Murder at Mama Gene's Read online

  Key in hand, she inquired, “Do you have an elevator?”

  “Sorry. It’s out of order.”

  “Thank you.” The woman meandered toward the stairwell. “The middle of nowhere, no elevator, silly guestbook. Where am I?” She mounted the stairs and disappeared.

  AROUND QUARTER TO ELEVEN, the bell on the desk gave another sharp ding. Stella darted out of the kitchen. There was Roger Turner. Right on time.

  Aaron greeted the large balding man with a grumpy disposition and a brown suit. “May I help you, sir?”

  With her view from the stairwell, Stella rested an arm on the railing and clocked her target. Soon, she would put a bullet in Turner’s head and bury him out back. She exhaled and tucked her gun into her waistband. It wasn’t that she was afraid to take the shot then and there. She just wanted to make sure that Aaron was prepared to handle everything on his own tomorrow first.

  Aaron smiled from behind the front desk. “Sir?”

  “Uh, y-yes,” the man stammered. “We’ll need a room.”

  “Smoking or nonsmoking?”

  Stella froze as Turner glanced around the lobby and spotted her on the stairs.

  He frowned and waved off Aaron’s question. “Hold on. I’m not quite ready.”

  “Oh.”

  Stella pretended to scratch her lower back, running a few fingers across the loaded weapon. Soon. Tonight.

  “I’m waiting for someone.” The old man picked up his battered leather briefcase beside him. Stella’s money had to be in there. “A friend. Mind if I just sit a while?”

  “No problem.” Aaron extended an arm to the parlor. “You can wait in there.”

  He mouthed a “thank you” then slowly dragged his feet over to the parlor.

  Aaron returned to the kitchen while the old man progressed to the parlor. Their eyes remained locked on each other until the last possible moment.

  Does Aaron know Theresa’s husband too?

  Stella and Aaron returned to their tasks without exchanging a single word. Stella’s mind churned with excuses to delay the inevitable—work, the kids, Aaron needed to be prepped. Rushing in would ruin everything. I still have plenty of time.

  She and Aaron went back and forth from the lobby to the kitchen, setting up for another day. Stella arranged breakfast dishes then packed coffee pots. She watered the plants, filled sugar bowls, then folded the clean sheets for delivery in the morning. As was their custom, one of Aaron’s classical stations filled the air as they chatted. Aaron swept by the foyer and ran the vacuum. He dusted the bookcase and the banister. He polished the silver and set out tea bags.

  As the moon began to rise, Aaron moved toward the parlor with a glass. Despite Stella’s insistence that he keep his distance, Aaron seemed determined to offer Turner some water.

  Stella was determined too. Follow the plan—kill Roger Turner, get the money, then disappear forever.

  Chapter 2

  11 p.m.

  In the kitchen, Stella hid the Glock underneath a rag then rolled the silverware. After she finished, she would shoot Roger Turner and mop the floors. At least that would save her from having to clean them twice. Ah, and defrost the bagels. It seemed like her to-do list kept growing. Hmmm, maybe Aaron can do that while I bury the gun out back.

  A heavy thud on a wooden surface accelerated her pulse.

  Stella glanced toward the door and stuffed the gun into her back pocket. As she crossed the threshold into the lobby, she caught Aaron turning down the lights in the parlor before heading out.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” Aaron rubbed his neck but kept one arm behind him. “I thought I heard something.”

  “And?”

  “I should get started on the wake-up list.” Aaron attempted to hustle past Stella, but she blocked him.

  She tapped the water bottle he held in his hand. “What’s this?”

  “This?” His hand moved forward. “I watered the plants.”

  “You watered the plants? I just did that.”

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat and shrugged.

  “Wasn’t that for Mr. Turner?”

  “He didn’t want it.” Aaron took a quick sip.

  Stella straightened her shirt. “But he wants to sit in a dark room?”

  After capping the bottle, Aaron nodded and eagerly moved back into the lobby.

  Stella turned the lights back on and sauntered towards the sofa in the parlor. She would tell Roger to wait, that she would be right back to speak to him. Yes, it was getting nearly that time.

  “Wait! What are you doing?” Aaron called after her.

  “Fluffing the pillows.” Stella marched to the front of the sofa and went pale.

  Aaron flew to her side.

  “Ay, Dios mío,” she whispered while making the sign of the cross. “What happened?”

  Dark blood stained the sofa. In the center of the room, facedown on the tan carpet, was Roger Turner, a knife in his back. The darkened circle on his brown suit had stopped its swelling.

  Stella’s foot nudged his hand, which was spotted with dried blue ink. Roger Turner was already dead. “You killed him.”

  “No.” Aaron didn’t blink. He was telling the truth again. “I found him like that. I swear!”

  The back of Roger’s arms and wisps of gray hair stretched out like branches. A puddle formed between his legs. From the slight scent, she could tell it was urine.

  “Okay.” She patted Aaron’s arm. “Let’s bury him out back and forget all about this.”

  “We have to call the police.”

  Stella suppressed a smile. “You call them.”

  “You don’t understand.” Aaron’s voice cracked. “I-I can’t.”

  Stella firmly cupped his arm. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “I know, but I can’t.” Aaron pulled away. “You make the call.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah.” He inched forward. “Tell them you went to fluff the pillows and found him like that.”

  “No. I’m sorry, but—”

  “Please call. I’ll be outside in the woods.” With his head low, Aaron returned to the lobby.

  “Stop.” Stella followed behind. For the kids. She met his gaze and put a hand to her chest. “I can’t call them either.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Stella exhaled. Best to play along until she could convince Aaron to see things her way. “Let’s start by finding out who he is... was.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did he check in?”

  “You saw him. He was waiting for someone.”

  “Did anyone come down or ask to see him?”

  Aaron shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

  “What about a name?”

  Aaron’s red hair dripped with sweat. “I don’t remember.”

  Stella pulled her shoulders back. “Then we look for ourselves.”

  “What?”

  “We search him.” She pointed toward the parlor. “Let’s find his wallet.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t touch the body. You know, fingerprints?’

  Stella gently nudged him. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Aaron walked over to the lifeless body in the center of the room while Stella trailed behind. When their shadows washed over the body, Aaron’s finished the water in his hands.

  “Check his pants and jacket.”

  “Me?” His eyes almost jumped out of their sockets.

  “You found him.”

  After a deep sigh, he grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the cleaning supply box on the top of the bookcase. Kneeling, Aaron searched the dead man’s coat and pants pockets. Careful not to disturb the knife, which Stella could tell had not come from Mama Gene’s kitchen, he reported no lumps or bumps.

  The bell at the front desk rang. “Hello? Hello?” A monotone voice called out. “Is anyone here?”

  “Coming!” Stella spotted Turner’s open briefcase leaning against the sofa and unzipped it. S
he frowned. It was filled with little white papers. Where is the money? He was supposed to pay her. She slammed it shut then skirted over to the front desk to deal with the impatient guest.

  After giving the customer an extra towel, she stuffed the Glock back into her purse before returning to Aaron in the parlor. “Are you sure he didn’t say anything?”

  “It looks like he was in contact with a lawyer by the name of Nicholas Lavelle.” Aaron held out the business cards he’d found.

  Nicholas Lavelle? She’d seen that name before on the checks Turner had paid her with.

  Aaron straightened the dozen business cards in his hands and placed them inside the briefcase. Then he grabbed the sheet of paper facedown on the floor. It looked like a fax receipt.

  Stella scanned the sheet over Aaron’s shoulder. Someone named Valerie Marzo had faxed twenty-five pages yesterday. The letterhead was from Turner’s law firm, which included the name Nicholas Lavelle in the heading. The two men must have been colleagues and partners in keeping tabs on Theresa. That made sense. Without a word, Aaron folded it and placed it back into the briefcase.

  “Come on, Aaron. Think. Are you sure he didn’t say anything?” Turner was dead, which was fine. Nonetheless, Stella needed that money so the hitman would take out Marco and save her children.

  “You were there, too, remember?” Aaron zipped the briefcase then leaned it against a chair.

  Whatever Valerie Marzo had faxed Turner was none of Stella’s business. More importantly, there was no cash in Turner’s briefcase. Someone must’ve found out about it and taken it after offing Turner themselves. She had to find out who. The lives of her children were at stake.

  Aaron’s eyes widened. “I know who did this.” He trembled. “I know who killed Rog.”

  “Are you sure?” Stella gripped his shoulders. “Aaron, you’ve got to be sure.”

  Aaron gave a vigorous nod. “The woman in black, suite four. She only wanted the room for a couple of hours. She must have done this while we weren’t looking.”

  “Yes. That has to be it.” Stella waved her arm. “Go. See if she’s in her room.”

  “Huh?” Aaron’s voice shook. “Why?”

  “We need to know if she’s still there.”

  “Okay.” Aaron took a deep breath and removed the empty bottle from the table. “Then we’ll get one of the other guests to call the police.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because it won’t put either of us or Mama Gene at the crime scene.” Aaron gently led Stella to the lobby. “We’ll hide together until the police come and go.”

  “I’m not sure that this will work.”

  “Captain.” Aaron gestured toward the stained sofa, a somber look in his eye. “We only have a little time, maybe a few hours, before someone else finds out.”

  “She could be anywhere right now.” When they did find this mysterious woman, Stella didn’t know if she would thank her or demand the money back.

  “Take something to defend yourself. Just in case.”

  Stella nodded. For a moment, she regretted not having her gun on her, but she wasn’t about to let Aaron know about her weapon—that would lead to too many questions. Instead, she grabbed a poker from the fireplace. She knew where her gun was if she needed it. Aaron fetched a candlestick from the windowsill.

  Aaron shut off the light and closed the parlor doors as they left. In the lobby, behind the counter, he threw the gloves and empty water bottle away, burying them underneath scraps of paper.

  They marched side by side, arm in arm, up the stairs. On the second landing, they made their way down the hallway. There were no traces of blood on the walls or the floor. No noise. Not even a light underneath suite four’s chipped black door. Years after the hotel’s fire, Mama Gene had instructed her and Will to paint the new doors all black. But now silver scratches could be seen through the cheap paint.

  “What do we do?” Stella hid the poker behind her back.

  Aaron let go of Stella’s arm and prepared to knock.

  Before his white knuckles met the wood, Stella yanked his arm down. “Let’s get Mama Gene’s keys from the office.”

  “Yes. It’ll be better that way.”

  They walked to the end of the hall and made a left. Mama Gene’s locked office was the last door on the right. Stella reached behind a nearby portrait of a butterfly for the spare key, but it was missing. Mama Gene must’ve changed its hiding spot.

  “Captain?”

  Stella swiveled her head to Aaron. “What?”

  “It’s open.” Aaron turned the office knob and pushed the door just a smidge. “What about the other guests?”

  “They’ll just have to drink lukewarm coffee.” Stella peered through the cracked door.

  Will was inside, pacing in the center of the office. “Got it,” he said quickly into his phone. “Never been more ready.”

  Stella inched back to avoid being seen. She had no idea how Will had gotten in. Only the night staff were supposed to know about the spare key, and she didn’t think Aaron had told him.

  Will continued to pace the office. “I’ll be there.”

  The floor underneath Aaron creaked.

  “Jeez, man!” Will hung up his phone and threw his hands up. “You scared me.”

  Stella closed the door behind them and laid the poker on the desk. “Keep your voices down.”

  Aaron placed the candlestick on the old leather chair beside the desk and stared at their coworker. “What are you doing here?”

  Will massaged his thighs. “The show left without me.”

  “So?” Stella shrugged.

  “So I needed a place to stay, and the coffee house gets locked up like Alcatraz.”

  “Mama Gene changed the locks two months ago.” Stella furrowed her brow. “How did you even get in here?”

  “My key still works.” He presented a brass key from his worn sweatpants. Both it and his thinning T-shirt must have come from the lost-and-found bin. “That’s not a new lock.” He placed the key back into his pocket.

  “At least you still have your job,” Aaron added. “They’ll be other chances. Can we do anything for you?”

  “Yeah.” He pointed to the blue plaid sofa by the window. “Leave me alone so I can get some sleep.”

  “No problem.” Stella scanned Mama Gene’s locked safe beside her desk and reached for Aaron. “We’ll get out of your way.”

  “No.” Aaron pulled away from her grasp. “He can help.”

  Will sucked his teeth. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

  Stella squinted at Aaron and pursed her lips in a warning look.

  “What’s happening right now?” Will pressed.

  Aaron broke his staring contest with Stella to turn to Will. “There’s been an accident.”

  “No.” Stella frowned. “It was no accident. You should have slept somewhere else, anywhere else.”

  Aaron invited their shocked coworker over to the sofa. “We need your help.”

  Will blinked. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Call 911. Tell the police that there’s a dead man in the parlor. Say you found him lying there like that.”

  Will looked perplexed. “Someone died? Here?”

  “One of the guests—”

  “The woman in suite four killed him,” Stella said, cutting to the chase.

  Aaron nodded. “Her name is Valerie Marzo. If you call the police now, they may be able to catch her while she’s still in her room.”

  Will looked from Stella to Aaron. “Well, I’m not calling the cops. You know what they say to people like me? They don’t always help.”

  Aaron looked down and frowned at something on Will’s arm. “Are you hurt?”

  “What?” Will looked back at him with wide eyes.

  “There’s blood on your arm.”

  Stella followed his gaze. Sure enough, there was a spot of blood on Will’s right wrist.

  Will examined his arms, licked his fingertip
s, then wiped away the smudge. “Must have bumped into something.”

  “Okay, fine,” Aaron said, and Stella recognized his forced tone. He was making an effort to sound friendly and understanding. “Come with us. Help us convince one of the other guests to make the call.”

  Will rubbed the back of his neck.

  “No,” Stella blurted. “Let’s just get rid of it. We can bury him out back and clean up. No one else ever needs to know.”

  “That’s it. I’m done.” Will stood to leave. He fumbled under a chair, pushed aside a Polaroid camera, and emerged with an expensive pair of buckled loafers. “Count me out.”

  Stella crossed her arms. “If you leave, we’ll say you did it.” She stuck out her chin toward Will. He knew too well that she wouldn’t hesitate to throw him under the bus.

  “Let’s not do this.” Aaron angled between them. “We’re wasting time. We’ll go check out suite four together first. If we catch the killer, we can call the police.”

  After a tense moment, Will sighed and agreed. Stella firmly grasped the poker. Aaron found the master set of keys in the desk drawer and picked up the candlestick. Will set his possessions aside and grabbed the stapler.

  Chapter 3

  Midnight

  After locking Mama Gene’s office door behind them, the reluctant trio proceeded down the dim hallway to suite four. The air was stale and thick because the proprietress refused to ever open a window. Will’s thick heels clicking against the old wood—Mama Gene had thrown out the old carpet and never replaced it—proved louder than the pigeons in the attic, so Aaron signaled everyone to stop.

  “What is it?” Stella mouthed while raising her poker.

  Aaron pointed to Will’s shoes. “Take them off.”

  Will snickered. “Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  Will sighed before leaning against a dark-floral wallpaper to lift his foot. The stapler slipped out of his hand and crashed to the ground.

  “Sorry. Sorry,” he whispered while collecting it from the floor.

  Stella pointed her poker at him. “Be more careful.”

  “Leave the shoes,” Aaron warned.

  Will shook his head. “Do you know how much these things cost?”