CHAPTER TEN

 

 

 

Friday

 

“Come on, Abby, one more set of push-ups. You can do it.”

I pushed myself up and let myself flop back down, tasting the sweat pouring from my forehead.

“You don’t have to grumble at me,” Marco chided. “I’m just trying to help.”

I scowled at my husband. “That wasn’t me. It was my stomach. It needs food.”

“It’s going to get food right after you do one more set.”

“One more set?” I exhaled and flopped back down again. “You are a cruel man. We’ve been at this for hours.”

“You’ve exercised for twenty minutes, Buttercup.”

“My muscles are on fire, Marco. I need to stop.”

“Feel the burn,” he said. “Let the burn push you forward. Pain is all in the mind.”

I pushed my chest off the ground and felt the burn sear through my shoulders. I was exhausted but I worked through the pain and actually finished the set.

“Nice form.”

I rolled onto my back with a groan.

Marco held out his hand and helped me to my feet. “You’ll be bikini-ready in no time.”

“I’ve never been bikini ready,” I sighed. “Let’s just focus on one-piece-ready.”

“Well then,” Marco smiled. “Let’s do two sets of stairs and then we can eat.”

“Cruel!” I called, as he started up the basement stairs ahead of me.

I’d barely made it to the top when Marco ran down past me without even breaking a sweat, giving me a pat on the rear as he passed by. “It’s better than Jillian calling you Flabby Abby, isn’t it?”

Once we’d had breakfast, showered, and got dressed, we headed out to check on Luke’s alibi. I called Bloomers and let Lottie know I would be a little late, and then spent the rest of the car ride stretching my sore muscles and rolling my neck. We drove past The Lost Weekend and just a few miles beyond that was the Over Night truck stop, a large two-story gas station off of the highway with a parking lot the size of a football field.

I had never actually been to that gas station because it was always crowded with semis and oversized shipping trucks. We drove through the lot where the drivers would park their trucks and pulled into a parking spot just beside the gas station’s front entrance. Marco pointed out several security cameras on the outside.

“If Luke was telling the truth then they must have some record of him here,” I said. “The cameras are everywhere.” Just then my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket and said to Marco, “It’s Greg Morgan. I need to take this.”

“I’ll go in and check the place out,” Marco said. “Be right back.”

Marco exited the car, and I watched his lean figure as he strolled in the front doors. “Hey, Greg. What did you find out?”

“That I shouldn’t get involved in other people’s cases,” he said with his normal irreverent charm. “I was told in no uncertain terms by my boss to stay out of it.”

“You’re kidding. What did he say, exactly?”

“He said that Arno was on top of it, and the Chief of Police had faith in him closing the case soon.”

“Did you even try to push the subject?”

“Believe me, I tried. Sorry, Abby.”

“What about Sergeant Reilly?” I asked. “I will testify in court that Connor MacKay falsified his sources in order to write that article.”

“Abby, Reilly is being investigated by Internal Affairs.” Greg stopped talking to let the weight of that settle. “I don’t know what he did, but this is serious. MacKay’s article is the least of his concerns now.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” I argued. “I was there.”

“I believe you.”
“Do you also believe me now that Arno has it out for Reilly?” I asked.

“I do.”

“And?”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

I tried my hardest to keep my composure as I thanked Morgan for taking the time to help me. Even though it seemed like sometimes I was talking to a brick wall, I knew he was being honest, but before he hung up, I stopped him. “Greg, wait. What if I could prove that Detective Arno was mishandling this case? Could you do anything then?”

He thought for a long moment. “If you can prove that Arno is purposefully construing evidence for his own personal gain, maybe. But how are you going to do that?”

“Don’t worry about how,” I said. “You just get the paperwork ready to file.”

“What paperwork?”

“Just do it, Morgan.”

“Whatever you say, Knight. Good luck.”

I put my phone away and felt the muscles in my shoulders tense up all over again.

Marco didn’t have the same confident stride as he walked back toward me. He opened the door and plopped down into his seat. “They won’t cooperate. First, the attendant told me the surveillance video is scrubbed daily. Then, when I asked to speak to the manager, he told me that someone had already picked up the video records.”

“Do you think Dutch came by?”

“Probably,” he replied, “but as soon as I flashed my P.I. badge the manager closed up, wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“What do we do now?”

“There’s a second story where the truck drivers can wash up and relax. If we could get up there and ask around, I’m sure someone would have information about Luke.”

“Maybe I could get up there.”

“How?”

“The attendant and the manager, are they both men?”

“Yeah, does that matter?”

“You bet it does.” I pulled the passenger’s side visor down and checked my makeup. I pulled a few fingers through my hair and turned to Marco. “Leave this to me.”

Upon entering the gas station’s front doors, I first spotted the restroom sign just beyond the checkout counter. The store was fairly busy with customers and I noticed that there were cameras in each of the four corners of the convenience area. An unfriendly face greeted me as I walked slowly by the counter, pretending to peruse the candy and gum selection. Then, with a quick glance over my shoulder, I casually entered the short hallway leading to the restrooms and entered through the women’s door. Just as I had hoped, the bathroom had only one toilet and the door was lockable from the inside.

I worked quickly, stuffing single-ply toilet paper into the dirty, yellowed toilet bowl. As soon as the roll was empty, I flushed a few times for good measure. The bowl filled with water and I dashed out of the room heading straight for the counter. “I’m sorry but the women’s toilet is out of order. Do you have another restroom I could use?”

The attendant was busy ringing up several people standing in line. “Use the men’s.”

I hadn’t expected that. The attendant continued his work behind the register and I waited impatiently for a break in the line. “Excuse me, but I don’t feel comfortable using the men’s bathroom. Can I —”

Before I could continue, the man who I assumed to be the manager approached me. “Is there a problem?”

“The women’s toilet is out of order and I’m kind of in a rush,” I lied. “Is there another bathroom I could use?”

“Sure,” he said. “You can use the men’s. I’ll make sure it’s empty.”

“No,” I stopped him. “I don’t feel comfortable using the men’s bathroom.”

A loud buzzing noise came from the back room behind the coolers, and the manager seemed to become agitated. “Give me a minute and I’ll clean the bathroom for you.”

“It’s sort of an emergency,” I said, feigning embarrassment.

The buzzer sounded again. “I understand. I’ll be right with you.”

“It’s a female emergency,” I emphasized.

With that the manager straightened his collar as if he had been wearing a tie, visibly uncomfortable. He pointed to the back stairwell. “Up the stairs and down the hallway to your left. Please make it quick.”

The floorboards creaked as I made my way up the darkened stairwell. There were uncovered bulbs hanging on the wall above me that barely lit a path down the hallway. To my right were rows of washers and dryers, all churning methodically, and above them were coin-operated vending machines with small packets of detergent, fabric softener and other random toiletries.

Beyond that was an opened door to my right. I peeked inside to see several men and women lounging in the dark watching television. The volume was low and there were a few curious looks my way, but I decided to continue looking around before interrupting. Down the dimly lit hallway to my left was the bathroom. Around the corner was another hallway with rows of white doors. I stopped to inspect one and realized that they were individual shower rooms.

One of the doors opened and out stepped a man with wet, messy hair, wearing only a towel. I didn’t have to fake embarrassment as our eyes locked. The man gave me an odd look and stepped into a room across from the showers. I turned around and made my way back toward the bathroom.

“Hey there, stranger,” a woman said. She was leaning up against the bathroom door with her arms crossed, giving me a peculiar smile. “I noticed you sneaking around the place, thought you might like a tour.”

“Actually,” I said, trying to feel her out. “I’m kind of looking for someone.”

“You, too?” she asked casually. “Follow me.”

She led me back toward the TV room. Her blond hair was up in a pony-tail and she was wearing a sleeveless American flag t-shirt. I wasn’t sure if she had heard me correctly, or if she knew who I was looking for, but she sat down next to a thin, bald man, sprawled out on one of the sofas in front of the television and said, “Little lady here is looking for someone.”

The man straightened up a bit. “You lookin’ for Luke, too?”

“Yes,” I said. “Do you know him?” I pulled out my phone and showed him the picture I had secretly taken of Luke at the pool hall.

“We all know Luke,” he said, motioning around the room at the other drivers. “But, like I told the other guy, you won’t find him around here no more.”

“What other guy?” I asked. “Was it a detective?”

“Sure,” he replied. “Came up here in his big overcoat, askin’ after Luke. Told me not to talk to you, too. I can tell you that. He described you and everything, red hair and all. He doesn’t much care for you.”

“No,” I agreed, “he doesn’t, but it’s important I talk to you.”

“Go right ahead. My name’s Randy, by the way.”

“Abby Salvare,” I said as I flipped through my phone, looking for the photos of Luke I had taken at the bar. “Was the detective here this morning?”

“No, no. He came through yesterday.”

I showed the photo of Luke to Randy. “Can you tell me if this is the same Luke?”

“Sure is.”

“Was he here Monday night, around six?”

He licked his lips and lifted his finger, as if it would help him recall, “He was here in the afternoon talking about making some quick money. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Do you live here?” I asked, then immediately regretted the question.

He laughed along with a few other people. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Not supposed to, but Luke and I have been stayin’ here since we got laid off from Miller’s. Now, speakin’ of Miller’s, here’s something else I told that detective. Luke’s been talkin’ about knocking over that place since we got canned, but I didn’t think he had it in him. Then he comes around here, wanting me to get involved. Now, listen. I’m a driver, not a robber, so I told him to scoot.”

“And that was Monday?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I thanked Randy, handed out a few of our cards, and slipped back down the stairwell and out the front doors. Marco was outside of the car next to the driver’s door with an exasperated look on his face. “What took you so long?”

I got into the passenger side while Marco sat down next to me and closed his door.

“I’ve been trying to call you and then realized you forgot your phone. You have a text from Jillian, too, by the way.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was gone that long, but I did get some great info.”

We discussed my conversation on the ride back, highlighting the fact that Luke was not at the gas station as he had claimed, and that Dutch now had the video files, the only proof of Luke’s whereabouts before the murder. “Maybe he made one final attempt to extract money from Paige before resorting to robbing Miller’s?”

Marco’s eyes were forward, watching the road as he shook his head. “But where does Dylan come into play? He was caught with Paige’s computer and wedding ring.”

“There has to be more to the story,” I said, “some piece that ties it all together. Luke and Dylan don’t know each other, as far as we know, but they both seem to be involved.”

“Okay,” Marco started. “We have two suspects; Dylan and Luke. Dylan was caught with Paige’s belongings, but her cell phone was traced to Luke’s former place of employment, the same place he was talking about robbing. Both men are being held in jail right now, and both are probably being questioned in Paige’s murder, so where does that leave us?”

I couldn’t answer right away. The intrepid investigator in me wanted to keep searching for clues and finish solving the mystery. There were too many questions to just stop now. But both of our top suspects were already in jail. Knowing Dutch, he would have a confession in no time. Whether or not the real murderer was put behind bars didn’t matter to him, as long as he closed the case fast. But Marco was right. Where did that leave us? “Are you suggesting we stop investigating?”

“What more can we do?”

“I don’t know, but we can’t leave it up to Dutch.”

“Sunshine, listen. We started this case to help Reilly, and look what’s happened. We’ve only made things worse. Arno has the upper hand here. He has the chief of police and the district attorney on his side. He has our top suspects in custody. I don’t like the man, but I think he’s got us beat this time.”

My phone rang, giving me a good reason not answer Marco right away. I wasn’t about to stop investigating, and as I answered the phone I crossed my fingers, hoping my dad was calling with good news.”