Date: 2022-09-02 04:00:00+00:00
Description: Welcome to the Crescent Motel, a waypoint in a post-apocalyptic no man's land. At the helm are Darrell, the middle-aged mustachioed manager, and his danger-sniffing dog Bruno. When he and the motel's housekeeper, Nance, discover one of the guests dead, they decide to keep the body under wraps until they root out the killer. But before they have a chance, two mysterious men appear, looking for answers. When the first body disappears and is replaced by another, Darrell and Nance realize they're in over their heads.
Publisher: Apocalyptic Ventures, LLC
Rights: Copyright 2022 A. R. Shaw. All rights reserved.

the coffee killer

A Cozy Apocalypse Series

motel at the end of the world
book one

A. R. Shaw

ARShawBooks.com

Copyright © 2022 by A. R. Shaw

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For Hazel,

You were such a good little kitty.

I’ll miss my writing partner. ❤️

It’s strange how drinking cups of water seems impossible, but 8 cups of coffee go down like a chubby kid on a see-saw..

Unknown

contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Afterword

Also by A. R. Shaw

About the Author

chapter one

Few jobs are more depressing than sitting in a dank office behind the counter of an old motel in the middle of the night. Unless it's the end of the world, and you’re watching over the motel your dead aunt left you as your only source of survival. Then it's even more miserable. But add to that a former police dog as your constant companion and a bossy housekeeper to keep you company, and it’s a recipe for ruin. But they somehow made it work despite the challenges at the world’s end.

Except that Darrell’s dog, Bruno, didn't like bad weather or specific people and continuously whined under his breath and scooted closer to the desk as dead tree limbs shook outside the lobby window causing dark shadows to quake across the motel’s nearly abandoned parking lot.

"It's just the wind…you big baby. Stop your grumbling, Bruno," Darrell Riley, the owner, said. He glanced over the rim of his cheaters and watched dead leaves and debris snatched up on a passing breeze and carried off by a stronger gust of wind. Even the motel’s neon-lit sign that read Crescent Motel flickered with force, making a buzzing sound. "Don't you do that now! I don't want the hassle of a power outage. I’d get all wet restarting the generator." Darrell looked over at Bruno lying on his pallet behind the desk while he smoothed his bushy mustache. The German Shepherd laid his head between his paws again while darting his big brown eyes back at him and then again at the scary branches swaying like the arms of a monster. "It's just a random little storm. It's not even raining yet. Just relax. And no accidents. Save that for the bad guys, or Nance will have you mop floors."

Bruno glanced at him because he’d never graced the floor with a puddle. But also because he didn't seem convinced of either Nance making him mop it or that the storm outside wasn’t made of monsters about to get them both.

"Can I go back to reading the paper now? Thank you. At least someone’s still printing the darn thing." Darrell adjusted the front desk lamp just over the newsprint. He flicked his eyes back under the rim of his glasses to pick up where he'd left off in the Apocalypse Gazette and reread the headline:

MONSANTIS GUILTY OF MONO-CROPPING THE WORLD'S FOOD SUPPLY TO DEATH – NOT SURPRISINGLY, THE WORLD HEALTH ORGANIZATION CONCLUDED THE INVESTIGATION INTO MONSANTIS' BEST WORST PRACTICES IN THE PRODUCTION OF NEARLY ALL THE WORLD'S SUPPLY OF WHEAT, CORN, AND SOY PRODUCTS. THE OVERUSE OF ANTIBIOTIC CHEMICALS CAUSED A SUPER MUTATED BACTERIA THAT WIPED OUT ALL MONO-CROPS AND SIGNIFICANTLY IMPACTED EVERY SEED WITH HOPES OF GERMINATION FROM NOW INTO ETERNITY. SCIENTISTS ARE STILL WORKING AROUND THE CLOCK TO SOLVE THE GLOBAL PLANT PANDEMIC THAT STARTED SEVEN YEARS AGO, CAUSING GLOBAL STARVATION, WITH NO SIGNIFICANT BREAKTHROUGHS TO DATE. THANKS TO…"

"Shh," Darrell said as Bruno began a low grumble again. But when he looked up, it wasn't the branches swaying their arms that made the dog upset again, but a man running under the Porte cortège just before a deluge started. When the doorbell chimed, Bruno lifted his head off the ground and sniffed at the stranger. Darrell folded and put his newspaper to the side and said, "Good evening. Looks like you just made it before the rain started. That's some storm coming."

The bald man swiped away the rain from his forehead and stomped a little on the mat to rid himself of the accumulated drops. He carried a backpack over one shoulder and took it off, setting the pack in front of him on the floor. "Yes, it's starting to come down out there, and I hear it will not stop for days. I'm assuming you have a room to rent for the night. I want to make it out of here before the worst of it begins in the morning, but I’m beat and need to sleep first before my trip."

"Well, that depends on your form of payment. Whatcha got?"

A corner of the man's mouth tweaked up in a smile while he unzipped his pack out of sight below the counter.

Darrell couldn’t see what he was digging for but began his list of most needed items for payment anyway. "We need soap, shampoo, and razors. Please, no more toothbrushes. Deodorant would be nice. Also, any kind of prescription contacts or glasses. Of course, any pantry items are always welcome. You don't have macaroni and cheese boxes, ramen noodles, or Oreos? Those will get you one whole night. And don't try to pay me with money. Some fool tried that last week. He brought in a bunch of Benjamins. I mean, seriously, we all know the reality now."

But the man didn't say anything yet. Instead, he kept his head down and continued to rummage something out of his bag, which made Darrell nervous. This wouldn’t be the first time he was held at gunpoint in the middle of the night, but he hoped he wouldn’t get that privilege again tonight. Because of that thought, he glanced over at Bruno just to be sure. But his trusty companion had his tongue lolling out of his mouth with several drool strings stretching a mile to the tile floor. He stared at the new guest, anticipating what he might have in his pack. What Bruno wasn't doing was freaking out…which was the best sign ever for a former police dog who used to sniff out explosives or ammunition. When Bruno freaked out…that meant danger, and it was late in the evening, and it was raining, and Darrell didn't want to put up with trouble so late in the day.

Then the man pulled out a small oblong package and slapped it on the counter. The packaging was matte dark brown, blunted at both ends, and seemed to conform to the flat countertop.

Darrell stared at it. Glanced quickly up at the man, who stood there smiling at him like it was some kind of joke.

Then he glimpsed at the package again. It couldn't be… "What the heck is that?" Darrell said, without hinting at what he thought it was.

"It's what you think it is."

Darrell swallowed, kept his hands to himself, and said, "Yeah…but is it what I smell it is? That's what I want to know?"

The man nodded, still grinning, "It is."

Darrell looked past the man to the lobby windows and beyond as if he was about to make a drug deal and hoped that no one was watching the exchange through the rainy darkness. Then he reached one hand out and squeezed the package. Between his thumb and index finger, the pinch felt like he was grinding bits of lightweight gravel. It was somehow therapeutic. His eyes lit up, and he squeezed the package a little more…kneading the contents with his fingertips and then his whole hand. Then, he let out a breath. Could it really be? He looked up at the man who patiently waited. "Are you alone? Is there anyone with you?"

The man shook his head. "It's just me. One night. That's all I need."

Darrell pulled the package across the countertop, unfolded the crimped edges, and rolled open the bundle. When the full force of the ground coffee bean aroma hit him, he closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. The memories flooded in. The early morning routines. The double mocha latte, the americanos, the straight black, the flat white, the caramel macchiato…the drip Italian roast…

"Brings you back, doesn't it?" the man said.

"Oh, man..." Darrell opened his eyes quickly and refolded the package, taking care to squeeze out the air. "I'm not even going to ask you where you got this. It's none of my business." He placed his fingertips on the giant ledger like a giant spider and pressed down. He spun the record book around quickly for the man to sign. He handed him a pen, unlocked the storage closet behind him, tossed the payment inside, and relocked the door before anyone caught a glimpse of what was sitting on his desk. "Checkout’s at noon. No exceptions. Room 34 is clean and ready to go. No smoking in the rooms. No pets. No bartering in your room for services. And…as always BYOTP…bring your own toilet paper." Darrell dangled the single key from the Crescent Motel's half-moon keychain.

The man eyed him, smiled, picked up his backpack, swung one strap over his shoulder, and then swiped the key from proffered Darrell's hand.

The man tipped his head and said, "Thanks, I'll have to make a run for it through the rain."

Darrell spun the ledger around again quickly as the man headed toward the swinging glass door, "Hey, and welcome to the Crescent Motel, Mr.…. Jay Houston."

“Thank you,” said Jay.

Then Darrell watched the man hurry through the torrent, across the sodden parking lot to room 34, where he coincidentally had parked his red car.

chapter two

Nance looped a smock over her gray-streaked bob. Then she slung the ties around her waist, tied a bow in the front like a robot, and then waited in the office for Darrell and Bruno to show up like she did every morning since before the apocalypse. Except for this morning, Nance had to fight through the wind and pelting rain on her way. Her clean smock was spotted with raindrops when she reached the side door. Their routine, a partnership of coworkers left over after the world's end, was cemented long ago. With a journalism degree, Darrell was just out of college and had inherited the old motel from his dying aunt. It was Nance that knew Bess Riley best all those years ago. Bess was a chain smoker and would often trade rooms for cartons of cigarettes back in the day. That was a luxury then, albeit a bad one. But at the world's end, bartering was a necessity now, and Bess didn't last long after the plant pandemic started. The Crescent Motel was her life. She had no children, so her nephew claimed the throne after she died. Nance came with the Crescent Motel, just like its furniture, failed windows, and cracks in the ceilings. She’d been with the motel from the start as a young girl right out of high school.

Since Darrell took over, Nance used to make coffee when she arrived. Still, the supply had dwindled to nothing after the first year beyond the apocalypse. Then it was tea, but now they were left with a full glass of warm water just to get the machines moving at the start of the day. Without some replacement, the ritual would cease, and too much had ended over the past five years. So, they improvised and continued substituting one thing for another until they were left with the simple basics. After drinking her glass of water, she scanned the ledger for new guests that might have checked in overnight. She added them to her list of rooms to clean and then wiped down the front countertop, swept the floor, checked out Bruno's pallet, quickly dusted the fake plastic ivy on the side table, and fluffed the pillows on the chairs in the lobby.

Then the door chimed. "Good morning, Bruno. Hello Darrell. I see we have a new guest in Room 34. The first new one in a few days. What? What's that look on your face? What's going on?"

Darrell's eyes were wide open, and he waved her past the counter and unlocked the door to the back storage room without stopping at the desk. "Check it out," he said with an open hand to the utility table where they stored all payments until exchange day for fuel for the generator and other edible supplies.

"Again…what is that, Darrell? What am I looking at?"

"Guest 34's payment for one night." He pointed his hand at the package.

"Is it like a drug? You're going to have to be more specific."

"Are you kidding me? Can you not smell that from here? I've been smelling it all night and live in the back building."

"No way. Coffee? For real? I haven't seen one of those in years. Where'd he get that?

Darrell shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't ask. I don't want to know."

She reached for the package.

"Uh-huh. No one touches that. We have to see if we can trade it for a bag of rice, beans, or something better that will last for a while. As it is… we're down to those glowing neon orange cheese crackers, and I know you're getting sick of those. Coffee's like gold now."

"Big Macs are like gold now. Come on. One cup each. There's at least a pound in there. No one's going to miss a couple of tablespoons."

Darrell shook his head. "We'll smell like it all day. Our pours will reek of the stuff, and someone will notice the jittery caffeine high."

"It's not like it's illegal."

"No. But you know how the rest of the guests are. I've been thinking about this all night because the storm also kept me awake. Hell, I considered sleeping with the stuff. It makes me nervous about having it on the premises. Someone would break in for that if they knew."

"I wonder if he's got more."

He snapped his fingers and pointed one at her. "See… that's exactly where my mind went too. It won't stop. Trust me. You just learned about it, and now your minds scheming."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "My mind doesn't scheme anymore. I'm sixty-two. Do what you want but don't tell anyone else. That'll draw the wrong kind of folks. And we don't need any more trouble. Things are finally calm around here after the candy bar incident. Never thought we'd get through the supply and sugar highs and the crashes." She shook her head.

He nodded his in rapid succession as she neared the door.

"Are you sure you haven't had any? You're acting kinda funny."

"No. I swear. It's just sitting there in all its coffeeness. I so want a cup. Just one."

She looped her arm around his and hauled him back into the office. "Come on. Friends don't let friends worship empty coffee mugs." She locked the door behind him and handed him the keys. "I've got fourteen rooms to clean before the day ends. Are you going to get through this on your own? Or do I have to check on you throughout the day?"

"Yes. Of course… I'll get through it," Darrell said, his eyes still wide.

"Good." She waved the air with her hand. "Here comes one of them now. Don't open that door again. It smells too good in here. If anyone asks, tell them it's one of those smelly candles. I'll check back later."

The front office door chimed, and she smiled at the guest coming inside as she left Darrell and Bruno on their own with the contraband. Then she ran through the rain, went into the maid's utility room, loaded her cart with cleaning supplies, and started down the row of rooms keeping the cart close to the side of the building and out of the spray. And by the time she reached room 34, it was well past noon, and he missed checkout time. But the funny thing was, the new resident's car was still parked right outside the door. Maybe he'd overslept? She wouldn't blame him. The storm made her sleepy, too. "Dah," Nance said. "He's going to make me ruin my schedule." She didn't see the do not disturb sign on the outside knob, so she knocked on the door and rechecked her ledger for the guest's name. "Mr. Houston, house cleaning." While the wind whipped at her sleeves, no one answered. So, she tried it again, and when there was still no answer, she turned the knob and found it locked. Pounding on the door once more, thinking he didn't hear her over the storm and shouted, "Mr. Houston. Housekeeping!" Nothing. Huffing out a breath, Nance pulled her keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. But what she found on the other side made her gasp.

Mr. Houston was either passed out or dead because all she saw of him was his bare feet sticking out on the floor between the beds.

Nance glanced at the office and saw that a guest was talking to Darrell, and then she looked back at the bare foot of Mr. Houston.

"Mr. Houston? Are you all right?"

Not only did he not answer, he also didn't move a toe. Then a guest exited a room down the hall and began walking her way.

"Oh, Nance! We need…"

Nance smiled and said, "I'll be right there." Then she quickly entered the room and closed the door behind her so that they didn't see inside the room. Their shadows walked past the closed curtain as she stood on the other side of the door.

"Mr. Houston?"

Nothing.

She walked further into the room, her wet vinyl shoes inching forward until she reached the edge of the first bed. When she peered over the edge, she couldn't believe her eyes and pulled back just as quickly. "Oh my. I knew that coffee would be trouble." She looked again and shook her head. "How did that get that into his back? I can't believe this. I don't get paid for this." She turned around, trying to think of what to do. She peeked out the curtain to see that one guest had left the office door leaving Darrell and Bruno alone again. "Good. Now, where are those other two?" She opened the door and spotted the mother and son crossing the street on their morning walk. "Okay." Then she opened and closed and locked the door behind her and ran across the parking lot to the office and flung the door open, sending the door chime into a fit. Darrell was reading something on the desk, and Bruno's head shot up when she entered.

"What? What happened? You look like…."

She was nodding. "Yes, come on. Come on. Hurry. You've got to see this. I told you that stuff was going to get us in trouble."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just wait…and don't say another word until we get there."

"Nance."

"Shh…just hurry," she said and opened the door to room 34, shoved him inside, and closed it right behind them.

"Uh…" Darrell said, dripping rainwater on the carpet as Nance pointed to a dead man's foot.

"Did he fall? Tell me he didn't fall in my establishment. What happened?"

"No, that guy didn't fall. What? Are you worried about an insurance claim? Look at him."

"Is he dead?"

Darrell turned to her and repeated, "Is he dead?"

Nance grabbed him by the shoulders and swung him around. "Well, he sure isn't alive!"

Darrell took two steps forward and then retreated to the door quickly. "How did that get in there?"

"Well, I don't think he fell backward on a garden spade and impaled himself on purpose. Do you? I mean, that's no accident."

"Are we sure he's dead?"

Nance looked at him like he was crazy and said slowly, "He has a garden spade lodged in his back All the way to the handle. His eyes are open, and he's not breathing. I'm no coroner, but I'd say that's a dead man."

"But who would do this? Where's his backpack? He had a backpack when he came in last night. Oh… it's right there. It's open."

"Are you just going to look at it from here?"

Darrell gave her a look, then walked over to the pack, and keeping his hands to himself, he leaned over the mattress and peered inside. "And it's empty. Other than that, I don't see anything out of the ordinary. There's no sign of a…hey, is that our gardening spade? The one from the shed out back?"

She leaned over the bed and looked at the handle sticking out of Mr. Houston's back. "It looks like it, but millions of these are everywhere."

"Well, there is only one way to find out if it’s ours. Let's check the gardening shed."

As they locked the door behind them, they ran through the pelting rain and went to investigate. Nance said, "Do you think someone's going around with a spade in their pocket intending to kill our guests? This is a little ridiculous."

"Keep your voice down. We can't let the others know about this. They'll freak out, and if we're missing our spade…you can bet it's one of them. So, we have to get to the bottom of this fast."

But as soon as they rounded the corner to the back building, they saw the door of the gardening shed was half open with the lock busted. Darrell and Nance stopped in their tracks, and Darrell let out a whistle. Then inside the shed, where all the tools were kept along the pegboard, one shape was missing.

"Yep, see, the spade's missing," Darrell said and then closed the shed door, and without a word, he ran back through the storm to the dead man's room.

"Wait for me," Nance said, and when they opened door 34 again, they locked it quickly behind them and leaned against the frame. Both of them dripped on the rug more than before. They stared at the dead man's bare foot. "What are we going to do? There's no one to call, and the storm is getting worse by the hour."

"That'll keep the killer here, then."

Nance pulled away from him. "That’s not really comforting. You really think it's one of the guests?"

"It's gotta be. No one's left the motel since Mr. Houston checked in. And I don't know about you, but when's the last time we had someone randomly come by intent on killing someone with a spade from our own garden supplies? We've been doing this together since I took over twenty years ago."

"The roads are blocked because of the storm. That at least gives us time to get to the bottom of things. I'll fix the lock on the shed in a few minutes. We can't let anything else go missing with a murderer on the loose."

"Yeah, if he was resilient enough to use a spade, there’s no telling what kind of weapon he’ll use next. And there's no law enforcement anymore. So I’m not sure whose bright idea that was. So we're on our own."

"We've always been on our own, Nance. You, me, and Bruno, in the Crescent Motel at the end of the world."

chapter three

Later that day, Darrell knelt next to Bruno in the rain with a screwdriver in his hand and replaced the latch on the garden shed door. When he was done, he put the screwdriver in his toolbelt but then thought better of it and picked it up again, flipping it over in his hand and making a stabbing motion in the air. Then he looked at Bruno beside him and said, “Yeah, too stabby. Just what I was thinking. We’d better lock that away when we’re done. I don’t want to find it impaled in someone’s back. Especially not mine.”

Bruno seemed to agree with him by the way he panted.

Then Darrell noticed a tendril of smoke from around the corner of the first row of guestrooms. Which was nothing new, so when he finished putting the tools away, he retested the lock and closed the door again. Then he peeked around the corner and saw Marilyn Brewer…smoking something again, but he was never sure what she was smoking. Tobacco was a hot commodity that had ceased production years ago, along with all its fun cousins. Nance suspected she was rolling the cotton fibers from the hotel curtains, but no one knew for sure. But there was one thing Darrell did know…Marilyn looked nervous as she dragged a puff, then flicked the ashes to the wet cement and hurried to take another drag, shaking the entire time. But with the constant threat of starvation, everyone was a bit nervous after the apocalypse. So, it was no surprise when her teenage son, Teddy, came to get her. He was as tall as she was, and Darrell would guess that Marilyn was in her late forties but accounting for the smoking, she could be younger than her appearance. Then again, slowly starving after the apocalypse made everyone look a little older than their age. Marilyn put her cigarette out on the brick wall, tucked the remaining butt into her sleeve, and followed her son back to their room without saying a word.

Darrell watched them walk away but then heard Bruno bark in a greeting. The armored truck of Ernesto Valdez entered the motel parking lot, ready to deliver the weekly generator diesel. Bruno ran out to greet him with his tail wagging. Dogs were excellent that way. They always knew who to love, who to hate, and who to fear. But when Darrell spotted Ernesto's tattooed arm hanging out the window of the fuel delivery truck, he knew there was nothing to fear. Ernesto waved, and Darrell waved back as Bruno followed.

Ernesto parked the truck, jumped out of the cab, and onto the hard, wet ground. His stalky form bounced.

"You're going to have to watch out for those knees, man…wait until you're forty. They don't work like that anymore," Darrell said.

"One hundred pushups every day keeps the doctors away," Ernesto said.

Darrell shook his head. "I don't have calories to waste on pushups."

"Whatchu got this week?" Ernesto said. "And no more toothbrushes."

"Besides the diesel, do you have any consumables for trade? We're running low."

"Two cans of expired green peas. A box of expired instant mashed potatoes and a package of dried fish flakes."

"Ewww…not that again. Smells like fish food."

"It is. But it's protein."

"Yeah, no thanks. But we'll take the peas and potatoes."

Ernesto bent down and scratched Bruno beneath the collar sending Bruno's tail into overdrive. "Who's a good boy? I could always use a sidekick if you want to get rid of him. I'll make a good trade."

"You always say that. No way, man. He's my bud. Besides, I've heard of what happens in the city with pets. That's just disgusting."

Ernesto agreed and said something sinister in Spanish that Darrell couldn't decipher. But, by the look on Ernesto's face, he knew making a meal of a pet was sacrilege.

"What you got in trade for the fuel, peas, and potatoes?" Ernesto said as they walked into the office.

Darrell spotted Nance enter one of the rooms with her cleaning supply carts, and she eyed him suspiciously.

He shook his head slightly.

Ernesto said, “And vamonos my friend. The storm is coming in another wave soon. So, I've got to get a move on."

Darrell pulled out a crate with the haul of hotel payments from the previous week. "18 candy bars, dandruff shampoo, toothpaste, a bottle of aspirin, a bag of lays potato chips, a cake mix, a container of neon orange tic-tac's, and several dozen packages of toilet paper."

Ernesto stopped in his tracks. "We're all going to die of cavities, but at least we'll be clean. Where do these people get the toilet paper?"

Darrell shrugged. "I don't know. I don't ask questions."

In return, Ernesto picked up the crate and left the other few items from his bag on the counter. "All right. I'll fill her up. See you next week. Take care, my friend."

"Be careful of the storm out there, Ernesto."

He said something in Spanish and waved away the concern. And really, Darrell wasn't too worried about the man that drove an armored fuel vehicle that was essentially a tank on wheels.

Darrell waved him off, and then Nance came into the office with a question on her face as she watched Ernesto leave.

"He looks happy. Did you trade the coffee?" Nance whispered.

"No. Not with a dead body and a mystery on our hands. I don't want anyone to know about that yet. What if someone comes looking for Mr. Houston? Did you ever think of that?"

"Well, no, but don't look at me. I didn't start this. You checked the man in."

"So, it's my fault we have a dead man on our hands?" Darrell said as he settled in his chair behind the counter.

"I'm not saying that, but listen, Darrell…we have to do something about him."

"Why? I think he's perfectly fine where he is."

"Really? Do you know what happens to a dead body left unattended for a short time?"

Darrell shook his head.

"Want to find out?"

chapter four

"I said lift…not drag," Nance said. "Bruno…stop sniffing the corpse. You should teach your dog some manners."

"He has manners. He sniffs. That’s what he’s trained to do. I'm doing… we're doing the best we can considering the circumstances. This guy weighs a ton. Why does he weigh so much?"

"He does not. He's as big as you are. Put his arm in the basket. Fold the elbow…all the way. Not like that. What do you think will happen when one of the guests sees me wheeling the cart out with a human arm sticking straight up like someone’s asking a question? You have to consider their reaction."

"That they should pay on time…I would think. Or perhaps the guests will think you provide all kinds of services. Tell them…. What? What are you waiting for now?"

But the expression on Nance’s face suddenly turned sinister. "I'm waiting for you to finish that sentence. Go ahead. I dare you."

"Now, don't start that again. It’s fun to tease you. What else am I supposed to do when I’m bored? All right. We'll bury Mr. Houston in the old garden. It's not as if anything's happening in there anyway."

"I thought of that, but it's too muddy to dig a grave right now. So, we'll have to put the man in the freezer for now. At least, that'll solidify all flowing juices and keep him from stinking up the place for a while."

Darrell made a retching noise.

“Oh, stop that!” Nance warned.

But he couldn’t help it. “You said solidify….”

“Oh, for the love of… Don’t you dare throw up in here. So, help me, Darrell, if I have to clean that up….”

Beurk, beurk, bleurp… Wulleaughue!

Darrell wiped his bottom lip and tried to catch his breath between gasps. Then he noticed Nance staring at him, and he knew if looks could kill, he was a dead man. Right alongside Mr. Houston.

She threw her hands up and said, “How did you even have anything in your stomach to throw up? You know what, I don’t want to know.”

He stood up, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and looked for something to help clean up the mess. “I’m sorry. It’s not much. I’ll clean it up. Get away, Bruno. Don’t…”

Slurp, slurp…

Nance pinched her nose and turned away. “Your dog’s disgusting.”

Darrell nodded and said, “But he’s efficient. You’ve got to give him that.” He went into the bathroom, pulled a clean towel from the rack, rinsed it, washed his face, and grabbed another one to clean up the rest of the mess. At least, he hoped the rag he held to his face was clean, but everything smelled like something he didn’t want to admit or risk another unpleasant episode. So, he cleared his mind and wiped the remaining moisture from the carpet. Then he leaned against the bathroom doorframe and watched as Nance carefully repositioned Mr. Houston within the maid’s cart, stood back to access the bulges, and then covered him up with what looked like a cloud of dirty bed linens on top.

Darrell said, "How do you know what to do with a dead body, Nance? You’ve obviously thought about this beforehand. But, if I didn't know you better over the last twenty years…you scare me sometimes."

She eyed him and then peeked out the window to case the parking lot. "Cleaning other people’s messes over the years gives you a lot of time to think. Just help me finish covering him up and stop talking. Bruno…get back here. Help me push the cart over the doorstop. Oh darn, look. It's Bill Evans. Who pays with a can of tuna these days…and a broken toaster? He probably wants that toaster back now that we’ve fixed it. Look, he's going to the office. He must need something. Maybe he has more tuna or something else to trade with. You go ahead and take Bruno with you. I'll get the cart to the freezer."

Darrell quickly pulled his hands away. "Okay. I'll help as soon as I'm finished there."

"No! Stay in the office. You’ll just make more work for me with your weak stomach. Don't worry about it. I think I can transfer the body by myself."

Darrell tilted his head at her with a question to prove his earlier point.

"Stop it. I’m warning you. This isn’t the time," Nance said and shoved the overweight cart down the hall while Darrell and Bruno ran through the rain to the office just as Bill made it to the front desk.

"Hey, Bill. What can I get for you?"

Now, Bill Evans was a larger man. Even with his belt cinched to the ends, his big bones wouldn’t fit as well in Nance’s cleaning cart as Mr. Houston’s did.

"Do you have a lightbulb for my room by chance? Mine’s gone out. And don’t tell me you’re charging me for another one."

But Darrell eyed Bruno as the dog stopped in his tracks through the doorway, lowered his head, and began a low growl at Bill.

"Hey, big guy," Bill said with caution. “Whew, he kind of smells like barf. Did you know that? I don’t know why he doesn’t like me. I love dogs.”

Darrell stared at Bruno for another moment. "Stop it, Bruno. I'm sorry about that. You’ve been a guest here for a long time. I’m surprised he’s reacting that way now. Maybe the storm's got him on edge, and he might be hungry." Darrell dug under the counter for a moment and pulled out a little off-white corrugated box.

"Here you are. One light bulb. No charge."

"Thanks," Bill said and left.

Once the door swung closed, Darrell scratched Bruno's fur and said, "You haven't done that in a long time, my friend. Maybe the dead body is bringing back memories of your former life? It's okay, my friend. You're here now. The storm will pass in time just like everything else."

chapter five

The following day, Nance watched as Darrell and Bruno took their sweet time getting to the office. They were staring off at something in the distance and then stopped and stood in the middle of the parking lot.

She peeked out the door and looked to the right to see what the issue was. But there was nothing remarkable that she could see.

Then they began lolling their way to the office again, stopping and staring at the gray horizon again.

She finally opened the door and said, "Would you two get in here already. Hurry up."

"I was just…."

But as soon as he was within arm’s length, she grabbed him by the wet shirt and pulled him inside.

"What?" he said, retucking his shirt into his waistband. “What’s gotten into you?”

She handed him the warm mug of water from the coffee pot. "We have to do something," she said.

He eyed her over the mug's rim and took his first sip. "I think I will start ignoring you until you make sense."

She made a noise, Pshhh…and used her hand to point out the window. "Did you see the weather out there? Or is it just me?"

"Yeah, that’s what we were doing when you so rudely interrupted us… it's beautiful, don’t you think? If you like storms for a week, that is. I was wondering. Do you think the plant pandemic has anything to do with the weird weather?" He took another sip of the hot water and peered at her over his mug. “Serious question.”

And as if she were speaking to a child, she said, "No…no, I don't. But look, I know our guests will start checking out if we don't do something. And if we want to catch the killer, we have to think fast….do I have to walk you through it all? Or can you catch up from there?"

He nodded. "I mean no. I thought about that this morning. So, I came up with a plan."

Nance's eyes widened, and she began waving him on as he took another sip.

"Since we know the killer is still checked in, we need to keep them on, so I'm going to offer a special extended night, free of charge to Alice Comney, and use the storm as an excuse."

"That's it? That’s your plan? Why only Alice… she's such a gossip? Wait…do you think she did it?"

He tipped his mug at her… "No. But that's exactly why. She'll tell everyone else, and she's usually in here first thing in the morning anyway. Then she'll spread the news, and the rest will demand the same exclusive deal." He nodded. “Uh-huh…see what I mean. Clever, huh?”

Nance tipped her head. "Well, I guess that will work. But, of course, she's the one that paid us with all of those toothbrushes."

"And a package of men's socks." He lifted his pant leg, pointed his mug to his ankle, and waggled his eyebrows.

"It is nice to have clean socks. We need more laundry detergent, by the way, if you can convince someone of that. But no more of those pod things. They don’t make them anymore, and the casings are too brittle. They bust out all over the place now."

"Noted. Okay…" Darrell pointed his mug to the parking lot. "Here she comes. Right on schedule."

Bruno growled and let out a little bark.

Nance said, "That cat of hers…she goes everywhere with her like a dog on a leash. And Alice looks just like the brown tabby cat."

"Be nice, Nance. Settle down, Bruno. Mind your manners." Darrell took hold of Bruno's collar and whispered. "Remember, we do not eat the guests. We do not…eat Harriet. So, restrain yourself, and I’ll have a can of cream of mushroom soup in it for you if you refrain from making a meal of Harriet."

"You shouldn't bargain with him," Nance warned. “That’ll only make him worse.”

Bruno licked his snout, and though he didn’t bark again, he barred his canines through his lips instead as he stared at Harriett when she sauntered through the door with her owner. But Bruno didn't move a muscle as they came inside the office.

"Good morning, Alice. How are things with you and Harriett on this fine day?" Darrell said.

"Good, good," Alice said as her curly brown hair bounced off the accumulated raindrops to the floor. Then, she smiled and said, "I'll be checking out now that I'm out of toothbrushes."

Darrell nodded. "Awe… we'll miss you, but about that…Nance and I were just talking about you and thought it was sad that you didn't get to stay longer and paint the sunsets like you intended to because of the storms. So, what do you say we give you a free night's stay? But Shh… don't tell the others."

Her eyes lit up. "That would be wonderful since I'm all out of payments. And it looks like a killer sunset might be in store tomorrow. You guys are the best!"

Nance said, "Shh," and made a show of eyeing the parking lot for the rest of the guests.

"Oh, right. Okay. I won't mention a thing. Thank you!" Alice said. "Come on, Harriett. We're going to unpack our suitcases. See you later." She winked at the two of them.

"Killer sunset?" Nance said as they watched her go and gave Darrell a look.

"That's not a clue. Alice is kind of a hippie. That's just the way she talks," Darrell said.

"Whatever you say. I don't trust the lot of them," Nance said, leaving Darrell in front of the office to finish his hot mug of water while watching Alice and Harriett retreat back to their room.

As planned, Darrell pulled out the latest Apocalypse Gazette at the front desk and read. Not an hour later, he glanced up and saw Alice talking with another resident as they walked down the courtyard, struggling with umbrellas in the wind. He smiled and looked at Bruno on his pad… "Right on schedule. Won’t be long now until they storm the gates."

chapter six

Darrell watched the guest gather as he pretended to read the same column in the paper. Nance walked under the Porte cortège pushing her cart as the hotel's residents stood in the dry spots. They were close enough, so he got up and popped his head out the doorway. "Why don't you come into the lobby instead of hanging out in the storm?"

Alice smiled and nodded while Nance entered and closed the door behind her. "Incoming," she whispered as she passed. "They're looking restless."

"I know," Darrell said. "I've been watching this brew for over an hour now."

Nance shook her head. “I've got to clean their rooms in a few. I'm so glad we only have five rooms occupied. That narrows down our suspects."

"Let me know if you find anything suspicious."

Nance nodded as she resupplied her cart from the closet, and as the guests began to come into the lobby, she drove out the side door with a raise of her brow.

Alice Comney bore a sheepish grin when she approached the front desk. Marilyn Brewer, Ned Smythe, Bill Evans, and Kent Davis came inside after her. She stared silently at Darrell as he read the paper. When he finally looked up, he feigned surprise. "Oh…what can I do for you all?" he said as he laid his paper to the side. “It looks like you’re having quite the meeting out there.”

Alice kept the smile but wrung her hands at her waist. Then she nudged her glasses up the bridge of her nose and said, "Well, we were wondering. And I know you said not to share the special with everyone, but we were talking. We think it would be fairer if we could all stay an extra night since you were kind enough to extend a free night's stay to me because of the storm."

Darrell brushed his mustache between two fingers in silent thought, smiled after a long enough moment, and raised his hands. "Well, why not!" he said with a big smile. "Of course, that would be fair. This storm has kept us all cooped inside for too long. Why don't you all resign the ledger, and I'll even toss in a…I think I have enough…let me see, yeah…well would anyone disagree that Marilyn gets an extra since she has her son staying with her as well?"

Lots of heads nodded when he looked up.

"Good, good…then you can take one package from the box, and Marilyn takes two. We all need a meal a day."

"Thank you, Darrell!" Alice said.

Ned said, "Oh my gosh, where'd you get these?"

"And they're not even expired," Kent said.

"I haven't had an Italian biscotti since our trip to Italy a decade ago," said Marilyn.

Alice said, "I thought when you talked about your trip, you said you didn't drink coffee."

"Oh, I don't, but these go great with tea," Marilyn said. "Wait until Teddy gets back. He'll be so surprised."

"Where did he go?" Alice said.

Marilyn said, "Just for a walk to the beach and back. He gets so bored cooped up with his mom. Of course, he will be drenched in the warm rain, but that's okay. This will cheer him up."

The tearing of crinkled packages resumed as the guests tried to open the tiny tops of their treats. Bruno got up from his bed and encircled the bunch, weaving through their legs and sniffing the ground in hopes a few crumbs might find their way to the floor. Meanwhile, Darrell kept the same smile on his face while he eyed each one of the guests for a reaction. If one of them had coffee in their rooms, they'd likely preserve their cookies until later for dunking. Assuming the dead man had more of the coffee in his backpack, perhaps the killer knew about Mr. Houston's payment and stole the rest of his supply? So many questions, but as fingers pinched and pulled at the plastic edges, none of them seemed unwilling to snack on their surprise rations right away. Food was nonexistent in fresh form, and preserved foods were dwindling by the day.

Marilyn was the first to leave the office, having one unopened biscotti held in her hand like a sword, followed by the rest. Darrell leaned a little higher over the counter and watched them run back to their rooms through the torrent and hoped that Nance had had enough time to look for clues while they were distracted.

But a few minutes later when Nance came through the backdoor, Darrell said, "Well?"

"All I can tell you is there's a large pair of men's shoes in Marilyn Brewer's room that I’m sure don’t fit Teddy, and the dead guy didn’t have a pair in his room. And Ned Smythe's room smells like coffee. But that could be my imagination. Coffee is all I have on my mind lately."

"Those aren't clues. We can’t prove the shoes were Mr. Houston's. Marilyn's son probably wears them anyway, even if they’re too big for his feet."

"Yeah, but he's a small kid at fifteen. There's no way he's wearing those size eleven men's. He's not wearing those, and neither is she. Other than that, I didn't find anything else."

Darrell said, "Ned paid with magazines and a novel when he checked in. And thin as he is, I don't think he's our murderer."

"What does that have to do with it? We're all too skinny."

"I don't think it's Ned. He's the skinniest of the bunch."

"I just don't think that's concrete evidence to rule him out if you ask me. Did you discover any interesting insight after giving them the cookies?"

Darrell shook his head. "No. Not really."

"Well. I checked on our other guest in the freezer, and he's not going anywhere soon."

Darrell ran two fingers along one edge of his mustache, smoothing, and said, "So you're saying he's chillin'?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. "There's something wrong with you, Darrell Riley. What I'm saying is we're not getting very far. How can we trust these people to stay here when one of them's a killer?"

"I'm not worried," Darrell said. "The killer will reveal themselves in time."

chapter seven

The following day as Nance made her cleaning rounds, she rolled her cart in front of Kent Davis' room. The funny thing about Kent… he'd lived at the Crescent Motel for over a year and always came up with something new to pay with, like a new pair of shoelaces, a pack of coffee filters, a gallon of filtered water, and cans of bug repellant. Still, he was seldom seen coming and going from the hotel. And the other odd thing was that in an entire year of servicing his room, Nance could not recall ever coming across a do not disturb sign hung from the knob of his room. Yet there it was swinging with the breeze. She couldn't search his room unless he left the motel or, um…asked for turndown service. But Kent was a clean sort of fellow anyway, and she wasn’t worried about an accumulated mess in his room. If he needed something, she knew he would kindly ask. Perhaps he was under the weather?

So, the wheels of her cart squeaked slowly as she rolled onto the next unoccupied room of Bill Evans. And while she was inside his room, she found two pairs of new socks and a new toothbrush, and then when Nance was searching under the bed, her hand landed on something familiar. When she pulled it out, she saw a familiar package. Nance opened the edges, but before she even got a good whiff, she knew the coffee was the same ground as the package in the office. "None of my business," she said and reclosed the package and shoved it back into the shadows beneath the bed frame. Once she finished cleaning his room, she moved to the next door, and when she knocked on the door, Alice said, "Hi. Come right on in, Nance. I was just leaving."

And as Nance rolled the cleaning cart inside, she noticed Alice kick something beneath her bed at the last minute.

"No rush," Nance said. "I'm ahead of schedule already today."

Alice said, "I was just headed out for a walk through the rain. Must get my steps in, storm or no storm."

“Have you been painting lately?” Nance said, looking at the easel in the corner of her room. A half-painted horizon line in droopy grays on a small canvas and dark hues of watercolors were scattered around the table.

“Not as much as I would like. It’s just so gray and dark out there. It’s depressing. I’m hoping there’s a sunset later, then you’ll see me out in the parking lot with an umbrella above my head and orange paint on my brush.”

"Be careful out there. Don’t get electrocuted. The lightning has been epic lately. That wind could carry you away as well," Nance said.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. We’re all on our fifth or sixth life as it is, just like Harriett. She smiled and put the leash on her cat, and left.

Nance cocked her head at the space beneath the bed and saw another familiar package. She didn’t even try to fish it out, knowing what it was already. She didn’t understand why these people couldn’t find better places to hide things than underneath their mattresses.

So, she got up and went about making the bed, replacing the towels, wiping down the flat surfaces, and cleaning the floors. She stopped when she reached the painting and tried deciphering the gray blobs muted into the next. “I don’t think a lot is going on there,” she said. Then she moved on to the next room, and when she finished her rounds, she met up with Darrell again in the office.

"What'd you find?" Darrell asked.

She was already shaking her head. "These people. They think they're so smart, but they're like children. They shove everything into the first darkened space they see, assuming you’d never know where to look. Out of sight, out of mind. Under the bed is like an abyss to them."

"What do you mean, that’s where the monsters live?"

She explained what she found in each occupant's room beneath their beds. She said, "I think we have to consider the possibility that they know about Mr. Houston's death. Maybe they took things from his room before we found him. The thing is… I'm not sure which items they picked up from the outside, which items they brought in, or what they might have stolen. So really, we can’t count them as clues."

"I think it's safe to assume the coffee came from Jay Houston's empty bag since it's in the same packaging. Unless they know the same dealer. I mean, you’re right. That could also be the case."

"Dealer? You say that like there are drugs involved. Anyway, let's face it…they trade stuff amongst themselves. The toothbrush…that could have come from Alice. She seems to have an endless supply, even though she said she’s out now. We really don't know more than we did yesterday."

Darrell said, "That's true, but let's give it time. I mean, it was late at night when Houston came in. I don’t think the others were even up during the beginning of the storm. So, as far as I'm aware, there wasn’t a late-night bartering session going on.”

“I agree. That’s pretty unlikely, I’d say,” Nance said.

Darrell said, “I'd not considered that all the guests might all be in on it. But whoever did this will slip up soon."

“You keep saying that, but what if we’re wrong?” Nance said.

“We have to find out who’s murdering our guests. No authorities are around to take care of this sort of thing for us. We make the rules now. And I don’t want my guests murdered under our roof. So we must find out who did this and take care of business.”

“You say that so official. How will you punish the criminal when you finally identify the killer?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I hadn’t thought that far. Ban them for life?”

“What, that’s it? For murder, you’re going to revoke their privileges here?”

“Do you have a better idea? I will not imprison anyone or cause them bodily harm.”

She looked at him sideways. “You are a tough guy.”

“Don’t make fun. What do you think we should do with the murderer?”

“Hmm…let me think about that. I’m sure we can come up with something fair.” She walked away with her cart, but as Darrell watched her go, he thought how coolly she dealt with the dead body and said, “Don’t think about it too hard.”

chapter eight

He wasn't reading the paper. Instead, Darrell watched the glow of the lamp light reflect off the accumulating puddles in the parking lot. He held his eyes open past the blinking point, so they were becoming more dry than usual. His mouth gaped as well, just enough that if a random fly were buzzing around, surely it would make it through the opening in search of something moist to eat. But not a morsel of food had hit his mouth since the day before.

Then that familiar feeling began to crawl up like a tendril in his gut. He tried to ignore it. They all tried to ignore it. But hunger would not be ignored. Not forever. So, he closed his eyelids over the dryness only to feel the grit skid across his eyeball. He stopped, blinked several times more to create more moisture, and pushed himself up from the rolling chair behind the desk. “Come on, Bruno, it's time to withdraw from the snack shack.”

Bruno agreed with him by scrambling up from his pad near the desk. His collar jangled, and he beat him to the storage closet door where they kept all the deposits from one-night stays to many. “All right. It's not a race. You'll get your weenies.”

The coffee was still there, along with shelves filled with random items. Like coffee, few of the payments could be traded like gold. But much of it wasn't worth anything at all, except to Darrell. And he wasn't sure why he kept them except for the toaster he had fixed. He was convinced that someday someone would want that thing. Although bread was no longer something people made because wheat was no longer grown. Which meant toast was extinct. But even looking at the toaster made his stomach grumble more. The warm bread from the oven that his mother used to make. The melted butter. Teeth crunching through a crisp layer to something soft, warm, and chewy.

Darrell cleared his throat. One must always stop thoughts of foodporn each day if one wants to live past the plant pandemic. That was a mantra everyone learned in their own form at one point or another over the last seven years. “No. Stop it,” he said and secretly chastised himself for letting it go on too long. But he could still smell the bread toasting when Bruno looked at him with his doggy eyes, and Darrell said, “No. Not you. I was talking to myself. Don't look at me like that.”

But on a lower shelf, Darrell kept many of the payment items he considered far too past their expiration date to trade with, but within reason to make a meal for himself. And though he'd never been a big man before the pandemic, Darrell, and everyone else on the planet were using the last belt notch to cinch up their pants in the morning. And they allowed themselves one meal a day to keep from adding another notch.

"What'll it be, Bruno?” He picked up two items and said, “Best by date August 8th, 2017, a package of neon orange peanut butter crackers he'd found in the back of the vending machine. Or the November 11th, 2020, a blue foil cellophane beauty encasing a crispy rice treat from a knock-off…not the three elves? This is for me, not for you. You get to have your choice of Vienna sausages from 2022 or Vienna sausages from 2022. I know. I know… you're getting tired of them, but you get what you get, my furry friend." He flipped the package of crackers over and groaned. "Blah… These can’t be any worse tomorrow. He chucked the package back on the shelf. “I'll save them… let's go with the… wait, who's that? Don't growl yet. You don't even know who it is."

The front door chimed, and Bruno began full-on barking instead of the warning growl.

"Just a minute. I'll be right there," Darrell said, tossing the crispy treat on the table inside the storage room while blocking Bruno's escape with his leg and locking the door with the dog inside. But Bruno kept barking, and when Darrell rounded the corner, he saw two tall, mean-looking men waiting for him at the front desk. "I'm sorry it took me so long. My dog’s not usually so impolite. I think the storm's been freaking him out too much."

Neither of the strangers smiled or offered any kind of ease.

Darrell raised his eyebrows. "So, um…what can I do for you, fellas?"

"We're looking for someone,” the taller man said. “The person we're looking for has dark blond hair. He’s about your height and goes by the name Matt Cola. Have you heard of him or seen him around?"

"Well, gentlemen, the Crescent Motel operates as a safe haven. I’m afraid we don't give out guests' names,” Darrell said. And that's when he looked from one man to the other. Neither of which seemed particularly friendly. They looked more like characters from a mob hit movie from the 40s. The kind that carried Tommy guns and had a penchant for gunning down anyone with a bad habit of calling you names.

The taller of the two had dark brown piercing eyes, wavy black hair, and newer dark-washed jeans with an unstained white T-shirt and a dark red silky zip-up jacket on. He matched. Which indicated, to Darrell, that the man had made good trades over the past several years. There was only one reason a man made good trades over the past several years. He either didn't have much to lose before the pandemic and had street smarts coming out of his ears. Or he had skills in services that were questionable by nature and therefore now more valuable since the pandemic began. Darrel was leaning toward the latter.

The other guy had not made as good of trades as his friend. His light brown hair was long and curly, and Darrell was willing to bet that it hadn't seen a brush in the past decade. Nor had his beard. Right then and there, Darrell committed to himself that if he was ever in possession of such a long and unruly bush, he would try to comb it every day. As it was, he couldn't keep from smoothing his own mustache in the quiet moments of the day. And the clothes this guy wore seemed in deliberate opposition to his taller friend. The Hawaiian shirt gave way to a ribbed wife beater. And his pants, if that's what you would call them, were cut off at the knees. That was probably one way to deal with hand me down high waters.

But before Darrell could make any more assessments, the neater one reached over the counter at the speed of a rocket, grabbed Darrell by the front of the shirt, and pulled him across the front desk. At the same time, the sloppy one spun the ledger around and leafed through the dates and names of the recent check-ins.

Behind him, Darrell could hear Bruno's barks increase an octave, and the dog began scratching on the storage room door, threatening another Kool-Aid man maneuver.

Though he was choking, Darrell said, "I can tell you I don't recall anyone by that name checking in."

Sloppy rifled through the ledger more then, shook his head, and then the other goon let Darrell go. They looked confused, and then Neater said, "Well, that's it. You’d better have a couple of rooms for us because we’re not leaving without him.”

Darrell stood a little taller and loosened the collar around his sore neck. Then he said, after making sure he was farther than an arm’s length, “Well then, gentlemen, that depends on what you have to trade.”

chapter nine

"They did not," Nance said, not believing what Darrell told her about their newest guests.

"I'm telling you they wouldn't give me their names, and they refused to sign the ledger. They paid with two cans of Hoppin' John’s and a can of Spam."

"Then that's their names. That's what we'll call them," Nance said.

"What?"

"We’ll call them John and Spam. You can’t call them Sloppy and Neat. That’s offensive," Nance said.

"Like that’s any better?” He shook his head and waved at thin air. “Okay, never mind. The point is, I couldn't argue with them, and Bruno nearly busted through the door. We'll have to keep him in the back while those two are around. Bruno doesn’t like them one bit. You know how he holds grudges. I can't be responsible for what he might do."

"You're getting yourself off track. At least the men paid with actual food. We're running dangerously low in the pantry, and I noticed that you’re feeding yourself with the loser pile. Don’t do that. You’ll get sick like last time. Do you suppose they're looking for Jay Houston?"

Darrell shrugged his shoulders. "I don’t know. It’s possible. I can only guess that's what they're after, but if that's the case, that's not a name they know, so that means Mr. Houston either lied to them or he lied to me when he checked in under an assumed name."

Nance said, "You're saying Houston's not his real name? This keeps getting thicker. Is that Spam or John staring at the wind and rain?"

"Let’s call him Spam. Not the neat one. He's been doing that since early this morning. He's already read the past issues of the Gazette that I left out on the table. I think they're casing the entrance waiting for Houston's return."

Nance said, "Well, they will be waiting for a long time. You’ll need more of those Gazettes. Look, here comes the other one. Spam's getting up, and he just walked out the door. So now John's taking his place. Yeah, they're casing the place. What they don't know is that their guy is in our freezer. What are we going to do?"

"Shh… Don’t let these thugs hear you. I guess just keep an eye on them. But at least we get to share a slice of Spam tonight," Darrell said with a wink, and Nance high-fived him and went back to work while Darrell pretended to read his paper and watch John watch them.

Later that night, Darrell sat his paper down when Spam stood up as Alice walked into the lobby.

"Oh, you're new," she said.

Spam sort of smiled through the beard. At least, that’s what Darrell assumed because his eyes were merry. "Yes," he said. "My buddy and I just rolled into town looking for our friend."

"Oh?" Alice said. "What's his name? Maybe I know him."

"Well, I was hoping someone could help us find him. My friend goes by the name Matthew Cola. Have you heard of him?"

Alice shook her head, and her smile vanished before he even finished the sentence, and she backed away. "Well, no. I'm afraid I've never heard of that name before."

"He showed up the night of the storm. Maybe you saw a man check-in?"

"Well, as I recall, I didn't even leave my room that night. Harriet, my cat, was in a frenzy. She doesn't like loud noises, you see. And there was a lot of lightning."

She just lied to the man…Darrell thought. Darrell flashed on an image of seeing her that night by the ice machine. She'd seen him too. Why lie? Unless it’s because she has some of the dead man’s coffee hidden beneath her bed.

But it didn't matter because she turned around and left without coming to the counter. Darrell wasn't sure what she'd wanted and guessed it wasn't significant enough to circumvent Spam to find out. Then Darrell watched as Spam returned to his seat facing the lobby window once again, and Darrell picked up the newest edition of the Apocalypse Gazette and began reading more about

Monsantis’ legal woes.

“IT WASN’T AS IF WE WEREN’T WARNED FROM PAST FAMINES. THIS HAS BEEN AN ONGOING ISSUE SINCE MAN STOPPED ROAMING AND BEGAN HOEING. EVEN AS RECENTLY AS THE YEAR 2021, WE’VE SPECULATED THAT A PLANT PANDEMIC POSED A CONSIDERABLE THREAT AND COULD WIPE US OUT. HERE’S AN EXCERPT FROM AN ARTICLE WRITTEN FROM THAT TIME TITLED, THE PERSISTENT THREAT OF EMERGING PLANT DISEASE PANDEMICS TO GLOBAL FOOD SECURITY.

‘PLANT DISEASES ARE OF GLOBAL CONCERN AND EXACT A HEAVY TOLL ON FOOD CROP PRODUCTION AND THE SOCIAL AND POLITICAL STABILITY OF NATIONS. A CLASSIC EXAMPLE IS THE 19TH-CENTURY IRISH POTATO FAMINE. IN 1845, PHYTOPHTHORA INFESTANS DESTROYED THE POTATO CROP AND, IN SUBSEQUENT YEARS, LED TO THE IRISH FAMINE WITH OVER 2 MILLION DEATHS AND MASS MIGRATION OF PEOPLE FROM IRELAND. THE PATHOGEN FIRST EMERGED IN THE UNITED STATES IN 1843 WITH LESS-SEVERE CONSEQUENCES THAN IN IRELAND, WHERE DEPENDENCE ON A SINGLE FOOD CROP, THE LACK OF SOCIAL AND POLITICAL WILL, AND THE DELAY BY THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT IN ADDRESSING THE HUNGER PROBLEM LED TO DIRE FOOD INSECURITY FOR THE IRISH PEOPLE. CONFLICT, POVERTY, AND THE BRITISH RULE DURING WORLD WAR II MADE THE BENGAL FAMINE WORSE AS COCHLIOBOLUS MIYABEANUS, THE CAUSE OF BROWN SPOTS ON RICE, SPREAD, RESULTING IN THE DEATH OF OVER 2 MILLION BENGALESE PEOPLE. RICE PRODUCTION DROPPED 25%, AND THE COUNTRY’S RICE SUPPLIES WERE SHIFTED TO FEED TROOPS. THE RECENT COFFEE RUST OUTBREAKS CAUSED BY HEMILEIA VASTATRIX IN CENTRAL AMERICA PROVIDE YET ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF THE DISPLACEMENT OF PEOPLE DUE TO AN EMERGING ENDEMIC PLANT DISEASE AND CLIMATE CHANGE. YIELD LOSSES IN COFFEE GREATER THAN 50% OCCURRED IN SOME REGIONS OF CENTRAL AMERICA, AND OVER 400,000 COFFEE WORKERS LOST THEIR LIVELIHOODS IN THE COFFEE SECTOR IN HONDURAS, EL SALVADOR, AND GUATEMALA, LEADING TO HUNGER, POVERTY, AND INCREASED MIGRATION. MONOCULTURE OF SUSCEPTIBLE COFFEE VARIETIES, LOW COFFEE PRICES, AND CLIMATE CHANGE IN CENTRAL AMERICA LED TO THE SPREAD OF COFFEE RUST TO HIGHER ELEVATIONS WHERE GROWERS WERE ILL-PREPARED AND LACKED ACCESS TO FUNGICIDES TO CONTROL THE DISEASE.’

THESE WERE JUST MINOR FLASHES IN THE PAN UNTIL THE LARGEST FOOD PRODUCER DECIDED TO TRY AND OUTSMART MOTHER NATURE. THE THING NO ONE EVER UNDERSTANDS IS THAT SHE FIGHTS BACK.” [1]

Darrell made a whistling sound with his lips and said, “I’ll say.”

1 https://experts.umn.edu/ws/portalfiles/portal/279511891/e2022239118.full.pdf

chapter ten

Darrell watched over the lobby as a few residents wandered inside and sat on the long couches flanking the giant lobby television screen. He'd been tempted to change the channel from the weather station when he saw them coming to something more mundane, like the ongoing plant pandemic hearings. Still, whenever he did, someone would ask for the remote again and change the station to the weather and the constant storms.

Meanwhile, apparently, it was John’s turn to be the neighborhood watchdog. He sat by the entrance door, casing out the motel for the man currently residing in their freezer unbeknownst to him and his buddy Spam. But even he turned his attention to the weather channel when it came on.

“METEOROLOGISTS ARE TRACKING AN ABUNDANCE OF TROPICAL MOISTURE, WHICH THEY SAY WILL ENHANCE MONSOON DOWNPOURS ACROSS THE SOUTHWESTERN STATES AND CONTINUE A THREAT FOR FLASH FLOODING TO CLOSE OUT THE WEEKEND.

CHIEF ON-AIR METEOROLOGIST BEN RAYMOND, WHO HAS BEEN SCRUTINIZING THE PATTERN ALL WEEK, NOTED ON FRIDAY MORNING THAT ALL SIGNS WERE POINTING TOWARD A SIGNIFICANT FLASH FLOOD EVENT ACROSS SOUTHERN ARIZONA AND NEW MEXICO SPANNING THROUGH SUNDAY.

A PAIR OF STORMS IN THE UPPER PART OF THE ATMOSPHERE, PAIRED WITH AN INCREASE IN TROPICAL MOISTURE, CAN RESULT IN A LIFE-THREATENING FLASH FLOODING SITUATION. DON’T GET CAUGHT OUTSIDE.

THE INFLUX OF TROPICAL MOISTURE WILL RESULT IN MORE INTENSE AND WIDESPREAD SHOWER AND THUNDERSTORM ACTIVITY THAN DURING A TYPICAL NORTH AMERICAN MONSOON PATTERN. RAINFALL RATES COULD ECLIPSE 1-2 INCHES PER HOUR AMID THE HEAVIEST DOWNPOURS, BUT EVEN A QUICK QUARTER TO HALF OF AN INCH OF RAIN IN A SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME CAN TRIGGER FLASH FLOODING PROBLEMS.

"THIS PART OF THE COUNTRY SIMPLY CAN NOT HANDLE RAIN POURING DOWN AT THIS RATE," SENIOR METEOROLOGIST SELENA TAYLOR SAID.

FLOOD WATCHES AND WARNINGS REMAINED IN EFFECT FOR PORTIONS OF NEW MEXICO AS OF THE MIDDAY HOURS ON SUNDAY.

FORECASTERS URGE RESIDENTS AND VISITORS ALIKE TO NOT LET THEIR GUARD DOWN AMID THE PATTERN, AS WEATHER CONDITIONS CAN CHANGE FROM DRY TO POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS IN A HURRY. EVEN NORTH OF THE GREATEST RISK ZONE, A DANGEROUS SITUATION AROSE SATURDAY WHEN FLASH FLOODS RUSHED DOWN THE STREETS AND INTO LOCAL BUSINESSES.

IN ADDITION TO AN ELEVATED RISK OF FLASH FLOODING, THERE COULD ALSO BE MUDSLIDES IN THE HIGHER ELEVATIONS OR NEAR BURN SCARS.

WHEN THIS DELUGE OCCURS UPSTREAM OF A CANYON, RIVER, OR DRY STREAM BED, A WALL OF WATER CAN SWEEP DOWNHILL IN A MATTER OF MINUTES, EVEN WHERE THE SUN MAY BE SHINING BRIGHTLY OVERHEAD. AND DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE LIGHTENING…”[1]

Marilyn pointed the remote at the television and muted the station. "You've got to be kidding me! How long is this going to last? We had a little break, but now the second wave's coming?" Marilyn said when Alice tried to put a calming hand on her arm. "No. I am sick and tired of being cooped up in this place."

Alice's head nodded rapidly. “I know. I know. We are all getting a little stir-crazy here.”

Marilyn got up, dropped the remote quickly with a thud to the leather couch, and made a mad beeline for Darrell. "That's it. I'm checking out…taking my son, and we're leaving. We’re out of here."

Darrell pushed the rim of his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Are you sure that's wise? I mean, you just heard what they said on the news. So I understand.…your frustration, but…."

But before he could finish the sentence, John appeared by her side as she approached the desk and whispered harshly, "You and your son are not going anywhere." He grabbed her forearm when she tried to shove him away from her.

Then he turned to the rest of the shocked residents in the lobby. "No one is leaving this place until we find our friend. I'm not going to let you tip him off. Understand? Don't even try to leave."

Darrell secretly didn't want her to check out either because he was still trying to figure out who Houston’s murderer was. Still, he was happy to let John and Spam be the bad guys to his own end. To play along, Darrell stood up. And though he wasn’t near John’s strength or height, he did his best imitation of a bad guy and said, “First off, you cannot keep anyone here, so take your hands off her immediately. Second, why would anyone tip him off? We don’t even know who the heck you’re looking for. These guests have been here off and on for a year at least. They’re not doing anything to you.”

Marilyn yanked her arm free from John’s grasp. "My son and I hadn't seen anyone new check into this hotel since before you thugs arrived."

"I don't believe you and don’t even think about leaving, or you’ll find out the hard way that I mean business," John said.

Her face turned beet red as she stared John down. Then she turned to Darrell. "Why don't you do something? Are you just going to let him treat us this way?"

Darrell raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, and pointed at the bigger man in front of them. "Please stop threatening the guests here. Or else,” he said.

“Or else, what?” John said. “What are you going to do about it?”

But the power went out before Darrell could come up with something menacing to say back. So instead, he grabbed his flashlight and said, “Everyone, go back to your rooms. I’ll reset the generator in a few moments. I think we’ve had enough social interaction for one evening.”

He watched them walk out the office door with John trailing behind them and said, “Hey, John.” But then he realized the man didn’t know the name he was given, so he shouted, “Hey! You…”

John turned around, and Darrell shook his head as he returned to the front desk. “There’s no need for that here. Don’t threaten the guest ever again.” Then he added, “Please.”

Though the light was dim, he could still see the look in his eyes, and John said in a calmer voice, “Look. I’ve got a job to do, and if I don’t do it…my family and I will pay for it. So just don’t get in my way, and no one will get hurt. We’ll be out of here as soon we’re released. Understand?”

“Released? I’m not sure I understand, but I’ll agree as long as no harm comes to anyone,” Darrell said, and John nodded.

John left after that, into the darkness of the stormy parking lot...

Then Darrell let Bruno out of the storage room, “Come on, we have work to do.” They went to the utility room behind the building. As Darrell was about to walk inside, he looked back. Bruno had sat down in the rain before the threshold. Darrell looked back at him and then back inside the room again. And noticed that Bruno had his eyes lasered on the freezer. Darrell whispered, “Yeah, that's what happens if you're not a good boy. Keep that in mind.” Then Darrell eyed the freezer and passed to the breaker box, skirting around it quickly. He opened the gray metal panel on the wall. “Ah, there you are.” He reset the tripped breaker with a snap and got out of there.

1 Heavy rain, flash flood potential continues for Southwest. https://news.yahoo.com/significant-flash-flood-potential-looms-163139725.html

chapter eleven

As they often did after hours, Nance met with Darrell in the back room to talk about the day and the one to come before they closed things up and then went to each of their rooms. He found her there, staring at the coffee package on the counter.

She swallowed and pointed at it when he walked inside. "You haven't even put it away yet… it's just sitting there."

"Did you take some? Is that why you're standing there?"

"I…no. I was just looking at the little troublemaker. A man could have died for this. And it’s just sitting there out in the open like it's all innocent and stuff."

He picked up the bag of ground beans and stuffed the package on the shelf behind the Spam and Hoppin John’s. "Is that better? Does that make you feel like there's some justice in the world?"

She shook her head. "No. Not really. Especially with what happened tonight. What are we going to do with these people? The second wave of the storm will hit tomorrow, and they're climbing the walls already. If this keeps up, we'll have more dead bodies on our hands, and they might be our own."

He laughed. "Yeah…things could come to blows, but I was thinking. Why don't we put on a little party?"

She looked at him like he was crazy. "A party? That's your answer to this problem? Like a hurricane party like those lunatics used to have in the path of an oncoming storm?"

"Can't beat 'em. Then join 'em."

She then stared at the empty spot on the table where the coffee used to reside.

He looked there, too, in case he was missing something.

"Okay," she said. "Why not? It might keep them from killing one another. But honestly, I don't know what we'll do if the bodies keep stacking up because we can't bury them, and the freezer is currently occupied. It would seem weird putting another one in there on top of the other one."

"Depending on the guest, he might enjoy that," Darrell said with a wink.

"Stop that," Nance said and swatted him.

As Etta James crooned Stormy Weather in the background the following evening, the guests showed up in the motel lobby except for John and Kent.

And when Darrell opened a bottle of cheap whiskey he’d kept hidden for months even from himself, Spam said with a gleam in his eyes, “Now it’s a party.” Which seemed entirely out of character for the hippie slash tough guy. Still, Darrell filed away his response in case he needed something as leverage in the future; he knew what the man liked.

And just as another wave of the storm rattled the motel lobby windows, Darrell said, “Here, Nance, pass these around.” He poured a little shot of amber liquid into tiny paper cups. Then Darrell turned the music a notch to cover the storm's noise.

Spam held up his cup with a smile to everyone and said, “Something to calm the nerves.” Then he downed the entire shot, closed his eyes, balled up the cup in one fist, and started gyrating rhythmically to the slow serenade of Etta’s voice. At the same time, his opened Hawaiian shirt blew in the slight breeze.

Darrell couldn’t take his eyes off the man. Even Nance stared with her mouth slightly open, then the few ladies in the room giggled and began dancing around too.

Marilyn said, “Would someone else like my son’s portion? He’s not allowed to drink yet.”

Spam’s eyes blinked open, and he held out his hand for the cup and said, “Are you sure, mom? A young man’s gotta live too.”

She handed the cup over and said, “Not yet, he doesn’t.” And smiled while her son stared at something on the ceiling and said, “Gosh, mom,” while shaking his head.

Spam nodded, took the cup, and downed that one in a blink.

Nance turned against the crowd and raised her eyebrows at Darrell.

He shrugged his shoulders but mentally put another check mark next to the man who likes to drink.

Then Darrell took a sip of his own whiskey and shuttered.

Without asking, Nance reached over and took his cup. She downed the rest of his whiskey while staring at the crowd and kept the beat to the music.

Darrell looked at her as he still held his hand in the shape of his missing cup and was about to say something when suddenly the music ended, and the power went out again.

“Seriously!” Darrell said. “I've got to replace that breaker.”

Amongst the whines of the guests, Nance said, “I’ll light some candles.”

“I’ll go check the generator,” Darrell said. “No worries, I’m sure it just cut out again.”

He left them in candlelight as they settled on the lobby couches and ran through the pelting rain on his way to the generator. The first thing he checked was the fuel level. Since Ernesto Valdez had just delivered the weekly supply. He likely overfilled the tank because, despite being a tough guy, he was quite generous. And as he suspected, the breaker was tripped for the second time in the last two days. Darrell reset the breaker again with a snap and heard the music from the lobby play again. Then he began to make his way back, struggled through the wind gusts, stopped by the back utility room, and glanced through the window at the deep freezer. Darrell looked to make sure no one was watching him from the lobby windows, took out his keys, unlocked the door, and went inside the room. He stood there a while, dripping on the concrete floor, and stared at the white metal rectangle as it hummed in the otherwise silence. “Why am I afraid of the freezer?”

Nance had put the body in there, but he had yet to check on the dead man since. So, he pulled the chain on the overhead light and opened the lid a few inches, and that’s when he saw white crystals formed on a blueish pinky. And that was enough for him. He let the top slam down with a thunk. “Yep, still a dead man.” And then he turned off the light, locked the door, and ran back through the storm to the motel lobby.

But someone had turned down the music, and the mood had changed to a somber tone in his absence. Instead of the groovy moves, the guests were talking in low voices. He looked to Nance, and she shrugged her shoulders and then took another sip from her cup or someone else’s she’d managed to pilfer when no one was looking.

Spam, for his part, looked relaxed entirely with his eyes mere half slits, and his body was sprawled out in a nearby armchair. Though, he occasionally nodded to the conversation going on between the guests.

With dreamy eyes, Ned Smythe said in slurred words. “You know what I miss? There was this little restaurant that I used to go to, and their menu was basic. There were no descriptions of the titles for the items they served. But if you ordered pizza, it came loaded with a combination of their choice for the night. But do you know what my favorite thing was? The Bacon Salad. That’s all it said on the menu…Bacon Salad. But when they brought it to your table, it was a thing of beauty. It consisted of a butterleaf bouquet tossed in this creamy warm house dressing with tiny chopped red tomatoes, ruby-colored onions, and calamata olives. And sprinkled on top were small pieces of gourmet caramelized bacon. It was a thing of beauty, I tell you.”

Spam stomped one foot on the ground. “Quite it…. you’re making me drool.”

Everyone jumped as if reality hit them all at once. But then, instead of listening to Etta James' soothing tunes, they were transported to the present. There were no vibrant salads in their present or future but rather a storm raging outside their windows.

“All right. Party’s over. Everyone go back to your rooms,” Spam ordered.

“Wait,” Marilyn said. “You don’t get to tell us what to do either.”

Nance brushed her arm. “He’s probably right, hon. It’s getting late. We should sleep and hope the storm passes in the morning.”

Marilyn nodded, and they filed out the lobby door and kept as much as possible to the side walls as the wind and rain had its way with them.

Darrell and Nance watched them from the office doorway to see each enter their rooms. And then Darrell noticed as Nance brought another cup up to her lips. He said, “Where did you get that one?”

She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

chapter twelve

Early the next day, Darrell and Bruno walked into the back of the office, and Nance did not beat him there for the first time in a long time. Darrell smiled to himself, knowing she likely suffered from a headache, but then he heard the front door open, and when he looked out, she grinned at him and said, "Thought you beat me, huh?"

"Something like that," he grumbled while he warmed up the water.

"Well, there was a little break in the storm this morning, and I thought I'd get up early and clean up some of the branches from the parking lot. And guess what?"

"What?"

"John and Spam took a hike at the crack of dawn."

"You mean they left without checking out?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

He quickly scanned the parking lot. "I can't believe I didn't notice their car was gone. Have you looked in their rooms yet?"

She shook her head. "No. What if they come back?"

"That's a good point. But if John and Spam left for good, that means they've given up looking for Mr. Houston, right? Or they got a message from someone?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. But we should give the guests a day before we go through their rooms. Don't you think?"

"Those guys? We should probably leave things the way they are for a few days. We don't need any serious trouble in no man's land."

"What do you mean? Let's not forget, we already have a dead body on our hands," Nance said.

Darrell flashed on the ice crystallized pinky from the night before, "Trust me, I haven't forgotten."

"Well, those guys showed up after we found him dead, so we still have a murderer in our midst."

"Don't remind me," Darrell said and rubbed his temples when the thrumming started.

Nance poured him a mug of hot water. "You need to take a few painkillers. Trust me." She handed him two gleaming turquoise capsules.

He took them and swallowed but then said, "Oh, no," as he stared out the window.

Bruno barked.

"What?" Nance said, turning to look.

"They're back already," Darrell said when he noticed their car pull into the parking lot.

Nance huffed. "So much for hoping they'd moved on."

Darrell watched the men park the car, and then as they got out of their vehicle, they popped the trunk and began pulling something out. Something that looked suspiciously like a body wrapped in white sheeting.

Nance looked at Darrell, and he back at her.

"What are they doing? It’s broad daylight. At least, try to hide the body." Nance said.

"Tell me that's not a body,” Darrel said.

“What else could it be? But, more importantly...where are they going with it? Because their rooms are on the other side of the building." Nance sucked in a breath. "What if they're bringing it to the freezer?"

Darrell didn't respond for a beat as his mind rifled through all the possibilities. Then they both began to scramble because Spam and John were in the process of carrying a body in the direction of the utility room where the freezer already held a body. Possibly the body of the man they were looking for. Darrell quickly closed Bruno in the office to keep him from bolting out the door and ran outside.

When Darrell and Nance rounded the corner, Darrell yelled, "Hey, you can't bring…that into the motel."

"Bring what? Try and stop us and see what happens to you and your little motel," John said.

But then, before Darrell knew it, Bruno must have found a way out because he came running through the parking lot, and, in a flash, he wrapped his canines around Spam's calf.

Spam dropped his end of the wrapped body and began shaking his leg. "Get him off me," he yelled, looking like he was reaching for a weapon.

Darrell quickly grabbed Bruno by the collar and pulled him back. "Leave it, Bruno."

"You need to get your dog under control, or you're going to be the next two bodies we stuff in that freezer instead of this guy," John warned. Spam shook his pant leg, picked up the loose end of the dropped body, and continued their mission.

Nance took a step and said, "You guys need to get that out of here."

"Calm down, lady. We're just going to put the body in the freezer for a little while," John explained. "You don't have anything to worry about if you mind your own business."

Darrell and Nance looked at each other and yelled, "There's no room!"

Spam and John looked at them strangely and headed for the freezer anyway.

Darrell reached for the keys in his pocket, so he felt a little relieved knowing they couldn't open the door, but then when John braced part of the weight on his knee and used his other hand to turn the knob. It opened freely.

"What?" Darrell said, and both he and Nance rushed inside behind them.

"Seriously, the freezer is full. There's no room in there. And I can't believe you broke the lock. This is private property," Darrell said.

“Get out of my way,” John said, pushing Nance to the side.

But when he lifted the lid, Nance and Darrell were shocked to see that Mr. Houston's body had vanished. Only cool mist rose from the remains of long expired frozen pizzas and hot pockets.

“What is your problem? You’re really making this a lot harder than it is. There’s plenty of room in there,” Spam said.

Darrell looked at Nance again.

“Just get out of the way,” John said, and both left the utility shed more confused than ever.

“Did that just happen?” Darrell mumbled on his way back to the office.

“Uh huh,” Nance said. “Did they move the body?”

“We put a body in there the other night, right?” Darrell said because, at that point, he was beginning to think he was losing his mind.

“Yes. I was there with you. So you are not losing your mind. Unless we are both hallucinating on all the high doses of preservatives we’ve eaten lately.”

Darrell nodded. He remembered the blue pinky. “There was most defiantly a body in there the night before,” he said, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t crazy.

“You know what this means, right?” Nance said.

“I’m not sure I do,” Darrell said.

“It means we now have a murderer and two dead bodies on our hands.”

Darrell shook his head. “No. No. I didn’t touch that second one. That one’s not on my hands. But yes, I agree. We have a murderer in our midst and a victim, and two thugs with their own dead bodies to deal with. And ours is missing.”

“But we’re not sure new one was murdered,” Nance said. “Could be another starvation victim.”

“We’re not even sure if the body is a he. Could be a she.”

“Also, true. This is getting complicated.”

“Should we ask them if they moved our body?” Darrell said.

Nance shook her head. “What, and tipped them off that we had one in the deep freeze first? I don't think so. I think we should look for the one we had in there.”

“What? Do you think he just got up and walked away? Have you noticed he's blue…and dead? That might attract attention from the other guests,” Darrell said.

“No. But I think one of our guests relocated him.”

Darrell shook his head because the pounding in his skull had started up again. “No one told me about the murders I'd have to solve when I took this job. They don't pay me enough for this.”

“Oh, cry me a river. You don't have to clean up after the guests. What's a murder or two?” Nance said, and Darrell stared at her as she walked past him to the office.

chapter thirteen

Darrell stood at the front desk but couldn't even pretend to read the Gazette while Nance searched the guests' rooms again that afternoon while the guests were out. This time, she wasn't looking for evidence to lock in a murderer. This time, she was searching for the dead body itself.

Instead, he paced from one side of the office to the next. Then he rechecked the back room again, even though he'd already searched the entire main building from front to back five times over. Then Bruno sat down and started whining rather than following him around. "The body’s missing," he said to Bruno. “Except that there was a new one now occupying the freezer. I swear they're just messing with us now. Either the murderer or the thugs had to have moved Mr. Houston. But where did they put him? How else would the door to the utility building remain unlocked? I know it's not that easy to break into. But I just checked the body last night. He was in there, I tell you. I saw him myself."

Bruno sat there and tilted his head one way and the other as if trying to understand the dilemma.

Darrell said, “I know. I know. It’s ridiculous, right?”

But then the back door opened, and Nance came in with the same bewildered expression he had on his face. She threw her hands up in the air. "I don't understand. They acted as if they had no idea there was ever a body in there. And now Mr. Houston's vanished. I've looked through all the guests' rooms except for Kent's. He still didn't answer his door when I knocked, and I hadn't seen him for a while. Have you seen him?”

Darrell said, “No. I can’t say I have, but I haven’t been looking for him. I’ve been too busy looking for the dead guy. Have you checked the garden shed?

But she didn’t answer because Alice walked inside right then and said, "Do you happen to have any cat toys? I have one toothbrush left to exchange. Harriet feels a bit cooped up, and I can't take her out in this constant rain."

Darrell began rifling in a box under the desk while he said to Nance, "Now that you mention it, I haven't seen Kent in several days."

Alice said, "Kent Davis? I was wondering where he got off to. He wasn't at the party last night. I don't think I've seen him in a while, but his truck is still beside my car."

Darrell pulled out a pink foiled puffball, and when he squeezed it, it made a squeak like a tortured mouse. “Here,” he said, handing it to Alice. “I think this will work. Still has the squeaker.”

“Thanks,” Alice said, as her eyes lit up.

Then Darrell and Nance exchanged a glance. He grabbed his keys, flipped the sign in the front office window to Be Right Back, and headed out the door with Bruno and the two ladies behind him. At Kent Davis' door, he rapped three knocks.

Nance said, "I told you, he doesn't answer. I’ve tried several times."

"Oh, I hope he's all right," Alice said. “He didn’t look terribly thin the last time I saw him.”

But just then, Darrell had a bad feeling. Somehow, he didn't think Kent Davis was doing well at all. But they were about to find out as he inserted the key into the lock. And as soon as the door swung open, Alice dropped the kitty toy and gasped.

"He is most definitely not okay," Nance said.

Bruno weaved between them and sniffed at Kent's shoe.

"This can't be happening," Darrell said and walked inside the room. Lying between the beds, he saw Kent's feet sticking out, just like Mr. Houston's. Only this time, the body had shoes on. And there was another similarity and a difference to the last victim they'd found in the same position. When Darrell peeked over the side of the mattress, it wasn't a garden spade sticking out from the man's back...it was a pair of sewing shears instead.

Darrell huffed a breath.

"Is he dead?" Nance asked.

"Well, he's sure not alive," Darrell said.

Alice began sobbing in the doorway while Nance walked in for a closer look.

Nance said, " Well, that had to hurt. But, look, Darrell...more coffee."

He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed the bags before. But Nance was right. Next to Kent's body were not one but two more identical packages of coffee, just like the other mysterious packages in Mr. Houston’s bag.

Darrell whispered to Nance, "What is going on here? Now we have three dead bodies on our hands but more coffee than we’ve seen in years.”

Nance cocked her head to the side and said, “Well, who gets the coffee?”

Darrell looked at her and raised his eyebrow. Then pointed at Kent. “Can't you see, there's a dead body in front of us? I mean, he's not even cold yet. And you're already arguing over who gets the coffee?”

Nance knelt next to him and used two fingers to check for a pulse on Kent’s neck. She whispered out of earshot of Alice crying at the door. “He is most certainly dead, and the body is definitely cold. I say we swipe the coffee and put it in the locked storage with the other packet before anyone else sees the stuff.”

Darrell gave a sharp nod after glancing back at Alice. “All right. Hurry up,” he whispered. “We can argue about who gets what later?”

She picked up the packages, stuffed them in her apron, and then busied herself with covering the body.

“What are you doing?” Darrell said.

“Help me. It's not like we have room in the freezer,” Nance said in a frustrated rush. “He'll have to stay here for the time being.”

“You think too far ahead sometimes. That scares me.” But by the time they’d covered Kent's body, they realized it was suddenly quieter in the room than before. Darrell looked behind him. “Great! Where did Alice go?”

chapter fourteen

Bang, Bang, Bang.

"Will you tell her to stop pounding on people's doors?" Darrell said.

"I can't stop Alice. You know how she is. She's already told half of them. She's like some kind of public alert system."

"Well, I wish she had alerted us before the murders. So now we have three dead bodies on our hands. One of which is missing, two big guys holding us hostage, and a killer on the loose. And a few very upset guests. This is crazy. I should have stayed in the city," Darrell said as they finished covering up the body.

Nance said, "You forgot about the coffee. Oh, listen. Now Marilyn's yelling. We must get out there before they gang up on us. She could start a riot, that one."

"Did Alice tell Spam and John too? Come on, Bruno," Darrell said as they locked Kent’s door behind them.

"No. I don't think so," Nance said as they walked into the parking lot with Bruno trailing behind.

Marilyn yelled and pointed toward the newcomers' rooms, "It's them. It must be one of them. They must have killed Kent."

Darrell shook his head but wondered why Marilyn hadn't mentioned the other body on their hands. Did she not know? Or was she pretending? Darrell gave Nance a quizzical look. Then he decided to just play along for now. "I don't think so. I think Kent's death occurred before they arrived. Think about it...Kent's been missing for days."

Ned said, "Are you saying he was murdered? Kent was such a nice guy. Who would have done this? We're all like family here. None of us is capable of murdering another human being. It must be them. You know, they could have staked out the place and then did the deed before they checked into the motel."

Again, Darrell wasn't sure if the reactions were genuine or fake, but that sounded like plausible deniability to him. "Still," he said, "I don't think so, Ned. But, again, we're jumping to conclusions here. All we know for sure is that Kent was murdered."

"I told you I want to leave this place," Marilyn said.

"No one's going anywhere. What happened?" Spam yelled, and everyone stopped arguing and turned around.

Darrell waved him off. "Nothing. We've got this handled. You can go back to your room."

"Clearly, you don't have this handled, or I wouldn't be awake right now," Spam said. "I'm trying to sleep. So I won't repeat the question. What's going on here? You there," Spam pointed to Bill, who had been relatively quiet during the exchange. “Explain the madness.”

Bill said, "Apparently, there's been a murder."

"Who died?" Spam asked.

Darrell said, "Kent Davis. But you never met him. He wasn't around after you arrived."

Spam nodded as if that cleared things up. “How’d he die?”

Nance began to say, “St….”

But Darrell stopped her with his arm and said, “He was stabbed in the back,” without explaining the weapon. Still, he knew that would be the next question, and he was trying to figure out how to avoid answering it. But, knowing it was a critical piece of information, he needed to keep it to himself to solve the murder.

But before Spam could ask the question, Bruno began to growl at him.

"Knock it off, man. That's it. Everyone in the office," Spam said. "And your dog too."

Marilyn said, "We don't have to do what you say."

Spam reached for something from his back waistband and brandished his gun. “Lady. I think you do.”

Shaking his head, Darrell said, “Everyone to the office before someone gets hurt," and herded the group through the rain toward the main building.

“I think I'm going to leave,” Marilyn said.

Spam gave her a little shove. “Just keep walking.”

When they arrived at the front desk, Nance pulled the coffee packages from her apron beneath the counter service where no one could see and handed them to Darrell.

“It's all I found,” Nance whispered.

He was trying to watch the guests file into the office, but he cocked an eyebrow at Nance.

She added, “Don't get mad at me, but I figured since you're the one responsible for their safety, you should keep the coffee.”

“Thanks,” Darrell said. “I appreciate it, but hand over the last package.” He held his empty hand out to her. And added, “Nice try.”

She smiled, knowing it was a good effort.

Then the rain began to fall Like bullets against the rooftop.

“They might not be ready to leave this place anytime soon, despite our investigation,” Nance said. “So, we might as well be the one to break the news.”

Darrell continued down the hallway to the storage room and placed the coffee inside. Then he returned and gave everyone a quick rundown of Kent’s case.

Then, Bill said, “I think I'm with Marilyn. I’m ready to take my chances with the weather over you guys.”

Spam stood a little taller and more menacing and said, “Now look….”

Darrell held his hands up to stall the rising frustration, gave everyone a quick rundown of the facts of Kent’s murder, and said, “Bill, if we stay calm and wait out the storm, then we're on the right track.

Bill shrugged. “I'm not sure. We've got a dead body and two henchmen keeping us trapped here. I think I'd rather take my chances with the storm.”

Nance said, “It's your funeral. Just look at the weather forecast.”

Spam reiterated, “No one's leaving.”

That's when John showed up.

Spam said, “Where have you been napping?”

“I was checking on our friend in the freezer and heard the commotion. I was watching the whole thing unfold,” John said.

“I have some work to do,” Darrell said, trying to walk out.

Spam pointed the gun at him and said, “I thought I made myself clear. No one’s leaving.”

“So that's how it works, huh?” Bill said. “The thugs must be running the whole show.”

Spam pointed the gun toward Bill then. “Yeah, well, we're pretty big. And I don't think we're as out of our minds as you are. We're just getting along because we don't want to screw anything up. So keep that in mind.”

Bill shook his head and said, “I don't even know what that means,” and walked away.

chapter fifteen

An hour later, Nance came to the front desk and looked over Darrell’s shoulder.

Without anything better to do, Darrell sat down with the inventory sheet and a pad and got to work. When John walked over, he was in the middle of listing all their bartering items from most significant value to least.

They ignored him.

Nance said, “Don't forget the toothbrushes. You could bundle them for more.”

John said, “It's raining again.”

Darrell put his pencil down. “How come we're not getting the full story, John?”

“Why are you calling me John?” John said.

Nance got in his face. “Because we don't even know your name, pulling a gun on us isn’t necessary.”

“I’ll tell you what’s necessary,” John said. “Everyone, stay in your seats.”

Alice said, “How long is this going to take? I need to feed Harriett. She doesn’t like storms. I’m telling you…she’ll start shredding the curtains soon. I’m sure you wouldn’t like that.”

John said, “Enough wandering around. You there…the maid. Yes, you. You’re the only one allowed to leave to get anything these people might need. But no funny business. I’m warning you. There’s apparently a dead body in our midst, and one of you did it.”

“There’s more than one,” Darrell whispered to Nance.

She gave him a look. “No one realizes there are more than two dead bodies unaccounted for.”

“I need my sewing kit,” Ned said. “Can you get it out of my room?”

“Why do you need… never mind,” Spam said

“And feed Harriett for me, please,” Alice added. “The foods in the top dresser drawer.”

Nance nodded as people shouted out orders. She was about to leave when she caught Darrell’s eye and winked. Spam held the door out for her, and when Nance was well past the threshold, she sped walked down the concrete hallway while the rain poured down in sheets. When she reached Alice’s room, she saw the cat jump down from the windowsill, so she was careful to enter through the smallest possible crack in the doorway to keep from letting Harriett out.

As the cat wove through her ankles, purring, she said, “Hello, kitty. I bet you’re hungry.” As if someone watched her, Nance eyed the bed that Alice kicked something under the last time she was in the room. She first went to the dresser as requested and opened the top drawer to find whole unopened cans of tuna, like a lot of them. She opened the next drawer to see nothing other than a few items from Alice’s wardrobe. The third drawer was empty. She went back to the first drawer and slid it open again. The funny thing was, there was no cat food, only a dozen or more cans of tuna fish in spring water unexpired with various brand labels attached. Nance looked down at the cat, who meowed loudly. “Is she feeding you tuna fish? You spoiled cat.” Nance reached for the can opener beside the cans and picked up one while Harriett meowed and danced between her legs. “Hold on.” Then she lifted the sharp lid and dropped it in the trash receptacle next to the dresser. “No wonder this room always smells of old tuna. Where’s your dish?”

Harriett leaned her paws on Nance’s shin and tried to tell her. “I don’t speak cat, sorry. Oh well, this will have to do.” She placed the can down on the carpet, and Harriett didn’t seem to mind the less than proper delivery system at all. She began slurping up the tuna juice right away.

But when Nance knelt, she petted Harriett’s back and gazed into the darkness beneath Alice’s bed. She remembered her kicking something under there the other day. And even though she'd searched there before, and found the coffee, she thought she’d look again. So Nance crawled two feet and lifted the bed skirt up. Ambient light traveled from the dim window highlighting the depths. And Nance took a good look this time, knowing the others were trapped in the office. “Nothing but dust bunnies under here now. Someone should fire the maid.” She jumped up then, just as a crack of lightning threatened to dash the power again. “That’s probably a warning to me for being too nosy.” She closed the drawer and looked inside at the other cans of food just rolling around in there and reached for one and slid tuna into her pocket. “Shh, she’ll never know, and that’s her fee for feeding you.” Then she left the room, locking it behind her, and was about to head back to the lobby when she turned abruptly, “Oh…Ned’s room.” She turned on her heel, opened the one two doors down, and stood there a minute. “If I were Ned…, where would I hide my sewing kit?”

The truth was, Ned was always working on something. That’s what he did. You could call him a tailor, but he resewed everything from men’s jeans to curtains and beyond. It was his profession before the apocalypse, and nothing had changed except his location. So, at first glance, his room looked like a tailor’s shop. There wasn’t just a kit but many half-finished projects all over the room. But on his bed, something looked like a tackle box. Still, instead of fishing supplies, there were all kinds of needles, tiny scissors for needlework, and threads of every imaginable color within. And on top was a woman’s dress that Nance recognized as Marilyn’s. “That’s right. She ripped the seam on the door handle last week. So that’s what he wants.” She closed the tacklebox, gathered up the half-finished mending job, and headed for the door, but then she stopped and looked back. Her eyes scanned the room carefully again. She set the tacklebox on the table, opened it again, and rifled around the contents. Then she went back and scanned the room and lifted sewing projects. Some looked like lady's skirt patterns, or the beginnings of a man’s pajama pants. Nance looked under the bed and searched drawers. “Hmm,” she said as she retrieved the dress and the tacklebox and left.

Back at the office, she handed Ned the things he’d requested.

“Thank you!” he said.

“Did you feed Harriett?” Alice asked.

“Yes. Yes, I did. Harriett’s doing just fine in there,” Nance said and was careful to turn to the side and not reveal the circle shape in her apron pocket. Then she went behind the desk and whispered to Darrell, “Those sheers in Kent’s back…. guess who’s missing them?”

“No...,” Darrell said. “Can’t be Ned. I never would have suspected him.”

“He only has little ones in his room. But he cuts patterns. There’s no way he’s doing all that work with the tiny scissors in his kit. He had a big pair when he fixed the lobby curtains last month. I saw them…they were like…the same ones sticking out of Kent’s back, now that I think about it.”

“We’re the only ones that saw Kent’s murder weapon. Alice didn’t even come into the room, remember? In fact, no one asked about the murder weapon itself.”

She nodded.

“We have to ask him,” Darrell said.

“Oh…like he’s going to admit he's the murderer?” Nance said and scoffed. “It’s hard to believe. He’s an old man. Would he have the strength to ram them into Kent’s back?”

“He’s stronger than he looks,” Darrell said. “I bet he did it. There’s something sadistic about tearing stitches out and sewing them up again. He’s probably some weirdo that quietly checks into motels for months at a time and kills off the guests…acting like an innocent senior.”

Nance widened her eyes and shook her head. “That’s…a little scary. But what about Mr. Houston? Do you think he killed him, too? And why would Ned leave his scissors in Kent’s back? Doesn’t he need those?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the killer is trying to frame Ned? And who’s the other dead body? Did you get a chance to look while you were out there?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t think about it.”

“We don’t even know who that guy is or where the first one got off to. But, I’m telling you, running a hotel after the apocalypse is murder. I wish my aunt had never died and left it to me.”

“Oh, stop complaining. Your aunt was a good woman, and if she hadn’t left it to you, you’d be one of the guests by now. See what I mean…at least you don’t have a dog leash wrapped tightly around your neck right now.”

The bathroom door closed behind them, and a second later, John said, “I heard what you said about the shears.”

Darrell’s eyes widened, and Nance looked up, and before either of them could say anything, John said, “You there…with the glasses. Where are your sewing shears?”

“Me?” Ned said when he looked up. “I lent them to Kent to cut his hair the other night. He said he’d give them right back but then…well, I guess he couldn’t.”

“You lent them to the dead man to cut his hair?” John said.

Ned said, “Yes, that’s right. Well, he wasn’t dead at the time. He was very much alive. It’s the only pair I have. I thought maybe he’d gone off somewhere or something. But, I knew he’d return them when he got back.”

Darrell turned to Nance and whispered, “Well, there goes that theory. What about Alice?”

Nance just shook her head. “Another dead end.”

Darrell nudged her with an elbow to the ribs.

“Stop that. You know what I mean,” Nance said, annoyed.

John said, “Well, one of you did it and no one’s leaving here until our friend shows up. So whoever killed that Kent guy…I don’t care who you are or why you did it, but you’ll have to wait until we leave to deal with the mess you made.”

Nance looked face-to-face, and none of them so much as blinked.

chapter sixteen

After dusk, Darrell looked up from his desk and noticed that Bill and Ned had their heads together, whispering. “What's the matter with you guys?”

Ned shook his head and whispered, “Darrell, I'm sorry, but Bill here might have a problem.”

Darrell knew Bill was asking about the weather report earlier from overhearing their conversation. Still, they seemed deep in discussion again, and the talk quickly moved to the subject of medication.

Bill broke the silence and stood up, and said, “I need my pills from my room. My hands are shaking too much. I’m serious. I’ll go into seizures without them.” Then he got up, shuffled past Darrell’s desk, and walked toward the door.

“Uh,” Darrell said, looking up from his desk with a look of concern on his face. “That's too bad, Bill.” Then Darrell rolled his eyes when Spam scoffed.

Bill mumbled something, turned around, and shuffled back to his seat. But a moment later, he got up again and headed for the door.

Darrell shook his head. This was not good. “Bill, wait,” he said.

“Stop,” John said.

“I have to go,” Bill said.

“Don’t you touch that door,” John warned.

“Watch me.” Bill grabbed the doorknob and pulled.

“Bill,” Darrell pleaded, and everyone began to scream.

Bill stared at Darrell with fear and disbelief on his face and, with trembling fingers, pushed the door open. Then Bill froze, and a look of anguish overcame him. His hands were still shaking, and he slowly backed up to the door, pushing on the door with his right hand.

But John was faster and knocked his arm away.

Darrell stood and said, “Everyone, calm down before someone gets hurt.”

Bill was breathing fast and had a laser death stare trained on John.

John stood back first and ran a hand through his hair. “Has anyone ever seen this man have a seizure?” John asked the gathered group.

They looked from one to the other. Darrell could tell by their expressions that not even one of them had ever seen anything like it, but Spam and John didn't know them as well as he did.

“What?” Alice asked.

Marilyn said, “A seizure?”

“Yeah,” Bill said and took a step closer to the door, and that’s when Spam moved in.

Ned raised his hand then and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I have. On exactly three occasions, I have witnessed this man have a seizure. Gruesome business. He bit his tongue the last time. I know it’s impossible to control. It's frightening to watch and even more so to endure. Blood everywhere.” Ned rubbed his chin.

But it was Spam that looked around, and his face clouded over.

Then Darrell couldn’t help but smile when a glass of water slipped from Spam's hand and went sloshing to the floor.

“Don't worry about that, Spam. I'll get Nance to clean it.” He rushed to his desk, opened a drawer to grab a dry towel, and tried to hand it to Nance.

She looked at it and shook her head. “I’m not touching that,” Nance said. “You can clean up your own mess.”

Once Darrell had dried the water, he nodded at Bill, looking at the clock.

Bill held a trembling hand in midair. “It's time for me to get my meds,” he said. “I’m telling you; it gets pretty bad.”

“All right. Fine. I’ll go get the pills. Tell me where they are,” John said.

Bill shook his head. “I can’t. I keep them hidden. I don’t want anyone to know where they are. They’re so hard to come by these days. I can’t afford to lose them.”

Spam stared at him as if he was trying to decide whether he believed the guy. Then he whispered something to John. “All right. You have five minutes but leave your truck key and everything in your pockets except your room key.”

Bill spilled out his pockets on the lobby coffee table and left. Darrell thought it odd that a man about to have a seizure ran through the rain so quickly without any sign of weakness.

Nance raised her eyebrows at him, and Darrell shrugged.

Then a few minutes later, Darrell watched as Bill came in the side door carrying something behind his back. And his first thought was…why bring the hidden medicine back to the lobby? Why not take the meds in your room? Why bring the bottle with him?

But then he forgot the questions when as soon as Bill opened the door, he pointed a gun at John.

Then Spam pulled his gun on Bill, “Put it down!”

“You put yours down first, or I’ll shoot him,” Bill said, pointing at John.

Darrell stood up. “That’s enough, both of you!”

Spam started toward Bill, but Darrell stopped him. “Please let the man go. He was just trying to get his medicine.”

Nance shouted, “Kill him!”

“Run!” Ned said.

“Everyone, calm down,” Darrell said.

“Why aren’t you killing him!” Nance yelled.

“What?” Darrell said.

“Think of it as him or you,” Nance said.

“It's them or us,” Bill said. But he still wasn't pulling the trigger.

“If you don't want to kill him, you should at least shoot him,” Nance said.

“Why?” Darrell said.

“Stop!” John said.

“You don't tell us what to do!” Marilyn shouted.

“I'm the one that should kill you!” John said, yelling at Marilyn.

“Why don't you shoot Ned then?” Nance shouted.

Bill looked at Ned and then back at Nance. “What is she talking about?”

Darrell shouted, “She thinks he's the killer.”

Ned said, bewildered, “I am not the killer.”

“The killer never says he's the killer,” Nance said.

Bill said, “It's that simple? Why are you doing this?” he pointed the gun at John.

“Because that's the only way we're getting out of this,” John said.

Alice yelled, “Would someone do something!”

And Darrell was about to say something like…just lower your weapons or some nonsense like that. But just then, lightning flashed, followed by a bang, everyone ducked, and then one of the lobby windows shattered. A few papers, cards, and pamphlets scattered.

Then a gun went off.

chapter seventeen

“Give me that!” John said, snatching the gun away from Bill. He tucked it into the waistband of his pants and took a firm grip on Bill’s left arm. “Listen to me. Try anything like that again, and I'll blow you to pieces.” And he gave Bill a shove. “Is anyone injured?” John asked as he scanned the others behind Bill.

Everyone checked themselves for injuries. In fact, they checked each other, too.

“No. No one,” Spam said after a moment.

“We almost got killed,” Alice said, clutching her thin waist, breathing hard.

“Yeah, well, on the bright side, if we got killed, then it's an accident and not from starvation,” Nance said. Then she looked at Bill with disappointment. “That's something, I guess.”

Alice said, “You have a funny way of looking at things.”

Bill shot Nance a dirty look. “I didn’t do it! It was that lunatic,” Bill said, pointing at Spam.

“Spam?” Alice asked.

“Yeah, Spam. He almost killed us,” Bill said.

“It was just a little bullet. Nothing to get too worked up about,” Spam said. “I didn't shoot anyone.”

“I told you, I'm not in the mood for this,” said John, and Darrell could not help but think he also included Spam in on that admonishment.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” Spam asked.

“No, no,” John said and shook his head.

“John, I told you we can be civil about this,” Darrell interjected.

Marilyn yelled, “He was trying to save us from the two of you.”

“Calm down, mom,” Teddy said and pulled his mother’s shaking arm to the couch. “Just sit down, Mom.”

Marilyn pulled her son to her and cried.

Nance shook her head. “Is anyone bleeding? If so, don't do it on the floor. Take that outside.”

“No, they won’t let us leave, and nobody should be in here. There's glass everywhere.,” Marilyn said in a tone that meant she might lose it again.

“No one’s going anywhere,” Spam replied, pointing his gun at her.

Teddy started to get up, but his mother held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Put that away before someone really gets hurt. Haven’t you caused enough trouble with that thing?” Darrell said. “Everyone, watch out for the glass.”

They all turned to face the broken-out window when the drapes blew in on a sudden breeze. It was dark outside, but they could still see faint lights dancing on the horizon.

“I didn't do that. The lightning busted out the window when it hit the parking lot.” Spam said.

They all looked at him.

Spam looked at them all and scowled. “I'm telling you, it was an accident.”

Darrell shook his head again and then looked to the ceiling. “You should be more careful with your accidents.”

“I don't see any blood. No one is bleeding,” Nance said.

But Darrell could swear she almost sounded disappointed.

“What are you doing?” Nance said.

“Staying away from the others before I lose my temper and looking for the bullet hole. It was around here somewhere because I swear it went whizzing by my head,” Darrell said. Then something hit him with a light plunk, and it happened again. And again, something was hitting his head from all angles. Darrell looked above and realized loose change had fallen from an opening in the tile.

Nance said, “What? Do we store old money up there?”

Darrell mumbled, “No. We did not. Keep your voice down. Don’t look up.”

Nance scowled.

“Is everybody okay?” Marilyn asked.

They all slowly nodded.

“Then can we get out of here and return to our rooms?” Marilyn asked.

But before John could answer, a small electrical fire broke out near an outlet, and everyone scattered, searching for a fire extinguisher.

“I found it,” Darrell said, returning moments later into the room with one and dousing the flames.

Then he noticed Spam was carefully picking glass out of his beard from across the room.

“Let me help,” Alice said.

“No. That’s okay. I’ve got it,” Spam said, but she’d already pulled three long shards away. Then she pulled another one.

“I think it’s fine,” Spam said, holding up the broken pieces in his hand.

Alice looked at them and then turned around and smiled.

Darrell said to Nance, “I think she’s lost her mind.”

“Well, she's not gonna find it here,” Nance said.

“I'm going to have to clean all this up,” Darrell said, and then, “Oh heck. Have you seen Bruno?”

“The lightning,” Nance said. “I bet he ran off.”

“Bruno!” Darrell said.

“Your dog’s right there, that is, if he’s still attached to his tail,” John said, pointing to the area behind the couch.

“Come here, old friend,” Darrell tugged on Bruno's collar.

But the dog didn't budge.

Bill moved the couch away from the wall with a sudden jerk. And the moment Bruno saw him, he let out a ferocious growl.

Bill snapped his hands back just in time. “I was just trying to help you, buddy.”

“That's okay,” Darrell said in a soothing tone. “We're all a little touchy today. I'll just put him in the storage room.” Darrell glanced at John on his way and was surprised the man didn't try to stop him. “You'll be safe in here, Bruno. The storm will pass soon enough, and things will return to normal.” He closed the storage room door and leaned against it. And then he realized everyone was watching him.

Ned said, “Maybe I should go, you know? Go get Bruno. Take him for a walk or something.”

“It's okay, Ned. The dog can wait in here. He doesn't do well with storms. So it'll be all right,” Darrell said.

Ned looked relieved and walked away.

Then everyone looked up when several more coins dropped from the ceiling and rolled with pings across the glass-strewn floor.

“What is that?” John said.

“Pennies from heaven?” Nance said.

Darrell huffed.

chapter eighteen

Before John could react, Darrell said, “Hey Ned, can you give me a hand with a ladder?”

“Yes, certainly,” Ned said.

“It’s small, but it’s the only one I have right now. It’s just here in the maintenance closet,” Darrell said and opened the door. “If you pull that box out, I can lift the ladder.” Darrell set up the ladder beneath the hole in the ceiling while Ned held it steady. Then Darrell fished out his pen flashlight and shined the beam in the hole. But what he found surprised him, and he nearly stumbled off the rungs. Sticking his finger through the hole and pulling out a crumble of ceiling tile, he saw a pair of pants with the pocket shot out. Unfortunately, the pants were still on a familiar blue corpse. How in the heck did Jay Houston get up there?

“Do you see anything?” Ned asked below.

John said, “I bet you have a treasure chest of worthless coinage up there. Get down. Let me take a look.”

Not feeling as if he had a choice, Darrell scurried off the ladder while looking at Nance with big eyes.

“Well, what is it?” Ned said again.

“Hey, it’s a body!” John yelled. “There’s someone up there. Spam, they have a dead body up here.”

“It’s not mine,” Darrell said.

“Whose is it?” John asked Darrell.

“I…I don’t know,” Darrell said. “How am I supposed to know who that is? It’s very confusing now.”

John scoffed at him. “How do we get up there? Where’s the access panel to the attic?”

Darrell shook his head. “Nance, do you know?”

“Why are you asking me?” Nance said. “I only work here. It’s not like I own the place.”

“Now stop. I’ve never had to go into the attic. I don’t know where it is,” Darrell said.

“How can you not know where it is?” asked Nance.

“No arguing,” John said. “Everyone, start searching for the ceiling’s access pattern. Spam, give me your flashlight.” He held his hand out while the others scrambled, searching the room as if their mother had set a timer to pick up their toys.

John held the flashlight to his nose and sniffed the air. “Yes, I do smell someone up there.”

“Is it Matty?” Spam said, stepping a little closer.

John tried to pick away the edges of the hole to make it bigger, but it wasn’t working.

“So, who is it?” Nance asked.

But John could not expose more of the body, and by the tone of his voice, he was getting more agitated. “I can't tell. I've got to see who it is. The space is too tight. We need to get up there. Why hasn’t anyone found the access panel!”

Everyone froze. Then, another coin dropped to the floor with a ping.

“John,” Spam whispered, “Let's get down. It's probably outside, and it’s too dark to look any longer. We can try in the morning. Hopefully, the storm will let up. It's not like he's going anywhere.”

“Not yet,” John bellowed, “Search the rest of the building. But do not leave this structure,” he added.

They all looked at him with wide eyes.

“Now!” John yelled because no one was moving.

But Nance pulled Darrell around the corner. “You know what this means, right?”

“No, but I have the feeling you're about to tell me,” Darrell said.

“This means they didn’t move the body. This means one of our guests is still the killer of Jay Houston slash Matty Cola. Get it?” She slapped him on the chest with the back of her hand as if he didn't understand the simple trail of logic.

“Ouch. Quit hitting me. I get it. I get it,” Darrell said. “But I'm not so sure Jay Houston is Matthew Cola. He could be a different person.”

“I think you overthink. The facts are,” Nance pointed to the hole in the ceiling, “That dead body walked into the lobby undead days ago. We found him dead the next day, in his room on the floor with the garden spade in his back. Agreed?”

He nodded.

“We then put that dead body, that's in the ceiling right now, into our freezer. Still with me?”

He nodded.

“Then it disappeared. And now it's in the attic. And our two thugs, that we named Spam and John are desperately trying to find out who it is. So that means they didn't move the body, but someone else did.” Nance said.

“I get that. Why do you think I'm not keeping up?” Darrel said.

She squinted her eyes at him and walked away, feigning to search the rest of the ceiling’s access panel.

Darrell shook his head at her.

After searching the lobby for almost ten more minutes and finding nothing, John yelled again. “Everyone, get back here!”

John was still standing on the second rung of the short ladder, looking as if he was about to eat someone alive just for breathing too loud.

Darrell shook his head at Nance when she entered the room.

The power flickered overhead, casting a menacing halo over John's dark head. Then, finally, he said in gritting words, “I don't care how long it takes. I want that body.” He took out his gun and pointed it at Ned. Someone screamed. Then he pointed it at Marilyn.

She wept. And then her son stepped in front of her. “No, teddy,” Marilyn said.

Then John moved the gun to Bill and then to Alice. He finally stopped pointing the weapon when he landed on Darrell. “I'll kill each and every one of you if you don't find that access panel.

Stuttering, Darrell said, “Are you saying you want us to search the entire property?”

John nodded slowly. “That's exactly what I'm saying.”

But it was Nance that had the nerve to say what everyone was thinking, “You want us to go out in this storm in the dead of night to find a ceiling access panel?”

John pointed the gun at her and pulled the hammer back with a click.

“I guess that's a yes,” Nance said.

chapter nineteen

Nance exchanged a big-eyed glance with Darrell and said, “Let’s check the utility room. I bet it’s in there. You have the keys, right?”

“Oh, right,” Darrell fumbled with the hotel keys in his pocket, and they both scrambled to get there before anyone else thought to do the same. Inside the freezer room, they eyeballed the ceiling panel above. “Who the heck knew about this and put Jay Houston’s body up there?”

“More importantly, why?” Nance said. “Those two are looking for him. So what do we do?”

“Well, we’re not telling them how to access the attic. But while we’re here, let’s check out whoever’s in the freezer.”

As cold mist rose, Nance lifted the lid, and Darrell said, “Ugh! You check him.”

“You big baby. At least he’s frozen.” She uncovered the wrappings from the body. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this guy. You?”

Darrell turned his head and scrutinized the corpse. “No. I don’t think so. Does he smell? Do you smell that?”

“Stop it, you big ninny,” Nance said.

“Stop calling me names. Check his pockets.”

Nance said, “You check his pockets.”

Darrell didn’t move and shook his head. “I touched the other guy. I'm not touching this one.”

Nance blew a breath and slid her hands into one pocket and then the next, pulling out something flat and pliable.

“What is that?”

She flipped it over. “It looks like…it’s a label. We found the same brand as Houston paid with and the same brand next to Kent’s body” The power flickered again, and then they heard John yell.

“Quick, put it back,” Darrell said. “We have to get back there before they suspect anything.”

She let the door of the freezer slam down over the dead body and ran back out into the rain while Darrell quickly relocked the door and went back to the lobby. Darrell said when Spam gave him a questioning look, “Nothing. I think there must be an access panel on the roof. But there is no way it’s safe to go up there right now with the lightning. So we’ll have to wait for the storm to pass.”

Spam stared up at the ceiling where Jay Houston’s body lay while the blown-out window curtains blew inward on strong gusts. “Well, that’s just great! You…the manager. Get something to board up this window and clean up this mess.”

Darrell looked at the size of the opening. “I don’t have anything that big.”

“I’ll clean up the glass. Everyone, stand back,” Nance said.

Darrell turned to John as the rain blew sideways inside on another gust of wind. “Look. We’re all drenched and miserable in here. Let us go to our rooms for the night. It will take some time to get this room in order again. It’s not likely anyone is going anywhere in this storm.”

Spam looked at John.

John nodded and waved the muzzle of his gun. “All right. Everyone out. Go to your rooms so these two can clean up this mess, and I expect everyone back here first thing in the morning.

The rest of them left Nance and Darrell and trudged to their rooms.

Spam stopped and called back to them. “Don’t even think of leaving. I'll check on the two of you.”

Nance said, “I'll get some towels and washcloths to clean up the window mess.”

Darrell trailed her to the utility closet. She grabbed a stack of towels while Darrell followed with a broom.

Nance stopped and said, “We could make a run for it, you know?”

“What? And leave all of this to them and go where?” Darrell said.

“It's not like you love it here. On the contrary, you keep saying you regret leaving the city to take over the place.”

Darrell glared at Nance.

Nance said, “Just look at the mess they've made of it. This is a beautiful motel. Your aunt would be horrified to see it in this condition. She loved this place. This was her life. This was her retirement plan. Now, look at it all. It's all like this.”

“You're getting upset?” Darrell said. “Are you...is that crying? I've never seen you cry before. Like, never”

Nance threw her hands up in the air and shook her head. “What's the point? Of course, I'm upset. It's an atrocity. Just look at this place!”

Darrell started, shaking his head to “No, no, no. You're making a mistake. You know better than that. I mean, don't you remember our pact? We made a pact to take care of this place.”

Nance stared at him. “How?”

Darrell had a sudden idea. “Think about it, Nance. Think hard. Think about this whole place. Think about what my aunt had planned for it. Think about her spirit.”

He took the towel off his arm and held it in the air. “She's here in spirit. She's watching us. She's with us and wants us to live a good life,” Darrell turned and pointed the broom toward the door and started pushing the broken glass into big piles leading to the exit.

But then he noticed that Nance had not moved an inch. And when he looked up, he saw her smiling at him through glassy eyes.

“What?” he said.

“If that's what it takes to get you to help more around here, I'll start melting down more.”

Darrell shook his head. “No, no, don't do that. I find it very awkward.”

A half-hour later, Nance turned and held her arms up. “I think we're done here.”

Darrell drove the last nail into the board covering the bashed-out window. “Good. I'm beat. I’ll get Bruno.”

Nance said, “Hopefully, we can manage a couple of hours' sleep before the goons arrive at dawn.”

“Let's hope.” He stretched. “Wake me if there's any trouble.”

He got Bruno and carried him to the backroom like a sleeping child. “Come on, buddy.” Darryl tiptoed to the bed, laid on his blanket, and closed his eyes. Then, after a few moments, he felt someone shaking him.

“Wake up, nugget.”

He opened his eyes and saw that it was Nance. He rubbed his eyes. “Who are you calling, Nugget? I'm really, really tired,” he said and rolled to his side.

Nance pointed to the window across from him and then pointed to the door. Pale light poured through the blinds. “Now get up before they start shooting up the place. And why don't you keep Bruno here for the day?”

Darrell got up and groaned, then he put Bruno on the warm spot of his bed. But Bruno padded over to him and nuzzled his chin as Darrell tried to put on his shoes.

Nance stroked the top of Bruno's head so that Darrell could get ready. “Glad to see you're up, Nugget. We're going to be okay. Don't let this whole situation get to you. We just have to get rid of the goons. And then everything will get back to normal.”

Bruno licked her on the cheek.

chapter twenty

The following day, the wind whistled through the cracks between the boards that Darrell nailed up over the blown-out window.

Nance ran a hand over her damp hair. “I don’t know about you, but I’m already exhausted. I have half a mind to break out that coffee and brew a pot.”

“Don’t talk crazy. That one pound is like the equivalent of $5,000. We can’t just brew a pot. Whoever it belongs to will find it and think we stole the stuff. This is all a mess. We’re exhausted. I’m really resenting my Aunt Bell right now.”

Nance scoffed. “Don’t start that again. None of this is her fault. Don’t look a gift horse… you were all defending her last night.”

But Darrell interrupted her, “Shh. Here comes John.”

They watched him walk quickly through the rain toward the office.

“Hey, isn’t Ernesto coming by today for a delivery?” Nance said under her breath as John walked inside.

“I don’t think even Ernesto can get through this storm now. The wind is worse than the day before.”

“Looks a lot better in here. Good job,” John said.

“Look, the storm is still raging. So why not let the others stay in their rooms? I mean, there’s no reason they should all stay here,” Darrell tried to reason.

“I’ll decide what needs to happen,” John said.

Nance raised her eyebrows.

“Hey,” John said as Spam walked in.

Spam eyed the ceiling where the dead man still remained. “Did you figure it out yet? Did you find the access panel?”

“Oh. Not yet, but the minute this storm ends, we’re going up there,” John said.

Darrell turned away and whispered to Nance, “We must keep them off that roof. I hope the storm keeps going so we can find out who killed the man.”

The rain outside was still pounding hard. John said, “Here, eat these,” He handed Spam a couple of sandwiches, a thermos of water, and a slice of apple pie.

Instant salivation formed in Darrell's mouth.

Nance said, "Where the hell did you get that?"

"John can make a decent apple pie," Spam said and took a bite.

Darrell said, "Never mind the pie! Where'd you get the apples? And the sandwich? This is unreal. I must still be asleep."

Nance reached over and pinched him real hard.

"Ouch!" Darrell yelled. "What'd you do that for?"

"You're not asleep, and neither am I," Nance said.

"Come on, Nance, this is nuts," Darrell said. "We're not helping you under these conditions. Now, look, the rest of them are risking their lives running through the storm just to get to the office building to do your bidding."

John tried to placate them by flashing the gun in his waistband.

"I thought you said the storm was over," Spam said.

Darrell rolled his eyes. “I haven’t checked the news yet. I haven't even had my water. And here you are eating...real food in front of us? You're sadistic..."

John said, “Nance, I think you should tell him he needs to stop arguing.” Then he took a bite of the triangle of his sandwich.

“Never mind that. Where did you get those?” Nance said.

“Wait. Didn't you guys pay with a can of Spam and beans?” Darrell said.

With a full mouth of pie, Spam smiled and pointed to a paper bag sitting on the table behind him. “You guys are so desperate.”

That's when the others wandered in, instantly recognizing the last wedge of a sandwich being shoved in John’s face.

While Spam forked another bite of apple pie into his mouth.

“Jerks,” Nance said.

Spam chuckled.

In the office, the wind was still whipping against the building, sheets of rain hitting the windows. John and Spam gathered their trash and brushed a few crumbs to the floor. And they all watched while John's discarded napkin caught on a breeze and flew across the room.

“Close that door,” John said, and Bill slammed it shut.

“John, that’s unusually cruel. You can't eat that in front of us.” Darrell said.

Spam took another bite.

“Where did they get the food?” Marilyn said.

“They're not talking,” Nance said.

Bill let out of breath. “Can we get on with it then?”

But another gust of wind slammed into the building, causing the power to flicker.

Ned pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I think the storm is going to be worse today. That's what the news said.”

John looked at Spam with raised eyebrows.

“We know. That's why we brought these for you,” John said, holding out the paper bag to Darrell.

“I wouldn't touch that if I were you,” Nance said and wrapped her arms around her middle.

But without thinking, Darrell watched his own hand reach for the bag as if it had a mind of its own.

“What are you doing?” Nance said.

“What's in the bag?” Alice said.

Darrell pulled one out and held it up for the others to see. The soft white triangle was held together with a familiar plastic coating. Everyone oohed and awed.

Except for Nance, she said. “This is a mistake.” But she must have also known that there was no stopping them.

Soon the brown paper bag that Darrell held in his hand was crumpled and torn away, and everyone had a soft triangle of their own. With one in Darrell's hand, he handed the remainder to Nance.

She reluctantly took it.

John said, “You may eat your sandwiches and then go back to your rooms for the rest of the day unless there's a break in the weather.” Plastic wrappers drifted to the floor.

Nance stomped her foot. “Pick that up or so help me....” Then she picked up the innards of her sandwich. “Ham and cheese. Is that tomato? Where did you get this? This is like crack, isn't it? You're trying to get us all hooked.”

But they didn't answer, and Darrell hadn't moved. He still held his fluffy triangle intact and stared at the goons while the others made munching noises behind him. “What is this going to cost us?”

Spam scraped his plastic fork across his small paper plate, gathering the last bits of his pie.

John said, “Like you said, I think these people have suffered enough too. Things got out of hand a little bit last night. I wanted to show you I'm not such a bad guy. Since the storm is taking things out of my control, I figured you deserved a little treat.” He got up from the table and nodded his head toward the door. “Now get out of here. I expect to see you all again first thing in the morning.” Then he said, “Hey, Darryl.”

Darrell turned and caught a second sandwich.

John said, “That's for your dog. It's just ham and cheese.”

Darrell stared down at it for a second. And then nodded at John and said, “Thank you.”

chapter twenty-one

The following day when Darrell woke, he rolled over onto his side, grabbed his pillow, and then scrunched it closer beneath his head. Just a few more minutes. He’d slept better than he had in a week. And then he heard the chortle of a bird chirping outside. Such a sweet sound of nature struggling to survive. And then the doomed bird chirped again. And that’s when Darrell opened the one eye that wasn’t smashed into his pillow.

He sat up immediately, rubbed his face, and then peered out the sides of his bedroom blinds. He whipped up the slates. Then he shielded his eyes from the glowing orb up in the sky.

“Oh no!”

Darrell rushed through his morning routine without even brushing his teeth and ran to the office, where he found Spam and John standing outside the lobby and looking up at the rooftop.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Spam said.

Darrell made his eyes into thin slits. “No. Not really.”

“Go get your ladder so we can find out who this guy is.”

“I’m not going up there. My knees don’t work this early in the morning,” Darrell said.

Then Nance came out of nowhere, stood behind him, and shouted, “You lent your big ladder to Ernesto last spring. Don’t you remember?”

Darrell snapped his fingers. “Darn, yeah, that’s right. I’d forgotten. Sorry, gentlemen. I guess we’ll have to wait.”

“Someone’s coming,” Spam said and walked to the driveway's edge to look down the road.

“Oh, that’s Ernesto. He’s a day late, but I’m sure the storm kept him away,” Darrell said. When Ernesto pulled into the motel parking lot, Darrell shot Nance a hot look and began cursing under his breath. Because strapped to the back of Ernesto’s truck was his giant ladder.

John smiled and said, “Well, it looks like fortune has found us today. You’re ladder’s back.”

“Yeah. Yay…perfect timing,” Darrell said with an edge.

Ernesto jumped down from his truck, and Darrell met him with a shake of the hand. “It’s good to finally see you, my friend. What a storm that was.”

Darrell smiled. “Yes, we all hoped it went on a little longer.”

“You’re funny,” Ernesto said.

John said, “Hey, can you cut the babble and lend us the ladder really quick?”

Darrell looked over Ernesto’s shoulder to see John flash the weapon in his waistband.

Ernesto held onto Darrell’s hand for a moment and looked Darrell in the eyes. “Friends of yours?”

“Not exactly, but yes, can you get the ladder?" Darrell said, “We have some repairs to make here, as you can imagine, and I don’t have anything I want to trade today. Just the regular."

“Of course,” Ernesto said, pulling away the bungee cords holding it in place, and putting the ladder on the ground. Spam immediately hefted it over one shoulder and walked away while John followed.

Ernesto eyed the two with a cocked eyebrow. Then, as they headed toward the building, he said, “Lots of deliveries today. So I’ll fill the tank and be on my way.”

“Thank you!” Darrell said as the truck left the parking lot.

John said, “Darrell, come over here,” as he braced the ladder against the side of the building.

Nance skirted beside Darrell before he could answer and whispered, “Whatever you do, don’t get on that ladder.”

He wasn’t sure what she was up to, but since he didn’t have a plan, he was willing to go along with hers.

“Hurry up. Show us which part of the building we’re on,” John said.

“Oh…you want me to get up there? Oh no. I can’t do that. I have a bad knee. No more climbing ladders for me. But I’ll hold it for you.” He walked their way, feigning a limp suddenly, and held a finger to the air, “But I tell you if I were going to put in an access panel…I’d put it on the back side. That’s where Nance and I think they put it. Don’t you agree, Nance? So perhaps try there first.” Darrell was trying to think of something more. Another excuse for John to keep from simultaneously pointing his gun at him and ordering him up on the ladder.

The man with the gun was already making that skeptical expression, but Spam said, “I see something. That’s probably it.”

Then John’s attention pulled him up the ladder while Darrell stood far enough back so the thugs could see him.

Nance walked up to the latter, stood beneath, and held it steady.

She held it steady enough to know when John stepped off the ladder and onto the rooftop completely.

“Yep, keep going that way…farther in the east corner…yeah, around there.”

Nance eased the ladder away from the rooftop's edge without a sound. Then Bill and Ned took it away and laid it on the ground. Then Darrell quietly ran under the eaves with the rest, leaving the two men stranded on the roof, searching for the nonexistent access panel. Only, they didn’t know it yet.

Inside the lobby, Bill said, “That’s it. We can leave now.”

“The minute they figure this out, it’ll be like a turkey shoot as we run for our rooms,” Ned said.

Nance said, “You can’t leave yet. Darrell and I thought we might have a funeral for Kent. We all loved him. Don’t you think he deserves a funeral from his closest friends? Right, Darrell?”

Darrell nodded double time but secretly wondered how Nance came up with this stuff so fast on the fly.

Ned said, “Well, yes. I suppose you’re right. He was a good chap. Can’t imagine who would want to hurt him.”

“I don’t know. This is the perfect time to get out of here,” Bill said. “We can’t keep them up there forever. They’ll eventually jump down.”

“That’s a long drop,” Nance said.

Alice said, “Bill, I remember Kent helping you with car trouble that time. I’m surprised you’re too busy to help bury him.”

Bill looked at her sheepishly. “Yeah…all right. But I’m out of here once that’s over.”

Alice turned to Darrell and said, “What about the body in the ceiling?”

Marilyn’s son Teddy blew a hard breath and said, “Why don’t you guys just get him out through the hatch in the utility room? Geez, it’s not that hard.”

“Zip it, Teddy,” Marilyn whispered harshly.

That’s when Darrell looked at Nance, and she lifted her eyebrow because no one knew about the access panel above the freezer except for them, or so they thought.

chapter twenty-two

But they were wrong…

“Wait,” Nance said. “Marilyn, how does your son know where the ceiling hatch is?”

Marilyn put her hand around her son’s neck and pulled the generally quiet kid back to her.

“All right,” Marilyn said with a hand up. “We knew the man in 34 was dead, but we didn’t kill him. You must believe me. Teddy was walking by his room and noticed the door was open that night, just a crack. He saw him lying on the floor between the beds. And he saw the duffel bag on the bed.”

“The duffel bag was empty,” Teddy said. “I didn’t take anything out of the bag.”

“But,” Marilyn added, “he did take his shoes.”

“His shoes?” Darrell said.

“Mine are too small. I thought they’d fit, but they’re way too big. I mean like, giant-sized,” Teddy blurted out. “And that’s why we went back to the room to return them, but he’d disappeared. So, we went looking for him. I told mom…he’s probably in the freezer. That’s always where they hide the bodies.”

Marilyn interrupted. “We knew you had seen the shoes in our room, and I was afraid you’d make the connection that the shoes belonged to the dead man, and then you’d think we’d killed him. But we did not kill him.”

“So, you panicked when you found him and hid the body in the ceiling?” Darrell said. “That wasn’t easy to do.”

“I know…I know what it looks like, but I thought then that you’d match the shoes to Mr. Houston’s feet, and you’d conclude that we were involved.”

“You were involved,” Nance said. “You messed with a crime scene and a dead body.”

“They’re not called crime scenes anymore. There are no policemen or detectives to investigate. The rules have changed, and my son needs new shoes because he’s growing, and shoes are hard to come by. So don’t judge. Don’t you dare judge me. I’m a mother trying to keep her son safe after the apocalypse,” Marilyn said.

Darrell said, “Okay, just calm down. I know Nance wasn’t trying to rile you. Right…Nance? Right?”

Nance smiled. “Of course not.”

Marilyn said, “And besides…you moved him first, so maybe one of you did it?”

Darrell put a hand on Nance’s shoulder to hold her back if necessary.

She was about to respond, but then they all jumped when they heard a loud crack coming from the rooftop, and a drainpipe gave way from the side of the building and crashed to the ground.

The thugs stumbled back and covered their heads.

Everyone tried to run.

Nance almost fell but caught herself on the wall.

The sound of splintering wood filled the air. Then they heard what sounded like a chair breaking.

“You're going to pay for this!” John yelled. “All of it! I was trying to be nice!”

Without a place to run, the guests followed Darrell and ran for cover in one of the rooms.

John was right behind them. He stopped short of the door. “I know you're in there!” he said. “And I'm not afraid to shoot. I might even shoot you all.”

Nance opened the blind just wide enough to peer outside. "I see John, but where's Spam?"

Darrell yelled through the door. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t kill your friend. I never even met him.”

“Don’t lie to me. Matthew Cola was here, and you have a dead body up there, and you're trying to keep us from finding out who it is.”

Darrell’s face was flush. “I don’t know if it's the same man. And I didn't kill him."

“Really?” John asked. “Then how come you're hiding him up there?”

Darrell folded his arms. "I didn’t put him up there. He was alive when I found him. And you were looking for someone by a different name.”

“DID YOU KILL HIM?” John asked.

“No! I already told you that, but I'm trying to find out who did,” Darrell said.

A sudden crashing sound came from the bathroom, and everyone screamed.

Nance whispered, "He’s trying to keep you distracted. I think Spam's trying to get in through the back window."

"He's too big to crawl through there." Darrell was almost sure, but not sure enough.

“Quick, move the dresser,” Nance ordered the others.

Spam kicked at the door. The dresser mirror wavered. He kicked the door again, and Bill leaped and jumped on the dresser.

It crashed to the floor with an unearthly sound. “C’mon, Bill!” Darrell called.

Spam busted through the door and grabbed Bill shoving his gun into his side. “Let’s go!”

Bill shook his head and swatted at Spam, pulling away. Spam grabbed him again and said, "None of that. And we gave you a sandwich. So this is how you repay us?"

Nance rolled her eyes. “Told you.”

“Open that door, or I’ll end him,” Spam ordered.

Darrell turned the lock.

“Back outside, all of you,” John said, “I’ve got to explain something to you idiots.”

“What?” Bill yelled, “Let me go."

“No,” John said, pointing at Bill. “I told you to stay here. You're on my list, buddy. You want to play chicken with me?"

Bill's eyes went wide. “No!”

“Good. That saves us a lot of trouble,” John said, “Darrell, what’s going on? I thought we were getting through this.”

“Oh, you want me to recap the situation?" Darrell said.

Darrell pulled leaned against the wall. "I found a dead guy in his room...”

Nance stepped forward. “Actually, that's not true. I found the body.”

John shook his head. "That's not what I meant, and you know it, wisecrack."

Nance crossed her arms. “We’re gonna kill you.”

John smiled. “Not really.”

Darrell said, “How much did you guys spend on those sandwiches, anyway?”

“That's none of your business,” John said.

“Yeah, but where did you get them? That's what I wanna know,” Nance said.

Spam chuckled and said when John rubbed his head, “If it were up to me, I'd kill the lot of them. They're too frustrating.”

chapter twenty-three

“That’s it. " Stand over there with your hands up,” John said, pointing the gun at the group. Then he jockeyed his gun a few times at Nance and Darrell, “You two, get that corpse out of the ceiling or so help me, Darrell, you will have a permanent problem when a bullet takes out your knee.”

“Okay. Okay,” Darrell said, and he followed Nance to the utility room with John following him while Spam held the others hostage.

Nance climbed up on top of the freezer, then Darrell did the same, keeping their weight on the corners, and then Darrell pushed open the access panel.

“Ah, man,” Darrell said. “That stinks.”

“I think he’s thawing,” Nance said and coughed.

“Just get him down,” John said. “And be quick about it.”

They drug him by the pants legs, but then they started to come off. “I am not touching his feet,” Darrell said, then felt John’s gun poke into his side.

And though they tried to pull his feet down first, his trunk was too heavy for Darrell and Nance to handle. The man tumbled out of the access panel, took some of the bodily fluid soak ceiling with him, broke on the corner of the freezer, and then completed his landing on the concrete floor.

John peered over the body while holding his nose, examined the corpse, and then said, “Hi there, Matt. Long time, no see. What the hell happened to you?”

Then he looked up at Darrell and Nance.

With his hands in the air, Darrell said, “I swear, he said his name was Jay Houston when he checked in. So we didn’t know he was the man you were looking for.”

“Never mind that…how’d he get dead? That’s what I want to know.”

They both shook their heads. “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Nance said.

“Did yah find him?” Spam yelled.

“Yeah. Come in here, will yah. Bring your friends,” John said.

A few seconds later, Darrell watched as Marilyn, her son, Alice, Bill, and Ned came into the room with one hand up and the other shielding their noses.

“Oh, that smells so bad,” Alice said muffled and blinked her eyes.

As Spam spotted the body, he said, “Hey, that’s Matty. Isn’t that Matty? Why…why didn’t someone tell us he was dead? We’ve been waiting all this time for him to show up. But he’s already dead?”

“You were going to kill him?” Nance said, but both Spam and John ignored her question.

Darrell said, “We found him this way in his room, and we’ve been trying to find the killer this whole time. But, as I said, we didn’t do it and never knew he was your friend. He gave us the name Jay Houston when he checked in.”

Spam and John exchanged glances.

“What I wanna know is who did kill this man? Which one of you did it? Who was it?” John said, pointing his gun at each of them.

Marilyn said, pointing at Darrell, “I’ve already told him I didn’t do it. My son and I are innocent of this man’s death.”

“It’s true,” Darrell said without describing the events. “She and her son explained their situation. I…I believe they had nothing to do with this man’s actual murder.”

Spam said, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Marilyn said. “That means we didn't do it.”

John pointed the gun at the rest of them. “It’s got to be one of you three. Start talking.”

No one said a thing but looked from one to the other.

Darrell said, “The man called Jay Houston paid with a pound of coffee. And I suspect he had several more in his duffel bag. But, when we found him, the duffel bag was empty.”

Marilyn’s son said, “I only took his shoes. When I entered the room, the duffel bag was already empty.”

“I took a pound of coffee,” Alice said quickly. “But…but there were at least three more pounds in there when I left. I didn’t kill him, either. I swear. The door was open. I thought I’d just take a peek and introduce myself. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything. He was already dead between the beds, and the duffel bag was just sitting there open. I swear I didn’t do it. And besides, I can’t shove a garden spade in a big man’s back. That would take a lot more strength than I’m capable of.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Nance said under her breath.

Darrell nudged Nance with his elbow.

“Maybe it was you,” John said, pointing at Bill.

“Me?” Bill said. “If I wanted to kill the man, I wouldn’t have used a garden spade. Instead, I would have shot him with my own gun. I want it back, by the way.”

John then pointed the gun at Ned. “What’s your explanation, old man?”

Ned pointed at himself and lowered his eyes to the floor for a moment. “Like Alice, I took coffee. It’s worth its weight in gold these days, and I need better equipment. But, I’m not proud to say I took the remaining bags. He wasn’t going to make use of them. Then, I saw the door cracked and the dead man’s feet. I called out to him, and when he didn’t answer, I went to see if he was all right. He wasn’t. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it then.”

“Are you the one that closed the door?” Darrell said.

Ned nodded. “Yes, I locked the door from the inside and let it close. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

“What about Kent? Maybe he did it,” Bill said. “He was alive then, wasn't he?”

“I don’t think so,” Nance said. “Their murders were so similar. Just different weapons.”

“What do you know?” Bill said. “I say it’s a possibility.”

“I can’t believe all of you knew about Mr. Houston’s death, and you didn’t say anything,” Darrell said. “Haven’t we done everything we can for you here at the Crescent Motel? What kind of way is that to treat us?”

Alice said, “Well, you did tell us! You suspected one of us did it.”

“And I still suspect one of you did it,” Darrell said.

John yelled again, “Stop the arguing. Everyone grab a shovel from the garden shed and get out there. Bury this guy and that other one too. Enough of this.”

chapter twenty-four

“You're making that look harder than it is. Stop being a wuss!” Spam yelled when Bill dropped the corner of the blanket they’d carried the dead man on. “You there with the mustache, Darrell, pick up your end more. Higher. That’s it.”

“Why are you being so mean and ordering us around?” Marilyn said.

John scoffed. “Because you lied to me. And one of you killed this man with a garden spade and the other with a pair of sewing shears. I’m not going to turn my back on you with a shovel in your hands. You guys are not to be trusted. Each of you denies your involvement, but you admit to stealing from a dead man. I want all those bags of coffee returned to me by the end of the day, by the way.”

Nance wiped dirt from her forehead with her arm. “I’m pointing out that Darrell and I didn’t steal the coffee. Mr. Houston gave us the coffee for the payment of his room.”

“We didn’t steal his coffee either,” Marilyn said.

“No. You just took a dead man’s shoes, instead,” Spam said.

Teddy said under his breath, “Well…he wasn’t going to use them.”

John said, “That’s enough talking. Fill in the holes and then go to your rooms. No one checks out until we find the killer.”

Darrell thought about mentioning that there was still a third dead body in the freezer, but that would have to wait. Everyone was exhausted, and any more interruptions would only prolong their time in the dirt. His hands were caked with stuff he'd rather not think about. At least, that’s what he told himself because whatever dead body fluids had accumulated on his hands and under his nails had also enabled more of the dirt to stick to him. He quaked at the too recent memory.

“All right, that’s it,” John said as Nance pounded the back of the shovel hard against the grave. “Leave the shovels against the wall and go back to your rooms. Don’t try any funny business. You will be shot the moment you try to escape, and I’ll riddle your vehicle with bullets as well. So clean up, and when you’re ready to confess, let us know.”

“But we wanted to have a funeral and say a few words. Kent was here for a long time. Each of us knew him,” said Alice.

It was as if John never considered an actual funeral. Then Spam leaned into him and whispered something in his ear. “All right, you guys get cleaned up and return here at dusk. And we'll have a small funeral.”

Despite the previous day of rest, each of them was exhausted. And one by one, they dropped their shovel by the building door and walked off like zombies to their rooms.

As he leaned his shovel against the garden shed wall, Darrell said, “Nance and I have work to do. You know it’s not us. And you won’t be able to keep track of us since our rooms are in the back of the building anyway. So we need to go to the office.”

“All right,” John said. “We’ll see you in a moment. Oh, here comes a car.”

Nance looked at Darrell, “That’s all we need…a new guest in the mix.”

But as the car entered the parking lot, the driver’s eyes lingered on the men with guns and people with mud up to their elbows, and when the vehicle slowed, they saw the graves beyond. Then the car sped up, circled back to the exit, and flew in the opposite direction like a scared rabbit.

Darrell took in a deep breath and shook his head. “This is really bad for business.”

“That might have cost us a bag of rice or beans,” Nance said, giving John a dirty look.

“Get a move on,” Spam said. “Everyone, get cleaned up, and get back here for a funeral at dusk.”

Back in the office, Nance closed the door behind Darrell, and they went into the maid’s closet to clean up at the utility sink.

“Well, what do you think?” Nance said.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Darrell said as he ran his arms under the spigot turning the spotless sink brackish.

“All this time, we were trying to keep Jay Houston’s murder a secret from the tenants, but all the tenants knew, and they kept it a secret from us.”

Darrell continued to scrub dirt from his arms. “We suspected that, remember? I wonder if Jay stole the coffee from Spam and John. I think that's why they came after him. But they were right about one thing, whoever killed Mr. Houston also killed Kent. The murders are just too similar.”

“Do you really buy Marilyn’s story about her son and the shoes? Do you think she's telling the truth?”

“Yeah, I know you don't think so. Marilyn seems tense about something, but I don't think it has anything to do with these murders. As for her son, well, he's always been a strange sort. But he's a kid, and I don't think he did it either.”

“We're all a little tense about something at world's end. But I guess I'll agree with you. So, if she's out as a suspect, that leaves three. All three took coffee, and all three denied their part in the murder.”

“You forget about Kent. He also had coffee next to him. I bet he stole it from Jay Houston's room. I mean, Matty Cola.”

“I have another mystery, who exactly are John, Spam, and the freezer guy? I mean, they're condemning us for a couple of murdered guests. But they brought a dead guy in with them. And we don't even know who they are.”

“Did you see the look on that driver’s face?” Nance laughed. “They couldn't get out of here fast enough.”

“I don't blame them. We've been stuck here with the storm or being held hostage for almost a week. I would have left, too,” Darrell said as he dug dirt and whatever gunk he didn't want to think about from beneath his fingernails.

Darrell dried off his hands and then moved out of the way so Nance could clean her own.

“Whoever’s responsible for these deaths remains to be seen. Hopefully, we can find out more at the funeral tonight.”

chapter twenty-five

A few hours later, Nance walked into the office looking as if she'd showered off the dirt of graves. “Are you ready?”

Darrell looked out the window and noticed the sunset forming on the horizon in shades of purple and gold. “I didn't realize it was that late.” He folded up his newspaper and then noticed that John sat in his chair outside the lobby, with his pistol resting on his right thigh. The others began to walk into the parking lot. And for a second there, Darrell was concerned that John would point the weapon at them again. But the man stood up watching them and instead pointed it to the ground.

Darrell held the door open for Nance to walk through, “It's been a while since we had one of these.”

Nance said, “I know. I still remember our last one. So sad to see an old man die of starvation in his hotel room all alone. He gave everything to the rest of us. And we didn't realize he was that bad off.”

As they gathered around the graves of the men they’d just buried, Darrell noticed that Alice's hair was pulled back in golden waves. She was dressed in a creamy white blouse that he’d never seen her wear before. Words were said about the stranger and the man they knew as Kent. Then, Alice began to sing in an angel's voice, “There is freedom within. There is freedom without. Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup. There's a battle ahead. Many battles are lost. But you'll never see the end of the road while you're traveling with me. Hey now, hey now. Don't dream it's over….”

And after a stunned silence by everyone else, they soon recognized the most unexpected lyrics to a song they all once knew, and it was somehow a fitting tribute to the dead. And they all picked up the tune belting out Don't Dream it's Over by Crowded House.

Afterward, Darrell looked at each of them, and there wasn't anyone without a smile and moist eyes. Reminding himself that funerals are for the living, not really for the dead.

“All right, everyone, back to their rooms,” John said.

“Can't we just hang around the office for another hour?” asked Alice.

Spam nodded to John.

“For an hour. Maybe you guys can figure out which one of you murdered these two,” John said.

On their way to the parking lot, Nance pulled up to Darryl. “Did you get a load of that?”

“What do you mean?” Darrell said.

“You didn't notice how Spam looked at Alice the entire time?” Nance said.

“Um, I was more contemplating Kent and Mr. Houston's death than watching the others.”

“Well, I think he likes her. I mean, likes her, likes her. So we can use that to our advantage,” Nance said.

“Are you sure? Then why don't you suggest she cozy up to the man? If you know what I mean? Tell her to ask him what they're doing here, who they work for, and who the dead guy is,” Darrell said.

Nance nodded. “On it.”

Hours later, after the sunset had come and gone, they sat around in chairs in front of a small fire. Darrell heard Alice giggle something light and flirty as she sat next to Spam. Then he looked at Nance, and she gave him a wink and a thumbs up.

But Darrell didn't get the chance to watch the exchange for too long. Because John said, “Most of you have given back the pounds of coffee you'd taken. All except one of you. You there, the man with the glasses, the one with the missing scissors impaled in your friend's back. You haven't brought your coffee back. Where is it?”

Ned pushed his wireframes up his nose and said, “I'm sorry, I have to admit that I've drank most of the coffee I took.”

Nance said, “But you said you needed that coffee to exchange for better supplies.”

Ned shrugged his shoulders. “I know. But later, I started thinking about it…and thought, why not? We're all gonna die soon anyway. So you might as well drink the coffee.”

John said in a surprisingly calm voice, "You drank almost all of it? And you didn't share any of it. And yet it wasn't until this moment that you realized you made a big mistake, Mr. Man With The Glasses. So, let's see how you'll make it up to us. When you get the rest of the coffee out of your room, I've got some mending for you.” He lifted his arm and showed a tear in his jacket.

Ned stood up. “Okay, yeah. I'll be right back.”

Darrell and Nance exchanged a quick look as he got up and headed across the parking lot. “Well, that’s kind of you, John,” Darrell said.

Nance called out to Ned and said, “But what about your scissors? Do you want them back now? I mean...they murdered someone.”

“I threw them away,” Darrell said with an involuntary shiver. “But I could fish them out of the trash and clean them up, I suppose.”

Ned shook his head. “Well, I don't need them for this repair job.”

"But won't you need them for something else soon?" Nance said.

“I suppose I could borrow some scissors from a friend,” Ned said and walked away.

Darrell and Nance watched him walk out of the ambient light, and Nance said under her breath, “Okay.”

The next day, Nance came into the office a little later than usual. She said, “I stopped by Alice's room this morning. The crafty lady went to Spam's room the night before and asked to borrow the hair dryer since hers was broken. She said they’d ended up spending most of the night together. But she didn't get any answers. She found several coffee beans in the bottom of one of Spam's pockets.”

“I am really uncomfortable with this scenario,” Darrell said and ran a hand down his face.

“I didn't ask her to do that,” Nance said, “But she didn't seem disturbed by the evening.” Nance elbowed him in the side of the ribs and winked.

Darrell looked at the back of John's head and breathed. He’d been sitting in front of the office since early that morning guarding the parking lot for any potential escapees.

“I've had about enough of this,” Darrell said.

Nance said, “We still need to find out who’s the murderer.”

“I'm not sure it matters anymore,” Darrell said, flustered. “I'd rather see these guys leave. I think I have an idea.”

chapter twenty-six

Darrell eyed the man guarding them and said, “Keep Bruno back here. I don't want him aiming that gun around my dog.”

Nance took ahold of Bruno's collar and said, “Well, he did give him a sandwich."

"That was under false pretenses if you ask me."

"Wait, what are you going to do? Don't get in any trouble. Things are calmer around here today. Darrell! What are you doing? I told you not to get in any trouble. Stop. Just wait a minute,” Nance said.

But it was too late. Darrell was already halfway to the door before Nance could talk him out of it.

“Hey, what do you want?” John said. “Go back to your office."

“Why are you here anyway?” Darrell asked. "I want you to answer some questions. First of all, how long will you keep that guy in my freezer? We need to stock up on food because my delivery guy, Ernesto, is coming soon, and we have trades to make. We need the room food, believe it or not. So why didn't you bury that guy with the others?”

To his surprise, John took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then answered the question. “I didn't bury him with the others because he worked for us. And then we suspected that he'd betrayed our company, so we killed him. But then we discovered our suspicions were unfounded, and now we’re returning the body to his family.”

Darrell gasped. “Are you serious? That's pretty awful.” Darrell eyed the man for a long time. Finally, John's shoulders relaxed a bit, and he looked as if a weight had been lifted just by the admission of this horrible act.

“Yeah, I'm dead serious. And if you don’t want to find out why, you'd better be heading back to your office.”

“No,” Darrell said. “I have some more questions. First of all, what the heck? What kind of company is this?

John looked up at him and said, “It's better you don't know. Stop asking questions.” then he returned to scanning the parking lot and the guestrooms beyond.

Darrell let the silence linger a little longer. “I'm just saying that now that you have most of your coffee back, you should leave the motel guests alone. They've had enough. And so have we.”

Without taking his eyes off the parking lot, John said, “We'll leave soon enough. So don’t you worry.”

Darrell prodded again. “Well, I can't imagine what you're waiting for. Is this also where you got the sandwiches?”

But the man didn't answer that question either. Instead, he just stared straight ahead at the parking lot as if he was reviewing what brought him there at this very moment.

John sighed. “Okay, I guess. . . Yes, this is where I got the sandwiches. Now that's it."

"Then, if you didn't bring them, someone must have brought the food for you. Which means the supply can't be far away."

Darrell stood there for a moment, looking out at the nearly empty parking lot. It reminded him of why he came there in the first place. “I can't believe you'd do something like that.”

“What?”

“Kill an innocent man. That was a difficult thing to learn, I'm sure."

John made no response.

“You should be more careful. How can you live with yourself?”

“I didn't do anything. It was them. . . Look, that's enough,” John said and started walking away.

“Wait!”

Realizing he wasn't going to provide any more answer, Darrell huffed a breath, turned on his heel, grinding gravel beneath the sole of his shoe, and went back to the office.

Nance still held onto Bruno when he came inside. "Well?"

Darrell looked down at his desk and threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "I can't believe they'd murder someone just for a little coffee. And just what kind of company is this anyway?"

Nance remained silent and stared at Darrell and Bruno as if she was trying to hold them both in her gaze.

The dog sat down next to him and glanced up at Darrell.

Darrell ran a hand over his head. "It doesn't matter. He's in deep now. Life is hard enough. What kind of company is that anyway?"

Nance rubbed her hands together, "One I want no part of. Sandwiches or no sandwiches."

Darrell made a sound with the side of his cheek. "But the pie, though. I mean, what does that consist of?"

“You mean to make?”

He nodded. “Well, apples, for one thing. Sugar...I can imagine where they’re getting that from. Flour…” she said, raising her eyebrows. “You can’t beg, borrow or steal that stuff anywhere.”

“I mean, we didn’t get to taste the pie, but do you think it was the real thing?” Darrell asked.

“I don’t know, but I can tell you the bread was real. That wasn’t something like wood pulp they’ve tried pawning off on us long ago. It wasn’t almond flour…that was the fluffy stuff. The kind of stuff that clogged your arteries in the old days. That was the good stuff.”

“What about the meat and cheese? And the tomatoes. Funny thing…I never used to care for tomatoes. Now I’d bathe in tomato soup if I got half the chance. Bring a big straw….”

Nance laughed. “That was cheddar cheese and ham. Which means they have animals to feed crops to. This is big, Darrell. They’re like some kind of deli cartel. I’m telling you.”

“Deli Cartel, but I think their currency is coffee. That’s what all this is about.” Darrell scratched Bruno under the collar and glanced down. “Okay, we gotta stop. Even Bruno’s drooling. Look…there’s a whole trail of it to the floor.” He shook his head and swallowed.

"I need a sandwich," Nance said.

Darrell shook his head. "That sandwich was a slippery slope for a lot of us."

"I know. Now they have us hooked. All I've been wondering about is where the next one will come from,” said Nance.

“I know. Me too.”

chapter twenty-seven

Later that day, the familiar sound of Ernesto’s armored vehicle pulled into the parking lot. It was already that time again. They hadn't made many trades with the last few deliveries. But Darrell wanted to prove a point. He needed to fill that freezer. And in order to do that, he needed to trade for food that he could put in there. Meaning the body had to go. So as soon as Ernesto leaped down from the cab, Darrell left the office, passed John sitting in his chair, and made a beeline for the truck. He shook Ernesto’s hand and said, “What do you have to barter? We need frozen staples.”

“Not much frozen, amigo,” Ernesto said, waving a hand through his thick dark hair. “Tell me what you got?”

Darrell took out a piece of paper from the back of his pocket and began to read. “As you know, I have a lot of toothbrushes, a pack of men's socks, magazines, a novel, a couple of cans of tuna, a toaster, a pair of shoelaces, coffee filters, a gallon of filtered water, cans of bug repellent, a can of Spam, two cans of Hoppin' John’s beans, several shower caps, lots of little soaps, small bottles of mouthwash, little bottles of lotion, shampoo, and conditioner. I think that's about it. What do you have food-wise for my freezer?”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow and said, “You know I don't need more toothbrushes, so stop trying to push those on me, bro. I've told you 1000 times. Besides that, I'll take the Spam, the beans, the bug repellent, and the shoelaces. I might want the toaster if it works. And I'll take the rest of the toiletries.” Then he walked over to the back of his truck and lifted the lid off an ice chest. “I can give you three frozen chickens, unexpired frozen Hawaiian pizza, and two boxes of hot pockets.”

Darrell’s eyes lit up at the thought of roasted chicken though he reigned in his desire. “Are those hot pockets expired as well?”

“Of course they are. Everything is expired now.”

“Yeah, but you said the pizza wasn’t. Is there freezer burn?”

Ernesto picked up a box and handed it to him. “Check it out for yourself.”

Darrell opened one end and pulled out the frozen snack. A few of the edges were chalky white. But most of it looked edible. “Well, that's a deal. I'll take the chickens as well and the pizza. Even though it has pineapple on it. But I don't even wanna know what they fed those chickens, though. So, keep that information to yourself.” Darrell pulled everything out of the box that he was trading, and Ernesto made the exchange with the frozen goods.

Ernesto shook his hand when they were through like they always do after a deal. But then he pulled him nearer. And whispered in his ear, “I have a message to deliver.”

Darrell pulled away and looked him in the eye. “What's the message?”

He shook his head. “The message isn't for you.”

“Well, who's it for?”

“I think you have some visitors. Am I right, my friend?”

Darrell nodded, then stepped away so that Ernesto could see the man sitting in the chair watching their every move.

“Ah, you must be the man I'm looking for,” Ernesto said, and he crunched the gravel beneath his shoes while John stood to greet him.

And although Darrell could not hear what Ernesto was saying, he could see from the look on John's face that the message made him happy. John took off with a quick step for Spam’s room without a backward glance.

When Ernesto returned, Darrell said, “What was all about?”

Ernesto tilted his head at him. “You know any additional information I give you comes at a price, right?”

Darrell made a growling noise in his throat. He'd already given Ernesto everything he had to offer. And quickly scanned his brain for something else to trade the man. Then he remembered one thing that no one was putting to use. And after a quick look down at the ground, Darrell said, “Give me a quick second. I'll be right back.”

“All right, I'll fill the tank while you're gone and hurry up. I've got other deliveries to make.”

Immediately, Darrell ran off to Marilyn’s room and rapped his knuckles on the door three times. “Marilyn, I need something.” But it wasn't Marilyn that answered the door. It was Teddy.

“She'll be right back. She just went to pick up her dress from Ned.”

Darrell eyed the boy’s feet. And then he said, “Do you happen to still have those shoes? They were too big for you, right?”

The boy took a step back and looked at him as if he was trying to decide whether this was a friendly request or not. Then he nodded and said, “Yeah, I still have them. Oh, look, here comes mom now.”

“What's this all about?” Marilyn asked with her dress looped over one arm.

“Do you remember those shoes? You never returned them, did you? But that doesn't matter, I’m in a hurry. Do you still have them?”

She nodded. “Yes, of course. What do you want with them?”

“I want to make a trade with them. A very important trade. Can you give the shoes to me, please?”

She shook her head. It was just like her to be difficult in a trying time. He knew it wouldn't be that easy. “What will you give me in return?”

Darrell heard the grumble of the truck start up behind him as he glanced backward. Ernesto would leave without making the trade if he didn't hurry.

“Uh, what do you want?”

She must have sensed the urgency because one corner of her mouth worked up in a J as she jutted out her chin. “A week’s stay.”

“A whole week? That's not a fair trade, but never mind, just give them to me.”

She raised her eyebrows and held her arms across her chest. “A whole week. Seven days or no deal.”

He shook his head. “All right, a week stay.”

The boy handed him the shoes. And then Darrell quickly turned and ran for the truck that was about to leave. “Wait! I've got something for you.”

Ernesto put the truck in idle. And jumped out of the cab. “What am I supposed to do with those?”

“Just try them on. I bet the shoes fit.”

Ernesto pulled off one of his boots and slid his foot into the shoe. He walked around a bit. And then looked at Darrell with a smile on his face. “These will do, my friend.”

“Okay, who sent the message?”

Ernesto smiled as he pulled off his other boot and slid it into the other shoe. “The message came from the Red Rooster Roasters up the hill a few miles.”

“That's been abandoned for at least seven years. Are you telling me they've started up again? Where are they getting the coffee beans?”

“I can't answer those questions, my friend.” then he jutted his chin behind Darrell’s shoulder.

Darrell glanced behind him and saw Spam and John carrying the body from the freezer to their car trunk. “They're leaving?”

Ernesto ignored him and said, “But I like these shoes, so I'll tell you this. Those men work for the coffee roaster, and the note was from their boss. They were waiting for orders.”

Spam and John closed the trunk lid, got in the car, and waved as they left the parking lot.

Nance came up behind him then and said, “What just happened? Are they gone for good?”

Darrell shook his head. “I have no idea.”

chapter twenty-eight

Little thoughts arrived in Darrell’s head as he watched the car speed away down the road. Then Nance said something that made him laugh.

“And suddenly, we are bereft of dead bodies, but we're still left with a killer amongst us. And by the way. I'm not putting that food in the freezer before we clean it out from top to bottom.”

“Knock yourself out,” Darrell said.

She walked away then.

And when Darrell was tired of staring at the open road that led to the Crescent Motel at the end of the world, he turned too. But on his way back to the office. He noticed the guests coming out of their rooms, questioning the recent events.

As all five of them huddled in the center of the parking lot, Darrell put his hands up in the air and said, “Hey, listen. We are now free of our captors. And all dead bodies are accounted for or laid to rest.”

Alice said, with a bewildered look on her face, “But he left without saying goodbye.”

Ned said, “Does this mean we're free to go?”

Darrell put his hands on his hips and looked at them. Five of them stood there in the middle of the abandoned parking lot. And he knew that one of them was a killer. But which one of them still evaded him. Nevertheless, He put his hands on his hips and nodded. “You're free to go.”

“Well, I'm not going anywhere,” Marilyn said, “I just paid for an entire week.”

Alice said, “I can't leave yet. Harriet is still a mess from the storms. So, I'll stay for a few more days.”

“I'm checking out in the morning, no matter what. I've had enough of this place,” Bill said.

“Me too,” Ned said. “I think I can find more work in the next town. Good luck to all of you.”

They all wandered away after that. Darrell lingered for a while longer, watching them. And then he, too, turned on his heel and headed for the office where he found Nance standing by the desk.

As soon as he entered, she said, “The killer has to be Ned or Bill. They're the only ones that want to leave. Alice can't keep a secret long enough to be the killer. And Marilyn? She's difficult. But she didn't do this. So it has to be one of the guys.”

Darrell let out a frustrated breath. “What about Teddy? Wait, I'm not sure I care anymore.”

“Don't you want to know who committed the murders? What if they try to come back here and try it again?”

Darrell shrugged. “It's too exhausting.”

Nance threw a dish towel at him. “Well, you're not sleeping yet. We have a freezer to wipe down.”

“I thought you were going to do it,” he complained, grabbing a towel off the shelf, and following her to the utility room.

One of those evenings, just after midnight, a storm appeared outside the window. Then Darrell sat up quickly after hearing a crack of lightning. Or was it lightning?

Then Bruno barked and ran to the door.

“What was that boy? You usually hide under the bed when there’s lightning.”

Just saying the words made Darrell put his feet on the cold tile floor. And he made his way to the window and pulled back the edge of the blind.

Out in the parking lot, a Styrofoam cup rolled by, followed by a bright metallic cellophane candy bar wrapper. But just barely. The wind wasn't that strong. And there was no rain. “Hmmm,” Darrell thought. He was about to turn away and go back to bed, but then he saw Nance walking through the empty parking lot in her robe with her flashlight.

She noticed him peering through the window and used the flashlight to wave him closer.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to go out there.

Then Bruno barked again by the door. Which always meant something was wrong. It most certainly wasn't lightning that caused the loud crack.

The only problem was, he wasn't so sure he wanted to know what made that noise. There had been enough drama at the Crescent Motel in the past couple of weeks.

He must have been taking too long to decide because Nance landed three hard raps on his door and took the choice away from him.

“What is it?” he said when he cracked the door open. “I'm trying to sleep.”

“Didn't you hear that?”

“Here what? he said in denial.

“Stop it. I saw you looking out the window. It was a gunshot.”

“It was not a gunshot. I thought it was lightning.”

“I was on my way to the bathroom. I saw the blast. It came from Bill's window. He just shot a gun in his room.”

“No... Can't we pretend we didn't see or hear anything and go back to sleep?”

She stared at him for a moment with a grimace on her face. “Get your shoes on.”

When they got to the parking lot, Alice, Ned, Marilyn, and her son, met them on the way to investigate.

“What was that?” Ned said.

“Sounded like a gunshot to me,” said Alice.

Darrell ignored them. And walked towards Bill's door, where he saw a bullet hole through the middle. He raised his hand to knock but then thought better of it and said, “Bill…are you in there?”

A moment later, Bill yelled, “It's safe to come in.”

Darrell pushed open the door and found Bill sitting on the bed with a gun in his hand.

“What happened?”

With a bewildered look, Bill said, “It…it just went off. I was just packing it. And I forgot it was loaded.”

“Whew. Okay, I'm so glad you're all right. False alarm. Everyone, go back to your rooms,” Darrell said.

When Bill said, “Sorry about the damage, " Darrell was about to reclose the door.”

“No worries, man. I'm just glad you're okay. Get some sleep,” Darrell said.

But then, halfway across the darkened parking lot, Darrell stopped and turned and looked over his right shoulder because he knew who the killer was right then.

chapter twenty-nine

In the morning, Darrell stood at the front office desk. At the same time, Nance, Alice, Marilyn, and her son were all seated around the lobby table, sipping the coffee Nance brewed from their stash. When Bill walked in with his suitcase, he sat it in front of the desk.

"Morning, guys. Thought I smelled something great in here from the parking lot. Looks like you're enjoying the brew. That’s an expensive breakfast. Who made it?" Bill said while fishing something from his pocket.

But no one answered, and Bruno immediately started growling.

Bill saw the commotion, eyed Bruno, held back from getting too close to the beast, and watched the rest of them, smiling. "Down, boy," he joked.

He smiled again at Darrell, who stood and held the dog by his collar.

"What's going on?" Bill said because no one was smiling back.

"Where are you going?" Nance finally said.

“I'll be checking out this morning. I'm not sure yet, where I'm going," Bill said.

“Nothing new there,” Marilyn said, waving her coffee cup toward Bill.

"I'm going to miss you, guys," Bill said.

“I'm afraid that's not going to happen, Bill. You're not checking out until you've answered for your crimes,” Darrell said.

“What do you mean? I didn't do anything,” Bill said.

Darrell looked out toward the parking lot and then stared at him while he smoothed one end of his mustache. "I think you do."

He laughed a little uneasy. "This is some kind of joke, right? I'm not responsible for that,” Bill said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “It's not my fault..."

"Cut the nonsense, Bill. We know you killed the man known as Jay Houston and Kent. The only question is why. Why would you kill Kent?" Nance said.

Bill said, “No, you guys are making this out to be more than it is. Nance, give me a break.”

“Excuse me?" Nance’s voice tightened. "I don't even know you. And I'm certainly not your friend."

“You can't get away with this, Bill," Darrell said, "Start explaining."

“I'm not a criminal. I didn't do anything," Bill said.

Bruno ran out of breath, took another, and continued a low growl while he stood next to Darrell.

Bill shook his head.

Alice shifted in her chair. "Bill, they're right. What you did here is monstrous. You killed a man in cold blood."

"Two men, actually," Nance corrected. "He killed two men."

"Two men?" Bill repeated. "You guys have the wrong guy."

"You killed two men," Nance said again.

"I'm not responsible for what happened,” Bill said.

“Stop denying it, Bill. You're responsible for what you did here,” Marilyn said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Why are you getting involved? It's none of your business,” Bill said.

Marilyn stood. “That's where you're wrong." Marilyn's eyes became misty. "Kent was my friend. Most of you didn't know that, but we were more than friends. So, this is my business. And you'd better start explaining if you know what's good for you, Bill.” She sat, took a sip of her coffee, and watched him with her hands shaking.

Bruno let out a loud bark.

"I don't have time to mess around with all this right now,” Bill said.

Darrell said, "We know you did it. And I'll finally let Bruno have his way with you if you don't start talking."

As if the dog knew his part in it all, he tugged on his collar and let out a string of ferocious barks.

"I'll run," Bill said.

Darrell smiled. "You won't get very far. Bruno's up for the challenge. He might even enjoy the chase."

Bruno lunged so hard that Darrell had to pull him up on his hind legs to keep him from tearing into Bill.

“I know,” Bill said with a nod and looked to the ground. "Bruno's the only one that saw me do it. He was doing his business that night near Kent's room when I came out. He saw me. But I'm not going to give you all the details because it doesn't matter now. There's no one here to arrest me. I did what I did, and I've got no more to say."

“Bill, you're crazy. You're even admitting it," Alice said.

Bill smiled and held his arms wide, "So what."

Darrell's jaw tightened, and his eyes went wide with surprise when Bill stepped forward, just out of range of the dog's sharp canines, grabbed Darrell's coffee cup, and took a sip.

Darrell leaned over and knocked the cup out of Bill's hand. The cup careened to the floor, shattering the porcelain, and spilling the brew.

And it seemed that everyone in the lobby, even Bruno, ceased their chatter at once and watched for what would happen next.

“All right, all right. It was me. I killed the man you knew as Jay Houston,” Bill said.

Someone sucked in a breath.

“But why?” Nance said.

He looked at her quickly and then back again to Darrell.

“Matty… We used to work together at the Red Rooster. When I saw him walk in, I thought he'd come to settle an old score. So, I killed him before he could tell the owners of the Red Rooster where I was. The only problem was Kent found out. So, I had to kill him, too. But, I didn't want to,” Bill said, eyeing Marilyn as if that was some kind of excuse. And then he pulled his own handgun from his back waistband and pointed it at Darrell and his dog as he backed away toward the door.

But then Ned suddenly appeared and held the door open for Bill, and for a moment, Darrell was confused and thought he was in on it too. Except that at the last moment, Ned dropped something heavy against the side of Bill’s head, and he fell to the ground, knocked out cold.

“What did you do?” Darrell said.

Ned stood there with a shocked look on his face, holding an iron in one hand and Bill at his feet.

chapter thirty

A few days later, Darrell, Nance, and the rest of the guests stood outside in the parking lot near the main entrance while Darrell watched the road. The sun was high, the temperature warm. And for a while, they stood talking.

Nance was ranting about how messy Spam had left his room. Darrell was so amused by her tirade that he thought she had lost it.

"I mean, there were crumbs and pie sauce everywhere. Who eats a whole apple pie from the dish and leaves it in the middle of the bed? Fork and all. The sheets were covered in it, and I had to pry the fork from the pillowcase."

“Ewww. Who wants to clean up after a pig like that?” Alice said to Nance, laughing.

“No, Ewww is right. No one,” Nance replied. "The things I do for you people."

“How could he leave a mess? Spam should’ve cleaned up after himself,” Alice added.

Nance rolled her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Darrell looked down when he heard mumbling.

Before them, Bill sat in a folding metal chair with his hands tied behind his back.

He was trying to say something, but Darrell and the rest ignored him.

When a familiar car pulled up, John rolled down the window. “Ernesto delivered the message. I hear you have a package for The Red Rooster.”

Darrell nodded. “We do indeed. Take him away.”

John got out of the car, and Spam popped the trunk. "This way, sir.”

Bill made some mumbling noises, but no one could hear what he was trying to say through the gag in his mouth.

“I don't care what your excuse is,” Darrell said. “You don't kill my guests. Now they can deal with you.”

"We don't know what to do with him anyway,” Alice replied.

John said, “That's all right. The owner of the Red Rooster will decide his fate.”

John rolled the chair to its side and sliced the ropes away that held the man down. “This way,” John said, pointing to the back of the car.

Then Spam tossed Bill into the trunk and slammed the lid.

John retrieved a large box from the backseat and handed it to Darrell.

“From the boss,” he said. “A token of our gratitude.”

“Uh, thanks,” Darrell replied, taking the box. "But I can't help but think this is more than just a gift. Is this going to cost me in the future somehow?"

John smiled. "You worry too much." With that, John slapped him on the shoulder and climbed back into the car.

"I don't know,” Darrell said, but it was too late to return the gift.

But then he wasn't sure why John wasn't driving away.

Then he realized that Spam wasn't in the passenger seat yet.

"Wait, where's Spam?" Darrell asked.

"He's saying goodbye to someone," Nance whispered and nudged her elbow behind her.

And when he looked around for him, he saw Spam holding Alice and saying something into her ear.

She laughed and smiled prettily and said, “Yes, I'll be here.”

Spam nodded with a big grin, ran to the passenger seat, got inside, and they drove away.

"Well, what was that all about?" Nance said.

“Never you mind,” Alice said, blushing.

“What's in the box? It looks heavy,” Nance said.

Darrell took a big sniff and smiled. “Don’t tell me that’s apple pie in there.”

Nance opened the folds while Darrell held the box steady. Everyone else leaned in for a better look.

They all erupted in oohs and awes when they saw what was inside the box. Several wrapped fluffy white sandwich wedges were filled with thin pink ribbons of ham and thick strips of school-bus-shade cheese, a whole apple pie, and a few more familiar packages of coffee with the Red Rooster label affixed to the side.

“That's so awesome,” said Teddy.

Marilyn shook her head at him, "No coffee for you, Teddy. And I don’t want to start a coffee habit myself.”

Nance said, taking the box away from Darrell, “Yeah, because that might get in the way of your smoking habit.”

Teddy snickered, "Yeah, mom."

Darrell couldn't help thinking that Marilyn was never much fun and probably too strict with a teenage son at the end of the world. “Be that as it may,” he said, “let's celebrate. We’ll brew a whole pot of coffee in the lobby and gorge ourselves on sandwiches and apple pie.”

"Shouldn’t we ask where they're getting this stuff?" Marilyn said.

Nance shook her head. "No. We don't ask questions. We just enjoy. Isn't that what life’s all about? Isn't that what Ned taught us recently? Just drink the coffee. Right, Ned?"

Ned gave a smile and nodded. “That’s right.”

Everyone agreed and hurried through the parking lot to the office door. But Ned hung back, folded the chair left behind, and carried it while slowly walking beside Darrell and Bruno.

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he said, “There's still something I don't understand. How did you know the killer was Bill and not me since you pretty much eliminated the ladies and young Teddy?”

Darrell nodded. “That's a good question. I admit it wasn't easy. But I realized Bill was the killer when he misfired his gun. The gunshot woke everyone up in the middle of the night. That's why he didn't shoot Jay and Kent. Instead, he resorted to much quieter methods of killing the men. Shooting them would have made too much noise. You slept through the whole thing because you take sleeping medication."

“I had no idea. I foolishly trusted Bill,” Ned said, shaking his head. "And with my own scissors. The thought of them impaled in Kent's back. Makes me sick to my stomach."

“Don’t be so hard on yourself."

“That must be how he got the idea to pretend to get the medication from his room so he could escape from John and Spam because he knew I took the pills to sleep at night.” Ned shook his head. "And to think Bruno knew Bill was the killer all along."

Darrell stopped and smiled. "I know. That’s right. He was trying to tell us the whole time. We just weren't listening." Then he stopped and scratched Bruno behind the ears. "Who's a good dog?"

Bruno wagged his tail and smiled with his big brown eyes.

afterword

The next book in the Motel at the End of the World Series: Book 2 - Room Service Revenge

also by a. r. shaw

Graham’s Resolution

The China Pandemic

The Cascade Preppers

The Last Infidels

The Malefic Nation

The Bitter Earth

The Wild West

The Long Goodbye

Surrender the Sun

Bishop’s Honor

Sanctuary

Point of No Return

Savaged Earth

Feral Earth

Dawn of Deception

Unbound

Undone

Unbeaten

Remember the Ruin

Rebel Blaze

Wayward State

Grand Gesture

Times of Trouble

In the Meantime

Watch the Wreckage

The Drone Keeper

House of Light

See the Light

Saw the Light

Motel at the End of the World

The Coffee Killer

Room Service Revenge

Standalones

The French Wardrobe

Pretend You’re Here

about the author

For new release updates

GOTO: https://arshawbooks.substack.com/

USA Today bestselling author, A. R. Shaw, served in the United States Air Force Reserves as a Communications Radio Operator. She began publishing in the fall of 2013 with her debut novel, The China Pandemic.

With over 20 titles to her name, she continues the journey from her home in the Pacific Northwest alongside her loyal tabby cat, Henry, and a house full of books.

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