Perplexity on P1/2 (Parson's Cove Mysteries) (16 page)

     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? Both? 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.

     “Get outta here,” 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? 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? Do you know what she looks 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 over- weight.”

     “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? 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.”

     “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 jumped in the 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. “I’ll have to try and remember to call Grace, Andrea, won’t I?” 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.”

     “Cindy, 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.”

     “Hmmm. 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, 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 I could always share it with Reg.

     “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.”

     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 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, where on earth have you been?” Flori exclaimed as soon as she got in the front seat and I settled into the back again. “We had three meals just sitting there and waiting for you. I don’t think I’ll ever eat anything again.”  

     “You say that, Flori, but trust me, you will. Probably in about two hours.”

     “No, Mabel, this time I think I’ve sworn off food for good. Well, fast food anyway.” She rubbed her stomach, belched, and groaned. “If I never see another cheeseburger, it will suit me just fine.” She turned in her seat to look at me. “I hope you accomplished a lot, Missy, after putting us through such torture.”

     “First of all, you didn’t have to sit and eat all the time. You can sit and talk. No one would notice. For goodness’ sake, Flori, it’s a fast food joint, not some high-class restaurant and yes, I did accomplish a lot. You won’t believe all the things I’ve found out,” I said. I carefully removed the paper from my jean pocket.

     “Well, what, Mabel? Don’t keep us in suspense.”

     “Okay, here goes. First of all, Cecile’s wife might not be named Grace. She might be called Andrea.”

     “Just a minute,” Stella interrupted. “I know Cecile’s wife is named Grace. It just isn’t the Grace who was killed, that’s all. But, Mabel, her name has always been Grace. I should know - I live next door.”

     “Okay, but the Grace who was murdered, who
wasn’t,
Cecile’s wife, was really named Andrea.”

     “Well, that makes more sense, doesn’t it?” Stella said.

     “It does?” Flori said. “That is logical to you?”

     “Well, sure. She obviously wasn’t who she said she was. She must’ve been pretendin’ to be Cecile’s wife and all the while she was somebody named Andrea.”

     “But why? Why would someone take on another person’s name and pretend to be someone else’s wife? Do you know why, Mabel?”

     “You’re asking me, Flori? This whole thing is just plain ludicrous. But, hey, that’s why we came here. Right, Flori? We have to find out who Andrea really was. Was she pretending to be Cecile’s wife? I don’t even know if she was. Also, why was Cecile Tucker in Las Vegas and where is Cecile’s real wife? Is she dead too?” 

     Flori moaned and shook her head. “This is too much for me. This is too much for you too, Mabel. You have to call Reg.”  

     “That’s not all though. Get this: Would you believe that Mr. Hatcher and Grace were sharing a hotel room right here in Yellow Rose? I was going to say, before someone killed her, but that’s sort of a ‘given,’ isn’t it? Obviously, that was before the trip to Vegas. And, not only that, they had a big fight. Cindy thought they were mad enough to shoot each other.”

     “Cindy? Who’s Cindy?” Flori asked.

     “She works at the hotel where the two were staying. They booked in that morning, had the fight, and never returned. Weird, isn’t it? I’ll tell you, I would’ve sworn on a stack of Bibles that they were strangers when I saw them together. But, you will never believe what else I found out. Flori, you were right - this whole Las Vegas thing? It
was
a hoax.” 

Chapter Twenty Two

     “Let me see that paper again.”

     We were back in our hotel room. Now, when it was probably over a hundred outside, the air conditioner decided to work only on the lowest setting. Stella was with us. Flori took Cindy’s note out of my hand and read it aloud for the fourth time.

    
Room 322. Registered to Bob Hatcher. Heard the woman saying the Las Vegas trip was a great cover up. Nobody suspected. It sounded like she didn’t want Cecile Tucker involved and he said she was crazy if she thought he’d trust her. Last thing I heard was him saying, Cecile recommended you so you’d better live up to our agreement.

     “Aren’t those what you call, famous last words?” Stella said. “I wonder what they were coverin’ up? If Cecile was involved, you’re knowin’ it was somethin’ bad. Maybe drugs or guns.”

     “Do you think Grace was the one behind it? You know, the one who planned it all?” I wondered, aloud.

     “Tucker would be my bet,” Stella said. “I tell you, I wouldn’t wanna meet up with Cecile or that Hatcher character in an alley, I’ll tell you.”

     “No,” Flori said. “It’s never the one you think. Mark my words, there’s always some nameless person behind these things - someone who never gets caught. Someone who keeps doing more diabolic crimes but keeps getting away with it. You see it all the time on TV. I bet Maxymowich could torture Hatcher forever and he would never divulge any information.”

     “Flori,” I said. “Your imagination is getting away on you. This isn’t a television series or a mystery book. Those things don’t happen in real life. You know that.”

     Stella snorted. “Yeah, but this isn’t real life. This is Yellow Rose, Texas. Flori could be right.” She shook her head. “There’s people here who’d do most anythang for money. Trust me, I know. Some of the most law-abidin’ citizens have done things they never thought they’d do. It ain’t easy bein’ poor.”

     Flori looked at me with an ‘I told you so’ look.   

     “So, now, Mabel,” she said, feeling a bit more confident. “You’d better give Reg a call. I think you have enough information to make him happy.”

     She was right. It’s just that I would’ve liked to call and tell him who Grace really was, why someone killed her, and why that someone left her body behind the nursing home in Parson’s Cove. Of course, handing over the killer would bring me the greatest joy, but I had to be realistic and surrender to the circumstances. After all, I should leave something for the authorities to solve, shouldn’t I?

     “You’re right.” I checked my watch. It was after five. “But, you know what, Flori? He’s at home having dinner now so why don’t I phone later? You two probably aren’t hungry but don’t forget - I didn’t have any lunch.”

     They both looked at me as if I were nuts.

     “That,” Stella said, “was hours ago. I’m famished, aren’t you, Flori?”

     Flori giggled. “This detective work really gives a person an appetite. Where should we go for our dinner?”

     So much for never eating again.

     Flori got out the phone book and they checked the restaurants. Stella had eaten at every one. We decided it was time for Chinese. I was excited too, not so much about the food but I felt that for the first time we were close to solving this mystery.

     The restaurant was small and, as usual, packed. I don’t know much about Chinese food so I let the other two order for me. When the plates arrived, they were over-flowing with steaming fried rice, sweet and sour chicken and Chinese vegetables. We shared a pot of green tea. The cups were small but after four of them, I made a dash for the washroom.

     “Do you know what I noticed?” I said, after getting back to the table. “The door to the kitchen was open and all the cooks back there are Mexican.”

     “That’s why we came here,” Stella said. “They make the best Chinese food in town.”