| |
“Grammy, how many times do I have to tell you it’s not my fault?” Mercy crossed her fingers behind her back. Technically, it was the fault of the person who stole her car, never mind she possibly facilitated the action.
“Mercy, I’m counting on you,” Joy said.
Mercy lifted her eyes. The family made it a point choose their words carefully, and Mercy was becoming an expert on reading between the lines. What Grammy really meant was that her cousin was relying on her. The whole family knew they could count on Mercy when they needed something, whether it be a small loan, a place to crash, a last-minute babysitter, or, as in this case, a courier.
“Do you need me to wire you emergency funds?” Joy asked.
“No. I took the emergency money from my suitcase and put it in my purse before I left.” The money wasn’t in the trunk.
“Oh. Thank goodness you didn’t lose your purse!” At least you didn’t lose the money AND the documents.
“—you need to get your suitcase and other things back. Are you listening?”
“Yes, Grammy,” she lied obediently. “I’ll see what I can do. Oh, tell your friend I won’t get to visit the Mudbug Grub Hub on this trip, but there’s a great place to eat in Sinful- a café called Francine’s, and I plan to try it out.”
“Mercy, please be careful. I’m worried you might attract undue attention- a young woman traveling by herself.”
Mercy jerked to attention and pulled her wandering thoughts together. That last remark translated to: The feds are following you.
She knew Grandma Joy would let Loyal know she wasn’t going to Mudbug, but he could meet her at Francine’s. Obviously, he’d have to be very careful now, but Mercy had no doubt he’d find a back way into the café to connect with her.
Joy was the only one who kept regular contact with Mercy’s fugitive cousin. Fugitive- it sounded so bad, like Loyal robbed banks or mugged people. His real crime was a cocky attitude that snowballed a simple speeding ticket into a disastrous avalanche.
Loyal Merrymaker was a charming scoundrel, much like their grandfather Wiley Merrymaker had been. Unfortunately, he expected that charm to get him out of all manner of scrapes in life, and usually it did. But the speeding ticket? Not only was the officer unwilling to let Loyal off with a warning, he showed up for the hearing before a judge, which meant Loyal wasn’t getting off the hook.
But could he leave it alone and just pay the fine like a normal person? No. During the brief hearing, Loyal pissed off the judge and was slapped with another fine. After another round of arguing, the judge tacked on a sentence of thirty days in the county jail.
Naturally, Loyal didn’t pay the fine and serve his time. Instead, he hacked the county government website and posted pictures of the judge’s face with a woman’s body, lipstick, and a huge blonde Dolly Parton wig. Then he doctored photos of the officer who wrote the ticket, adding a clown suit, red hair, and a big nose ball. With a few insulting dialogue bubbles, Loyal made the local news, and the enraged judge called his friends in high places.
The result? Loyal was on the run from the FBI, Grandma Joy was providing the means for a fresh start, and Mercy was the delivery girl.
She wasn’t overly concerned about the FBI taking an interest in her. After all, compared to the heavy hitters, Loyal was a pesky mosquito. And the FBI questioned Mercy’s family when Loyal failed to show up for his jail sentence, but Loyal had disappeared, and they didn’t know where he was. However, once the interviews were over, he reached out to Grandma Joy to let her know he was okay.
Mercy mentally rolled her eyes. It was Joy’s idea to provide the scapegrace with the means to start over with a new identity and a substantial amount of cash. Joy could afford to indulge her favorite grandchild. The Merrymakers were well off. But now Grandma Joy’s plan was in jeopardy, thanks to the person who stole Mercy’s car and the FBI’s determination to follow all leads, including Mercy.
***
Joy Merrymaker disconnected and shook her head in dismay. Mercy had been the logical choice to send to Louisiana with the package for Loyal since it coincided with her annual vacation. If the feds checked, they’d see Mercy always took the same two weeks every year and traveled throughout the United States.
Unfortunately, after Mercy departed, Joy learned the feds were tailing her, and that meant the original plan of meeting in Mudbug was out the window. However, Joy and Loyal had already discussed that possibility and in that case he would simply take his package from Mercy’s car at an opportune time. There was no need to let Mercy know about the backup plan.
But the stolen car presented an unforeseen complication, and if Mercy couldn’t retrieve the stolen documents (and the chances of that were slim to none), the best choice was for Loyal to get the money from his cousin and wait until Joy could procure another ID.
Joy made her list. First—contact Loyal and tell him to avoid the restaurant in Mudbug and Francine’s café in Sinful. Mercy’s phone was undoubtedly compromised, and the FBI likely knew Mercy just changed the meeting place. Then she needed Mercy to distract the feds until Loyal figured a way to get the money. But without a car that would be difficult for her granddaughter as her activities could be easily monitored if she was reduced to hoofing it around Sinful.
If only there was a disinterested third party to help Mercy mislead the FBI and open the door of opportunity for Loyal.
Who did she know in that area of the country? Joy smiled. Some things were just meant to be.
***
“Gertie, what has you in such an uproar?” Ida Belle asked when Gertie opened her door.
“I just got a phone call. You’ll never guess who it was,” Gertie exclaimed.
With a pained expression Ida Belle said, “You’re right. I’ll never guess, so either tell me or I’m leaving.”
“Fine. It was Joy Merrymaker.”
Ida Belle gave her a blank look. “Who?”
“Joy Merrymaker,” Gertie repeated and waited for Ida Belle to make the connection. When her friend’s impatient scowl deepened, Gertie prompted her. “My pen pal?”
“Well, that clears things up,” Ida Belle snapped. “Don’t bother giving hints, Gertie. You’re not good at it.”
Gertie pressed her lips together in displeasure. “You know I’ve always had an interest in connecting with people outside of Sinful and that I received state recognition for the pen pal program I initiated as a teacher. The honorable mention on the state website for a whole year was one of the highlights of my teaching career.”
Ida Belle pushed her way past Gertie and opened the fridge. “Anything outside the classroom is a highlight for a Sinful teacher. I’m pretty sure the writers of shows like Bevis and Butthead attended school here.” She pulled a nearly empty glass dish from the fridge and glared at Gertie accusingly. “Is this all that’s left? Never mind. Put on the coffee while I dish this out.”
When they sat at the table a short time later, Gertie gazed at Ida Belle’s dessert plate and then looked down at her own. “I think you need a refresher course in math, especially when it comes to equal amounts.”
Ida Belle muttered about Gertie hogging most of the cake, which is why she now had a small when piece compared to Ida Belle’s.
Gertie lowered her head and angled her eyes. “A refresher course in good manners and sharing seems to be in order as well,” she scolded.
Ida Belle casually reached for Gertie’s plate, moved the contents onto her own dish, and slammed the empty plate onto the table. “There,” she growled. “See- I’m not lacking social grace. I’ll do the polite thing and let you talk first.” She forked in a bite of the double layer chocolate cake with homemade frosting and licked the fork with gusto. “The clock’s ticking,” she warned. “When the cake is gone, so am I.”
Shaking her head in resignation, Gertie sipped her coffee and decided to save the inevitable argument for another day. Her high school pen pal project had received a state award. And she had no more cake! She quickly pushed the coffee pot toward Ida Belle and explained, “Joy Merrymaker lives in Denver and is my latest pen pal.”
Ida Belle’s responded with a brief pause and a careless shrug. Gertie gave up trying to be subtle. “She needs our help.”
“Just tell her no,” Ida Belle suggested. Then she grinned. “Or do you have to write her with your answer?”
“Don’t be facetious,” Gertie warned. “Just because Joy and I are only recently acquainted doesn’t mean I can easily sweep her troubles under the rug when I’m in a position to help.”
“How did you connect with a woman from Denver?” Ida Belle redirected the conversation. “And aren’t you a little old to have pen pals?”
Gertie’s blue eyes grew round. “We met in an internet chat room for people who feel technology is reducing our ability to communicate on a personal level.”
Ignoring her fluttering eyelid, Ida Belle reached for the coffee pot. “So what’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Joy.” Gertie’s seemed puzzled, and Ida Belle’s coffee splashed over the side of her cup. Then Gertie’s expression cleared. “Oh, you mean the phone call? Joy’s not in trouble. It’s her granddaughter, Mercy.”
“If you keep this up, I’m leaving,” Ida Belle threatened.
“What do you mean?”
Ida Belle looked stunned. “Mercy? You’re serious? Someone actually named their poor child Mercy?”
Gertie snickered. “Joy’s late husband was named Wiley. They named their children Earnest, Comfort, and Charity. The grandchildren all got horrid names too. Like Temperance, Worth, and Pleasant.”
Ida Belle made a face. “And Mercy. Let me guess- they have their own church.”
“Hmm. I don’t know, but I’ll be sure to ask the next time I email. But Joy called me, Ida Belle, because someone stole Mercy’s car earlier today.”
Ida Belle used her index finger to massage her temple. “And Joy expects you to find it? Denver’s a little out of the way, don’t you think?”
“Don’t be dense. Mercy’s on vacation here, and her car was stolen. She’s staying at the Sinful Inn.” Gertie’s eyes bulged at the expression Ida Belle wore. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s not wrong?” Ida Belle choked, her face red with disbelief. “Gertie, who vacations here at this time of year? Who stays at the Sinful Inn on purpose? Those things alone make me question the sanity of Joy’s offspring! How on earth does a grown woman with a grain of sense get her car ripped off in Sinful?”
Gertie sniffed. “You’re mistaken. Her car was taken in Asphalt.”
“Two sides of the same coin. I’m telling you, either Joy and Mercy are candidates for the Darwin Award, or something suspicious is going on. Don’t get involved.” Ida Belle brushed her hands together, wiping off the cake crumbs and dismissing Gertie’s pen pal. Her eyes shifted at Gertie’s silence. “You already offered to help, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did! It was the charitable thing to do,” Gertie replied. “Joy told me it’s Mercy’s first trip by herself so she doesn’t want her knowing she’s keeping an eye on her safety. She said this trip is important for her granddaughter to learn independence.”
“Uh, huh. Gertie, if she’s that naïve, she shouldn’t be traveling by herself. When we end up on the outs with Carter, see if he believes an attack of virtuous deeds is responsible for whatever illegal scheme you get us dragged into,” Ida Belle suggested sourly.
“That’s a cynical attitude.”
“No, it a realistic viewpoint, considering your past pen pal history. Remember your friend Vladimir?” Ida Belle asked with an arched brow.
Gertie waved it off. “I had no idea he was backed by the Russian mob! I still think permanent Girl Guide cookie stores are a good idea.”
“How about your Nigerian contact? The one with the money laundering scheme disguised as a ‘get rich, work at home’ job opportunity?”
Gertie’s mouth tightened, and Ida Belle continued relentlessly. “The Italian fashion designer selling porn as the latest in lingerie? The Native American herbal remedy that turned out to be the equivalent of an LSD trip?”
“I don’t know anything about peyote. That wasn’t my fault. Besides, I got a nice blouse from the Italian designer.”
Ida Belle sighed. “The point I’m making is the people you meet online take advantage of your good nature.”
Gertie frowned thoughtfully. “Should I call Joy back to say I won’t help her stranded granddaughter?”
“I didn’t say that. But use caution, Gertie. It won’t hurt to do a little recon on Mercy before you get involved and end up funding a ‘rehabilitation program’ for the benefit of drug cartel bosses on the run. If Mercy’s story checks out, then you can proceed.”
“I guess you may be right. I’ll call Dorothy, who lives near the Sinful Inn, and ask her to let me know if she sees Mercy leave. Dot shouldn’t have trouble identifying Mercy since she’s a stranger and will be on foot. I still have the master key from when Mo and I covered for Eugene, so we can search her room.”
Ida Belle let out a breath of relief. “That’s better.”
“Well, I don’t want a repeat of the Italian incident. When that designer suggested Fortune pose in a clear vinyl nightie—Where are you going? I’ll call you!”
***
Now that her call to Grammy was out of the way, Mercy decided to write out a plan of action for finding her car and the missing documents for Loyal. She pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from her bag and sat on the bed with both flat pillows propped behind her back.
After twenty minutes, she admired the doodle sketches. She had no plans, but the drawings weren’t bad. Impatiently, she dropped her paper and went to check the progress of her phone. Still charging. Mercy looked around the bathroom and realized there were no complimentary toiletries. No big deal since she wouldn’t use them, anyway. Not after seeing the office—well, the whole place, actually. So getting the necessities for her stay in Sinful was at the top of the list.
Leaving her phone to charge, she set out on a walk to discover if the town had a dollar store or similar place she might purchase a few items. It didn’t take long to find the general store in the tiny town. She pushed open the door of the store and felt like she’d been transported back to another decade, if not another century. The store was quaint and quiet, but a man stepped out of the back and greeted her.
She explained her needs and smiled when he introduced himself and pointed to the small section of toiletries he stocked. “Of course, I don’t keep the expensive stuff because it would expire before anyone purchased it. Sorry.”
“That’s okay, Walter. I'll be grateful for anything, even if it’s dish soap and baking soda.” With a puzzled expression, she wondered how she had gotten a reputation for being a snob.
As though reading her mind, Walter answered her unspoken question. “It’s Sinful and news spreads like fresh manure in the summer, so don’t feel bad. But I’m happy to say you aren’t reduced to substitutes.”
Mercy thanked him and spent a few minutes choosing the products she wanted. Then she added bottled water and snacks after checking the expiration date. He watched, and she gave him a bashful grin. “I had a bad experience,” she explained.
“So I heard.”
Again she was perplexed, but she paid for her items. Then she had a moment of illumination. Folks in this small town knew everything about everyone. That’s why Walter assumed she was stuck up and knew about the outdated snacks. Maybe he knew the locals with a record for stealing cars. She had to start somewhere, and this nice man was as good a place as any. It was imperative to find the missing car contents.
Mercy left her bag on the counter and sighed. “I can’t believe someone stole my car in Asphalt. I mean, it’s common in cities, but here? Who’d do something like that?”
Walter chuckled. “Cities don’t have the monopoly on crime. Even Sinful has more than its share of shady characters.”
“Seriously? What happens in a town this size?” She leaned on the counter, anticipating his response.
“Robbery and murder.”
“That’s awful. I’ve heard criminal organizations are moving to smaller towns to operate. Do you think it’s possible a gang took my car?” Her eyes widened at the idea.
“It’s doubtful.” His tone was reserved, and Mercy knew he wouldn’t provide anything helpful when he added, “It’s best to leave that to the authorities.”
“I’ll do that,” she lied as she grabbed her sack. “I sure hope they can find my suitcase. I brought some of my favorite clothes on this trip.” Walter offered a pleasant smile, but was unwilling to accept the hook she dangled. “Thanks for the help!”
She left the store, but her idea had taken root. Even if Walter wasn’t willing to provide the information she sought, there had to be someone who’d open up. She pondered the possibilities on the sidewalk in front of the store and then realized it would be a shame to spend the evening in the smelly motel room. So she walked a block and found a small park with an empty bench. Think, Mercy! The sooner you get Loyal’s documents back, the sooner you can leave. Why is that woman staring at me? Across from her bench an older woman with gray hair and a purse that needed a claim check for airline travel pulled out a baggie of something and munched a piece. She smiled at Mercy. “Raisinette?” she offered.
“Can’t,” Mercy replied. “I’m allergic to grapes.” I lied.
“That’s a shame.” The baggie disappeared, and another replaced it. “Fig? No?” A third plastic container came out of the same purse. “How about an apricot?”
“Thank you, but I had an orange soda with breakfast so I’m good.” I lied again. Mercy wondered if the friendly senior woman had any knowledge of how the criminal element operated. Probably not, but if she was plugged into the gossip network, she must know the locals on the wrong side of the law, right? She smiled at the woman. “I’m Mercy Hazeldine.”
The woman shouldered her duffel-sized bag like a mini purse and moved to Mercy’s bench.
“I’m Gertie Hebert.” She offered a sticky hand to Mercy, who shook it and hoped Gertie kept hand wipes in her bag. Next, Gertie produced a grapefruit the size of a small melon and peeled it while Mercy wondered what else she was packing. Given the size of the handbag, she could carry an impressive arsenal of firearms and other weapons if she didn’t fill it like a picnic basket.
Gertie’s bright blue eyes inspected Mercy as she popped a slice of grapefruit into her mouth. Her lips puckered, and her eyes squeezed shut. “Nice and sour, just the way I like them. My friend Ida Belle won’t eat grapefruit unless she’s coated it with sugar. It ruins the fruit if you ask me.”
“I’m allergic to citrus,” Mercy lied. “Have you lived here long?” Old people like to talk about themselves and their families. It’s a good lead-in to the locals, which seems the logical place to begin. Maybe one of them has a reputation for auto theft.
“My, yes. I’ve lived in Sinful my whole life, except when I was a secretary in the Army.”
“Really? I bet that was interesting,” Mercy remarked politely.
“Not really. It was pretty boring, actually.” Gertie stood to toss the remaining grapefruit into the trash can and then she returned to the bench.
Hoping Gertie might open up about the locals, Mercy explained her reason for being in Sinful. “Someone stole my car earlier.”
“That’s a shame. You can’t trust anyone these days, can you?” Gertie replied with a woeful expression.
“I thought the same thing!” Mercy exclaimed. “I mean, it’s a small town. Well, my car was taken in Asphalt, but still? Who does that kind of thing? But I’m afraid the deputy who took my report doesn’t think it’s a serious matter.” Gertie didn’t comment, so Mercy tried again. “I bet he has bigger things to worry about, huh?” Good leading question!
“Like what?” Gertie asked, and Mercy froze at the unexpected comeback.
Think fast! Anything! “Like drugs.” That’s a good response. Even small towns aren’t immune to that problem.
“Oh, no!” Gertie suddenly shrieked, and Mercy’s shoulders stiffened.
The pathetic wail accomplished its purpose. Mercy saw the carnage that spilled from the amazing purse. Gertie gazed at her hopefully and Mercy dutifully crouched to hand Gertie the items that dropped from her bag, including a romance novel the size of an encyclopedia volume. Mercy glanced at the woman curiously.
“Goodness. I thought it was empty.” Another pile poured from the bag, and Mercy suspected she tipped it on purpose. Wrappers, receipts, ketchup packs, soy sauce, gum, cough drops, a salt shaker, instant creamer, bite-size candy bars, licorice whips, lemon drops, a condom. A condom? Gertie giggled and snagged it from Mercy’s limp grasp. “You can never be too careful.”
Dear lord, please don’t let me find feminine products and birth control pills because if Sinful is an experiment in aging fertility, I’d really rather die without knowing. With closed eyes Mercy, patted the ground and blindly passed things to Gertie. Cracking one eye, she asked, “Did I miss anything?”
“Hmm?” Gertie looked up from her watch. “Oh. No, I think you got it all. Thank you, Mercy. Sorry I have to run, but it was nice talking with you.” She jumped up and raced out of the park, leaving Mercy staring at the remaining mess strewn around the park bench.
Grumbling under her breath, she retrieved the miscellaneous bags of fruit, snack bars, nuts, and an apple. After making sure the park was empty, she drop-kicked the apple out of spite, remembering too late she wore sandals. Cursing, she hobbled to the garbage can and dumped the junk. Her once crisp cotton shirt wilted, the knees bagged on her formerly pressed pants, and her sandals? She’d be lucky if they survived another day without giving up the fight.
By the time she reached the motel, she sympathized with the abused footwear. It spoke as to her state of mind that she felt relieved to be entering the room. Then she stopped, and her hackles rose. Someone had been in her room and searched it. The pillows on the bed were placed just a little too close to the center. And a dresser drawer wasn’t completely closed at one corner. It was just a tiny crack, but with her nose just inches from it not long ago she was sure it wasn’t that way when she left.
And her phone? Mercy always placed her phone face down when it charged so she wouldn’t be tempted to answer calls and texts. But most people, like her intruder, placed it face up.
The amount of people in Sinful interested enough to search her room was very limited. But it explained the odd behavior of Gertie Hebert. Mercy wondered if Gertie’s friend Ida Belle searched the room. No, it couldn’t be. If Ida Belle was as disorganized as Gertie, the room would look like an avalanche. Still, it was possible Ida Belle was more careful than her snack packing friend. So, had Gertie been sent to keep her distracted while her cohort checked things out? What interest could two senior citizens have in her? Mercy shook her head. It had to be someone else. But who and why?
Was it the feds? She hadn’t spotted them following her to Louisiana, but it wouldn’t be out of the question. Then a thunderbolt hit her. It was Loyal, and she’d bet her best designer shoes he was looking for the money she had in her purse! It would be just like him to trick Grammy into providing everything he needed to start a new life and then change his plans. He was probably gambling again. Mercy snorted. Loyal wasn’t addicted to gambling, but he played whenever he was stressed, and he was very good. However, on the rare occasion when he lost, he lost big, and she’d bet her best matching designer purse that’s how he was biding his time while he waited for Grammy’s help to arrive.
She looked hopefully in her purse, wishing she had the forethought to buy a bottle of booze. Maybe the chain smoking dried mummy in the office had something put aside for rainy days. Even if he didn’t, he surely knew the shady locals since they probably rented rooms on a regular basis. If she could connect with the gamblers, it would give her a lead on where to start looking for Loyal.
She limped to the office and inquired about alcohol. Eugene drew himself up like an outraged maiden getting an indecent proposition. “Sinful is a dry town!” he announced as he hacked up a wad of phlegm and spat toward the trash can.
He missed, and the brown spittle bulged and swayed before settling into a slimy ball of goo on the floor. Well, she might as well toss those Tootsie Roll candies she bought at the general store because she’d never touch one again. A second blast from Eugene followed the first, and she nearly cried because she loved butterscotch candies, right up until the yellow blob bounced and jiggled next to the brown one. He wheezed, and she raced out the door before she had to give up sour apple candies.
Crap! That disgusting display caused her plan to derail. She decided to give it another try. Eugene looked up with a frown at the squeaking door she opened. The deeply entrenched grooves at the sides of his mouth made a valiant attempt at a reversal when he saw she flashed a bill at him.
“What can I help you with?” he asked, eyeing the currency she kept in her fist.
“I’m sure you heard someone stole my car.” Eugene pulled back, and she hastily pleaded, “Hear me out!” Waving the bill had more influence than her request, but it didn’t matter as long as she had his attention. “All I want is a little information,” she said persuasively. “I want to get my car contents back. I’ll need those things because I came prepared to play.” Eugene looked blank until she flapped the money and added, “Games of chance. I’m hoping you might know someone who can put me in the way of some action.”
Eugene’s face cleared. He didn’t really need to give her anything useful. Besides, everyone knew the local gamblers and she could get the same information from any citizen, so why not him? And if he worked it right, he could pocket a tidy little sum. His palm itched as he sized her up. “Art Porter likes to roll the dice. And Clem Whaley. But he’s been real busy setting up his moonshine distribution network.”
Before Mercy could speak, Eugene snagged the cash and turned his back to arrange a pile of old brochures. Mercy’s eyes narrowed. The smoky little stick might add himself to the list of local miscreants! She cleared her throat and waved another bill before setting it on the counter between them. Loyal favored poker, and that’s the information she really wanted from Eugene. “How about cards?”
Eugene waited until he had the first bill stashed before continuing. “Gabe Boucher might know of a game.” He stopped and tugged at the collar of his shirt. Her fingers drummed the counter, and he appeared unhappy, but she waited while moving the bill with her forefinger as his eyes followed it in a trance. “And Big Jim Marshall!” He grabbed the bill before she could stop him.
Damn! Eugene beamed and Mercy wished he hadn’t. Not with teeth like that. Or missing teeth. It was a tossup because he seemed to be missing every other tooth. But she wasn’t finished with greedy Eugene.
“Anyone else?” she asked.
Eugene’s face crinkled like an emaciated Shar Pei sucking a lemon as he thought hard. Then he shook his head. “Not unless you’re looking for a good graffiti artist.”
Mercy kept a tight grip on the money. “No artists, but do you have an idea where I might find one of the other men?” Eugene rubbed his stained fingers together at her question. “Like Gabe?” The stick man’s eyeballs bulged, and he cleared his throat suggestively. Mercy pulled out another bill, praying she wouldn’t go broke before she cracked the money hungry beanpole.
Eugene was torn between the cash, his business, and his skin. Rumor had it that Gabe got the nickname Butcher for dismembering a man who crossed him.
Mercy saw his hesitation, and her fingers clenched. She wanted to reach over the counter to grab his neck and shake him until his remaining teeth rattled out of his head. But that would require touching him, and she was certain that she was already too close and possibly risking cancer by being in the same room. Also, it was likely those teeth might fly out on their own and accidentally bite her. She let out a frustrated sigh and pretended to stuff the money into her purse.
“Never mind.”
Eugene croaked in protest. She glanced at him from the top of her eyes, and he pushed an old-fashioned guest register book at her. Mercy checked the entries but didn’t see Gabe registered. But Mr. Butcher? Butcher was the occupational surname of the French name Boucher, wasn’t it? There was no address, but he currently occupied one of the rooms.
She placed her finger on the name, and Eugene tipped his head to one side. Mercy smiled dutifully and passed him the money. “Thanks, it’s been expensive.”
“Come back anytime,” he called after her. She shuddered and hoped it wouldn’t come down to that.
Outside the motel she quietly walked to Room 3 and paused at the door. One trip down the sidewalk affirmed the walls were paper thin, and she didn’t want to overhear anything other than conversation. The door opened, and a woman scurried out, followed by a man she assumed was Gabe. Up close she saw his hard features. The slicked back dark hair, dark brows, crooked brown eyes, earrings, and a scar on his forehead. He wasn’t tall or muscular, but he had a wiry build and moved with caution. Mercy wasn’t surprised to see a gun tucked into his waistband when he turned to close the door.
While she gathered her wits, he looked her over and decided she was of no consequence. He stepped around Mercy as her hand shot out, and she accidentally dug her nails into his forearm. One of his eyes narrowed and if looks could kill, she’d be a spot on the ground. But she couldn’t let this opportunity pass. Besides, a few people stood outside their rooms, smoking and chatting.
She withdrew her hand, cleared her throat, and stuttered, “I was told you might know where I could, uh, find a good game of cards.” Wow, he’ll believe you’re a hardened gambler, Mercy!
One dark eye bored a hole into hers and the other drilled her forehead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She took a deep breath, unwilling to give up. Maybe he’d help if he thought she had an addiction. She placed her hand cautiously on his arm again. “I’m kind of desperate. Could you just point me in the right direction. Please?” He gazed at her curiously for a moment before jerking his arm away and leaving in a black SUV. Well, she’d just have to try again later.
After returning to her room, Mercy checked her cell phone, happily discovering it hadn’t self-destructed or burst into flames because of a faulty charger. When she looked at the bathroom mirror, the haggard skank with wild hair staring back caused her to wrinkle her nose in disgust. Just this morning she looked like a normal woman. Now she looked like a failed stoner science project. And tomorrow promised to be even worse because she had to wear the same clothes.
Even though she wasn’t tired, she undressed and flopped down on the bed in her undergarments. Hours later she was still wide awake, so when a single knock sounded on her door, she sat upright and turn on the lamp. There on the floor, just inside the door, was a small slip of paper with an address and a monetary figure which she assumed to be the cost of acquiring the game’s location.
She pulled the cash from her wallet and then scowled. It was her cousin’s mess and therefore he was responsible for the cost, right? She used Loyal’s money to replace the amount she paid Eugene and then pulled out the extra to tuck under Gabe’s door. After folding it into a sheet of paper, she dressed and sneaked down the sidewalk to place it under the door crack. When she returned to her room, she didn’t notice the opening in the drapes and the watchful eyes from another room.
Feeling she accomplished something useful, she dropped back into bed. Finally, she had a real lead. If Loyal didn’t show up for their meeting tomorrow at Francine’s, she’d follow up on the gaming angle. But hopefully, he’d be there and she could turn the cash over and let him figure out what to do about the missing ID.
***
“Well, Gertie, that was a complete waste of time!” Ida Belle complained. “I doubt even Fortune ever traveled that lightly. The only thing in her room was a password-protected cell phone.”
Gertie shook her head. “Ida Belle, I peeked into her store sack when she wasn’t looking, and she bought toiletries and snacks. Which means she’s staying, and it wasn’t planned. She really must be stranded like Joy said.”
“You could be right, but just humor me a little longer,” Ida Belle requested. “There’s something nagging at me, and I can’t place my finger on it.”
“Well, she did bring up the subject of drugs out of the blue. How about if we stop by to visit her in the morning to see how she’s doing? We can use the opportunity to learn more about her. Eight o’clock tomorrow?”
“Fine,” Ida Belle agreed.