Bubblegum Blonde (12 page)

I understood what he was talking about. Keep your dirt hidden, and everyone thinks you're still clean, and the money keeps rolling in.

"Did Lydia ever talk to you about any old or new friends she'd recently reconnected with?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know her to have friends at all. She was a solitary woman. I can't see her having lunch dates with the girls. She talked to people connected to her charities, but I wouldn't consider them her friends. Their conversations were always business related as far as I know."

"Did you two ever meet out in Trinity Grove?"

He looked at me quizzically. "Trinity Grove? Why would we meet in Trinity Grove?" He sat forward in his seat.

 "You tell me," I said and took a sip of my coffee, hoping he'd spill more details the way he spilled about the affair, but his expression remained puzzled.

"We met at her home or at my place when Robert was out of town, and we hooked up a few times in my office, but we never met in Trinity Grove. Why are you asking?"

He was telling the truth. It was obvious that he was now just as curious as I was about what Lydia had been up to.

I didn't want to mention the receipts I'd found in her bedroom just yet, so I played it cool. "I got a tip that she might've been spending some time out there. She never mentioned spending any time in the Grove?"

He frowned. "No. There's no reason she would want to. She was a city girl. Trinity Grove is a small town. I can't imagine her ever wanting to spend time out there. That's just not the Lydia I knew."

This new information helped me more than Jason knew. So far, I'd learned that Lydia was hiding her movements in the Grove from everyone, including Jason, for reasons I couldn't yet fathom. She wasn't meeting him at the motel, which meant that there was someone else out there who could've killed her. I just needed to figure out who that person was.

"Why should I believe anything you've told me?" I asked. "You lied to me yesterday when you hired me."

"Because." He sighed. "I didn't kill Lydia. I cared deeply for her. Look at me, and tell me that you think I'm really capable of killing someone, and I'll walk out of here and never bother you again."

I stared at him for a long hard minute. As ticked as I was at him for lying to me about the affair, I couldn't for one hot second bring myself to believe that he killed Lydia.

"I don't think you killed her," I admitted and blew out a weary sigh. "But if you lie to me again, I will drop this case."

"Understood," he said quickly. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to get going." He stood.

I followed him to my office door. He opened it and stepped outside, then turned back and faced me.

"Listen, Barb. I know things between us went south, and I screwed up. I did you wrong, I know that, but I still think of you as my friend, even if you don't feel the same way about me." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't want to go to jail for a murder that I didn't commit. I cared for Lydia, but if you want to drop the case, I understand."

Jason was a lot of things, but he wasn't a murderer. He was wicked smart. He had a heart, and he always started out with the best of intentions. But he also had a penis, and that's the part he listened to the most. That's what always seemed to lead to his bad decisions, but I couldn't see it leading him to murder.

To the clinic for a shot of penicillin? Yes.

To murder? No.

I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out where the real Jason King had run off to, and who this person standing before me was. Maybe Jason had changed more than I'd thought? Yeah, right. Who was I kidding? But I did appreciate his apology.

I smoothed my hands down the legs of my pants. "Have you ever known me to be a quitter?" I asked and smiled. "I'll find out who killed Lydia. Don't worry about me." I propped my hands on my hips. "I'm a big girl."

Jason smiled, leaned in, cupped the back of my neck, and kissed me on the forehead the way he always had. "Thanks, Barb."

"Don't thank me yet."

I followed him to the main entrance and watched as he let himself out, got into his car, and pulled away from the curb.

I stood on the sidewalk as Jason's car disappeared around a corner. Night was falling, and the street wasn't as busy as it had been. The streetlights were coming on, and several
Open
signs in the windows of businesses across the street were now switched to
Closed
. Many people were getting into their cars and calling it a day. I wanted to do the same, but I still had work to do.

I was about to turn back and enter the office when something caught my eye. I discreetly scanned the sidewalk across the street from me until my eyes landed on what had caught my attention.

At the far end of the street stood a man. He was tall, dressed in all black. From a distance, he appeared muscular and had dark hair. He was far enough away that I couldn't see his face clearly, but one thing was for certain, he was staring directly at me.

I played it cool and calmly stepped back inside the office, but that's where my cool ran out. I ran past Mandy to my office and grabbed my gun. I slid it into the back of my jeans and ran back out the main door and onto the sidewalk.

I had no idea who I was chasing or why I was chasing them, but the way the mystery man was staring at me, I knew he was up to no good.

Did he have something to do with the case, or was I just jumping to conclusions? Was I being paranoid? No. I didn't think so. There was something about the guy that I just couldn't put my finger on.

I took a deep, calming breath.

I scanned the street again but was too late.

The mystery man was gone.

*   *   *

Mandy and I closed up shop around nine o'clock.

I watched as she got into her car and pulled away, then disappeared out of sight. The memory of the mystery man was still fresh in my mind. Who was he, and why was he watching me? Or was he even watching me at all?

Tossing my purse into the passenger seat, I hopped in my car, keyed the address for the motel into Google Maps on my phone, and pulled away from the curb. I hoped the cell phone would keep a signal until I reached my destination. I needed to break down and purchase a real GPS for my car, but at the moment the cost of one was out of my price range.

The Trinity Grove Motel was at least a forty-five minute drive from the office, so I cranked up the tunes and relaxed back into my seat as the city drifted by.

The lights of the city glittered in a rainbow of assorted colors across the windshield of my bright-red Beetle as I made my way out of town.

I cranked up the radio, sang along with the Rolling Stones, and let the events of the day roll uninterrupted through my mind. That mystery man had me unable to think about much of anything else. If only I'd been able to get closer to him. To get a better look at him.

I needed to let it go. As far as I knew, that guy was just another citizen making his way home.

Thirty minutes after I left the city, I entered the much smaller town of Trinity Grove. I'd decided to Google the little town and found what I read to be quite charming.

Trinity Grove, or the Grove, as it was often referred to, was a small lakeside summer town where many people from the city and surrounding areas escaped the hustle and bustle of big-city life for some rest, relaxation, and homemade apple pie. The Grove was best known for its down-home feel, lakefront vacation cabins, campgrounds, and summer Apple Pie Festival.

Living so close, I should've known more about the Grove, but I didn't. I'd just never had the desire to pay the place a visit. I wasn't a camp-in-the-heat-and-be-eaten-by-mosquitos kind of girl. I'm more of the sit-in-my-room-and-read type.

As I crept down the main street I passed a convenience store, a flower shop, several roads I assumed led to lakeside cottages, and a small mom-and-pop grocery store/farmers' market. The town, or what I could see of it in the dark with only the dim streetlights overhead lighting my way, would probably appear much more welcoming during the daylight hours.

But right now, the quiet stillness gave it a
Friday the Thirteenth
movie type of feel and was seriously starting to creep me out.

I shook the image of Jason Voorhees jumping out and whacking me with a machete from my mind. I breathed a sigh of relief when the robotic voice came from my phone and told me that my destination was two blocks ahead on the left.

I turned into the parking lot of the Trinity Grove Motel, found a parking spot, and shut off the ignition.

While I stayed in my car for a few minutes and tried to get my bearings, I observed the completely non-threatening structure laid out before me.

The motel was a bright, cheery sunshine yellow with sky-blue trim. The office was surrounded with a thick wooden porch that sported a large
Welcome to Trinity Grove
greeting sign. Brightly colored yellow, blue, and pink flowers flanked the stairs leading up to the office porch and along part of the motel's sidewalk.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in the wrong place, so I reached into my purse and pulled out a receipt to check the address. The motel was so cheerful in appearance that I couldn't imagine anyone having a sordid affair beneath its roof.

I checked the receipt. Nope. I was in the right place alright.

If Lydia was having an affair with someone other than Jason, would she go through the trouble of leaving town to rent a motel room, especially one this…cheerful? There were countless hotels and motels in the city. Why come all this way?

Then again, I'd seen men and women walk next door and pounce on their neighbor sunbathing on the patio while their significant other took a nap barely one hundred yards away, so I supposed this motel really wasn't that strange of a meeting place for an affair.

But still, why leave town?

The parking lot was more than half full of cars, which didn't surprise me at all. From the information I'd found on the Trinity Grove website, although summer was winding down, families were still flocking to the cottages and the lake beyond to relax and cool down for the remainder of the season. Those who couldn't get a cabin stayed at the motel until one opened up, or they found a place to set up camp by the lake.

I stepped out of the car and climbed the five steps leading up to the office door.

A small bell jangled overhead as I entered, and I was greeted with sunny yellow walls and sky-blue trim that matched the exterior. The rubber soles of my tennis shoes squeaked against the tile floor as I approached the check-in desk. I reached to ring the service bell, but before I had the chance a portly woman of about sixty (and I'm being kind here) met me on the other side of the counter. Her eyes were the same shade of blue as the room's trim, and her hair sat in a halo of tight, salt-and-pepper curls atop her head.

Her pink flowered muumuu was a fashion statement all its own.

"Welcome to Trinity Grove. I'm Melba. Are you checking in?" she asked in a voice that sounded like she'd smoked two packs a day since she was twelve.

I decided to take the direct approach. I hadn't been getting much sleep, and I wanted to at least try for a few hours tonight, which meant getting home before dawn.

"This is a lovely motel that you have here, but no, I'm not checking in. My name is Barb Jackson, and I'm a private investigator with Jackson Investigations."

"A private eye? Lordy, what's happened that a private eye has to come all the way out here?" she said with a strong southern accent that I suspected was as fake as her mile-long, ruby-red fingernails.

She fanned herself with her hand, and those same fake nails glinted in the overhead light.

I had the image of an ancient, plump, cigarette-stained Scarlet O'Hara flit through my mind and did my best to suppress a shudder.

"I'm looking into the death of Lydia Hatchett," I said. "She was murdered about two weeks ago in her home in the city."

"I heard about that on the news. Sad stuff that was." She shook her head and looked the proper amount distressed, but it seemed so rehearsed. Stiff, as though she'd practiced the speech in the mirror a dozen times before.

I immediately didn't trust her. There was something about Melba the Night Manager that set me on edge.

She was fake, but I decided to play along just to see what she had to say.

"Yes, very sad. What's even sadder is that the police may be accusing the wrong person of her murder."

"Why, that's terrible." She pressed her hand to her chest.

What a drama queen. I fought against rolling my eyes.

I nodded. "But I have reason to believe you can help."

"Me? What on earth can I do?"

"Motel receipts were found that put Lydia Hatchett right here at your motel at least once a week over the past few months."

"No, that's not possible. I would certainly remember her."

"Are you sure?" I pressed. I reached into my purse and pulled out a small picture of Lydia that Mandy had printed out along with one of the receipts that I'd nabbed from Lydia's nightstand and held them up to show them to her.

"You see?" I slid the receipt across the counter toward her and pointed to the address along the top of the paper. "This receipt is proof that Lydia Hatchett was, in fact, here. The room was paid for with cash. Take a look at the pic and think about it again."

The aloof expression Melba wore quickly became guarded as she peered at the picture and motel receipt.

"N-now that you mention it," she stuttered. "I recognize her. Her hair was different when she came in here, I think. That must be what threw me off.

Sure. Whatever you say, geriatric Scarlet.

"Mm-hmm. How often did she come in, and was she alone when she did?"

Melba hesitated a second then sighed. "She was always alone. She'd come in once a week, sometimes more."

Now that I'd provided proof that I knew about Lydia visiting the motel, Melba was a veritable fountain of information.

"How long did she stay during those visits?"

Melba bit her lip. "She'd rent the rooms for anywhere from one to three nights."