Chapter 31
Regency Inn
Vera spotted the VW Bus that belonged to Parson. She parked a couple of slots from his vehicle and got out. There were a few other cars scattered along the front of the motel but no sign of Parson, or anyone else for that matter.
Maybe he hadn’t expected her to get here so fast. She pulled out her phone and called him. After the fourth ring, it went to voicemail. Vera turned all the way around. The place was quiet, other than the traffic noise from the highway. Pool area was empty.
“Damn it.” She tucked her phone into the pocket of her jeans and headed toward the room. There were two floors on this end. Stairs several yards away led up to the second level. Parson was on the first.
She paused at the door, listened for a few seconds. No sound except the hum of the air conditioning. Worry started its nasty dig into her gut. “Mr. Parson,” she called out as she knocked on the door. “It’s Vera Boyett.”
Still nothing. Vera didn’t like this. His vehicle was here.
She’d spoken to him just over five minutes ago.
Was this his way of getting her into his room?
Sweat, mostly from the damned heat, dampened her skin.
She glanced around the parking lot, then reached for the doorknob.
It turned without resistance. Vera pushed the door inward and scanned the dimly lit room without stepping inside.
It took a moment for her vision to adjust. Bed was made but slightly rumpled. Television was on but muted.
Feet.
Near the far corner of the bed, she could see bare feet.
Pulse racing, Vera rushed across the room.
Larry Parson, fully dressed except for shoes, lay supine on the aging carpet. Next to him was a puddle of puke.
Shit!
A quick check of his pulse confirmed he wasn’t breathing. Lips were blue. Skin clammy. A quick check of his eyes showed constricted pupils. She glanced around the room. Spotted a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a glass.
She called 911.
Once the emergency dispatcher had finished her spiel, Vera said, “This is Vera Boyett. I’m at the Regency Inn, room 121. I’m looking at a middle-aged male I think has possibly overdosed on an unknown substance. No pulse. I’m starting CPR. Please send EMS and call Sheriff Benton for me.”
Vera put her phone on speaker and placed it to the floor next to her so she could start chest compressions. She answered whatever questions the dispatcher had while keeping the necessary rhythm.
“Come on, Larry, breathe!”
By the time EMS arrived, Vera was exhausted, and the man still wasn’t breathing. The paramedics took over, and she grabbed her phone and moved out of their way.
Struggling to slow her pounding heart, she walked over to the other side of the bed and checked the nightstand.
Since she was once again without gloves, she didn’t touch the pint of whiskey or the glass next to it.
The top drawer was partially opened. She could see a Bible, and on top of it was an open packet of cocaine.
She glanced over at the paramedics. “There’s cocaine in the nightstand. It may have been laced with something.” Which would explain Parson dying on the floor across the room.
What the ever-loving hell? Anger fired through her. Was anyone even remotely related to this case going to survive the investigation?
She watched as the paramedic administered NARCAN.
Vera closed her eyes and shook her head.
She took that moment and then she pulled herself together.
This could be a crime scene. Maybe not, considering the coke.
Could be an accidental overdose. But he’d called Vera, concerned about a visitor he’d had.
The only reason to call her was if it somehow related to the case.
“Vee?” Bent was suddenly next to her.
She hadn’t heard him come in.
“Hey.” She exhaled a big breath. “Parson called me and said he wanted to talk. He sounded rattled. Said he’d had a strange visitor.
He was supposed to be waiting for me in the parking lot.
” She gestured to the scene across the room.
“But I found him in here like this.” She shook her head.
“I swear, Bent, I was here five minutes after that call.”
A glance in Parson’s direction showed the paramedics preparing to use the defibrillator.
“I’ll call Conover.” He glanced at the nightstand. “You didn’t touch anything?”
“No. I didn’t have any gloves.”
He jerked his head toward the door. “We can wait outside until they’re done, if you like.”
She nodded, defeat tugging at her. “Let’s do that.”
As hot as it was outside, it was still better than being in that room.
Bent made the call to Conover, then propped himself against the passenger door of her SUV. She was already braced there, too frustrated and exhausted to hold herself upright.
“So he said he’d had a strange visitor?”
“I think the word was weird. Someone he’d met before.” She made a face. “Now that I think about it, he sort of sounded high when we talked. You know, like he’d had a toke or two or a drink or three. But not sloppy. Not really slurring. Just different than when he talked before.”
“Okay. I guess we’ll know more when the toxicology report comes back.” Bent glanced toward the room. “I have a feeling this guy is not coming back from whatever he ingested.”
Bent was right. The paramedics left without the body since Bent wanted the ME to have a look first. A few minutes later Collins arrived—all within about half an hour from when Vera had made that initial call to 911. Then again the hospital was only five minutes away.
Conover had arrived, too, and started his thing. Vera followed Bent back into the room. She might as well watch the show.
The lock on the motel room door hadn’t been tampered with in any obvious manner.
Small window in the bathroom was painted shut.
Whoever had come in was allowed in by the deceased or was damned good at bypassing cheap locks.
Possibly his weird visitor. The motel had no security cameras, and the manager hadn’t seen one damned thing.
He’d been working on reports in his office behind the counter.
Bent had deputies interviewing any guests available within view of the room.
Collins estimated time of death about forty-five minutes ago—basically five minutes after Vera’s phone conversation with the man.
“Vee.” Bent jerked his head, drawing her to the small closet. He gestured with a gloved hand to the baseball bat in the corner. Vera crouched down and studied the barrel without touching it. She shook her head and pointed to a blond hair.
“I’m calling it.” She stood. “The bat and what is likely my hair. We both know both were planted. The man wasn’t even in Fayetteville at the time Erwin and I were attacked.” Apparently whoever had put the bat here didn’t know that. Vera was fairly certain they had not mentioned this to Erwin.
Bent chuckled. “Unless he came on Monday and went back after he did the killing at the cabin. Then your message brought him back.”
Vera held her hands up in exasperation. “Why would he kill his own brother? Or his ex-girlfriend?” This made no sense. Nothing about this entire week made sense!
“Maybe because of the ex-girlfriend,” Bent suggested. “She was partying with his little brother—or so it seems. Maybe the two got together while Larry was in prison. When he finds out about the business up here, he takes his opportunity for revenge.”
Vera blew out a big breath. Bent was right. It might be a long shot, but it was possible. She wasn’t thinking clearly.
“We need solid proof,” Bent added, “about when the guy left New Orleans to be absolutely certain he wasn’t involved with the murders or with your attacker.”
Vera exhaled a big breath. “I get that. But my gut says this is just another red herring in our wild and crazy case.” She peered deeper into the closet.
“Oh and there’s the ski mask and the gloves.
” She shook her head. “My only question is, What the hell was Parson doing while our unknown perp was planting these items?”
“Maybe he went into the bathroom while his visitor was here?”
“No, wait.” Vera replayed the brief phone conversation with Parson in her head.
“He said it was a woman—one he’d met before—and she was waiting for him when he got back from lunch, so she may have broken into his room and then he came back and she was caught, so she had to pretend to want to talk to him. ”
“Yeah,” Bent granted. “I can buy that.”
This close to the bathroom, Vera peeked inside to have a look at the guy’s toiletries.
A bottle of Brut aftershave sat on the toilet tank.
An oldie, for sure. Even if that was the one Erwin had recognized, Vera still wasn’t buying this too-pat scenario.
She turned back to the room and the cast of characters, including the ME prowling through every inch.
“Bent. Vera.” Conover, who had worked his way to the three-drawer cabinet beneath the television, motioned for them to join him.
Vera could just imagine what this would be. A signed confession?
“Have a look,” Conover suggested.
In the middle drawer was a pair of skimpy panties and a bra. Along with a bottle of perfume. Vera studied the labels. Aubade lingerie and a bottle of Miss Dior. Big bucks.
“What do you want to bet”—Vera turned to Bent—“these belong to Alicia Wilton?”
“Since I don’t like to lose, I’ll pass.” He turned to Conover. “I need something, Conover. Anything that proves someone else was in this room recently.”
“Besides the housekeeper and the hundreds of other guests who’ve stayed here before and left DNA,” Vera muttered.
But she got it. This no-doubt-planted evidence was supposed to prove prior contact and that Parson had been here before the big killer weekend. And that maybe Alicia Wilton was playing both brothers.
Except it just didn’t work for Vera.
“Blame it on crime TV,” Collins said as her assistant prepared to bag Parson. “Now they all know how to cover their tracks and steer guilt where they choose.”
Valeri Erwin watched crime TV, Vera mused.
Maybe Erwin should be nudged back up to the top suspect spot.
Vera thought of the news about the Xanax in Nola Childers’s autopsy report.
And now this. A shiver worked its way through her.
She would bet money that whatever was in that coke killed Larry Parson. Coincidence? Highly doubtful.
“All I can say,” Vera tossed back to the ME, “is we better close this case fast, or there’s not going to be anyone left to arrest.”
“By the way”—Collins looked Vera up and down—“you were careful what you touched, right? Even him?”
Vera nodded. “I only did the chest compressions.” Worry trickled through her. “I did check his carotid pulse and his pupils, but that’s it.”
“Good. Because if this is fentanyl poisoning as I suspect,” Collins went on, “you could have ended up in a body bag too.”
An even colder shiver raced through Vera. “Yeah. Thanks.” Maybe that was exactly what whoever did this wanted. Anyone involved with the case would expect that Vera and/or Bent would come to the scene. The idea sat like a block of ice in her gut.
Bent’s voice drew her attention toward the door. He’d gotten a call. Vera joined him there and hoped this was something useful and not more trouble.
When the call ended, he said, “We need to get back to the office.”
Vera’s shoulders sagged. “What now?”
“The sister of our vic, Sandy Owens, is here to see me.”
“Seriously?” Vera shook her head. “Under any other circumstances I would be surprised, but somehow I’m not.” Vera followed him out the door.
This case was sounding more and more like a family reunion, except everyone in attendance ended up dead.