The Goodbye Body

Author:Joan Hess [Hess, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-03-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

I drove in the direction of the grocery store, comparing my mental list with the contents of the refrigerator. Pistachios, pears, and pretzels. Steaks and accouterments. A can of fruit cocktail. Maybe a couple of pints of gourmet ice cream, since Caron and Inez would recover from the impending horror of the talent show at the mall and rediscover their appetite for junk food and gangster movies.

Petrolli Mordella had probably been a gangster, I thought with a frown, although not of the stature of Al Capone— who’d ultimately been nailed for tax evasion, as had Mordella. Peter might offer more information, but I could hardly count on it. I had a feeling our next conversation would focus on untaped telephone calls, which would leave both of us annoyed. And require me to find out what I could on my own.

I parked in front of the grocery store and cut off the engine. It was obvious that Mordella had come to Farberville to see Dolly. She’d spoken to him on the phone, and then in person, at which time he’d either given her his cell phone or she’d taken it without his knowledge. She could have shot him, I thought, and left his body behind the gazebo for some obscure reason. As hiding places went, it was a poor choice. Caron and Inez might have decided to explore the yard after returning from the airport. The gardener could have dropped by to fertilize the japonicas or sweep up pinecones. A meter reader might have come in through the gate. The body could have been found while Dolly was still at the airport.

Not that she’d necessarily stayed there for any length of time. She’d been seen when she entered it, but unless she was still crouched in a corner of the lost luggage room, she’d found a way to leave. Considering the nonexistence of public transportation in Farberville, Mordella must have had a car. Had he pulled up to the curb as Caron drove away, helped Dolly load her luggage into his trunk, and then spirited her away? He clearly hadn’t driven her to Atlanta, in that dead men are notoriously slow drivers. She could have easily done it herself by the following evening, with plenty of time to eat at ubiquitous chain restaurants and spend the night at a motel along the interstate. If Mordella had a car, that is.

Regrettably, he was not available to answer that question. It occurred to me that I might be able to find out more at the Fritz Motel, where he’d checked in (and possibly checked out). The police had already searched his room and interviewed the manager, but Peter would be disinclined to share the details. In fiction, the classic cop-boyfriend is willing to spill every investigative breakthrough with his doting amateur sleuth, but for the moment, that convenient venue was blocked with concrete barriers, flashing lights, and signs warning the unwary not to enter.

Therefore, in spite of my exemplary intentions, I pulled

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