Chapter 7

The mist was starting to lift as Lane merged onto I-35 from I-29. Between the shedding branches along the highway, houses and towns peeked through. When he’d first moved to Missouri years ago, it had been spring and the trees were thick and leafy. He’d wondered where Missourians kept their cities and towns because, along the highways, there was nothing but trees. As the leaves had started to fall, he’d realized the towns were there, just hidden behind the thickly blanketed branches.

Lane dialed the cell number he’d gotten for Murray Bay, the single guest at the inn.

“Yes?” Bay answered, sounding wary.

“Mr. Bay?”

“Speaking. Who’s this?”

“Detective Brody with the KCPD. I wondered if I could take a few moments of your time. I have some questions.”

“Questions about what?” More wary.

“It has to do with a homicide.”

“Homicide? I know nothing about a homicide. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Please, Mr. Bay. It will only take a few minutes. Can I come to where you are now?”

A put-out sigh. “Yeah. I guess. I’m at the office but was just heading to lunch. Meet me at Ressler’s Grill. You know it?”

“I do. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Lane hoped Bay was more forthcoming than Monroe Donovan had been. It rankled that she hadn’t told him Detweiler was in town. In fact, he felt betrayed, which was absurd. Donovan was nothing more than a witness. A witness who’d withheld information. Wasn’t like it hadn’t happened a thousand times before. Trust was something he couldn’t expect as a cop and hadn’t. Until now. Normally, he didn’t let the two mix, and starting to with Donovan made him feel uneasy.

The restaurant was packed, but the hostess led Lane to where Bay was seated at a corner table. He had already gotten his food and was eating. He stood, still chewing, and shook Lane’s hand, indicating a chair across the table from him. Lane sat and ordered an iced tea when the waitress came around.

Murray Bay was around fifty, fleshy, with graying hair that was thick everywhere except for a spot right on his crown.

Lane pulled his notebook out and flipped it open as Bay continued to shovel bites of a club sandwich and french fries into his mouth.

“I understand you were a guest at the Highland Lily Bed and Breakfast on Thursday, October twenty-third,” Lane said.

Bay stopped eating and his eyes went to stone for a brief moment. He slowly resumed chewing and swallowed, then took a sip from his tea before responding. “What’s this about?”

“We’re investigating a homicide. The night desk clerk at the bed and breakfast.”

“I know nothing about any murder, like I told you on the phone.”

“We’re speaking to all the guests. Just trying to learn if anyone saw something that might aid in our investigation. You were there that night, so…”

“Why do you think I was there?”

“I don’t think it. I know it. I need you to tell me if you saw anything unusual that night.”

Bay pushed his plate aside, even though he’d only eaten half his sandwich. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with an index finger and briefly shut his eyes. When he opened them, they looked afraid.

“Yes. I stayed there. No, I didn’t see anything unusual.”

“Were you awake at around ten-thirty or eleven p.m.?”

His gaze shifted to a point somewhere to his right as he answered. “No. No, I don’t think so. I really don’t remember what time I went to bed.”

“Who stayed in the room with you?”

“No one.” A quick head shake. “My wife was out of the country.”

“You were at a bed and breakfast alone?”

“Alone.” His chin jutted out. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

As he spoke, he picked up a french fry and used it to poke at the others on his plate. Lane noticed that the french fry trembled slightly.

“I just find it a bit out of the ordinary that a man would check into a bed and breakfast, one within five or ten miles of his home, alone. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Not really. I wanted a little peace and quiet.”

“Who lives in the house with you and your wife?”

“No one. Our children are grown.”

“You said your wife was out of the country. Sounds like you could have found plenty of peace and quiet at home.”

The french fry gouging stopped. Bay moved the plate away and twisted his hands together on top of the table. “You have your way of relaxing, Detective. I have mine. Free country, right?”

Okay, so he wasn’t any more honest than Monroe Donovan.

“Mr. Bay, we’re not interested in your personal life as a matter of idle curiosity. This is a murder investigation, and I need some straight answers. If you’re cheating on your wife, that’s your business.” He wanted to add, ‘Although it does make you an asshole,’ but antagonizing a witness wasn’t the way to gain cooperation. “We’ll do our best to keep your personal life out of this, but I need you to be straight with me.”

Bay flinched and once more looked away, this time at his white knuckles.

“I’m not seeing another woman,” he said, slowly enunciating each word.

“So, you were alone when you checked in.”

“I was.”

“Did you speak with Mr. Hebringer?”

“Only briefly. You know. Checking in.”

“Did he seem nervous to you? Afraid? Anything about him you can recall that seemed out of the ordinary?”

“No, nothing. I don’t know the guy. I’ve just seen him when I’ve—” He gulped, his eyes widening.

“So you’ve stayed there before?”

Bay looked like he wanted to snatch the words back out of the air.

“I’ve stayed there a couple of times.”

“Alone?”

Bay nodded jerkily.

“Mr. Bay, being totally truthful with me is very important. I’m not trying to ruin you, but I will dig up whatever I can find. It might be better if you were honest with me now so my digging doesn’t toss any unnecessary dirt on you.”

His jaw went slack, and his face paled. He slumped in his chair, his voice subdued when he spoke. “When I met Althea, I was working in one of her father’s warehouses. I lived in an efficiency apartment and drove a fifteen-year-old car. I still couldn’t make the bills most months. To this day, I don’t know why Althea fell in love with me. We were married a few months after we met, and I haven’t wanted for anything, material-wise, since.”

He was silent for a moment. So was Lane.

“We had two children together and three grandchildren,” Bay continued. “Still, after all these years, Althea holds the power. The financial power. One wrong step, and I’m that guy in the warehouse again, only now I know what it’s like to not be that guy. And I can’t go back to that. Won’t go back to it.”

Lane waited, wondering if Bay had him mixed up with a shrink.

Bay lifted his head and stared wearily at Lane. “I spent the night alone, Detective Brody. And that’s my final answer.”

****

Back in his car, Lane called Webber. “You get anything from your couple?”

“Not a thing. They stayed holed up in their room. Saw Hebringer at check-in, but not after that. Heard nothing, saw nothing. You know, like Sergeant Schultz of Hogan’s Heroes.”

“Yeah, same here. Only my guy is lying. Clearly, he was not there alone.”

“You’re not buyin’ what he’s sellin?’”

“Would you check into a bed and breakfast, alone, when your wife was out of the country?” Lane tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and stared out the car window where people were passing by, hurrying quickly along the sidewalks, heads ducked against the biting wind.

“Ex-wife, now,” Tony corrected. “But, when I was married? No way. Me and Rosie Palm and her five sisters would be hangin’ at the house.”

“Exactly. You know how it goes. Everyone has something to hide.”

“Yep,” Tony said. “That’s about all we run into. Crooks and liars.”

“Can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one.”

“So, you think he was with another woman?”

Lane considered for a minute. “I think he was with another somebody.”

“Hmmm. Switch hitter, huh?”

“Just a guess. But he only said he wasn’t seeing another woman.”

“Curiouser and curiouser. The mom’s plane is due to arrive this evening. I’ll pick her up at the airport. If you want to talk to her, you can meet us at the station.”

Lane started the car and pulled out onto the street. “I might do that, if I can get loose. I’m going to do some more digging into Bay’s story.”

“Sounds like a plan. Later, Huck.”

****

I drove toward the theater at Legends, feeling a little pathetic for going to the movies alone on a Tuesday afternoon. But, I was worried about Josie, feeling restless, and not really in the mood for company. Besides, everyone I knew was at work, not playing hooky as I was. I also felt like a sloth for blowing off the job search, but my heart wasn’t in it. To keep from feeling totally worthless, I’d called the Star and left a message for my old boss. He was on vacation and wouldn’t be back for two weeks. I was sure he’d call when he returned, and I’d ask him if he had anything for me. That was sort of like job hunting.

“Suspicious Minds” by Elvis came on the radio and I turned it up, feeling my spirits lift. I had inadvertently become an Elvis fan in college while doing a paper on the impact of celebrities on society. Whether or not one appreciated Elvis’ talent, there was no denying he was a phenomenon, the likes of which had never been seen before and would probably never be seen again. Not only did I find I loved his music, I’d discovered why he had the impact he had. He had this boyish, southern charm, but at the same time, a deeply embedded raw sexuality that was powerful and intoxicating. It was fortunate that he only used that power for entertainment. If he’d been a terrorist or a cult leader, he could have easily taken over the world. I was only six when he died, a few years younger than his daughter. Had I been ten years older, I was certain I’d have been a part of the frenzied, screaming masses, fainting and tossing my panties up on stage.

I was still irked over Adam’s invasion of my cabin, but my anger had dulled some, and I was once more on the ‘worry about Josie’ band-wagon. I knew I should stop, but I couldn’t make myself do it. It was worse this time, like some sixth sense was telling me something was wrong.

Had Matt done something to her because he feared she’d spoken to the police? Had she disappeared this time because she did know something about the murder? If so, I let her slip away without learning what she knew, without making sure she answered the detectives’ questions. At best, I’d impeded an investigation. At worst, I’d endangered Josie’s life.

Detective Brody hadn’t been pleased with me. His suspicion, his distrust, was evident in his eyes when he’d stood in my living room, looking at me as though I were Mata Hari incarnate. That bothered me a little more than it should. He bothered me a little more than he should.

I took the State Road exit and curved around toward the mall. I was pulling into the parking lot when a familiar figure coming out of McDonald’s caught my eye. Tall. Reddish-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Threadbare jeans and a Harley jacket.

Matt.

He was getting into a silver Nissan. I peered at the rear of the car, trying to catch the tag number, but I was too far away to make it out.

Keeping one eye on the direction the car went and one eye on my driving, I rummaged in my purse for my cell phone.

I located the phone and Detective Brody’s card at the same time, then found a parking spot. I dialed Brody’s number as I walked alongside the mall shops toward the theater.

****

Garrett Ramirez inhaled deeply, ecstatically. Of all his vices, he would have to say smoking crack was his fave. Screwing a married man was probably second, simply because it was verboten, but crack definitely beat tapping Murray’s flabby ass.

Crack. He giggled. Technically, they were both crack.

He curled his nose as the unpleasant odor of the street people leaning beside him against the building wafted to him. One of the dudes had spittle hanging from his mouth and a slut with filthy clothing and canker sores kept scratching at her crotch. Disgusting, the company you had to keep when indulging in secretive, illegal, pleasures.

Ah, but the lovely, lovely crack.

The low hum of a car caught his attention. A cop. Cruising slowly by. Garrett quickly slid the pipe behind his back.

Was the cop maybe looking for him? Did he want to question him about the dude at the B and B who bought it? That couldn’t be it. No one knew he’d seen anything.

A little shiver of fear and excitement trickled through him. Did what he’d seen have anything to do with the murder? Oh—my—God. He bet it did. He felt his penis start to tingle. Delicious.

“I witnessed a murder,” he blurted, not realizing he was going to speak until he had. The chick with the mouth sores lifted her head and almost focused on him, her eyes rounding a little in curiosity. The others acted as though he’d said, “I ate a jelly sandwich for lunch.”

Now that the cat was out of the bag, he felt an intense, overwhelming compulsion to talk. No matter that what he said was filled with half-truths and exaggeration. He had a captive audience, one that was unlikely to go to the cops and, even if they did, so what? Murray was the one who insisted their affair be kept secret. He didn’t give a flying rat’s ass, other than that it might end the goodies he received from Murray. Might put a kibosh on the bling. Oh well, there were plenty of fish in the ocean. Or whales in Murray’s case.

“It was Thursday night, and I was at the Highland Lily Bed and Breakfast.” The chick was still the only one looking at him. One of the guys was picking something imaginary off his jacket sleeve. The other two were leaning against the side of the building, eyes closed. Okay, so a captive audience of one. What the F, an audience was an audience.

“I saw the desk clerk taking the trash out when I went outside for a smoke.” That part was true. The guy hadn’t seen him, and Garrett was going to call out to him. The desk clerk was smoking, too, and he thought they might bond. Besides, he was cute. But Garrett’s cell had vibrated. Murray had woken up, wondering where Garrett had gone, demanding he come back to the room. Garrett headed back, but before he went inside, he thought he saw another figure moving in the darkness out on the grounds. He didn’t stick around to find out. Then, he heard about the guy getting killed, and he just knew the person he’d seen had to be the killer.

“He was heading for the dumpster when these two men came up behind him and grabbed him.” He didn’t really see that part, but he figured most of the time, two people were involved in crimes. “One of them had a gun. The desk clerk started begging, and the one guy stuck the gun right in his mouth.”

Garrett sucked on the crack pipe, long and hard. Another chick, this one a little cleaner and better-looking than the first, wandered up, wordlessly reaching out for the pipe. Garrett handed it to her and inwardly smiled. Now, an audience of two.

Yes.

This was so double-d-licious.

****

“Detective Brody,” a husky voice answered.

My mouth went dry, and my stomach tightened. For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

“Yes. Sorry. It’s Monroe Donovan.”

Silence, then, “What can I do for you Miss Donovan?” His tone was reserved, bordering on unfriendly.

“I saw Matt. He got into a car. A silver Nissan.”

“Where? Did you get a tag number?” Now there was interest.

“No. I couldn’t get a good look at the tag. I saw him leaving from the McDonald’s at Legends.”

“Did you see which way he headed?”

“He was heading toward 435. I don’t know which direction he went, or if he even took the highway.”

I retraced my steps, deciding against the movie. I was no longer in the mood. I made my way back to the parking lot, phone pressed to my ear.

“I appreciate the information. We’ll put out an APB on the Nissan, but it’s not much to go on.”

“I know. I just thought I should tell you.”

“Yeah.” Unspoken were the words, like you should have told us Josie was in town. “Have you talked to your friend again?”

“No. I’m sorry. I wish I could find her, too. I’m worried about her.”

“You should be. She’s running with a rough crowd if she’s seeing Matt Lovell.”

I was now on the sidewalk near the Holiday Inn that shared a parking lot with the mall. A taxi pulled up and my brother, Coburn, emerged. I wanted to call out to him, but didn’t want to shout in Brody’s ear. His opinion of me was low enough as it was.

I picked up my pace, heading toward the taxi. Maybe Coburn was having lunch at the restaurant in the hotel. I could join him, get a free meal, and the day wouldn’t be a total waste.

I lifted my hand to wave, but he didn’t notice me. I hurried toward him, continuing my conversation with Brody. “I know she’s running with a rough crowd. I’ve always worried about her. Especially now. With the murder and all.”

“I don’t think it has a lot to do with your friend. Her boyfriend is only wanted for questioning as a witness.”

“I hope that’s all it is.”

When I was perhaps fifteen feet away, another taxi pulled up behind Coburn’s and stopped. Coburn went to the door and, opening it, he bent inside. A woman stepped out, her hand holding onto Coburn’s. The hair was silvery blonde, not the red tresses of my sister-in-law. I watched as the two of them shared a passionate kiss before disappearing inside the hotel.

I halted in stunned amazement, then realized Brody was speaking.

“I’m sorry,” I said, shock making my voice breathy and strained.

“Is everything okay?” Brody asked.

It took me a few seconds to answer. “Yes. Fine. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.” I said goodbye and ended the call. My mind was a cauldron of turmoil. Coburn was having an affair.

His wife was pregnant with their first child, and my flawless, saintly brother was screwing another woman.

****

“How are you feeling?” Adam asked me on Wednesday morning. He seemed exasperated. I was certain he was more angry at me for missing work than he was concerned about my health.

“Better,” I said shortly, not sure if I wanted to confront him about the cabin.

“You know, you should come in to work unless you’re really, really ill. Are you sure you didn’t just do it to punish me about the promotion?”

A cold rush of fury swept through me, and I couldn’t hold back. “It wasn’t to punish you about the promotion, Adam, but I will admit, I had a rough night.”

“Oh?” His brows rose.

“Yes. I spent half the night looking for Josie and ended up at the cabin.” I waited. No reaction. “Guess what I found?”

“Josie?”

“No,” I gritted, my anger increasing with every word. “I found handcuffs and condoms.”

His eyes rounded, and his cheeks reddened. He didn’t speak.

“You have any idea how they got there?”

He shook his head, but I could see the truth in his eyes.

“None at all?” I crossed my arms and glared.

He blew out a breath and said, “Yeah. I guess I do. Sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry you and the woman you cheated with broke into my cabin and screwed in my bed? What the hell were you thinking? Did you purposely leave the evidence behind so I’d know? Just to rub it in my face?”

He shook his head, his expression miserable. “I didn’t mean for you to find out.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “Tabitha was supposed to get the stuff. She must have… forgotten.”

But I knew better. “No. She didn’t forget. She did it on purpose.”

He didn’t confirm or deny. I turned and went to my cubicle, trying to concentrate on work, but kept thinking about Adam. Josie. Coburn.

Shit. What a week it had been.

At lunch time, Asia and I were sitting in the break room, she with her leftover chicken cacciatore and me with my cold ham sandwich. The only other employees there were Beth and Carl, who sat at another table. The TV suspended in the corner was showing Days of Our Lives. I’d watched the soap opera fanatically when I was in my twenties, but hadn’t seen it in years. I was surprised to see several familiar faces on the show. Characters I assumed were long gone.

“Didn’t Stefano die?” I asked Asia, whose eyes were glued to the screen.

“Yeah, several times,” she said.

“And Tony? Roman?”

“They’ve all been back and forth.”

“Hmmm,” I said, my interest piqued in spite of myself. Especially when one of my past favorites, Steve “Patch” Johnson, appeared.

A commercial came on, and Asia turned her attention back to me. “So, what were you and Asshole going at it about?”

I explained the cabin discovery.

“Asshole,” she exclaimed. “Can you believe him? Like he hasn’t done enough to you already? What’s next, he’ll sell your organs?”

I smiled grimly. “Wouldn’t put anything past him.”

Wanting to tell her everything that had happened the past few days, and wanting to get it in before her soap came back on, I blurted, “Coburn’s cheating on Naomi.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Yeah? How’d you find out?”

“I saw him go into a hotel with another woman.”

She nodded, taking a bite of her chicken.

“You don’t seem all that surprised.”

“I’m not. For one, he’s a man. For another, he’s hit on me before.”

“What?” I nearly screeched. As far as I knew, Asia and Coburn had barely been around one another.

“At your birthday party.”

We’d gone to a bar that night, my brothers, Naomi, Asia, and I.

“How? In the club?” I asked, trying to assimilate this startling revelation.

“Yeah. At one point, we wound up being the only two at the table. He slipped a hand along my thigh. Asked me if I’d ever thought about getting with another man. A white man.”

I no longer wanted the sandwich. I pushed it aside. “What did you say? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told him I’d been with white men and wouldn’t be with him if his dick was made of pure gold. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you.”

I shook my head and downed the last of my Diet Pepsi.

Adam. Coburn.

Men.

****

“I’m Nathaniel,” said a tall, thin, man wearing shiny clothes and too much jewelry. He rested his hands on his hips and smiled down at D.J. “You look lonely.”

D.J. cringed. What was he thinking, coming into a gay bar? Being hetero in a gay bar was not the way to keep a low profile.

“I’m seeing someone,” D.J. faltered, wondering if he should have made his voice more feminine. But not all gay guys talked that way, right? He’d always wondered about that. Did they cultivate the manner and high voice once they discovered their sexuality? He didn’t think it was genetic. Since they were supposedly gay from birth, their affectations should have been with them since the beginning. He didn’t remember any boys in his grade school talking like Carol Channing and twitching their asses like runway models.

No matter. That was a quandary to ponder at a later date. For now, he had more pressing issues.

The guy pouted and the lips curved into what was probably supposed to be a provocative smile, but D.J. just couldn’t think of a guy as ‘provocative,’ even when he was wearing eyeliner and lip gloss.

“Well,” he purred, “then he’s a fool for letting a dish like you out on your own.”

Nathaniel sauntered away and D.J. let out a breath. Goddamned Garrett Ramirez. He’d been following the little prick for twenty-four hours and still hadn’t caught him alone. The guy was quite the social butterfly, quite the flirt, too, from what D.J. had observed so far.

Flirt, hell. He was a whore. In the two hours D.J. had been in the bar, he’d seen Ramirez disappear outside three different times with three different guys. Could have been stepping out to do drugs, but from the expressions of secret gratification on his companions’ faces, D.J. would guess there was a little cock-sucking to go along with it.

D.J.’s focus on Ramirez had been a last-minute development. The planning and work he’d put into the others wasn’t necessary with Ramirez. He wasn’t part of the original plan. He’d become an unwanted complication that had to be hastily dispatched.

He’d seen something at the bed and breakfast, though not exactly what he’d claimed. There hadn’t been two men. D.J. worked alone. Whatever he’d seen had to be kept quiet. D.J. couldn’t have his plan thwarted before it was complete.

He was likely to get caught eventually, but he would make sure it wasn’t until after he’d finished them off. One by one, they’d pay.

D.J. had intended to stay as invisible as possible. Seemed like a gay bar would be a good place to do that, but maybe not. Would the pouty guy pose a problem? D.J. didn’t think so. The guy was probably working the room, likely wouldn’t give D.J. a second thought.

Ramirez was who D.J. needed to focus on. D.J. saw him go out with a fourth man and it gave him an idea of how to get Ramirez alone. The thought made his stomach churn, and he took a long drink of the whisky. Chill out, he told himself. You don’t actually have to do the guy. You only have to entice him outside.

Well, he’d do him. Just not in the manner Ramirez would want.

The thing was, coming onto a man, period, even in pretense, was repugnant to him. Not that he was homophobic, but he was most definitely, thorough and through, forever straight. But he was tired of waiting for an opportunity that never came. Ramirez had two roommates and a horde of friends. Stalking a homo was not at the top of his list of favorite things to do, and he wanted it over with.

The waiter came around and he ordered another drink. In a few moments, Ramirez came back in. D.J. downed the whisky, then headed over to where Ramirez was draped against the bar.

“Looking for some action?” D.J. said, leaning in so only Ramirez could hear.

Ramirez pursed his lips and took a drink of something tall and orange. He was slightly built and wore tight, white pants and a blue shirt with half the buttons undone, showing his scrawny, shaved chest. His ears held more rings than the Olympic symbol.

“Want to go outside?” Ramirez asked in a low, womanish voice.

“You go first,” D.J. said. “I’ll be out shortly.”

Ramirez’s neatly trimmed brows drew together. “You embarrassed, sweetheart?”

D.J. jerked his head toward the crowd. “I have an unwanted admirer. Don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Ramirez smiled and took another sip, eyeing D.J. over the rim of the glass. “I’ll see you in five.”

D.J. waited a few minutes after Ramirez left, then looked around the bar. No one seemed to be paying attention. He strolled toward the back, then quickly slipped out the same door through which Ramirez had disappeared.

It led to an alley. Dark. Lit only by the meager glow of the lights on the outer streets.

Ramirez was waiting for him next to a dumpster. Nice. The guy was all romance.

D.J. wasn’t sure how to begin a make-out session with a dude. He walked up to him and halted, letting Ramirez take the lead.

Ramirez reached out and ran a hand along D.J.’s crotch. A rush of revulsion surfaced, along with a slight twinge in his groin. Brief panic fluttered through him. Jesus. Was he turned on by the touch of a man?

No. It was just a physiological reaction to the danger and anticipation. He’d heard somewhere about how different emotions could induce arousal. That was it. Yeah. Had to be.

He wasn’t about to find out, though. When Ramirez’s free hand reached for D.J.’s zipper, his own raised. Ramirez let out a surprised grunt as the knife slid into his gut.