Blue Coyote Motel (41 page)

Jeffrey laughed a maniacal laugh. Maria hadn't felt terror like this since she was gang raped so many years ago. She knew with certainty that her life as a beautiful young woman was over. She knew Jeffrey was right. She would start aging and eventually become ugly and old.

Maria pleaded with Jeffrey. "Please, if you ever loved me, please make the hormone for me. I promise I'll stay. I promise I'll never leave you, just make me the hormone. We can start again. I've been a good wife to you and I will continue to be a good wife. I'm not interested in anyone else. Please, please, won’t you make me the hormone?"

He looked at her coldly. "Maria, I don't care what happens to you. You can rot in hell for all I care. This lab is my home. The rats are my friends. I don't care what happens to me. There is nothing you can give me or promise me that will change how I feel towards you. I hate you just like you've always hated me. I've seen how you look at me. Get out, get out of my lab and don't ever come back."

Maria felt panicky. She had to get the hormone. The hormone was far more important to her than Freedom. She remembered that Jeffrey kept a gun in one of the desk drawers. The crazier he had become, the more paranoid he had become. He was certain people were looking for him, trying to steal his discoveries. He thought the gun would stop someone from stealing his inventions. If she could get to it, she could threaten him into making the hormone for her. He turned his back to her and continued eating, dismissing her. Maria silently crept over to the desk, opening the bottom drawer with her foot. In one motion she knelt, grabbed the gun, and cradled it in her hand.

She began to speak in a voice completely unlike her own. She seemed to be possessed. "Jeffrey, look at me. I have your gun and I'll use it if I have to. I need the hormone. Make it, now," she said.

Jeffrey quickly stood up, grabbed the knife he had been using to cut his ribs, and charged her. She backed up, certain he intended to use the knife to scar her or worse.

“Maria, drop the gun or I will make so many cuts on your face, you won’t need to worry about aging. You’ll be so ugly no man will ever want you. Give me the gun, Maria. You don’t know what you’re doing. Just drop it!” He was screaming, the knife held over his head, intending to bring it down, slashing her face. Once again he shouted at her, "Give it to me, Maria! You don't know what you're doing."

He looked into the barrel of his own gun and at the stranger holding it. In the few minutes Maria had been in the lab, she had changed. What he saw before him was a strong woman holding a gun and not afraid to use it. This was definitely not the soft, compliant woman he had always known Maria to be. Even in his deranged state, he recognized that there was a stranger standing in front of him, holding his gun, and he wasn't sure what that stranger was capable of doing.

At that moment, somewhere in the depths of his demented mind, the need for self-protection kicked in. Even in his crazed state of mind, he knew that guns kill and he might be the one killed. He grabbed for the gun and at the same time, started to plunge the knife into Maria. He was certain that Maria wouldn't know how to release the safety on the gun before he grabbed it away from her.

Jeffrey had forgotten that he had previously released the safety on the gun. In a state of paranoia, he thought it was best to have the gun ready to fire in case someone came to get him. It was the last thought he ever had. The shot that rang out instantly killed him. Maria had pointed the gun at his chest at point blank range and the bullet hit him dead center in his heart. He fell to the floor, blood pouring out of him and pooling on the floor. It happened in the blink of an eye.

Maria looked at Jeffrey lying on the floor and realized he was dead. It was over. There would be no more Freedom and no more anti-aging hormone. The horror and enormity of what had just happened washed over her. Her first thought was to run, to get away from the Blue Coyote as fast as she could. Fortunately, there were no guests at the motel and as remote as the motel was, no one could have heard the shot. She knew she had to get away from the motel and get rid of the gun.

She was afraid if she stayed, she would be arrested, possibly tried for murder and sent to prison. She could claim self-defense, but she was the one who pulled the gun on Jeffrey and threatened him. A jury might not believe her version of what had happened. She decided to run.

Maria threw open the door to the lab, taking the stair steps two at a time. She ran through the walkway to their house, opening drawers and cupboards, throwing things into a small carry-on bag. Her brain was whirling. It was only 1:00 in the afternoon so she had time to get to their bank in Phoenix and withdraw their money before it closed. Then what? She knew she had to get away, the farther the better, perhaps Italy or France. Sky Harbor airport in Phoenix was an international airport. After she went to the bank, she'd go to the airport and get a ticket to somewhere far away. The last thing she threw in her carry-on luggage was her passport. It was ironic that she had gotten the passport when she and Jeffrey had gone to Tuscany on their honeymoon.

She got in the van and turned it towards Phoenix. There was a rest stop not too far from the Blue Coyote on the freeway that led to Phoenix. She pulled into the parking lot, grateful for the open spot in front of a trashcan. There was a grocery bag in the van from the last time she had made a food run to Blythe, filled with non-perishables. She'd been too tight on time then to take it into the motel kitchen, making a mental note to do it later. Right now she was very glad it was there. In the sack she found a box of plastic gloves, which she wore when she was preparing food for the motel. They would work. She slipped a pair on and began to towel off the gun, trying to get rid of any of her fingerprints. Then she wrapped the gun in fresh towels, placing it in the empty plastic glove box.

Maria opened her door to the van and walked to the women’s restroom. To anyone watching, it would look like she had gone to the restroom and then decided to get rid of some trash, a perfectly normal occurrence. When she returned to the van, she opened the door and pulled out the plastic glove box holding the gun, casually throwing it into the half-full trashcan. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, she got back in the van and made her way onto the highway, certain that no one had seen her. Even if they had, nothing she had done would trigger someone's memory. She was simply a woman wearing a scarf and sunglasses, throwing away some trash.

As beautiful as she was, she was used to people staring at her. Until she was safely out of the country, being stared at was the last thing she wanted. When she was getting ready to leave the motel, she remembered that a Muslim guest had left a burkha behind. Maria had put it in the storage area of the office in case its owner ever wanted to reclaim it. She had taken it with her when she left the Blue Coyote, thinking it would be a perfect way to hide her hair, her face, and her body. When she got to her final destination, she would get rid of it somewhere. At a desolate freeway off ramp she pulled off and quickly changed into the burkha. She was back on the highway in less than three minutes. The burkha might draw attention for the next day, but nothing like the attention she normally received.

At the bank in Phoenix, she easily withdrew $10,000 in cash. When Maria first suspected that Jeffrey was going mad, she had opened a bank account in the Cayman Islands and from time to time, she sent money there. She transferred almost all of the substantial amounts in their checking and savings accounts to the Cayman Island bank account, knowing she could withdraw it as needed when she got settled. The tellers weren't familiar with her, as almost all of her banking had been done online. Having made arrangements for the funds she'd need immediately and those she would need in the future, the most important thing now was to get out of the country.

She parked the van in a Wal-Mart parking lot off the highway leading into Phoenix and retrieved the registration and insurance papers from the glove box, throwing them in a trash can as she walked to the front door of Wal-Mart, carry-on in hand. She couldn’t risk drawing attention by taking off the license plates. Anyway, she knew the car would be traced to her eventually. She called a taxi from her cell phone and then threw the cell phone in the trash as well. Cell phones could be traced and she could probably buy a disposable one at the airport. The yellow taxi cab pulled up to the front of Wal-Mart. "Sky Harbor airport, please." she said as she got in. "International terminal."

A few minutes later, she entered the terminal and quickly found the departing flight screen. Her first choice was Italy, but she worried that someone might remember that she and Jeffrey had gone to Italy on their honeymoon and law enforcement might look for her there.

Maria vaguely remembered a conversation she and some of Jeffrey's friends had years ago about extradition. She remembered that the countries who didn't have agreements with the United States were all countries she never wanted to go to anyway, third world countries where her safety would be an issue. Well, now her safety would be an issue wherever she went, so she might as well go to France. As long as she was going to age, it would be better to be in a country known for being kind to aging women. She'd never been to the Provence area of France, but she'd heard it was as beautiful as Tuscany. She bought a ticket to Marseille. She would fly to Paris, transfer planes, then take a smaller plane to Marseille, get a hotel, and then find a place to rent. From there, who knew?

CHAPTER 38

Ralph Martin had a secret. He was hopelessly in love with Maria, the woman who owned the Blue Coyote Motel. She made the best coffee around and her banana bread could sustain him for hours. He was a big rig truck driver and whenever he found himself making the run between Los Angeles and Phoenix, the truck automatically turned into the Blue Coyote for some of Maria's coffee and freshly baked breads.

He knew she was married. Hell, he was too. But there was something about Maria, something that fascinated him. It wasn't just her beauty. There was something mysterious about her, things she knew but would never tell. Ralph thought about her a lot when he was on the road. He had never told anyone about her and never would. Ralph discovered both the Blue Coyote Motel and Maria when he pulled into the Blue Coyote one cold wintry day, desperate for a good cup of coffee. Phoenix and Blythe were too far away and when he saw the Blue Coyote sign, all he wanted was hot coffee.

What he found was a beautiful woman, great coffee, and even greater food. The times he spent at the Blue Coyote were the only perks of his numbingly boring desert travel route. He found it increasingly hard not to compare Maria to Linda, his pasty-faced, overweight wife. Maria had a figure that made everything she wore look like it had been bought at an expensive Italian boutique, even her jeans and tees. He couldn't help contrasting Maria's clothes with Linda's bib overalls, Maria's freshly ground coffee with Linda's instant coffee, and even Maria's homemade cooking with Linda's Betty Crocker and Hamburger Helper boxed meals. It was an uneven playing field. Linda was no match for Maria.

He often asked himself why he even bothered to stay married to Linda. It was not an easy answer, but children, a mortgage, and the church were involved. Both he and Linda were devout evangelicals. Their life pretty much revolved around their church. Ralph was a lay pastor and Linda taught three Bible study groups a week in their home. He supposed he was about as happy as a man was supposed to be, even with his secret fantasy about the beautiful lady at the Blue Coyote Motel.

It was around 4:00 p.m. when he swung his big rig into the empty Blue Coyote parking lot.
Good
, he thought,
that means Maria and I will have some time to talk.
He was looking forward to the coffee and wondered what wonderful things she had baked this morning.

As he opened the door of his rig, something began to bother him.
That's it,
he thought,
the neon Blue Coyote Motel sign located on the side of the highway wasn't lit.
Whenever he'd been here, it had always been lit, even in the middle of the day. He thought that was odd, but decided that maybe the bulbs were burned out. There was a strong late winter wind blowing and the front door of the office was wide open. He closed the door behind him, looking around.

It was the same office area he'd entered many times before, but then again, it wasn't the same. There was no coffee on the reception table, no fresh baked goods. He could see into the kitchen and it was piled high with unwashed pots and pans. He knew from experience that Maria was a meticulous person.
Something must be wrong,
he thought. He hoped she wasn't sick. He walked around the motel to the attached house where Maria had told him she and her husband lived. He knocked and when there was no response, tried the door, which opened easily.

Ralph gasped as he entered the house. Clothing was spread everywhere. Dresser drawers and bathroom cabinets had been trashed and left open. This was not like Maria. He remembered a conversation they'd had several months ago about guests who left drawers and cabinets open. She liked everything in its place and couldn't stand it when people left things strewn about and drawers open.
No, Maria would never have allowed this.

He wondered where her husband, Jeffrey, was. Ralph remembered Maria mentioning that Jeffrey had a laboratory in the basement of the motel. He vaguely recalled her telling him that Jeffrey was an inventor or some kind of a scientist. Ralph hadn't paid much attention. The last thing he had wanted to do was think about Maria's husband. He wondered if Jeffrey was in the lab or maybe Maria was ill and Jeffrey had taken her to Phoenix. Earlier, he'd noticed a door marked "Basement" at the far end of the motel rooms. He walked back from the house to the basement door. He opened it, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting over the stairs leading to the basement.