its way out to the parking lot. I had the feeling they were both trying hard not to attract too much attention.”
“So, how did you notice them then? I mean, if they were arguing quietly, they could’ve been talking, couldn’t they?”
She shook her head and laughed. “Not those two. You should’ve seen the looks. Anyway, we were waiting for one of them to pull out a gun.”
“Shut up! What happened then?”
“Mr. Sloan, that’s my boss, went out and said he was going to call the cops if they didn’t leave. They each jumped in their car and drove away.”
“Really? That’s very interesting. So, Hatcher knew Grace before the Las Vegas trip.” I tried not to show any excitement. If she thought I’d completely lost my mind, she didn’t show it. I reached across the counter and touched her arm. “What’s your name?” I asked.
She pointed to her nametag. “Cindy Sue.”
“Cindy Sue, can you think of anything else you could tell me about these two?”
She squinted. “You’re sure you’re not a cop?”
“Would it make any difference if I were?”
“Maybe. I drive.”
“That’s illegal in Texas?”
“No license.”
“Well, I suppose that could be a problem. However, not my worry at all. Now, can you think of anything else?”
After several bubbles and snaps, she said, “There is one thing.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you but you have to promise not to tell my boss. If he finds out, I’ll lose my job. You promise you won’t say anything?”
“
Cindy Sue, my lips are sealed; all I’m interested in is finding out who killed Grace Hobbs or Andrea or whatever her name is. Or was.”
She leaned forward. “Well, I actually saw them earlier. You know, before they had the argument in the restaurant. I was in the closet where the cleaning supplies are, sneaking a smoke, when they came out of their room.”
“They had a room together?”
“Yep. Well, I mean, they came out of it together. I assumed they were a couple.” She looked around. “I can bring up the date and room number if you’d like.”
“I’d like that.” I wasn’t sure what good the info would be but you never know until you've heard it.
“You know I’d get fired for this, right?”
“I’m not going to tell a soul. I mean it.”
She plunked down in front of the computer and in a couple of minutes, smiled.
“I’ll write it down for you. And also what I heard them talking about,” she added. “When I’m finished,” she whispered, “maybe you’d better go, in case someone starts wondering what we’re up to.”
I nodded. “Good idea, Cindy Sue.”
An elderly couple came in, each pulling a small suitcase on wheels, and stood behind me.
She scribbled on a page of hotel stationery for a few minutes, folded it, and handed it to me.
“Here, you are, Mrs. Smith,” she said, in a loud voice. “This is the information you wanted about our hotel. We’d love to have you come and stay with us.”
I took the paper. “And, I would love to come and stay here,” I replied with a matching voice. “Thank you so much.” In a whisper, I said, “I’m staying at the Firebird Motel. If you think of anything else, call me. Room 301.”
I smiled at the couple. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay here.”
As I walked out to the car, I felt good, knowing there were other kindred spirits out there. Cindy Sue was just a younger version of me, younger and more hip; I never could snap my gum like that.
When I reached the restaurant, Flori and Stella were waiting in front, leaning against the wall. Flori’s nose was taking on a nice red hue. Beads of sweat were dripping off Stella’s forehead and forming little streams down her cheeks.
Mabel, Murder, & Muffins Page 12
