Heartache Motel: Three Interconnected Mystery Novellas (Henery Press Mystery Novellas) (21 page)

Hot damn. Because she sounded like the gardener I’d bumped into twice that morning. The lisp, the drawl—it matched.

I sat bolt upright on the bench, fishing for my phone and dialing the hotel’s front desk.

“Heartache Motel, have a Blue Christmas,” Man-Margret drawled.

“Margret, it’s Nichelle Clarke. In room five-twenty-eight, with the dog?”

“Hey there, sugar, what can I do for you? I just adore this pooch of yours. Want to guess why?”

“She’s great, isn’t she?” I said hastily. “Listen, can you tell me if Natalie is working in the bar today?”

“Sure is,” she said. “Been here since noon.”

Shit. I slumped back against the wall.

“You still stuck at Graceland?” Margret asked.

“I am, and I’m so sorry, but I have to go. I’m running out of battery and I need my phone. Thanks so much for helping out with Darcy, really. I’m sorry she was being a pill. She’s not usually like that. I’ll see you soon.”

I rushed to hang up, running back through my latest blown theory.

If Natalie was at the Heartache, then she wasn’t here being a gardener. So much for that.

I pictured both faces, but it was hard to transpose gender in determining if they were the same person.

Which they were not, if the gardener was here and Natalie was there.

I checked my watch.

Man-Margret said Natalie came in at noon. That was about an hour ago, and strictly speaking, I hadn’t seen my coverall-suited friend since before that.

Was he still here? Or was the belt on its way to be melted because he knew a way off the property? He worked the grounds, after all. And he’d been carrying a big bucket out of that downstairs hallway where the cleaning room was right before everything went bat-shit that morning, too. What was that about?

I stood and looked around, wondering where I could even start to hunt for him. And also wondering if I was crazy.

There were reporters at the gate, and the cops were on their way. My exclusive was about to vanish, and I wasn’t sure the police would believe me about the gardener. Clock ticking, I wandered around the corner of the house and surveyed the golf-course worthy blanket of winter rye. Out on the far corner of the property, I spied a guest-house sized gardening shed, surrounded by beautiful beds full of winter-blooming flowers. The barn-style doors said it was Graceland landscaping HQ.

I bet it was also off the security camera grid. The perfect place to hide stolen treasure, if you knew your way around. The guy had said he was working alone.

I started across the lawn and my phone buzzed again.

“Clarke,” I answered.

“Nicey, it’s Larry. Listen, I think I got something here for you.”

I stopped.

“What’s that?”

“Well, first off, if this thing in these photos is a copy of that one you sent me, it’s a pretty damned good one. I pulled it up as far as I could, and I can only see tiny differences. Spacing in the rhinestones in some places, color of the leather that might even be the different cameras.”

So the knockoff was a good ringer. Which meant this could have gone unnoticed for a while if little Savannah hadn’t whacked the glass. That meant it was part of a long-term scheme, because really, if you just wanted to steal something, why would you go to the trouble to replace it? You wouldn’t, unless you wanted the opportunity to do it again. So it had to be someone on the staff. I stared at the gardening shed, taking a step forward.

“Thanks, Larry. Anything else jump out at you?”

“A couple of people are in most of the photos you sent me from the camera you borrowed,” he said. “Not sure what it means, but there’s a security guy in a big hat who’s guarding that case pretty close. Except he’s not looking at it. He’s looking off at other stuff. Never more than about ten steps from your belt, though. Struck me as odd.”

Damn. Facts are hard to argue with, and the more of them piled up, the more it seemed like Dale was knee-deep in this.

“Got it. I know who he is. That it? Not that I’m not grateful, but my battery situation is getting critical.”

“There’re tons of people on the edges of all these photos, but the security guy and one other dude, with slicked-back dark hair, are the only two who show up in all of them,” he said.

“What’s he wearing?”

“Khakis and a blue polo. Collar flipped up.”

The gift shop guy. What was he doing out there?

Hot damn, indeed.

I thanked Larry again and hung up, checking my battery. Twelve percent. Crap. I turned back for the main house, then stopped again.

Even if it was Dale and the gift shop Elvis in cahoots, I couldn’t prove that. Not without more evidence.

And I couldn’t shake the gardener out of my head. Maybe it was all three of them. If the belt was in the garden shack, I had something to go on.

And if it wasn’t...Well, that didn’t prove anything, but I was no worse off for going to look. Plus, my gut said the gardener was gone, working the bar at the Heartache as Natalie Wood. Which, on the whole, I thought sounded brilliant. I just wasn’t sure if it was true.

I glanced around as I approached the landscaping shack. Not another soul in sight. I eased the door open, sunshine flooding through the cute little four-pane windows that decorated every wall. It was like a gardening dollhouse. A large tub like the one I’d seen Captain Coveralls carrying that morning would be a great place to smuggle a stolen artifact out of the house.

At first glance, I didn’t see any tubs in the shed, but there was a whole wall of cabinets along the back of the room. Stacks of tools lined the other two walls. I started flipping cabinets open, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Tools, plant food, weed killer. Certainly nothing sparkly.

I kept going, until the last set of cabinets on the lower right wouldn’t budge. I curled my fingers around the tops of the door frames and yanked on both sides.

Locked.

I stepped back, opening the next set over and surveying the inside. The bottom row was the biggest, and deep enough to house that tub. What if the belt was just sitting in there waiting for things to cool off? Could I get the cabinet open? I didn’t know how to pick a lock, but I had a smolderingly sexy friend who did.

And what if I got it open and the belt wasn’t in there? How would I explain away being in a staff area and breaking into a cabinet?

Hopefully, Detective Pierce would vouch for me.

Why would only this one cabinet be locked?

I didn’t have a good answer for that. But I figured if I’d come this far, I might as well find out.

I sighed and pulled out my phone. Twelve percent. Could Joey talk me through picking a lock in three or four percent of my battery life?

I checked the windows and door as I dialed his number. I was alone, and maybe I could peek in and scoot out without being seen if the cabinet was full of peat moss, or roundup.

The rush of adrenaline making my hands shake stemmed from the thought of what could happen if it wasn’t. With national feed to the wires, blowing open a story like this and finding the belt before it made it into the melting pot? That was so far beyond huge it was hard to quantify.

And it wasn’t like I’d never bent the law in the name of the news.

My pulse fluttered when Joey’s voice came on the line, and I couldn’t tell if it was him or the story that was more exciting. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas yourself. Do you have a second?”

“Excuse me for a moment,” Joey’s voice was muffled by a hand over his phone, as was the bass that replied.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Finishing up some end of year business. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure? You sprung from Graceland yet?”

“No. And I have a hunch that could make my career.” I reeled off the quick version of the story. “So, I need to know how to pick a lock,” I finished.

“Only you, Nichelle.” His words were garbled by laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, magnet for trouble. Tell me how to get this cabinet open.”

“It’s not really the sort of thing I can rattle off a how-to for,” he said. “Some of it is feeling out the lock and figuring out how to pop it. A bit of an art form, really. But I’ll do my best. What kind of tool are you working with?”

I dug through my bag.

“I have a paperclip and an ink pen,” I said.

“I love a challenge,” he sighed. “If you’re going to keep getting into these messes, you really need some proper implements. Are you looking at the lock?”

“It’s a round silver cabinet lock. About the size of a button, with a key slit splitting the middle horizontally.”

“That means the inside of it is a tab lock. You have to turn it, not just pop it loose. Which is going to be damned hard to do with a paperclip.”

“Of course it is.” I crouched and examined it.

Joey told me to straighten the clip and put it in the far end of the keyhole, then spent five minutes talking me through how to wriggle it around. Either I was a lousy crook, or Graceland spared no expense on locks, but I got nowhere.

“Dammit,” I thumped my forehead against the cabinet and shook it, and the paperclip slid in further. “Wait. I did something. It went farther into the lock.”

“Good,” Joey said. “Now bend it and try to get some leverage, and see if you can make it turn. Do not break it off in the lock.”

I bent the clip slowly into an L-shape and wriggled it. It moved a millimeter and I almost dropped the phone.

“It’s working!”

“Good. Keep going.”

Five of the longest minutes in the history of mankind later, the cabinet door swung open and I gave a little yelp.

“Find what you were looking for?” Joey chuckled.

I peered inside. The bin.

“I think I might have,” I breathed. “I’ll call you later. Battery issues. Thanks for your help.”

“It’s fun to teach you things.” His voice dropped and a shiver skated up my spine.

“I’m glad. I really have to hang up.”

“Be careful,” he warned. I promised I would and clicked off the call, sliding the bin out and holding my breath.

Empty.

“Shit!” I clapped a hand over my mouth when that popped out too loud, shoving the bin back into the cabinet and slamming the door.

Why was that worth locking up? I didn’t have time to consider it before a voice came from behind me.

“What you looking for, ma’am?”

I turned slowly to find Captain Coveralls, his smile gone, thick arms folded across his chest.

Double shit.

TEN

Not what it seems

Looking closer at the gardener’s face, I saw Natalie, plain as day. But thinner, maybe. Or maybe he looked thinner as a man? Besides, Margret had told me Natalie was at work.

I opened my mouth and spread my hands, unable to produce a good reply for his question.

“It turns out there’s a very valuable belt missing from the trophy room,” I said. “I thought this looked like a good place to hide it. Away from the security cameras, with a light winter grounds keeping staff.”

He didn’t return my smile, giving me a critical once-over.

“I don’t see anything, though,” I said. “Does anything look out of place to you?”

He leaned against the inside of the door. “You. You look out of place to me, Miss Reporter. How do I know you didn’t swipe that belt? Invent yourself a big story for exposure? I think maybe you better be on your way back up to the house. Police car came in the gates just a minute ago. They might want to talk with you.”

Damn.

“I didn’t steal anything. I haven’t been here before today, and this has been going on for months,” I said, my eyes lighting on his coveralls, which pulled across his middle as he leaned back.

“Is that a fact? I’m here every day, and I didn’t know that.” He raised his eyebrows. “How is it that you do?”

“I read a lot. Ask a lot of questions,” I said, backtracking through my day to when I’d seen him that morning. His coveralls had been baggy all around when he’d waved me through the door inside the house.

When I’d seen him outside, they were snugger around his middle. Like now.

“It’s not always good to ask too many questions,” he said, one hand dropping to his waist as he followed my gaze. “Sometimes it gets you into trouble.”

“It seems I find more than my fair share.” I raised my eyes to his.

He grinned just before he lunged for me, throwing a punch. I dodged to the left and shot one foot out in an
ap-chagi
, thanking Heaven for my body combat class. My workouts were handy for more than keeping me fitting in my jeans.

My foot connected where his navel should have been, the heel snapping off my Louboutin boot on impact. He staggered back into the door, then tumbled through. I fell on my ass, hard, and screamed when I felt the tip of something sharp slice into the back of my thigh.

I didn’t have time to be hurt. Scrambling back to my feet, I hobbled on my broken heel, looking around for a weapon. Wet warmth spread down the back of my thigh, but I ignored it.

A pair of hand-held trimmers rested on a workbench, and I snatched them up with shaking hands, whirling on the door as it opened.

“This is quite a story you’ve landed in, isn’t it?” Dale. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or twice as scared. My pulse went with scared. Dale pulled out a Taser and trained it on my coverall-clad friend. That was a good sign.

“He’s wearing it,” I said, still clutching the clippers as I limped toward the door. “Under the coveralls. My heel broke when I kicked him.”

The gardener’s dark head dropped onto the grass, and Dale waved one arm over his head at the uniformed Memphis PD officer walking across the lawn. Thank you, Santa. I sagged against the wall, dropping the clippers.

“The undercover detective in our gift shop tells me you’ve been talking to the PD today,” Dale said, glancing over his shoulder at me. “He says you helped them, so I figure I’m obliged to help you. We figured the thief would try for the big score while my boss was out of town, and he did. That belt has the most gold, by weight, of any single item on the property. Paul here has done his homework.”

I hobbled back into the shed, retrieving a pen and pad from my bag. Taking notes, I smiled at Dale. “I would have asked you about this, but you wouldn’t talk to me this morning. And I, uh, might have had you on my suspect list.”

He laughed.

“I would have had you on mine if I didn’t know it was an inside job, what with all the snooping around I’ve seen on my security feed. We’ll call it even. Whodunnit and where it was all going were the last pieces, and you helped with that. So thank you.”

I reached behind me to my bleeding thigh as the officer hauled Paul the gardener to his feet and slapped cuffs on him. Dale unzipped the coveralls and retrieved the belt.

“Graceland owes you one, Miss,” Dale said, nodding at me as the cop led Paul across the lawn. “How anyone could call themselves an American and want to destroy this, I have no idea.”

“Money. It makes people crazy,” I said, reaching a hand toward the belt. “Can I touch it?”

He smiled. “I think you’ve earned that.”

It was heavy. And really, really cool.