Murder Mountain (23 page)

I only nodded slightly, not really responding to his confession, but feeling my emotions for him rising to the surface. A part of me wanted to tell Michael about my problems with Eric. I knew that would only result in us staying in one room tonight, and that would make matters worse, for I feared I would fall in love with him instantly.

Michael paid the bill and we left, remaining silent on our drive to the Mountainside Motel. Walking to our rooms, I offered Michael the start of an agenda for the following day, telling him, “I think we should get a good night’s sleep and hit the Tariff Inn first thing in the morning.”

“That sounds fine,” he half-muttered.

“Michael? Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” I asked him this as he stood in front of his door.

“I will be fine, really. And CeeCee? Thank you. I mean it.” He smiled as he said this, as he entered his room.

Michael seemed in much better spirits the next morning when we left for the Tariff Inn. I wanted to find the owner, whose name was listed on the business card in Karen Cummins’s bag, and show him photographs of Karen, Lizzie, and Andrea. Most people don’t carry around motel cards in their wallets, so I anticipated the owner had been familiar with Karen.

The Inn wasn’t far from where we were staying; it took us less than fifteen minutes to get there. It was located closer to town, but was somewhat isolated and badly run-down. The Mountainside Inn looked like the Taj Mahal compared to this place, and at first glance I thought it might be shut down and abandoned. The ridiculously small vacancy sign in the window proved me wrong. We pulled into the otherwise empty parking lot and went into the office.

The office smelled like a dirty, musty basement with an incense stick burning, which only worsened the odor. I rang the bell on the desk several times before I heard movement from behind a door that stood to the right of it. I looked in the office and on the desk for a display of the business cards, but didn’t see any.

After hearing sounds of sneezing, hacking, and grunting, we saw a very large man come through the door and stand behind the desk. He was a unique-looking man. He had red hair and freckles, was in his late forties, and was wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The uniqueness was in his face, which was extremely kind looking. His eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed, apparently permanently, and he had dimples. He made me think of a carrot-top Santa Claus, and I liked him instantly.

“How y’all doin’ this mornin’ folks? Sorry it took me a few minutes; I was still slumberin’. Don’t get much business this time of day. What kin I do fer ya?” he offered, his face lighting up and smiling.

“I’m looking for the owner, Eddie Lewis. My name is Catherine Schroeder, and this is Marlon Hagers,” I said, using the names we registered at the hotel with. Michael smiled.

“Well yer lookin’ at ’im!” He jerked his thumb to point at his chest. “Ya’ll from the travel brochure place? The lady called two weeks ago an I tole her I didn’t need no more.”

“No, sir. Actually, we’re here for another reason. My sister left town a couple years ago with some friends of hers. They had all met boyfriends on the Internet, and were meeting up as a group. Problem is, she doesn’t have contact with the family anymore, unless she needs money. Right now, I’m raising her daughter, who she left behind, and I’m trying to obtain custody. I need to find my sister so she’ll sign the custody papers, and I found a card to this place in her old room. I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about where she might be,” I intoned with the saddest face I could muster.

“Anythin’ I kin do to help, ma’am. But I git lots of people in and outta here; don’t know if I’ll be able to remember if she stayed here or not. You say she had a card from here, did ya?”

“That’s right,” I said, digging the card out of my purse and showing it to him.

“I also have photographs of my sister and her friends, if you wouldn’t mind looking; it may jog your memory,” I added, handing him the photos of Karen, Lizzie, and Andrea.

Eddie looked at Karen’s picture first, as it was on top of the pile.

“Is this yer sister?” he asked, holding out Karen’s photo.

“Yes, that’s Karen.”

“Well, I’ll be ...,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Its jus’ that, well, this-here girlie used to be here ’bout once a month up ’til a couple years ago. Funny; I was just thinkin’ ’bout her t’other day. Remember the last time I seen her, though, she seemed all skeered about somethin’ and said she probably wouldn’t be seein’ me again. I gave her my card in case she ran into trouble; nice gal, she was. Didn’t think she had much family.” Eddie sounded sad saying this.

“Can you remember if she stayed here with someone, or by herself?” I pressed on gently.

Eddie scrunched his face up and started chewing on his lip, as if I’d just asked him to answer the million-dollar Jeopardy question. I could see Michael was still smiling; he apparently liked Eddie, too.

“Well, hmmm,” he said, “I’m not sure. I think she stayed most of the time here by herself. I don’t remember her ever comin’ in with anybody. She always said she had business in Tariff, and I never asked what the business was; sorry, ma’am.”

“That’s okay. What about the other girls, do they look familiar?”

Eddie peered at the other two. “No, ma’am. Kin’t say they do. I’m sure ’bout yer sister though; no doubt ’bout that.”

“Did you know what she was scared about? Trouble with law enforcement maybe?”

“Nah, don’t think so. The law ain’t what people gotta worry ’bout ’round here. Its regular folk you gotta watch yer back on. Don’t know why she seemed skeered. She was just in a hurry to get outta here that last time is all,” he said almost to himself, then went on, “I don’t know what yer sister was into, but just a piece of good ole fashion advice: be careful who yer talkin’ to ’round here. We got us some dangerous folks that might not want y’all askin’ questions, and they’re as dangerous as a bare ass squattin’ over a rattlesnake. Just be careful, folks.”

“Who are the dangerous people Mr. Lewis?” Michael asked.

“Got me a business here; like to keep it that way, sir. Do ya hear what I’m saying?” Eddie finished off with a wink.

“I hear you. Thank you sir, we really appreciate all your help,” Michael assured him.

“Y’all got a number where I can call ya if I remember somethin’? Sometimes it takes a while for my mem’ry to rev up.”

“Here’s the name and number of where we’re staying,” I said, writing down the name of a motel I saw on the drive there, and guessing at a room number.

He looked at the paper. “The Tall Timber, huh? That’s my brother-in-law’s place, that no-good, crooked, thievin’ son-of-a-whore. Y’all get sick of that up there, you call me, and I’ll set y’all up, real nice and real cheap.”

I laughed, “Absolutely. Again, thank you. You’ve been a great help. Take care, Eddie.”

As Michael and I were walking back to the car, he suggested that we do a check on Eddie Lewis as a precautionary measure. I told him to go ahead, but I didn’t expect much. I’m sure the biggest crime Eddie Lewis ever committed was taking a quick peek through a motel window.

While Michael was checking on any criminal record for Eddie Lewis, I headed for Ovapa. I wanted to go to the gas station Lizzie had all the receipts from, and, curiosity getting the best of me, I wanted to see the manager, Annie. On the way, I called Coop and was sent directly to his voice mail. I left a message of our day’s agenda, including the Tariff Inn and Eddie C. Lewis.

After Michael was done checking on Eddie, who as I suspected had no criminal record, he called his main office again to check on the status of the other agents who were supposed to help us. The case they had been tied up on in Parkersburg was taking longer than they’d thought, and it would be another two days until they could join us.

I already had a plan as to how I would approach Annie by the time we pulled into the gas station parking lot. Michael waited in the car making some more phone calls while I went in. It wasn’t what I expected, which had been a dirty, small, local gas station with a port-a-pot outside; it was decent. I used the restroom first and grabbed a cup of coffee before I approached the counter. Two girls who appeared to be just out of high school sat on stools looking at tabloid magazines. Neither girl bothered to look up after I set my coffee down, nor after I gave a slight cough.

“Helloooo?” I said, finally.

“Be with ya in a minute,” said the girl seated closest to me without raising her head.

I was getting irritated with their rudeness and wanted to reach over, grab the magazines from their hands, and throw them across the store. As I was contemplating this, the girl rose from her stool and walked over to me.

“Is this all, ma’am?” she drawled as she punched the keys into the cash register.

“Actually, no; I was wonderin’ if y’all had a store manager here?” I said in my best West Virginia accent, which sounded ridiculous.

She didn’t seem to notice, “Hey, ma’am, I tole you I was comin’. There’s no need to complain against me, I gots me a little girl and all.”

“No, no. I was just lookin’ to apply fer a job. I’m new to town, that’s all,” I lied.

She seemed to relax while handing my change back, and proceeded to tell the other girl to go get Annie.

Sipping my coffee and waiting for Annie, I quickly scanned the store for the photo of Andrea Dean I had faxed. It wasn’t posted anywhere, which didn’t surprise me. It was a few minutes before Annie walked out from behind the counter. She wasn’t what I expected, either. She was thin and had long, gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked like a female Willie Nelson.

“I’m Annie, the store manager. Kin I help ya?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m new to the area and was lookin’ fer a job? I was wonderin’ if y’all was doin’ any hirin’?” I asked.

Annie began analyzing me, looking up and down, and focusing in on my wedding ring, which was quite large, and my other jewelry. I had forgotten to take all of it off, and silently cursed myself for being so stupid.

“Y’all don’t look like ya need a job. Ya say yer new to town? Where from?”

I hadn’t expected Annie to be so nosy, and something else I clearly hadn’t anticipated was that she wasn’t dumb. My mind started spinning to answer her question, a question I hadn’t been prepared for.

“I’m from Parkersburg, ma’am. My husband and I are gettin’ a divorce. He went and found himself some young gal, but I don’t like to talk ’bout it much,” I said sadly. “I heard it was nice and quiet here, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

“Oh, I don’t know about quiet, or nice, for that matter, but we do have an openin’ for a night clerk. Lemme git ya an application,” she said, turning to go back to her office.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Um, I’ve never been a clerk before and I hear it’s real dangerous, ’specially at night. I haven’t seen many cops ’round here. Do they check in on ya’ll from time to time?” I was dripping with concern.

“There’s a robbery ’bout once a year here. It’s pretty quiet. We git some strange rangers in here once in awhile, though. As fer the cops, well, they’ll stop in if they like ya. Just don’t git on their bad side, though. If ya do, it’ll take ’em an hour to git here if ya need ’em—if they show up at all. You’ll figure out how it works. If they come in, no matter what they buy, ya don’t ever charge ’em. I’ll git yer application.”

Big deal, so they didn’t want to pay for things. That hardly makes them completely crooked—unethical maybe, but nothing that would indicate drug running and murder. I was hoping Annie, with a mouth the size of Texas, would offer a lot more information on the local law enforcement. So far, of course, after only talking to two people, nobody was portraying any fear of the sheriff’s department, or else they were too scared to say it.

I thought about leaving the store before I got the application, but I wanted to keep things real in case I needed to come back for anything else. I thanked Annie and told her I would be back.

I checked my voicemail when I got back to the car, and listened to a message from Coop. In his exact words, “Kincaid is livid and the sheriff’s beside himself,” over my little excursion. I figured I’d be lucky if I came back to a job in the traffic division. I let out a deep breath as I put my phone down.

“Everything all right?” Michael asked, as he drove out of the parking lot.

“Nope. I probably won’t have a job when I get back, according to the message Coop just left me. Kincaid’s got her thong in a bunch and the Sheriff is highly pissed off.” I closed my eyes for a moment.

“No offense, CeeCee, but are you really that surprised?”

“Not really, I guess, no,” I said quietly.

Michael and I agreed to grab something to eat and to discuss our course of action for the rest of the day. Since we were already in Ovapa, surveillance on Murder Mountain was my suggestion.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Michael ventured as we were sitting down to eat in a roadside restaurant we had found.

“It pretty much defeats the purpose of our trip if we don’t, Michael. We need to look at the traffic coming in and out of there and get some license plates. Matt Hensley gave a decent description of the trailer he and Lizzie went to, and I suspect some major players stay there.”

“I just forgot to grab my Uzi and extra ammunition, that’s all,” he said sourly, going into his zone of deep thought. What I wouldn’t give to see what goes on in his head for just one hour.

We wanted to wait until it was near dark, so we took our time eating. I’d brought along the map I had found in Lizzie’s car, which proved to be useful. The main road up Murder Mountain was Oil Field Road, and it ran all the way to the top. Michael reiterated that we were only there to document and gather evidence, not to catch the bad guys. We had video cameras and binoculars for our stake out, and stopped at a local store for food and drinks.

It was dark by the time we started up the mountain, and I told Michael to turn the headlights off and drive slow. I had night vision goggles, binoculars that allowed me to see in the dark, and I wanted to scan the trailers and houses for one similar to what Matt had described. Oil Field Road was lined with nothing but shacks and old trailers, each at least a quarter of a mile apart. They also sat back about fifty to one hundred feet off the road; this was good because there were a lot of people out sitting on their front porches listening to bluegrass music and drinking beer. Some had makeshift bonfires on their porches, which didn’t make sense to me since it was still 75 degrees out. Obviously, there were no streetlights, so we were able to drive up the road without being seen.