Real Women Eat Cake: A Yellow Rose Cozy Mystery (Yellow Rose Mystery Series Book 1) (5 page)

A glittering pear shaped rock, by no means an ordinary one, caught Martin's eye. “Nice ring,” he said, trying a different route.

Justine stared at him uncomfortably, tugging at her straw-matted hair. Expecting him to stop talking and walk away. She jostled the hefty trash bag from one hand and then to the other. He followed as she lugged the bag out.

After unlatching the dumpster, she leaned forward and heaved the bag on top of the pile. The gut-busting smell of spoiled reek was so bad Martin could taste it in his mouth.

“Gift from a friend?” he asked, not really knowing where this was headed. Sometimes you follow your instincts.

Her stance only got shiftier until she slammed the top of the dumpster and faced him.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Martin nodded. “You’re safe.”

She stared at him, still reluctant to confess. “There was this guy I caught lighting up behind the cabin. I asked him if I could have a hit, and that’s how it all started. I had no idea who he was. We just talked and got high.”

“What was his name?”

Justine shrugged. “If he gave me one, I don’t remember it. He said that he and his buddy, asleep inside, were visiting the area. Said they had some business to attend to.”

“What'd he look like?”

She gave the question some thought. “A few inches shorter than you. Dark hair. Jeans. Nothing special.”

“Did he say where he was from? Where he was heading to?”

Justine shook her head.

“And that’s for what?” Martin said, eyeing the ring.

“For giving him a good time. I know it's not real, but it looks nice and I don't have a lot of jewelry. Mama gave everything to Becky, my older sister, before she passed on. Not that she deserved any of it.” She parted her lips as if she had something else to say. “Look, he was just some guy. But he said he knows people. I'm not looking for trouble, okay?”

Dark purple splotches mottled her arm. “You’re bruised,” he said.

Justine snatched her arm from Martin, unrolling her sleeves and covering the marks. He could tell she was counting down the seconds, wishing he’d go away. Her face flushed blood-red.

“Do you
have
to do that?” she insisted. “It was all so fast I hardly knew what was happening. Everything runs together.”

“Did he say how you could contact him? Did he give you a cell number?”

Justine shook her head. “You're kidding, right? Look, it was a one-off. And even if he comes back, I don't want anything else to do with him. He and his buddy spent yesterday morning waiting around the front desk until the woman you mentioned checked out.”

Understanding sank in. He wasn't the only one searching for Molly Sanders.

Justine took a short stride, pointing. “There. I remember seeing her driving off. Those men who waited for her that morning followed right after.” She appeared both terrified and angry.

Martin nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

He had gotten enough out of her. No need to rattle her nerves any longer. She paused long enough to fold her arms across her chest before continuing on. Back inside, there was a tip jar along the edge of the counter. He dropped a twenty into an envelope, scribbled Justine's name across the top and hoped that she made better decisions in the future. It wasn't much, but you do what you can.

*  *  *

Martin parked near cabin 120A, passing a couple of other cabins along the way. He got out and walked up on the porch. When he looked down closer at the knob, he noticed something red. A flick of blood splatter. An oversight, maybe, by the site's cleaning crew. It didn’t immediately set off any alarm bells. Molly could have easily pricked a finger on a thorn, or scraped an arm while out enjoying nature. He twisted the knob. It was unlocked. A breeze pushed the door closed after he had edged himself through.

He grunted, narrowly avoiding puncturing himself on the antlers of a head bust removed from the wall. Notably, the air smelled bitter. Like someone had recently stripped the paint from the walls. The cabin didn’t have much. A single bedroom and a kitchen with no functioning appliances. Someone who was no stranger to living in the elements hid out here. Could it be not only Molly had stayed in the cabin? The place looked charred, like it had seen one too many long scorching summers. Martin glanced over at the fireplace, where much of the offensive smell seemed to come from.

A noise rattled the frail iron gate used to contain the flames. Something was in there. Martin grabbed a chrome plated fire iron, taking a deep breath. Sweat dampened his back, drying fast under the heat of the day. He stabbed the gate and saw something scramble in his view. A rat wriggled free from the bottom. Its stomach dragged along the floor as it fled near the wall. Looking closer, he saw that it had chewed much of the fireplace screen. No telling how long that took. Or how many others were burrowed under there.

Looking away from the darkened recess, Martin moved over to the window. The overgrown weeds allowed only a paltry trace of sunlight into the cabin. Giving it one final slow and deliberate look through, Martin Lane shut the door and headed off.

Betty followed Ethan to the part of town where an industrial park had thrived many years ago. After the economy had softened a decade earlier, most of the of the businesses that had been there either closed or moved to states with better tax incentives.

She saw Ethan go into one of the buildings. She waited a bit, and when he didn't reemerge she drove around the block to the other side and parked. Curious as to what was inside, she got out of her Explorer and decided to peek inside through one of the windows.

As she approached the building, she heard footsteps rapidly approaching from behind. She didn’t turn to look since there were a handful of people coming and going from each end of the sidewalk.

She was startled when she was poked by someone in the back with an object covered by some sort of wrapper.

“Keep walking,” a voice said when she turned to look at what was happening.

“Keep walking?” she asked rhetorically, as a feeling of fear engulfed her.

“If you want to live,” a second voice added. “Try anything foolish, and it will be your last mistake. Trust me.”

Betty weighed her options and realized after seeing their faces that all her efforts would be in vain. Both of them were huge, somewhere beyond two-fifty in weight and covered in scars. For some reason, her mind dubbed them as Thing 1 and Thing 2.

As they walked, she glanced backwards every few seconds to see if they would lose focus. Unfortunately, they were two ugly men with only one mission from their boss, whoever that was.

“Walk faster,” Thing 1 said. “We don’t have all day.” He pushed her again with the shotgun partially hidden in the ugly plastic bag.

As they rounded the corner of the street, Betty could see a white van. Then it hit her – could someone be upset she was looking into the death of Toby Sanders? Her thoughts were unclear. She was only trying to aid the local police in their investigation. The situation had passed from bizarre to creepy. Betty remained silent since she didn't want to take a blast to her back.

“Get in,” Thing 2 said, sliding the van door open. Betty didn't move.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation? Get in the van before I lose my temper and break that pretty nose of yours.” Thing 2 shoved Betty inside the van, causing her to hit her head. They tied her hands together and let her lie on her side.

Thing 1 climbed into the driver's seat as Thing 2 sat with Betty in the back to keep an eye on her. From what Betty could tell, the driver made a lot of turns and drove a long distance, which made her wonder where they were taking her and what their plans were. Driving such a long distance meant one of two things – they were either taking her to their boss or else taking her to a distant location where they could ‘take care of her’ silently.

“Where are you taking me?” Betty kept asking. The pair remained silent.

Betty wondered,
Is this it? Is this how it ends?
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, but got no response in return. The men didn’t even look at her.

“We're here,” said the driver, hitting the window from the back of the driver’s seat. “C’mon. Let’s get this party started,” he said as he got down and opened the slide door.

Martin thought that Yellow Rose looked like another dimension during this time of night. He needed to use this night to figure out some things regarding the death of Toby Sanders. He was out taking a walk shortly after dinner. The dark, heavy overcast clouds thundered.

He only shrugged.
A little rain never hurt anybody
, he thought. He saw something ahead moving fast like bugs that scatter when hit with light. Some sort of silhouette ran right for him.

“If you’re looking for a fight, ” he said, “you’ll find it here.”

Something hard pushed him onto the ground. With one pivot left, he stepped fast into their path before the person could throw another blow.

Two men had him, pulling at his legs and arms. He turned around fast and from the corner of his eye saw two men with long black jackets push his down against a culvert. Martin lifted his head.

Another peal of thunder and he felt another twist in his arm as he tried to wrangle free. Someone smacked his face into the pavement and held it there with his hands.

“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” one of them said. Martin couldn’t see their faces because everything was so wet from the rain. They dropped him, the dim light of the sky reflecting off of their jackets. He tried to lift himself up again.

“Stay down.” The voice broke through the hot but quiet dark.

“What are you guys being cowards for?” Martin shouted, trying not to choke himself on the heavily falling rain.

“Look, there’s no fight to win. But you don't understand your place in things. You're not in the investigation business, understood?”

The thugs were telling Martin more than he thought they’d share through their eyes. This was too much even for him. He shuddered trying to find his breath. His brain fired all sorts of signals, telling him both to get up on his feet and fight or to turn and run. He was overcome with exhaustion, feeling his flesh being pummeled and bruised from all sides. His muscles felt spongy, useless. It was the same pain he felt after working out for hours and not realizing how late the day had gotten.

He rolled over onto his side in agony as they tripped him up again, rain flying all over the place. He drove his hand behind him so that he could stand up tall again. The two shadowy figures stood side-by-side. Motionless, like monsters in the night.

When he rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, he could only see a blur of headlights rushing down the street on his side. A blaring of horns pierced his ears. He blinked hard, trying to make sure of where he was actually standing. He stepped toward the street and waved his arms.

A car swerved past. He was still trembling from the mixture of aches and the cold. He took two steps backwards, then collapsed toward a brick wall. The rain continued its rhythmic splashing against his eyes as he closed them again to sleep.

*  *  *

The next morning, Martin ran his hand over his face and tried to stretch but all of his muscles felt like they’d been contorted inside a meat grinder.
What happened last night?
he wondered. All he could remember was being at Lake Travis and then going out for a walk.

Then it came to him. That feeling of needing to grasp for something to prop himself up. Falling hopelessly to the ground. He was convinced that the two men who had come for him last night wanted to keep him from finding out who killed Toby Sanders.

Gazing into the mirror, Martin probed his cheek with his index finger. A mottle of blotchy purple and red hues covered the whole of his face. He knew something needed to be done. The attack on him was blatant. That meant that someone was starting to lose control. The heat coming off his window kept him alert. He needed to do something. And it needed to get done fast.