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  Hodson wasn't much of a businessman and he only managed to keep the doors open by offering monthly rentals to employees of the Glove Factory in Kettletown. The motel turned into a giant flophouse with a lot of drinking, drugging, whoring, you name it. It was rare to drive by and not see at least one police car in the lot. Eventually Hodson got tired of it all and sold the motel to Nick Havers, his niece Donna's husband. Nick had worked as a hotel manager before and he and Donna planned to renovate the Dry Bed and turn it into a nice place. They worked long hours to rehab the place and change its reputation and they were making good progress, but they still had problems with shady types hanging out there sometimes.

  I thanked Suze and left. It was a good bet that she was right and the two guys I was looking for were staying at the Dry Bed Motel. I wanted to check it out but I couldn't imagine any excuse I could give Mark for a reason to go there, so it would have to wait until we got back from Newtown.

  We found Jordan Burns office in a ten story building in the heart of downtown Newtown. Jordan was a neat, well dressed man of about my age, and from the look of his office he was doing very well for himself. He welcomed us in cordially and we all sat down around his desk.

  “When you asked to meet with me you said you wanted some information concerning an Olivia Quinlan who lives downstate in East Spoon Creek City,” he said. Looking up at my hair he added, “Look, if you're here to complain about her services, I don't have anything to do with the salon-”

  “No, that's not why we're here,” I cut in, my cheeks turning red. Monsieur Rene had a lot to answer for.

  “Very well. What can I help you with?”

  “I don't know what your relationship with Miss Quinlan is,” I said, “but I regret to inform you that she passed away on Wednesday afternoon.”

  He was silent for a moment and then he said, “Passed away. And you came all the way up here to inform a perfect stranger about her death; a perfect stranger who had a very loud argument with her a few days before she died. The good lady wouldn't have been murdered, would she?”

  This was a little embarrassing, but I had to continue. “Yes, she was murdered and I was trying to determine the reason for your visit.”

  “Because since we were apparently heard arguing, or more precisely, she was screaming at me for a good five minutes straight, I must have driven the 100 miles back to East Spoon Creek City on Wednesday and murdered her,” he said. “And who are you exactly? You don't look like law enforcement to me.”

  “No, we're not,” I replied. “My brother is deputy sheriff in East Spoon Creek City, but he didn't send us. I don't know if you're aware of it but Olivia Quinlan had quite a few people who had very good reasons for wanting her dead. I'm not sure if you're one of them, but I am sure that the sheriff has arrested the wrong one for Olivia's murder. We're trying to help her out any way we can. I know this is unorthodox and we'll leave right now if you don't care to talk with us.” I started to get up.

  “No, wait,” he said, raising a hand to prevent us from leaving. “I have a 'helpful' sister too, so I understand the situation. First of all, I can tell you that I have quite a good alibi for Wednesday afternoon. The Chamber of Commerce had a special event last Wednesday and I was on a panel of businessmen who were discussing methods of bettering our community. There was a luncheon, two hours of meetings and then I played golf with three of the Chamber of Commerce members after it was over. I can prove it if I have to.”

  “What was your relationship with Olivia Quinlan?” I asked. “Did you know her well?”

  “Pretty well,” Jordan Burns replied. “She was my mother.”

  Chapter 10

  That was not the answer I was expecting. Mark looked as surprised as I was, and neither of us seemed to know what to say, but Jordan Burns smiled and said, “I might as well tell you the story. Shortly after my twin sister Lauren and I were born, our mother Olivia Quinlan gave us up for adoption.”

  “Oh.... I'm sorry to hear that,” I stammered.

  “Don't be; we were adopted into a loving family by a nice couple who we knew as our mom and dad. They told my sister and I that we were adopted when we were old enough to understand, and made us feel that we were special because of it, not different. I believe now that they told us at such an early age so that Olivia couldn't threaten to blackmail them later. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

  “I never had much interest in finding my biological parents, but recently Lauren decided she wanted to try to find them. Lauren and her husband are expecting a baby and she wants to learn about our parents disease history and that sort of thing. I was reluctant because our adoptive parents are the best and I thought we should leave well enough alone, but she was insistent. So, I hired a private investigator to find out what he could, and after a while he discovered that our mother was going by the name of Olivia Quinlan now and she was living in East Spoon Creek City. Not knowing if she'd want to meet with me or not, I wrote a letter and asked her. I had an almost immediate reply; she said that she would love to see me and that she had just lived for the day when she would finally be able meet me.

  “I was overjoyed. Not only was my sister going to be over the moon about this, but I thought that this would be a chance for me to thank her for giving us a better life than she herself could have provided for us herself. I envisioned a happy scene where we would hug and catch up on each others lives with tears of joy all around.”

  “Ouch,” Mark said.

  “Ouch indeed. After talking to her for only a few minutes it was clear to me that she had agreed to meet me because she found out I was a stock broker and figured I was rich. After a few more minutes I made it clear to her that I wasn't going to give her any money, and you saw where that went. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, telling me that my sister and I were mistakes and that she was supposed to get more money from the adoption and our parents cheated her. She ended by telling me that if I ever came back she'd have me arrested for trespassing. Of course I had no intention of ever going back.”

  “Wow, that's incredible,” I said. “I knew that Olivia was a mean, spiteful person but I wouldn't have believed she could attack her own flesh and blood that way. I'm really sorry you went through that.”

  “You and me both,” said Jordan. “I'll admit that I did give her the one finger salute as I was leaving. I didn't go back, though; not to murder her or for any other reason. ”

  There wasn't much we could say after that, so Mark and I said goodbye and went back to the truck.

  As we were driving home, Mark said, “Well, I don't know if he killed Olivia, but I wouldn't blame him if he had! My God, after hearing that I felt like pulling out my phone right in his office and calling my mother and telling her how much I appreciate her.”

  “Same here, “ I said. “Of course I'd have to find her first. She and Dad are still traveling around the country in the RV looking for the perfect spot for a vacation home. They thought that Sturgis, South Dakota sounded nice, but it didn't work out. Apparently if you have thousands of motorcyclists show up in a town it gets a little rowdy. My Dad told the Mayor of Sturgis that he would have to make a choice: either cancel the Annual Sturgis Motorcycle Rally or he and my mom would leave.”

  “Hard to guess how that turned out. Where did they go from there?”

  “I'm not sure but Bob talked to Dad on the phone recently and said he had mentioned heading for Nevada. Someone told him about a nice area there called Black Rock City, about 100 miles northeast of Reno. It's sort of an arts community and Dad thinks he and mom would fit in that kind of atmosphere better than they did in Sturgis.”

  “I've never heard of the place, but it sounds like it could be a good place for them,” Mark said.

  “Dad also said that there's a nice little art festival called 'Burning Man' that goes on there every year. He said it sounded like fun.”

  “Ah. It looks like the search will go on, then.”

  “I'd say that's a good bet.”

 
; “I assume that Bob warned your Dad about what Burning Man is like?”

  “Warned and was ignored. Parents know more than their kids. Well, at least Mom will get some inspiration for her crocheting. She likes to crochet special designs to commemorate the trips she's taken with Dad.” I took out my phone as we stopped at a red light. “Look, she sent me a photo of something she made in Sturgis. It's a man on a motorcycle.”

  Mark took the phone from me and as he looked at the screen, his eyes widened. “Whoa, is that his-”

  “It's a handlebar!” I snapped, grabbing the phone back. “Motorcycles have handlebars, Mark!”

  “I know, but I'm just saying it looks like ---”

  “Oh, be quiet! The light just turned green.”

  I looked at the picture again. Regrettably, it did look like what Mark was thinking. No one ever said that crocheting is a perfect science. As we drove on, I turned my thoughts back to the murder. Jordan Burns' revelation certainly wasn't what I expected, and I tried to think of how this piece might fit into the puzzle in my mind.

  “I wasn't sure what would happen to Olivia's salon now that she's dead, but now I would assume that Jordan would inherit it,” I said.

  “You think he would kill over that? He didn't look hard up for money,” Mark said.

  “Appearances can be deceiving. Maybe he has debts and he needs money fast. Or maybe he just hated Olivia for everything she had done to him and he wanted her to die.”

  “That's a lot of maybes. Don't forget he has an alibi.”

  “He could have hired someone to do it. Maybe someone else who was glad to see Olivia dead. What about Lester Poole? If Jordan sold the salon to pay his debts, then Lester would be out of a job, and who else would hire someone like him?'

  “But doesn't that give Lester a motive to not murder Olivia?”

  “Oh, I guess you're right...”

  “Look, this afternoon was a little intense,” Mark said. “Don't you think you've done enough detecting on this one? Why don't you back off and let Sheriff Wilkerson and Bob carry on from here?”

  “Okay, that's a good idea,” I said.

  “You don't mean that, of course.”

  “Probably not.”

  “After what Dora said yesterday, I assume you plan to nose around Sammy Brown's car lot and see if you can get a matching set of black eyes?”

  With everything that had happened, I had actually forgotten about Sammy Brown and his threats against Olivia. I wouldn't have thought Sammy would murder someone in cold blood; rob them blind, yes, but murder? I wasn't sure. His new wife Pollyanna was a different story, though. She had no problem using violence to protect her husband, but just how far would she be willing to go if she thought Olivia was a threat?

  “I suppose someone should find out what he's up to with those Savage cars he's selling,” I mused. “What kind of a car is a Savage anyway? I've never heard of that brand.”

  “Me either,” Mark said. “It's probably something dodgy; something that the police should look into.”

  “You're probably right,” I admitted, “but that wouldn't tell us if he had killed Olivia.”

  “And how do you plan to find out? See if he'll try to kill you, too? That's how you usually do it, isn't it?”

  “You're really blowing this black eye out of proportion! Besides, even if Sammy was the murderer, he would hardly try to slaughter me in front of everyone at his used car lot!”

  “That's right, because I'm not letting you go there. I'll go out there myself tomorrow morning and if I see anything shady going on I'll call Bob and have him follow up.”

  I was about to protest when it occurred to me that if Mark was preventing me from going to Sammy's car lot, he couldn't prevent me from going to the Dry Bed Motel. “Okay, fine. If that's how you want to waste your free time, then suit yourself,” I said. “It'll give you a chance to interrogate someone other than me for once.”

  Mark's eyes narrowed. “You're giving up awfully easy,” he said. “What are you up to?”

  “Don't worry, I'll sit at home in the closet with the door barricaded and crochet doilies all day in perfect safety. Make sure to have the SWAT team check in on me every couple of hours.”

  He gave a sigh. “Enough Sherlock Holmes stuff for one day. Let's take a break and go to the Abbott and Costello Marathon at the Uptown Famous Movie Theater tonight. They're starting off with Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. Unless you'd rather go home and see a different sort of movie like 'Mommie Dearest'.”

  “I think Frankenstein sounds a lot more appealing right now.”

  I was helping Kitty clear off the tables from the breakfast crowd when Jeff Goodwin came into the Breezy Spoon. Jeff is a reporter for the East Spoon Creek Gazette, although much nicer and less insane than their star reporter Millie Farnsworth. Well, a little less insane; he's planning to marry into the Farnsworth family. He's not engaged to Millie, of course, but to her sister Teri. Teri is the black sheep of the Farnsworth family because she started her own organic farm rather than work in the Gazette, which is owned by her uncle, or the Farnsworth Bank and Trust. Her farm supplies the Breezy Spoon with really great vegetables, fruit and micro-greens, which doesn't put her on Millie's good side, either.

  “Ah, what a glorious sight for my humble eyes to behold!” Jeff said as he saw us. “Such beauty and elegance are like to make your customers swoon in their chocolate waffles with strawberry syrup, which I hope I'm not too late to order!”

  “Good Lord, Jeff, that must be the record for the most grandiose speech that anyone's given in the Breezy Spoon,” I laughed. “I'll put in your order right away.”

  “I hope you're impressed enough to maybe put a dollop of whipped cream on top?”

  “You are welcome to all the dollops you want. Do you want the cheesy omelet with Applewood bacon, avocados and salsa with your waffles?”

  “Big time,” Jeff replied. “And can I get a vanilla hazelnut latte? Just think, when this used to be Jessie's Joint I was lucky to get a cup of instant coffee that wasn't lukewarm. You guys are really 'cheffin' it up', as they say.”

  “It hasn't been too hard to outdo old Jessie,” I said. “His breakfast special was hard boiled egg sandwiches on day old bread and canned potatoes fried in lard.”

  “I always wondered why he bought a diner when he hated to cook,” said Kitty.

  “I think Jessie thought it would be a lot easier to run a diner than it really was,” Jeff said. “Much like how people think it's easy to be a reporter when in reality it entails a lot of hard work and danger, such as hunting for Bigfoot!”

  “That's true; I wouldn't have guessed that Bigfoot hunting would be such a big problem in East Spoon Creek City,” I said. “So Georgine had another sighting?”

  “Edna Carswell this time; although she had been talking to Georgine on the phone earlier and she'd also had a bit to drink. It's not much of a story, but since Millie is hogging the Quinlan murder story when she's not writing about you, I've had to find something else to write about.”

  “Who knows? Maybe you'll actually find Bigfoot and become famous around the world. Or at least famous in East Spoon Creek City which would make Millie good and jealous.”

  “True, but then she'd just horn in on the story. On Wednesday I told her that I was writing about Sammy Brown getting injured by his wife, and she took the story from me! She gave it back pretty fast when she found out that it wasn't the juicy domestic violence scandal she was hoping for. Pollyanna hadn't meant to injure Sammy; she threw a woman on him by accident up in Pumpkin City.”

  Kitty and I looked at each other. “Okay, you're going to have to explain that one,” I said.

  “It's simple enough,” Jeff explained as he dug into his cheesy omelet. “Pollyanna was wrestling the Marvelous Martha for the women's heavyweight belt in the Pumpkin City Junior High gym, and during the match she tossed the Marvelous Martha out of the ring. Sammy was sitting in the front row cheering Pollyanna on, and Martha landed right o
n him. He got a sprained knee and a broken toe, and Pollyanna got the championship belt. That would have been a fine enough story for me, but then Sammy didn't want to spend the money on an ambulance to take him to the emergency room even though he couldn't walk, so he called Bildad to take him there. I'm told it was quite a sight at the emergency room with Pollyanna, still in her wrestling costume, leading them in and demanding to see a doctor right away while Bildad carried in Sammy, slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes! They didn't get back to East Spoon Creek City until almost midnight! Now that's a story worth writing about!”

  I couldn't argue with Jeff on that. I also couldn't argue with the fact that Sammy and Pollyanna were both out in Pumpkin City all day while Olivia Quinlan was being murdered here in East Spoon Creek City. I supposed I'd have to cross them off my list of suspects. Then it occurred to me that this meant that Mark was going out to investigate Sammy's car lot for no reason. I decided I just wouldn't tell him about that. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

  At least, that's what I thought until Mark walked in. He looked tired and grumpy, and his shirt was stained with a big blotch of motor oil. “You can forget pinning the murder on anyone at Sammy's car lot,” he said. “Even if you proved they did it, they'd be found not guilty by reason of insanity.”

  “Sorry, was it that bad?”

  “You haven't lived until you've had Bildad try to sell you a used car,” Mark replied as he sat down at the counter. “He was yelling at me and then Sammy came out of his office, on crutches for some reason, and was yelling at Bildad, and Al Sholes was leaning out the window of the Emporium yelling at Sammy about how loud he was yelling; it was like the worst opera you ever saw.”

  “What did you find out about the Savage cars?” I asked.