Caffeinated Murder Page 5

  Clair tapped a well-manicured fingernail on the table. “Maybe we could supply alternative suspects.”

  I was reluctant, but had to ask. “How would we do that?”

  Anita held up her notebook. “Like I said, the Woman’s Detective Agency”

  “No.” I shut my eyes. When I opened them, Clair was staring at me. I’d obviously lost her support.

  Clair turned to Anita. “Just until we come up with another list of suspects to give Farlow. He’ll need help in this. We all know he isn’t particularly creative.”

  I couldn’t argue the logic. “Okay. We’ll work on alternatives, suggest them to Farlow, and then we stop. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” Clair nodded decisively.

  “Let’s each think about it tonight, and meet tomorrow with our lists.” Anita’s reaction was almost gleeful at the prospect. You’d have thought I’d suggested a trip to the amusement park instead of a journey into a murder’s mind.

  Would I live to regret reviving the Woman’s Detective Agency?

  Chapter Eight

  B urgers ‘N Bean Sprouts, on the outskirts of town, was a vintage-themed burger joint fashioned from what had once been a filling station. The place had lots of atmosphere and pretty good food, if an odd assortment of trendy toppings. It seemed like a good spot for the first meeting of the Woman’s Detective Agency.

  Anita laid down the two page menu. “It’s beyond me why anyone would put bean sprouts on a good hamburger. I love to cook, and I’m willing to try all kinds of sauces and such, but I draw the line at sprouts.” She smiled at the young waitress dressed in a poodle skirt and sweater. “I’ll take tomato, onion, provolone cheese, and romaine on mine.”

  Clair placed her board on top of Anita’s. “You can load my burger with sprouts. Oh, and I’ll take sweet potato fries. They’re the best.” She flashed her newly whitened teeth at us. “Girls, we’re in our forties.” As if I could forget. “We must take every opportunity to make our meals vitamin rich.”

  I added my menu to the stack. “The Country Burger, please, with ketchup, mayonnaise, and mustard. Definitely no sprouts. But I’ll agree with Clair on the sweet potato fries.” In truth, I didn’t understand how anything deep fried and tasting like dessert could claim health benefits.

  The waitress made her way to the kitchen and Anita pulled out her notebook. “Let’s get right to the meeting. Where are your suspect lists?”

  Crap. I was hoping we would eat first, giving me time to think. I feigned a need to tie my shoe and dropped beneath the table. Then untied it and tied it again. My plan was to hide just out of Anita’s line of vision and listen to Clair’s thoughts. Maybe she would give me the prompt I needed. Then, if I scribbled fast enough they wouldn’t suspect I’d failed in the homework assignment.

  I continued the ruse until things had gone quiet up above. Was my absence noticed? I peeked over the edge of the table. Anita drummed her fingers and stared at Clair.

  My Realtor friend held a brand new notepad, still wrapped in cellophane. She whined. “I was swamped with work last night. I really did consider it, in the limited time I had.” She dropped the pristine notebook on the table. “Couldn’t think of anyone.”

  Anita turned her attention to me, still under the table, fiddling with my shoelace. It was getting embarrassing. How many minutes does it take to tie a shoe?

  The truth would have to be told. I pulled myself up into the chair and blurted out my defense. “I made an attempt. Spent time thinking about it, even asked Mason. But we didn’t come up with any names, either.” I held up my empty notebook.

  Anita blew out a breath and gazed at the ceiling. “I’m disappointed. I thought you ladies would have loads of ideas.”

  Oh, the shame of failure. “I’m sorry, and will try to be of more help in the future. We need a jump-start. Let’s talk about your suspects.”

  Anita’s eyes widened and she clutched her steno pad to her chest.

  I waited expectantly, and glanced at Clair.

  A lopsided smile crossed Clair’s face. “No names on your list?”

  Anita slumped. “No. Couldn’t think of even one. I guess, as investigators, we’re all out of practice.”

  Fortunately, our waitress arrived with lunch, giving us something positive to consider. We spent the next few minutes in conversation of little consequence other than the quality of the burgers and the freshness of the bread.

  I finished my sandwich and took my time with the fries. Dabbing my lips with a napkin, I decided it was up to me to get things underway. “Okay, let’s think about everyone who could have committed the crime.”

  Anita nodded and pulled out her pen.

  Clair, whose mind had wandered, arranged her half-eaten burger on her plate. “Look how artfully the sprouts spilled out around my sandwich. That will make a great picture.” She handed me her phone. “Take of shot of me, so I can post it on my site.”

  I obligingly snapped a few shots of Clair posing as food model. “Now. Let’s talk business.”

  Before anyone could begin, the chef strode out of the kitchen, heading to our table. “You must love my creations if you’re taking pictures of it. Was it everything you wished for?”

  Clair gushed dramatically. “Carl, the cuisine is superb. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to have healthy alternatives for lunch.”

  “I do my best to offer top quality ingredients and great flavor, at a reasonable price. Did you know Burgers ‘N Bean Sprouts is entered in the festival this year? I was keeping it a secret but everyone will know soon enough. I’ve been working all year on—you won’t believe this—a healthy marshmallow. It’s all vegetable, and sweetened with herbs.”

  Clair tipped her head and squinted her eyes. “Oh. That’s interesting.”

  I couldn’t muster up more than a blank stare, as I pictured a green, leafy marshmallow.

  Anita’s expression saved Carl’s ego. She glowed, her eyes sparkled, and she chirped, “How exciting! Can we try one?”

  “No, couldn’t do that. Keeping it a well-guarded secret. After I win the grand prize, the Sprout Mallow will be available with every meal. “Too bad the big shot food critic got killed, but I think the mayor will do a fine job. I talked to him today, when he came to pick up lunch. Told him he should have been the judge in the first place. Can’t imagine what imbecile chose a stranger to pass judgment on Evelynton’s food.”

  As chairman of the festival committee, Clair kept her righteous indignation to herself and stuffed another bite of her sandwich into her mouth.

  “I’ll get back to my kitchen. You ladies have a good day.” Carl sauntered toward the kitchen.

  Anita snagged one of Clair’s fries. “I’m glad to see Carl’s excited about the festival. He’s been grumpy other years, because he says Ava always wins. I remember four years ago he even complained in the newspaper that anyone who put their customer’s well-being ahead of profits didn’t have a chance in the contest. Said all anyone needed to do, in this town, was pour on the sugar to win a prize.”

  I laughed and accidently spit out a piece of sweet potato fry. “It’s the Marshmallow Festival, for goodness sake. Of course there’s sugar.”

  Clair scooped a few more fries onto Anita’s plate. “We’ve needed the festival to come back. We lost a big source of revenue when the old marshmallow factory burned down. Carl should have helped to support the festival, and been happy.”

  Her brow creased. After a moment, she grabbed her notebook and tore at the wrapping. “I have my first suspect. And he just walked into the kitchen of Burgers ‘N Bean Sprouts. Hand me a pen.”

  Why hadn’t I thought of Carl? “You’re right. He’s spent years building up resentment over the outcome of the contest. What if he got rid of Giles Gold so his friend the mayor would be called in as a replacement?” I pulled out a pencil and printed Carl Rocco on the first line of my notepad.

  With new enthusiasm, we gathered our belongings and marched to the counter to pay our tabs.


  When Anita had paid, she pivoted toward us sporting a gleeful smile. Her favorite game had begun. She whispered, “The first thing to find out is where Carl was on the night of the murder. I’ll talk to the waitress. Bet she knows his schedule.”

  My blond friend sidled up to the teen as Clair and I retreated to the parking lot. A few minutes later she scooted out the door.

  “Margo, that’s the waitress, told me her boss worked late Tuesday night and was in early Wednesday morning. She was certain because he always works the same schedule.”

  Anita scribbled in her notebook. “I also found out he’s married, and I don’t recall seeing his wife’s name on any of my committees. It’s my civic duty to visit her.”

  Clair had come up with a suspect. Anita was racing into the investigation. I was being left behind. I don’t know how long I sat in my car after my friends drove away. I needed to remember why people called me a detective.

  After sorting through all I knew about the case, a thought rose to the surface. We didn’t know, yet, why Giles Gold had arrived in town weeks before he was expected. How long had he been here? Did he spend the night? If he had, he must have talked to someone.

  And I intended to find that someone.

  Chapter Nine

  M y mission, for the day, was to check out lodging in Evelynton. I figured this wouldn’t be much of a problem. There were only two motels, no hotels, and one bed and breakfast. I would go first to the motels. They were close. The B and B sat a few miles outside the town, near the interstate. How any of the establishments stayed in business was a mystery since Evelynton wasn’t what anyone would call a destination city.

  Anne’s Stay Inn was located about a mile from Burgers ‘N Bean Sprouts, so I went there first. The office looked like a little Swiss cottage, with shutters on the windows and flower boxes underneath, sprouting weathered artificial flowers. Evelynton does not have a Swiss heritage, but the motel was cute in an old-fashioned sort of way. I’d heard the rooms hadn’t been updated since the eighties, but were kept clean. That from the motel’s cleaning lady, Gladys, who also cleaned the Rare Curl.

  There were a few cars in the lot. I took a space by the entrance marked Office. As soon as I opened the Chrysler door I was treated to blaring music and shrieking of what I recognized as a TV game show. Not my favorite sound.

  I steeled myself and walked into the building. The man at the desk ignored me, his attention centered on a small television hanging on the wall. The chair, he sat in, tipped back on its back legs while his feet rested on the counter. I hesitated to disturb him. He could have easily lost control of his precarious seating arrangement.

  I shuffled my feet and cleared my throat until I gained his attention. He wrestled the chair into a stable position and jumped up to turn down the TV volume.

  I introduced myself and asked if he remembered a guest named Giles Gold. He said he didn’t.

  I showed him a picture I’d printed from the Internet, pulled from Gold’s blog. It was grainy. My printer isn’t the best. The clerk didn’t recognize him, but said there was another person who worked at the desk occasionally. I could ask the other guy but he wouldn’t be in until the weekend.

  I’d envisioned my investigation being a bit more fruitful. So far, my time had been useless. Before I left the parking lot, I looked up the address of the other motel.

  Wallowing in self-pity, I drove past the E-Town Gardens entrance before I noticed the sign. The building was set back off the road and of a simple, stream-lined design. It was not new by any means, and I didn’t see any gardens, but I thought the modern architecture might have been more appealing to the New York native. I executed a U-turn and drove into the parking lot. There were plenty of empty parking places, as I’d expected.

  A woman at the desk showed some interest when I walked in. I introduced myself, and asked if anyone by the name of Giles Gold had been registered there.

  She assured me that no one by that name had ever stayed E-Town Gardens, and asked how many nights I’d like to book.

  “I’m not interested in renting a room here.” A shadow passed over her eyes, so I attempted to redeem myself. “But only because I live in town and have no need of accommodations. Otherwise, this would definitely be my choice of lodging.”

  The clerk maintained eye contact, but the smile had begun to slide from her face. I pushed ahead. “It’s possible that Mr. Gold used another name. I have a picture.” I pulled out the photo.

  The woman took the photo and held it close to her eyes. “No. Haven’t seen him. How about a one- or two-night getaway package? We often rent to towns people looking for a weekend retreat.”

  “Do you have a pool?”

  “No. We have a game room.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I thanked the woman, retrieved the photo, and returned it to my bag. Leaving the office, I almost ran into a man entering as I was going out. Before the door closed behind him, I heard “Thanks for filling in, June. I’ll take over.”

  With a tinge of giddiness at another opportunity, I stepped back inside, and stuck out my hand. “Hi. My name is Lauren Halloren.”

  He gave me a look that I would use before saying, “I don’t want any,” but shook my hand and introduced himself as Frank.

  I charged ahead. “I was just asking June about someone who might have stayed here. Do you happen to remember the name Giles Gold?”

  “Sure, that’s the fella they found in the dumpster. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “Yes. That’s the one. Is it possible he spent the night here?”

  “Not a chance. No one called Giles ever stayed here. I see all the names on the book. That’s one I’d remember, and I try to meet all our guests. Like to keep track of the activity in the place.”

  “It’s possible he used a different name, since he was famous. Might have wanted to stay incognito. Here’s his picture.”

  I pulled the now rumpled photo from my bag, and smoothed out the wrinkles on the desk.

  “That’s Giles Gold?”

  “That’s him. The picture is from his Internet blog so I don’t know how recent it is.”

  “Well, isn’t that something. He stayed here a couple nights. Said his name was Bob Smith and he looked like a regular guy, but that’s him.”

  Frank took the photo and showed it to June. “Look at that. We had a celebrity right here at E-Town Gardens.”

  Returning his attention to me, he said, “He paid cash in advance for three nights. Said he might stay longer and would pay me when he decided. I was surprised to see he’d checked out after only two days. Cleared out early in the morning, and left his key in the mail slot.”

  “I wonder if you would show me the room he stayed in?”

  “Sure. But I’ll warn you it’s nothing special, just like all the other rooms. And if you’re looking for souvenirs, you won’t find any. The maid’s cleaned it by now. We pride ourselves in clean rooms and they get done as soon as a guest vacates it. I want it prepared for the next guest.”

  I followed Frank down the row of rooms. He stopped at room number four-ten and unlocked the door.

  I don’t know why I expected this to be exciting. The room was neat and tidy, and looked exactly like a motel room. One double bed, one nightstand, uninteresting framed cardboard print on the wall. An old model television sitting on an even older dresser. I checked out the bathroom. That didn’t take long since it was small with no crooks or crannies someone might store anything. The lights were bright and illuminated every crevice.

  On TV, they always find a clue, maybe a cigarette butt or a matchbook. I searched everywhere, and went over it a second time. There was nothing in this room.

  The only place I hadn’t checked was under the bed. I looked at the carpet. It had been swept, but it sure wasn’t anything I’d want to crawl around on. Who knew when it had been shampooed? In any case, in the interest of being thorough, I sucked in a breath, got down on my knees and took a look, only
to learn the bed sat on a platform. Not to appear surprised by this, I examined the floor around it. Nothing, except enough dust to prove the maid hadn’t used the crevice attachment.

  I’d almost gotten up when I noticed a glint of shine at the edge of the platform. I moved close to the floor, keeping my face away from the rug, and reached for it. An earring, a gold toned leaf covered with blue and green rhinestones. Larger and flashier than I would ever want, though Clair might wear something like it when she got dressed up. I was pretty sure the bangle didn’t belong to Giles Gold. It most likely had been lost by some tenant visiting the establishment months previously. Even so, I slid the earring into my pocket.

  I thanked Frank, and left the room, feeling deflated and remembering why I chose not to be a detective. The man bid me goodbye and began to stride toward the office.

  “Hey Frank,” came a shout from the other end of the walkway. “I thought you were getting me a new wash cart.”

  Frank pivoted and shouted back to a young woman pulling a cart loaded with cleaning supplies. “I did. They were supposed to have delivered it. Are you sure it isn’t sitting back at the utility closet? Go look again. I told `em to leave it there.”

  “If I’d found a decent wash cart, do you think I’d be pushing this old thing? The squawking’s about to make me go deaf.”

  She gave the cart a jerk. “If you don’t believe me, go look for yourself.”

  “Don’t get riled, Cheryl. I believe you. I’ll call the company and see what’s going on.” Frank turned and hurried to the office.

  Seizing the opportunity to extend my investigation, I walked toward the maid, who had continued her noisy trek toward me. Cheryl was right. The closer I got, the more obnoxious the sound of her wash cart. “Hi Cheryl, I wonder if you’d mind answering a question.”

  The woman checked her watch and pulled a stick of gum from her pocket. “I’ve got a minute. What do you want to know?”