Murder at Mabel's Motel Read online

  Violet Wakefield appreciated Stella’s loyal patronage and never missed an opportunity to express her gratitude with every shopping trip Stella made to the humble, little store.

  Until today.

  The usually peaceful and gracious Violet met Stella and Manny at the front door. Her clothes—which were violet, as she took her name very seriously when it came to grooming, and her hair, which was also tinted with a slight purple dye—were as disheveled as Dolly’s.

  Her voice was high and shaky when she said, “Oh, Sheriff! I’m so glad you’re here! You missed a fight and a half! Right back there in my produce section. They turned over all my oranges and smashed so many tomatoes that it looks like somebody bled to death there on my floor.”

  She turned to Stella, looked puzzled, and added, “Oh, hey there, Stella May.” Violet glanced back and forth between Stella and Manny. “You . . . um . . . with him?”

  “I was standin’ beside him when he got the call from the station, so I came along,” Stella said quickly. She could hear the almost apologetic tone in her own voice, and she felt something like indignation rising inside her.

  Since when did she have to apologize to anybody in this town for being in the company of a fine man like Sheriff Gilford?

  They were both unattached. Except deep in their hearts where the memories of their long-gone spouses were ever present.

  As widow and widower, they were certainly free to see others if they chose to. Except deep in their still-mourning souls.

  For some time Stella had been wondering why she felt the need to deny the ever-growing feelings she had for Manny. From the town. From him. Even from herself.

  But now wasn’t the time to fret about such things. Not with blood and tomato juice spilling right and left.

  “It sounded serious,” she told Violet. “I decided to tag along. Wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “Thank you, Stella,” Violet said. “You’re a good friend.”

  Her curiosity seemingly satisfied for the moment, Violet turned back to Manny and the business at hand. “Come along, the both of you,” she said. “Y’all gotta see this.”

  She ushered them inside the store and over to a quiet corner, away from the crowd that had gathered near the cash register—a tight knot of folks who were whispering excitedly among themselves.

  “It was the strangest thing, Sheriff,” she said. “First, Raul came into the store and was looking around, all friendly and jolly, like he always is. He grabbed him a buggy and was loading it up with Yolanda’s favorite cereal, some little chocolate cream-filled cakes she likes, and some corn that I’ve got on sale. Four cans for a dollar if you’re interested.”

  Stella smiled. Violet was quite the business lady. Long ago, Stella had decided she needed to stick close to her grocery list when shopping at Wakefield’s Grocery Store. Sweet-talking Violet could sell ketchup Popsicles to a woman wearing white gloves.

  “And then what happened?” Manny prompted Violet a bit curtly.

  “Well, Earle works here, as you’re probably aware. Earle Campbell. You know him.”

  “Ever’body knows Earle. Unfortunately,” Stella muttered under her breath.

  Earle Campbell was the flunky in the Lone White Wolf Pack, the “omega” wolf, the wimp pup, Billy Ray’s lackey.

  Several years ago, when Sheriff Gilford had pulled the threesome over for speeding, Earle had been foolish enough to shove an enormous bag of pot down the front of his jeans at Billy Ray’s bidding.

  Of course, Manny became suspicious about little Earle suddenly being so amply endowed and had searched and arrested him.

  Since it was such a generous amount and Earle had been convicted of drug trafficking before, he had served several years in the state penitentiary for what had been Billy Ray’s crime and his own ignorance.

  Word on the streets of McGill—and in the tavern, pool hall, laundromat, and Wednesday night prayer meeting at church—was that Billy Ray had offered to pay Earle a thousand dollars when he got out of jail, if he kept his mouth shut about whose dope that was.

  Deciding that a thousand dollars was a lot better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, or worse, from Billy Ray, Earle did as he was told and said nothing to anybody.

  Unfortunately for Earle, the day he was released, not only did Billy Ray forget about the promised thousand dollars, but he even forgot to pick him up at the prison gate.

  Earle had to hitchhike home, and since there were signs for miles and miles around the prison warning travelers to be wary of anyone seeking a ride, he’d worn out his shoes getting back to McGill.

  Although Earle claimed he’d had some sort of spiritual awakening on his journey and decided to “forgive and forget,” the town doubted he had done either. Billy Ray had behaved badly toward his loyal pack member, and Ol’ Earle was known for holding a grudge.

  They had all been waiting to see what revenge, Earle Campbell–style, might look like. So far, nothing had been forthcoming. The consensus was: Earle was nursing that grudge for all it was worth, and when he decided to cash in his chips, it’d be a doozy.

  Stella wondered if this might be the moment.

  Knowing Billy Ray as she did, she could only hope.

  “Yes, ma’am. I know Earle,” Manny was telling Violet. “Having fished a ton of pot out of the front of his jeans, I’m sorry to say I know him better than I ever wanted to. Frankly, Miss Violet, I’m surprised a fine lady such as yourself would hire him to work here in your store.”

  Violet shrugged and gave the sheriff a sheepish little grin. “I try to do the right thing,” she said. “I figure everybody deserves a second chance.”

  Manny gave her an understanding smile, but Stella noticed his gray eyes were hard when he said, “Sometimes, giving somebody a second chance is like handing them a loaded gun because they missed when they shot at you the first time.”

  Violet lowered her voice, leaned closer to Manny, and said, “I’m afraid you’re right, Sheriff. I can’t have very many of these free-for-alls here in the store before folks’ll be afraid to come and shop here.”

  Stella looked around the store, searching for the small, pasty-faced fellow in question. He wasn’t difficult to spot, cowering in the far corner of the store, next to a display of stacked toilet paper rolls. His bald head caused him to stand out from the rest of the shoppers, who were huddled in tight groups, whispering excitedly to each other. Not a single can of corn was being purchased, sale or not.

  Yes, Earle Campbell was easy to spot with that shiny noggin of his. While there were numerous older men with no hair in town, they had become so naturally. Among the younger set, only the LWWP three actually shaved their heads.

  Earle was watching Sheriff Gilford with a wary eye, while trying to make himself invisible among the toilet paper rolls.

  Sorta appropriate, Stella thought. At least he knows his place.

  She saw Manny’s eyes scanning the store, too, and she knew the moment he spotted his quarry. She watched as a look went back and forth between the two men.

  Stella felt uneasy and a bit afraid for Manny because of the intense hatred in the younger man’s eyes. If looks could kill, she’d be giving her dear friend CPR at that moment.

  Good thing Ol’ Earle’s nothin’ but a blowhard, she thought.

  “I see Earle’s wearing his usual T-shirt with the swastika,” Manny observed.

  “He wanted to,” Violet said. “I nearly fired him over that on his first day. He does wear it, every day. Insisted on it. But I make him put that apron on over it, so it doesn’t show.”

  Stella looked again at Earle’s shirt. It was, indeed, a black tee, and she could see the top of a white circle showing above the bib of a workman’s canvas apron. She’s seen him wearing the shirt in public often enough to know there was a large red swastika in the center of that white circle.

  She patted Violet’s shoulder, gave a tsk-tsk, and said, “Violet, you are way too nice. I wouldn’t let a dadgum swas
tika within a mile of any establishment I owned. Some things are just too wicked to be covered up, even with a big apron.”

  “I know. I know,” Violet said. “I’m just a softie. Earle’s momma came by here, begged me to hire him, said she was just about starving to death. Promised me she’d keep him in line. Till today, he’s been pretty good. Not exactly work-brickle or overly bright, but . . .”

  Manny squinted at Earle. “Is that blood under his nose?”

  “It is.”

  “Raul did that?” Stella asked, trying to picture the quiet, kind farmer she had known for so long making anybody even cranky, let alone making them bleed.

  “He did.”

  “What brought it on?” Manny asked.

  “Like I said, Raul was shopping, all nice and peaceful like. Then Deacon Murray, that other fool that’s part of their stupid little club—”

  “I know him, too,” Manny told her. “Go on.”

  “Deacon came charging in here, all excited about something. He went back there in the rear of the store where Earle was stacking up those toilet paper rolls, and Deacon started telling Earle something.”

  Manny smiled grimly. “I’ll bet he was.”

  Violet looked a bit confused but continued. “I overheard them say something about ‘that Ortez girl.’ Raul must’ve heard it, too, because the next thing I knew, he left his buggy half-full up front by the cash register and went charging back there like he was fixin’ to clean somebody’s clock. He even grabbed one of my toilet plungers off the rack on the wall there and took it with him.”

  “Is that how Earle got his bloody nose?” Stella asked.

  “I can’t even tell you. Some mighty hard words flew back and forth between the three of them, and then Raul laid into them with that toilet plunger! Deacon skedaddled out the back door, and in no time at all, Earle was yelping and begging Raul to stop waling on him.”

  Manny grinned and shook his head. “Shoot. I wish I’d been here to see that.”

  “Me too,” Stella said with a wistful sigh. “I’d’ve brought popcorn, a soda pop, and a foldin’ chair and paid a quarter to watch that.”

  “What else?” Manny asked Violet.

  “Raul kept hitting him and yellin’, ‘Where’s he at? Where is he right now?’ Finally, seems Earle couldn’t take it no more, and he hollers, ‘The pool hall! He’s at the fu—darned—pool hall.’ Only Earle didn’t say ‘darn,’ Sheriff, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean, Violet. Continue.”

  “Once Earle said that word he shouldn’t’ve said, and the business about the pool hall, Raul marched outta here. He left his buggy full of groceries, but he took my plunger with him. It was the deluxe model, too. I hope he’s not thinking he can return it. It’s probably got drips and drabs of Earle all over it. I couldn’t in good conscience put it out for sale again.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about the plunger now, Violet,” Manny said. “It might wind up in an evidence locker before the day’s out anyway.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t want to press charges against Raul for shoplifting or anything like that. I don’t think he was in his right mind when he left here with my merchandise in his hand. Plus, I don’t want to add to your workload. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

  Stella stifled a grin when Manny said with great seriousness, “I appreciate that, Miss Violet. I wish all the citizens of McGill and the surrounding countryside were as cooperative as you.”

  He reached out and shook her hand. “I’m going to go talk to Earle right now, see what I can wring out of him. But I’ll take him out the rear of the store and into the alley. That way you can get your store back to normal and your customers settled down.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” Violet batted her eyelashes up at him for a moment, then she stole a quick glance at Stella, as though to see if she minded.

  Stella made sure her face showed nothing, not even mild annoyance or curiosity.

  It wasn’t difficult. Stella wasn’t the least bit worried about Violet striking up anything of a romantic nature with the sheriff, no matter how much she might want to.

  Something told Stella that Manny just wasn’t that fond of the color purple.

  Once Violet had walked away, Manny turned to Stella. “Looks like my buddy Earle back there’s just aching to talk to me. I’m going to go have a chat with him, ask him for the benefit of his expert opinion about what happened.”

  Stella nodded. “I’ll stay up here with Violet and let you chat away in private, Sheriff,” she said a bit reluctantly. She’d enjoyed enough of Violet’s company to last her for a while, and she was fiercely curious about what Earle might have to say.

  Either Manny saw something on her face or he knew her well enough to understand that she was simply being courteous.

  She blessed him silently when he said, “I’d prefer if you came with me, Mrs. Reid.” He glanced over at the wide-eyed Violet, who was taking in every nuance of this exchange. Then he added, “If I get into trouble with him, roadkill skunk that he is, maybe you could have a go at him with one of Miss Violet’s deluxe toilet plungers.”

  “That’d make my day, Sheriff,” Stella replied, unable to hide a grin. “In fact, go outta your way to rile him up. I’d welcome the opportunity.”

  Manny turned to Violet, saw a look of alarm on her face, and promptly added, “Of course, if it should come to that, the city would be happy to reimburse you for both the plunger and any produce that might be damaged while Stella here makes use of it.”

  “Oh, okay,” was all Violet was able to squeak out, as she watched them walk away and head toward the rear right corner of the store and Earle Campbell.

  “Do you reckon she knows?” Manny whispered, bending his head down to Stella’s.

  “Knows what?”

  “That this is more than just a dinner between two old friends.”

  She blushed but didn’t reply, because it was a small store, and they had already reached Earle and his ineffective barrier of toilet paper rolls.

  He looks like a basement rat with its mouth full of cheese, who’s just heard the click of the trap spring, she thought.

  “Evening, Earle,” Manny said as he stepped well inside Earle’s personal space. Eyeing the blood under Earle’s nose he added, “Looks like you sprung a leak there, boy.”

  “I was assaulted!” Earle shot back, sounding like a kindergartener whose milk money had been stolen out of his sock. “That stupid spic took a toilet plunger to my head and—”

  Manny held up one hand, like a traffic cop. It was only inches from Earle’s bloodied nose. “For the rest of this conversation, Campbell, the gentleman in question will be referred to as Mr. Ortez.”

  “That’s right!” Stella interjected. “And if he ain’t, that nosebleed you’ve got under control just might resume, if you know what I mean. That gentleman is a friend of mine, not to be confused with the likes of you!”

  Earle was taken aback. Something told Stella that he wasn’t accustomed to having females speak up to him. She knew his momma, and Mrs. Campbell was a soft-spoken woman, who was known to have taken a lot of nonsense off her only son.

  Turning to Manny, Earle said, “She just threatened me, Sheriff! You heard it! What’re you gonna do about it?”

  “I’m going to warn you to look out for her. Mrs. Reid has quite a reputation for backing up what she says.”

  “Just ’cause she took an iron skillet to ol’ Bud Bagley back in the day . . .”

  Stella gave him an evil grin. “A toilet plunger’ll do just as well in a pinch,” she told him, “or so I hear tell.”

  Earle pretended to ignore her and turned back to Manny. “Are you gonna arrest that bean—that Ortez bastard or not? He just attacked me for nothin’! Nothin’ at all.”

  “People don’t do that,” Manny told him. “Leastwise, not good people. I understand it was something he overheard that set him off. Something you and Deacon were talking about back here. Someth
ing disturbing about his daughter, Yolanda.”

  A look came over Earle that Stella recognized instantly, and it surprised her.

  Guilt, she thought. Plain and simple. Not one doubt about it.

  She was raising seven grandchildren, and she knew that look all too well. But this wasn’t one of those “I-Ate-the-Last-Piece-of-Pie-Without-Asking” kind of looks. This was a “I-Stole-Five-Dollars-Out-of-the-Teacher’s-Purse-and-Got-a-Whoopin’-from- the-Principal-and-Suspended-for-a-Week” look.

  She knew Manny had registered the expression, too, because his eyes narrowed, and he leaned even closer to Earle. He was literally breathing down the hoodlum’s neck.

  “Which one of you stupid Loners brutalized that poor girl? Was it you, Earle?”

  “No! It wasn’t me! I don’t know anything about it! I wuddin there! I swear on my momma’s eyes.”

  Manny reached over and grabbed a handful of Earle’s shop apron and underlying T-shirt. He yanked him forward and up, until he was practically dancing on his tiptoes. “Then your momma just went blind, you stupid fartknocker.”

  To the delight and amazement of everyone in the store—other than Earle—the sheriff pushed him backward, still holding tightly to his clothing and keeping him on his toes, all the way to the back door and out into the dark alley.

  As Stella followed them, she thought that Earle looked like a disgruntled ballerina wearing slippers five sizes too small and lined with cockleburs.

  “I don’t have time to mess with you, Earle,” Manny told him, shoving him against the back wall of the store, then releasing him. “Either you did it or you know who did, so speak up. Otherwise, I’m off to find Billy Ray, and you know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me you’re the one who hurt her, just like he swore that bushel of pot in your crotch was yours. Then you’ll be back in the pen again, and this time, you’ll be an old man by the time you get out.”

  When Earle hesitated, Manny added, “And you won’t be serving a drug sentence. You’ll be in there for assaulting a young lady named Ortez. How popular do you figure you’ll be with the Latino gang inmates when they hear that?”