Run into Trouble

CHAPTER 23

Today’s run goes from the top of the first hill on Route 1 north of the Santa Maria River to Port San Luis, west of Avila Beach. You may take any route you like, but we recommend that you stay on roads the whole distance, as the beach is impassable in some areas and loaded with speeding dune buggies in the vicinity of Pismo Beach. Although you’ll start on Route 1, you may choose to take local roads through parts of Oceano, Grover City, Pismo Beach, and Shell Beach.

“Casey and Fred didn’t give us much time to mourn for Grace.”

Drake was momentarily taken aback by Melody’s statement, because she was less sentimental than most women, which was one of the things he liked about her. He knew she was deeply frustrated by the fact that they were leaving the scene of the crime without having any evidence as to what happened. Both of them felt the kind of guilt that comes from thinking they should have been able to save Grace, without knowing exactly how they could have done it. So Melody’s emotions were understandable. Drake, himself, harbored a pent-up fury, which threatened to erupt.

“The damned race must go on, in spite of a rising body count. Nothing is as important as the publicity for California, or maybe it’s the publicity for Giganticorp, or just maybe it’s publicity for Casey’s Senate run, although I don’t see how negative publicity like this can help him.”

The newspapers had played up the story as big news, even though they had little in the way of facts to write about. But when did reporters ever let a paucity of facts get in their way? Several reporters had asked questions of Melody, since she had been rooming with Grace. Melody refused to speculate about what had happened, leaving them to make up their own theories or repeat what the sheriff’s office said about a possible mugging.

Drake, the oldest runner, was asked a few generic questions, the kind answerable with a bland statement such as, “She was a wonderful young woman. I don’t know why anybody would want to hurt her.”

He was glad the men and women of the press didn’t have enough insight to ask him penetrating questions. The liaison between Grace and him hadn’t been leaked to them. Thank goodness. They had talked to the other male runners, trying to uncover a hint of a romance gone bad, but that attempt had failed.

Drake and Melody were taking their frustrations out on the road, running hard on the relatively level terrain, pulling away from all the runners except the ubiquitous Tom/Jerry and Phil/Brian teams, which they hadn’t gained on except for the two days in which they finished first.

Melody voiced a thought that had been bouncing around in Drake’s head. “Why don’t we quit the race? This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Well, for one thing, we’re being paid to run. A thousand dollars a day isn’t chicken feed.”

“Since when did you ever let money dictate what you did?”

“Since I’ve grown old enough to worry about my future. A few more days and I’ll have enough money to buy half my own cabin in Idyllwild. Fifty percent makes a healthy down payment.”

“I get the feeling you’re half serious. All right, we’ll stay in the race, at least for the moment, with the understanding that we’ll try to dig up evidence on what happened to Grace. I think the murderer is amongst us and that his name is F-R-E-D.”

“I’ll have another talk with F-R-E-D.”

“This time I’m going to join you. I want to look him in his piggy eyes when he goes into his music hall routine designed to obscure the truth.”

“I have a message for you, Mr. Drake.”

If there were any words in the English language that could get Drake’s heart racing faster than those just uttered by the desk clerk at the Avila Beach motel, he didn’t know what they were. The man picked up a folded piece of paper and handed it to Drake. He handed an identical sheet to Melody.

“Here’s one for you, Miss Jefferson.”

Drake and Melody cast alarmed glances at each other before they focused on the pages. Drake saw his name written in green fountain pen and knew that the writer was Fred. He unfolded the paper and read the beautifully written message.

“I’d like to see you and Melody in my room as soon as you get here.”

It was signed “Fred.” Drake’s level of concern went down a few notches. Melody held her message up, side-by-side with Drake’s. They were identical, except that hers stated Fred would like to see her and Drake. Melody looked from one to the other.

“It must be important if he wants to see us when we’re hot, sweaty, tired, and bedraggled.”

Drake quashed the impulse to say that at least Fred wouldn’t be tempted to harass her. “Maybe he’s trying to catch us off guard.”

“But we’re not off guard, are we? Let’s go.”

They obtained Fred’s room number from the desk clerk and marched down the corridor to his room. He opened the door within a few seconds of their knock. The harsh odor of cigarette smoke issued forth from the room.

“Come in, come in. Thanks for coming so promptly.”

Melody went into the room first and wrinkled her nose. “Your note implied that it was important.”

“Yes. I’d like you to meet my new assistant for Running California, Charles Ortiz. Charles flew down from San Jose this afternoon. Charles, these are Melody Jefferson and Oliver Drake, but call him Drake.”

They shook hands. Charles was a good looking young man, tall and thin. He had a high-wattage smile. But Drake was upset. This was what was so important that they had to do it unshowered? Meet Fred’s new assistant? An assistant brought in when Grace’s body was barely cold? He was tempted to say something sarcastic about the situation when Fred spoke again.

“Charles will be helping me with the race, as I said, replacing Grace.” His voice actually broke a little when he mentioned Grace’s name. Nice touch.

“Charles, go ahead and get yourself settled. We’ll eat dinner together, and I’ll bring you up to speed. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Charles beamed his smile on Melody and Drake, said, “It was nice to meet you both,” and then left the room.”

“Have a seat.” Fred waved his arm to include a chair and the bed. “I’m sorry I only have one chair. Can I get you something to drink?”

Melody sat on the chair and sneezed, her nose irritated by the smoke. Drake sat on the edge of the bed, keeping his body straight. He didn’t want to get too comfortable. In response to Fred’s query about a drink, he pulled a container of Gatorade out of his pouch and sipped what remained of it. He didn’t intend to give in an inch to Fred.

The seating arrangement didn’t leave Fred much choice if he wanted to face them both. He leaned against a small dresser, folded his arms, and tried not to look awkward.

“I’m sorry to say that there’s nothing new about Grace. I’m in touch with the sheriff’s department. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

Drake decided not to comment because that might defuse the tension. He glanced at Melody. She was keeping a stone face, just as he was. Neither one of them was giving Fred any aid or comfort. They waited for him to continue.

Fred usually gave the impression of being able to handle any situation, but at the moment he looked distinctly uncomfortable. He wiped his face with the large handkerchief he carried, even though it wasn’t that hot. His face was red. When he spoke again, he sounded as bad as he looked.

“Look, I know what you two are thinking. You think that I killed Grace. As God is my witness, I swear to you that I didn’t do it. I may not always have behaved as well as I should have toward her, but I would never have killed her. I’m not that kind of person. I have my faults, but they don’t include murder.”

He stopped speaking, obviously wanting to say more but apparently worried that anything he said might make matters worse.

Drake was tempted to remain silent, but Melody spoke in a calm, unhurried voice, reciting facts. “Grace’s alarm went off at quarter to five yesterday morning. The last time that happened she went to your room and you told her to go to the parking lot and pick up a letter for Drake. How do we know that’s not what she did yesterday?”

“Because…” Fred stopped talking, went into deep thinking mode, and then tried again. “First of all, you have no proof that I had anything to do with those letters. Grace probably told you that story to get herself off the hook. I suspect she wasn’t above feathering her own nest, if you know what I mean. You didn’t get another letter, did you?”

Drake shook his head. “Grace wasn’t in any position to be delivering letters.”

Fred didn’t want to be accused of murder, but he also didn’t want to get fired for participating in a betting ring. Drake wondered whether Casey had talked to him about that. He still had his job. Trouble seemed to bounce off him. But then, he did have a resemblance to a ball.

Drake decided to try a different tack. “What’s your theory as to what happened to Grace?”

Fred pondered that. “She obviously expected to meet somebody in the parking lot. That means somebody contacted her the day before, either by phone or in person. It would have had to be somebody she knew quite well. Knew and trusted. If it wasn’t me and it wasn’t one of you, it could have been one of the other runners. The roommates vouched for each other. Everybody was asleep. Peaches was the other person she knew at the motel. His gun hadn’t been fired. Of course, he might have had another one.”

Melody stared at him. “Are you accusing Peaches?”

“I didn’t say that. You asked me what happened. I was just trying to examine the evidence.”

Drake was about ninety-nine percent certain that Peaches hadn’t had anything to do with Grace’s death. Fred was trying to deflect the inquiry away from himself. There wasn’t any sense in pursuing this further at the present time.

Drake stood up. “Melody and I are tired, dirty, and-as you’ve probably noticed-smelly. Please excuse us while we go get cleaned up.”

Melody stood also, and they filed out of the room.