Murder to Go

I nodded against his shoulder. "I understand, but I have to do something."

He pushed me back but kept his hands on my shoulders. "Promise me that when you go up there, you won't interfere with the police. If you even try, you're likely to be sitting in the cell beside him."

"Yes, of course, but I have to talk to him. I have to see him and find out if he's telling the truth. Maybe I can be a character witness or something."

Hunter smiled. "Okay. Go and talk to him. Find out what he has to say. If you find out anything useful, let me know and I'll try to help as much as I can from this end." His fingers nudged upwards under my chin, lifting my gaze to his. "But Cam, listen to me. I'm not kidding about getting in the way. The police don't like people meddling. If you interfere with their investigation, you could find yourself being told to leave town, or worse, being accused of obstruction of justice. That carries jail time. Promise me you won't do anything but talk to Ken."

I smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. I knew I could depend on him. "I promise. I just need to hear what he has to say, to look into his eyes and have him tell me he didn't do it."

He nodded. "Do you want to borrow my Jeep?"

"Why?"

"Have you seen your truck?" he asked with a grin.

"It's never failed to get me where I wanted to go," I pointed out with a smile. He was always picking on me about my truck. "How about your Supra? I might take that..."

His smile spread. He had a Toyota Supra that was his pride and joy, and I knew there was no way he'd let me drive it. Besides, it was a stick, and I didn't know how to drive it. He'd bought the used Cherokee late last year so he didn't have to drive his car in the winter.

"Sure," he said, calling my bluff.

My smile spread because I knew he only agreed because he knew I couldn't drive it. "No, that's okay. I'll just take my truck."

"Have you ever driven it five hundred miles before?"

"It's only got 280,000 miles on it. What's another thousand miles or so? It'll be fine."

He rolled his eyes. "If it breaks down on the way, call me and I'll come get you."

I kissed him again. My truck might be more rust than metal, but it had never failed to start, and had never left me stranded. "Okay, but if I make it there and back, and you don't have to rescue me, you have to apologize to my truck."

He smiled in that way he had that made me feel all warm and gooey inside. "Deal."

Driving north along highway 131 I listened to the tinny sounding radio, the Ford rattling and banging as I drove adding percussion. The truck didn't have air-conditioning, not one that worked anyway, so I had the windows down and had tied my shoulder length auburn hair back to keep it from blowing in my face.

It was the first time I'd been out of Pokagon since Mom's death, and I felt a sense of relief as I pointed my truck's nose north and put miles behind me. It was almost as if I were leaving part of my troubles behind. I was about half-way to Gardner and the sun would be setting soon. I'd been later getting away than I'd wanted, but I'd make it to my destination before ten. It was important to me to arrive today, or at least tonight, so I could see Ken first thing in the morning.

I stopped for a quick burger and fries at one of the many fast-food joints advertised in Negaunee, filled my truck, and then continued on my way. As I drove, I worried about Ken. I simply couldn't imagine him doing anything to harm anyone, but what if I were wrong? The thought gave me chills. We'd dated for more than three years, and had been lovers for almost one. Had he been a potential murderer that whole time? I shoved the thought out of my mind. It was simply preposterous. Despite what Hunter said, the police had the wrong man.

I chewed my bottom lip. If that was the case, why had the police arrested him? I knew better than most that the police wouldn't arrest someone until they had proof, and what was Ken doing in Gardner anyway? Why hadn't he come home over summer break? I shoved my doubts aside yet again. I'd get all my answers in the morning.

It was after ten when I reached the Gardner city limits. Despite what the sign said, calling the place a city was a stretch. With only the one main road leading into town, and a downtown area that was significantly smaller than even Pokagon's, there wasn't much to see, especially since it appeared they rolled up the roads at night.

I drove through town, looking for a place to stay the night, but every business was dark, and I didn't see a soul. When I was well outside town, and even the houses were few and far between, I stopped and did a five-point turn in the middle of the road. I was obviously heading even further into the wilderness than I already was, and the chances of finding a place to stop and spend the night were getting ever smaller. Pokagon wasn't a large town, but compared to Gardner, it was a metropolis. I'd never seen such utter and complete darkness in my life. If it weren't for the Ford's headlamps and the glow of the instrument panel, I wouldn't be able to see my hand in front of my face.

I'd almost reached Gardner again when a sign flashed in my headlamps. It was set well off the road, and was unlit, but I'd caught the word 'Inn'before the sign was swallowed by the darkness again. I slammed on the brakes. Checking the rearview, I backed up. It was so dark I had to watch my headlamps to make sure I didn't back into the ditch. I was beginning to think I'd imagined the sign when I saw it again and canted the truck a little to the right. I was blocking the road, but who was going to hit me? I clicked on the high beams to illuminate the sign more fully.

Star Bright Innwas painted in a bright yellow fancy script against a dark blue background, with an equally bright yellow arrow pointing down a narrow gravel path that disappeared into the trees. I sat, the truck idling as I fretted. I didn't want to drive down the narrow and spooky looking road. It looked like the type of road where little boys and girls were eaten in fairytales. I knew I was being silly, but I felt like I was at the start of a horror movie, and the Star Bright Innwas a motel where a Norman Bates like character lived. I swallowed hard and summoned my courage. I didn't have much choice. It was either the Star Bright Inn, sleeping in the truck, or at least an hour's drive back to the last motel sign I'd seen. And that was just the sign. Who could guess how much farther from the sign was the motel? The thought of another hour on the road made me want to groan in despair. So, it was the Star Bright Inn or sleep in the truck. I loved my old truck, but not that much.

"Don't be silly," I said, trying to talk some courage into myself, but my voice sounded weak and nervous. I wasn't fooling anyone, not even myself.

Setting my jaw in determination, I pressed on the gas. The truck started backward. I slammed on the brake and sat blinking in surprise. I giggled while thinking not nice thoughts about myself, thankful I was in the middle of nowhere and hadn't backed into someone or something. If I needed any more proof I was exhausted and needed to get off the road before I hurt someone, this was it. I put the truck into drive then turned down the narrow road.

I crept through the forest for what seemed like a long time before I pulled to a stop in front of a small motel. The place looked neat and well maintained, and there were a couple of pickups sitting in front of the building. To the right was a separate house, probably where the owner lived, with a lit neon sign that said Office and Vacancy.

Leaving my one suitcase in the truck, I stepped out and softly closed the door, so to not wake anyone, before walking across the gravel parking lot and stopping at the door to the office. It was locked. I looked around, unsure of what to do, but then saw the sign reading, Push button for service.Beside the sign was a doorbell. I pushed the button briefly and heard a buzzer go off in the house.

I stood for several long moments before pushing the button again, holding it down slightly longer this time. I was debating pushing it a third time when a light came on inside. I waited, and finally a figure staggered into the hall. I felt guilty for waking someone up, but I needed the room.

"You'd better be here wanting to rent a room," the woman mumbled as she opened the door.

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman stepped back and I entered. The woman was short, round, and appeared to be in her sixties. She was wearing a pink frock and her snow-white hair was a mess. The woman didn't appear to be very happy to see me. I smiled as I entered and gave the woman a nod in thanks.

"Thank you, Mrs....?"

"Salada," the woman huffed. "Terri Salada."

"I'm sorry to wake you, Mrs. Salada."

Terri snorted as she stepped behind the counter and slid a card across for me to fill out. "Just you?"

"Yes," I muttered as I filled in the information.

"A girl like you shouldn't be out alone so late at night like this."

"I just drove up from Pokagon."

"Where's that?"

"About ninety minutes north of Grand Rapids."

"Gracious. What are you doing out so late and so far from home? Something could have happened to you. Better to have your husband drive you."

"Yes, well, I'm not married, so that'd be a problem," I said, still filling in the card and holding my smile. The woman obviously had some old-fashioned values. While I didn't fault her, real life tended to make such notions impractical.

Terri sniffed again. "I don't want any hanky-panky, understand? I run a clean, reputable business."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, focusing on the card to hide my smile. Good thing Hunter wasn't here with me. Terri would probably make us have separate rooms. She might even patrol outside our rooms all night to ensure we didn't sneak over to see each other. I smiled as I slid the completed card across the desk, using the motion to hide the real reason I was smiling.

"How long will you be staying?"

"I don't know. At least two nights. Maybe longer."

Terri tossed a key on the counter. "Room sixteen. It's $86 a night Sunday through Thursday, $129 a night, Friday and Saturday. No pets allowed, and no cleaning fish in the sink or bathtubs." I had to work hard not to grin as I handed Terri my credit card. There had to be a story behind that rule. Terri swiped it and then handed the Visa back. "Check out is at eleven."

"Thank you, and sorry again for waking you."

Terri responded with a dismissive wave as she stepped from behind the counter. I picked up the key and followed her to the door. "Enjoy your night," Terri said before shutting the door behind me. I read the large plastic fob attached to the key. 16 was on one side and Star Bright Inn, Gardner, MI was on the other.

I returned to my truck, grabbed my bag, and then walked along the rooms. When I reached ten, I hiked around the end of the building, and kept walking until I came to number sixteen. I opened it and stepped in before shutting the door and flipping on the light. The room was small and neat, with dark green carpeting and cream-colored walls dotted with generic pictures of lakes and trees. There was a small, old, television, a tiny brown refrigerator, and a single king-size bed. The bath was old, but clean, with pale pink and blue tile. I nodded to myself. The room was no worse than my mobile home, so I could stay here.

I needed a shower, but what I needed even more was sleep. After brushing my hair and teeth, I washed my face and changed into my elephant pajamas before tumbling into the bed. I don't think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, but it was a near thing.

The next morning, I was in a bit of a snit as I sat in my truck in the police department's visitors' parking lot, my stomach growling and begging for food. After my shower, I used my phone to look up the address for the Gardner Police Department. The department's regular hours were nine to five. Since Mom had died, I'd gotten used to getting up early to open Coffee w/ Cream, so I had plenty of time to stop for breakfast... if I could have found a place to have breakfast.

Gardner didn't have any of the standard chains, no McDonalds, Wendy's, or any of the other national fast-food retailers. There was a local place called the Dairy King, but it was closed for breakfast. I'd stopped at Downtown Diner, but being the only place open, it was packed. There was a forty-minute wait, and I decided I didn't have enough time to wait and then have a sit-down meal, so I'd skipped breakfast.

After spending an hour fidgeting in my truck, a few minutes after nine I summoned my courage, opened the truck's door, and walked toward the building with my head held high. I paused at the walk alongside the building, trying to decide whether to follow the sign with the arrow marked Detention Center or the arrow marked Office. I decided on office.

I walked the fifty feet or so to the three steps leading to a heavy glass door, entered, and glided to a stop in front of a large, thick window overlooking the small, empty lobby. There was nothing else in the narrow room except a dusty fake plant in a corner, a few pictures of police cars and such on the three walls, and a wooden door. With only the glass door admitting light, the room was more prison cell than lobby. Nobody was behind the window, so I gave the button beside the window a brief push.

After a moment, a uniformed woman stepped up to the window. "May I help you?" Her voice was tinny and scratchy through the speaker.

"I'd like to speak to one of your prisoners, please."

"Name?"

"Ken or Kendal Mazerin."

The woman looked bored. "Your name?"

"Camille Wicker."

"Are you counsel or a relative?"

"Neither. Just a friend."

The woman, Pioske according to her name tag, typed on her terminal a moment. "Mr. Mazerin is scheduled to be transferred to the Houghton County Sherriff's Department today, but he's allowed to have visitors until that time. Please exit the lobby, turn left, and follow the signs to the detention center entrance. Officer Temple will assist you."

"Thank you."

I obeyed the officer's instructions and followed the walk beside the building before stopping in front of a grey door with a Gardner Detention Centerplaque beside it. Opposite the brass plaque was a smaller, plastic sign beneath a button. I followed the sign's instruction and pressed the button.

"Detention Center... Officer Temple."

I spoke to the speaker. "Yes... I'm here to see Ken Mazerin. The officer in the lobby directed me here."

"Just a moment."

I stood under the tin canopy for a long moment before the door buzzed. I opened it and walked down a short and narrow hall before stopping before another door. It wouldn't open. I pulled on it again and then looked around. The hall was obviously designed so that one person couldn't reach both doors at the same time. I pushed the button attached to a speaker mounted in the wall.

"Name?" a voice crackled. I couldn't tell if it was Officer Temple's voice or not.

"Camille Wicker to see Ken Mazerin?" I said, keeping the exasperation out of my voice. Who did they think it would be?

The door buzzed. I pulled it open and stepped through into an office-like area where an officer was sitting. "Please have a seat," the elderly officer said as he gestured to an array of hard plastic chairs and then wrote something in a book. "Someone will come get you when Mr. Mazerin is available."

I lowered myself into the exquisitely uncomfortable orange plastic chair. The back was too straight and the bottom was too hard. It was almost as if the chair had been designed for the express purpose of making someone not want to sit in it. I was beginning to get fidgety when another officer arrived.

"Kendal Mazerin?"

I rose. "I'm here to see Kendal Mazerin."

He gave me the once over, perhaps evaluating me for trouble. "This way, please."

He led me down a hall and into a small room. Inside were a row of small, connected tables. Each table was flanked by a pair of low dividers on the sides, with a glass or plastic barrier in the front that rose to a height of about four feet, with a strong looking wall reaching the rest of the way to the ceiling and below the tables to the floor. On the other side of the barrier, the arrangement was repeated in reverse. Above each section was a large yellow number on a black background.

"Number one," the guard said as he settled at a desk before jerking his thumb at the three lockers to the left of the desk. "Put all your belongings in locker number one and take the key. All belongings are to remain in the locker at all times. No item may be presented to the prisoner without prior approval. Do not attempt to pass anything to the prisoner. Leave the key in the locker after you retrieve your belongings."

I followed his instructions and deposited my purse in the locker with the number one on the front, and then moved to the indicated position where another of the orange chairs waited. There was no hope of privacy, not with the officer sitting at the desk where he could see everything that happened, and the four cameras mounted in the corners of the room.

I settled into the chair. On the opposite side of the glass was Ken. He didn't look like himself. Normally he had a carefree neatness about him, but today, he was rumpled. His blonde hair was greasy and looked like it had been combed with his fingers. He was wearing a bright orange, one piece jumper with GPD on the left breast in large black letters, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"Thank God!" he gasped as I sat down.

"Ken, what's happened?" I asked. Other than the two-inch square hole with heavy mesh in the glass at face level, so we could hear each other, we were completely isolated.

"I don't know! One minute I'm staying at Melina's parents' place, and the next minute the cops are arresting me for her murder!"

"Why?" Hunter said they wouldn't arrest him without evidence, so there had to be something more, something he wasn't telling me.

"I don't know!"

"Why do they think it's you?"

"I don't know that either! They won't tell me anything! They haven't even questioned me!"

"What can I do? Can I get you a lawyer? I spoke to your mom this morning. They're working to get you out."

"So they know?"

"Yes."

"They said my court appointed lawyer would be around sometime today."

I nodded. At least he had a lawyer. I leaned forward and rested my arms on the narrow shelf. I had little doubt that someone, somewhere, was probably listening to our every word, but I didn't have to make it easy for them.

"What are you doing up here, anyway?" I asked, my voice soft.

He leaned in as well. "Melina. Her parents lived here. We were going to spend a couple of weeks here before we drove down to Pokagon."

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"Yes. She's studying meteorology at State."

"You said her parents lived here? Where are they now?"

"They're dead. They died a few years ago in a boating accident or something. Melina and her brother still own the house. Well, their parents' trust does. Anyway, it's where she calls home."

"So why do they think you killed her?"

"I wish I knew."

"What aren't you telling me?" I asked. There simply had to be more to it than the cops picked the first stranger in town they could find and arrested him for murder.

"Nothing!" he said as he leaned back in his chair again. "I didn't do it, and I don't know why they think I did. You hear that?" he called loudly. "I didn't do it!"

"Why'd you call me?"

"When my parents didn't answer, you were the only person I could think of. I begged and pleaded for the officers to give me another call. They finally did, so I called you."