The Hotel

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “Emily, you said you followed him to the motel last night. Didn’t you just confront him on the spot?”

  “No, I rented the room next to his.”

  “Why? Why didn’t you just confront him?”

  “I don’t know, Mother. In hindsight, I should have. But by the time I turned my car around, he was already in the room. Then I got it in my head that he’d see me knocking on the door, put his clothes on and then lie about why he was there. I just thought I’d listen through the walls to confirm for myself before being conned into believing some story he made up.” I paused. “Plus, I was really angry and thought I might...”

  “Might what? Get drunk and kill him!” She was looking at me like she thought I’d killed Greg, and then drank it off.

  “I didn’t kill him,” I yelled, though I had no memory of eating those snacks, or going for that 3 Musketeers bar. But I wouldn’t have killed Greg. I wouldn’t have.

  “Well, if he was dead, how did you get in the room to see him like that?”

  My own mother suspected me. What chance did I have against the police?

  “Early this morning, I woke up ... yes from a drunken stupor ... and went outside to get some fresh air and I found his door cracked open. So, I went in and found him like that.”

  She was quiet again for a long time. Then she finally said, “How far in did you go? You said you saw him from across the room.”

  My eyes squeezed shut and slowly opened. “All the way. I even went to the bathroom and hurled.”

  “My God,” she murmured low under her breath. “Then your DNA is in there.”

  “Yes. I tried to clean everything up and wipe stuff down. But you know how it is.” I swallowed hard, remembering I had unwrapped the soap and left the paper in the trash can. It would be the first piece of evidence to have my fingerprints on it. When I told my mother, I thought she was going to vapor lock.

  “Oh, Emily, you’re going to be the number one suspect. Do you think the girl killed him? Who was he with? You need to be able to point the finger at someone.”

  “I don’t know for sure, but he told me he was going to a 3-day seminar in Vegas with Taylor Anderson.” I explained who she was and that they were planning to stay in the same room.

  “Well, you need to find out. Whoever he was with either killed him or knows who did.”

  I nodded, a grim expression on my face.

  ◆◆◆

  After talking about the situation at great length, my mother suggested for me to get cleaned up, put something substantive on my stomach and go find out more about Taylor Anderson.

  After taking a shower, my mother presented me with the clothes she had snatched up at Twice Blessed. “Put something nice on,” she suggested. “Maybe you’ll feel better and at least you’ll look nice.”

  Going through the clothing, I selected a light gray Armani pantsuit and paired it with a soft pink blouse. After forcing down half a chicken salad sandwich, my mother wished me good luck and sent me out the door to dig into Taylor Anderson.

  “Emily,” she called out to me, “don’t try and call Greg.”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to me ... considering he was murdered. “I don’t know Mom. Won’t it look more suspicious if I don’t try and call him? I’m not supposed to know he’s dead. Normally if I hadn’t heard from him, I’d be calling to make sure everything was okay,” I pointed out.

  She shrugged. “I was thinking, when the police examine your phone — which we know they will — it’s already going to register on a cell tower near the motel. When they interview the lady running the hotel, she’s going to remember you. And when they check the ATM, which is only a few blocks away, the cameras will have captured your image. The night clerk is going to remember you too, and two of the guests saw you there ... one a private investigator, for God’s sake. Your DNA is everywhere. And if that’s not enough, the two of you had a fight about him going to the seminar and you slept the night in Ava’s room. It won’t look good for you to call him. It’ll be perceived as trying to create an alibi. It might make things worse ... worse than they already are.”

  Everything she said sounded so awful. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I agreed. “Besides, I don’t need an unanswered phone ringing in that motel room right now. Greg’s not going to pick up and there’s no need to leave a message.”

  “Emily, just be careful.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  How? How could I be careful? I didn’t know the first thing about hunting down a real murderer. I couldn’t believe the mess I was in. It was bad enough that Greg was dead. That alone was enough to have my guts ripped apart inside. But adding to the weight, I was certainly a person of interest, and possibly the number one murder suspect. My actions made me look guilty as hell, even down to the point of finding Greg and instead of calling the police, I’d come to my mother’s house and taken a shower. It looked like I’d cleaned myself up after bludgeoning my husband to death.

  Tracking down a killer wasn’t my forte and I had little idea about how to go about the task at hand. Unfortunately, I didn’t have Taylor Anderson’s phone number and the only thing I could think of was to go downtown to the District Attorney’s Office. Maybe someone who worked there knew something about Greg and Taylor or would at least be able to point me in the right direction.

  When I came to a stop in the parking lot, I looked up at the multi-storied, tan-bricked building where Greg worked ... where Greg used to work. I wanted to be mad at Greg for lying to me. For cheating on me. For getting himself killed. I know I said that stuff last night about wanting to kill him, but I didn’t mean it. I loved Greg. I still loved Greg. Probably if I would’ve confronted him last night, I would’ve begged him to come home and tried to get us into marriage counseling. None of this made sense to me. That place was so unlike my husband. My mother was right. What was he doing there? And it didn’t fit for Taylor Anderson to be there either. Though I’d never met her, I remembered how cute she was dressed last Sunday when Greg stopped by her house to pick up a file. Her hair was fixed, and she was wearing makeup. Why would she be in that nasty motel?

  After entering through a glass door and going through security, I approached a counter with a speakeasy and explained to a receptionist why I was there. “I need to speak to Taylor Anderson, please.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” the young attractive blonde asked. I wondered if Greg had noticed her. She was very eye-catching.

  “No, but it’s very pressing. I’ll wait if I need to.”

  “Please present your identification,” she requested. Pulling out my driver’s license and handing it to her, her expression softened. “Are you Greg Mills’ wife?”

  “Yes, I am,” I acknowledged. Was, I was Greg’s wife.

  “Well, let me see what I can find out for you. Please have a seat.” She passed my credentials back and pointed to a seating arrangement of cheap plastic black chairs and I made my way over to one of them. From a distance I saw her mashing some buttons on a phone and then speaking into it. “Someone will be right with you,” she reported.

  Anxiously I waited, wondering several things. If there really was a seminar, was Taylor in Vegas and Greg had been with someone else? Or had both Taylor and Greg pretended to go to the seminar, and she ended up killing Greg? Perhaps her husband found out and he came to the hotel and killed Greg. On the other hand, Greg may have completely lied about the seminar and used it as a cover-up to play around with his girlfriend for the three days. If so, Taylor might walk through that door and what would I say to her? For that matter, I didn’t know what I was going to say to whoever did come to speak with me.

  It seemed to be taking a long time for someone to be right with me. But finally, a gorgeous brunette with bright blue eyes opened a wooden door and took a few steps in. “Mrs. Mills,” she said calling to me. I wondered if Greg noticed her too. Goodness, a lot of pretty girls worked here. No wonder my husband had found multiple excuses to work late.


  She crossed the room and introduced herself. “I’m Julie, Julie Henderson. I’m Taylor and Greg’s secretary. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Julie gushed as we both slipped into plastic chairs beside each other. “I’ve heard so many good things about you. And Greg goes on and on all the time about Ava, your beautiful daughter.”

  She threw me for a loop. I assumed, if Greg was having an affair with Taylor, he wouldn’t have mentioned anything about me, unless, of course, it was negatively. Or maybe he only mentioned us to put up a smokescreen.

  “Well thank you, Julie,” I said when a pause between us seemed too long. “I was really hoping to speak directly with Taylor Anderson, if I might.”

  She looked slightly puzzled. “Well, I’m sure you know Greg is away at a seminar. Several of the attorneys went as well, Taylor included. Perhaps I can help you.”

  So, there really was a seminar. Greg didn’t go. Did Taylor? “Well, uh.” I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Should I boldly ask about their relationship? What did it matter at this point? Greg was dead. When word spread around, mouths would by flying anyway. Even so, I felt the need to sugarcoat the situation. “Well, I was extremely concerned about Greg’s arrival. I never received a call from him, and he hasn’t returned my calls. I’m scared to death something horrible happened. I wondered if possibly his flight was delayed or canceled, or something. I didn’t have Taylor’s phone number, or anyone’s for that matter. So, I came down here, hoping to find out something.” I gave her my best worried look.

  “Oh, my goodness. Well, I can completely understand your situation. For sure Taylor arrived. I spoke with him earlier this morning. Let me give Greg a call. If he’s in a seminar, he might not be answering his phone. But if the call is from the D.A.’s office, he might think it’s an emergency and pick up.” She was carrying a phone in her hand and began punching numbers before I could say anything. And she did it fast, like she had him in her list of favorites, which I supposed would be normal for a secretary.

  I watched, dumbfounded, as she switched the phone over to speaker and it continued to ring. She frowned. “It doesn’t look like he’s going to answer.” The voice mail kicked in. “Greg, this is Julie. Please give me a call when you get this message.” A worried expression formed on her face. “Gosh, I don’t know what to tell you. I’ll keep trying on my end and if you hear from him, please let me know.” She gave me her number and I punched it into my contacts, noticing my battery was extremely low.

  “Thank you for trying.” Then something hit me. “When you mentioned speaking earlier this morning to Taylor, I thought I heard you say, ‘him.’”

  “Yes, of course ... Mr. Anderson, correct?”

  My eyes grew to large proportions. “I thought Taylor Anderson was a woman.”

  She screwed up her face. “Why on earth would you think that? Mr. Anderson is of medium height, slightly chunky around the middle and his black hair is beginning to gray. I don’t think you could possibly mistake him for a woman.”

  “No, I saw her,” I argued. “She’s a tall, slender, gorgeous blonde.”

  She shook her head. “No, you’re describing Chris. Taylor’s wife.”

  You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. It never occurred to me for Greg to have been talking to Chris the day he picked up the file. When I had repeatedly tested him about Taylor’s gender, he hadn’t corrected me because I had it all wrong. Taylor was a man. I only thought the woman he was talking to was Taylor. Instead, it was Chris, Taylor’s wife. Greg wasn’t having an affair with Taylor. My heart felt a huge relief, which lasted for a millisecond. Because Greg was still having an affair, but who with?

  Chris had been close enough to him while he was inside the house for him to come back to the car smelling of her perfume. Was he having an affair with Chris? While Taylor was away at the seminar, had Greg stayed here to have his tryst with Taylor’s wife? But why wouldn’t they have just used her house?

  “Did you really think Taylor was a woman?” Julie asked when she saw a perplexed look on my face. Then she quickly added two and two together. “You didn’t think Greg was having an affair with someone, did you?”

  I frowned. “Yes, I had it in my mind that Taylor was a woman and when Greg said they were sharing a room ... well, I jumped to conclusions.”

  “Oh, no. You see, Greg wasn’t planning on going to the seminar. He was planning to take online continuing education. It was Taylor who pushed him into going. By the time Taylor talked him into it, there weren’t any other rooms available. That’s when they agreed to share a room.” She looked relieved. “You don’t have anything to worry about with Greg. When he first started working here, there was a girl, Tracy Williams, who put some moves on him. He shut her down right away. He’s made it extremely clear to everyone that he’s only interested in you. When it comes to cheating husbands, Greg is not on that list.”

  With great effort, I nodded. Because little did she know, my husband was dead in a motel, after cheating on me. “Well, that’s such a relief. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about then.” I paused. “In fact, if you speak with Greg, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about my unfounded suspicions. I’m rather embarrassed about my accusations and would just as soon keep this conversation between the two of us. You know what I mean?”

  “Of course, I certainly wouldn’t want to stir up trouble between you two,” she said with an understanding nod. “I’m sure he’ll give you a call as soon as he’s out of his seminar anyway.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he will. It seems I was panicked over nothing.” I feigned a smile. Greg couldn’t possibly give her call, considering he was dead. But I didn’t want his phone ringing in that hotel room because she was periodically calling him. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Yes, anytime. And it was nice meeting you.”

  “You, too.”

  ◆◆◆

  A blazing sun beat down on my face as my feet quickly carried me to the car. Inside I cranked the engine, turned up the a/c and stared out the front windshield. I wanted to be overjoyed that Greg hadn’t lied about Taylor’s gender. That everything he had inferred had turned out to be the truth. Taylor was, in fact, a man. But what did it mean for Greg’s murderer? Could it be that he was interested in Taylor’s wife, Chris? Was it still the same person I thought it was, but simply with a different name? Chris, not Taylor. There was only one way to find out. Confront Chris and hope if she was a murderer, she didn’t kill me too.

  Driving across town, I zigzagged up and down a few streets until coming to a stop a few houses down from Chris’ house, the place where Greg had picked up the file on the day of our picnic. From my parked position, I spied two cars in the driveway. Neither was a white Nissan Altima or a blue Ford Focus, the cars parked on either side of Greg’s car at the motel. In hindsight, I should’ve taken a photo of every car in the parking lot, including the license plate. At the time, I assumed Greg had brought his lover to the hotel with him. But what if one of those cars had been parked there by his murderer? With that in mind, I inched the car forward and took photos of the two cars in Chris’ driveway, just in case I might later somehow be able to place one, or both, at the motel.

  Suddenly, the front door opened and out stepped Chris and an older couple. It reminded me that Greg had said something about the in-laws coming to stay for a week and Taylor was mad about it. It made more sense that the wife’s parents were coming for a stay and the husband, upset about his unwelcome guests, decided a seminar in Vegas was a good way to ditch the situation. I wished now, I would’ve just pushed the conversation with Greg, instead of making so many assumptions. Now he was dead and so many things remained unsaid and unresolved.

  My first instinct was to punch the gas and get out the neighborhood. But hadn’t I come here to ask if Chris was having an affair with Greg? But then again, it seemed ridiculous to ask. After all, if they were carrying on an affair, quite likely, she either killed Greg, or knew who did. I scrutinized the old
er male, whom I assumed was her father. He looked to be in his late fifties with a military-styled haircut. He appeared to be in good shape too. Then again, how much strength did it really take to sneak up on a sleeping person and smash their face in and shatter their skull?

  The mother was thin, like Chris, and her gray hair had a short-bobbed hairstyle. She was wearing a dark gray dress falling below her knees and she walked slightly bent forward, with her head down.

  Chris was wearing a lovely pale pink sundress and white sandals. Her blonde hair was piled into a messy bun and she looked stunning. Not at all like she’d had sex with my husband in a sleazy motel, bashed his head in, and then returned home to entertain her folks. Then again, if her parents were staying here, yet Taylor was out of town, maybe they felt forced to take advantage of the situation, a night of unencumbered romance with no inquisitive spouses.

  While I had been lost in my thoughts, the three of them had spotted me. The dad had stepped into the street and was approaching my car. I felt trapped and, at this point, ignoring them would have been too rude.

  “Are you lost?” he asked from a short distance away.

  I rolled my window down in an effort to clearly hear him. “I was looking for Chris Anderson?” I might as well own it, at least see if she acted guilty. I needed someone to point the finger at before the police decided I was responsible.

  “I’m her father, Carlton.”

  “Emily Mills,” I returned.

  “Chris, hon, there’s an Emily Mills here to see you.”

  “Emily ... Emily Mills.” She rolled the name around in her head, clearly not immediately associating my name as being Greg’s wife. Then it occurred to her. “Oh, is she Greg’s wife?”

  The father turned and looked at me. “Are you Greg Mills’ wife?”

  “Yes I am. Do you think I could have just a few moments to speak with your daughter?”

  He sighed. “Well, we were just leaving to pick up Jacob from school and then we were going out to dinner. But a few minutes shouldn’t be much of a delay.”