15

Jude

"Was he telling the truth?" Jude asked when Al walked away. His story sounded pretty convincing, but he'd also had nearly two decades to perfect his spiel.

"From what I could tell, yes," Cope said. "I could feel the warmth Al still carries for Cyrus. He's got a lot of regrets, chief among them letting Cyrus leave that night without asking him what had been bothering him. Cyrus was the one great love of his life. He still mourns the man all these years later. It feels like a case of not knowing what you had until it was gone."

Jude had been thinking the same thing.

"What was that all about?" Ronan asked, taking a seat in the lounger Al had vacated. Fitzgibbon sat beside him.

"That was Baked Alaska," Jude said.

Fitzgibbon's eyes widened. "Did he give you anything?"

"Maybe. He told us that Chet Hines showed up at the club that last night. Apparently, he and Cyrus had words, and Hines stormed out."

"Interesting," Ronan said, looking lost in thought. "He told us he didn't see Cyrus that night."

"We need to have another chat with Mr. Hines," Fitz grumbled, looking pissed off. He got to his feet and walked back to his own chair. Taking a seat, he brushed the sand off his feet before slipping into his flip-flops. He rooted through his beach bag and pulled out the keys to the van. "He lied to our fucking faces. Let's go get this asshole."

"Hold on a sec, Fitzy," Ronan called out, motioning him to come closer. "The only person we haven't spoken with yet is Jake Powell. Let's see what the motel owner has to say before we go back to Chet."

Fitzgibbon sighed. He looked as if he were ready to tear Hines's head off for lying to them. "Okay, you're right. We're leaving in the morning, so this is our last chance to figure out who killed Cyrus once and for all."

"Keep your head in the game," Jude said, patting Fitzgibbon's shoulder. It wasn't like the captain to go off the deep end like this. He understood the need to solve this case within the next several hours, but going off half-cocked wasn't going to get them the answers they needed.

Fitzgibbon scowled but remained silent.

Walking back to the motel, Jude wondered if he should ask his usually mild-mannered boss what was going on. He thought back to what Al had told them about not asking Cyrus what was going on at the club and how he'd regretted that decision ever since. "What's up with you?"

Fitzgibbon stopped and put his hands on his hips. "Greeley called this morning. He's having trouble with this case he's working on, and to make matters worse, he broke up with Rock. He's going to move in with us for the time being."

Damn, Jude hadn't seen that coming. "Have you told Jace?"

"Yeah, he's pissed too." Fitz cracked his knuckles, which wasn't at all like him.

"What, because he doesn't want Greeley living with you?" Jude had been under the impression that Jace and Greeley had a solid relationship. He couldn't imagine why he would be upset about their chick returning to the nest.

Fitzgibbon barked a rough laugh. "No, because Rock fucked over our son. I had to talk Jace out of driving to Boston this morning and giving the asshole a piece of his mind."

"Hell hath no fury like a father scorned," Ronan said with a chuckle.

"Asshole couldn't keep it in his pants. Apparently, this wasn't the first time. Greeley didn't tell me how many times it had been. I had no idea they were having this problem. He'd mentioned not being totally happy but had left it at that. I should have questioned him more. God, I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not," Jude said. "You're a father who knows and respects your son's boundaries. Part of the reason your relationship with Greeley has always worked is because you weren't one of those helicopter parents hovering over him, ready to correct any mistakes he made."

"Yeah, I know, but he's my son. I want to be there for him," Fitzgibbon grumped.

"Remember when Everly was little and learning to walk?"

Fitzgibbon nodded. A bright smile bloomed over his face. "Yeah, you walked around behind her, ready to catch her if she fell."

"Right," Ronan agreed. "What I was doing made her overly cautious and afraid to fall down. I didn't realize the harm I was doing by trying so hard to protect her. Our kids have to learn not only how to fall but how to pick themselves up. Which is exactly what Greeley has done."

"Yeah, I hear you." Fitzgibbon ran a hand through his hair. "But I still want to punch that fucker in his stupid face."

"Me too," Ronan agreed. "Let's go talk to Jake. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can confront Hines."

"I'd like to punch that fucker in his stupid face too."

"No arguments here." Jude grinned. He hated being lied to. Worse, he hated when people thought they were smarter than he was. Jude was more determined than ever to find out who killed Cyrus Longfellow.

Walking into the front office, Jude found Jake Powell in his usual seat behind the front desk. He was engrossed in a tennis match and didn't immediately greet Jude and company. In Jude's mind, he couldn't think of a more boring sport than tennis. How the hell people could watch it on television was beyond him.

"Hey, guys. Was Baked Alaska helpful?" Jake asked when the network went to commercial.

"Maybe," Jude said, sounding more mysterious than he'd intended. "Before we can try to put the pieces together, we need to know what you saw and heard that night. Were you and Cyrus friends?" He was tempted to add "lovers" but bided his time.

"Cyrus and I had a friendship of sorts. He was my best customer by far. He paid for his six weeks at the Four Star in cash, along with a room deposit in case the property was damaged. He gave me extra cash every week to shop for him—you know, essentials like chips and razor blades. I was also in charge of procuring certain substances , if you catch my drift." Powell waggled his eyebrows and quickly gasped, obviously remembering the men in front of him were cops. "I mean, I used to do that. I don't anymore."

"We don't care about that shit," Fitzgibbon said. "Was there anyone that didn't get along with Cyrus?"

Powell sighed. "There had been a few noise complaints during that last week. Cyrus was very vocal, and there's not a lot of soundproofing between the rooms."

Jude knew that for a fact. He'd heard Ten and Ronan getting down the night before and thought he'd heard Ronan calling Ten "Daddy." Not that he was going to ask his best friend to confirm what he'd heard. "Were the complaints serious?"

"No, I just moved the complainers to a different room. I sure as fuck wasn't about to kick my best customer out of his room."

"Sounds reasonable," Ronan said. "What about that last night? Did you hear any kind of disturbance? Pounding on a door, shouting, screaming?"

Jake shook his head. "No, nothing like that. The weird thing that night was that Cyrus was home at all."

"What do you mean?" Jude asked. This could be the break they were looking for.

"Cyrus walked into the office around half past ten that night. Usually, he was out until two or three in the morning. He'd come back when the bars and clubs shut down for the night. It was definitely a surprise to see him back here five hours before last call."

"What did he want when he came to see you?" Fitzgibbon asked.

"Pills. Xanax. Ativan. Valium. Anything that would chill him out." Powell nibbled his bottom lip. "Are you sure you won't arrest me if I tell you what happened next?" He looked nervously between the three detectives.

"We have no jurisdiction in the state of Maine," Ronan said. "Tell us what happened."

"I had some Xanax on me, which I sold him." Powell paused, as if he was waiting for one of them to slap on the cuffs and read him his rights. When that didn't happen, he continued. "I asked him what he needed the pills for. Usually, he wanted things that would make him fly, not bring him down."

"What did he tell you?" Jude asked, his heart beating faster. There had been no trace of sedatives in Cyrus's toxicology report, and the pills had not been found in the room when it was searched after the body was discovered.

"Just that he was going to need to chill his ass out. Again, this was out of the ordinary for him. I tried to ask him what was going on, but he wouldn't answer. I assumed there had been some sort of dustup at the strip club. More drama happened there than anywhere else in town. There were men and sometimes women who wouldn't take no for an answer, especially when they found out who Cyrus was and how much money he had. When people he didn't want to see showed up on his doorstep, he'd call me and ask me to get rid of them. I only had to call the police once, but that was a few years before the murder. Some farm girl from Iowa or Idaho was trying to get her hooks into him. She said she was pregnant with his baby, but none of us believed her. The police escorted her from the property, and I never heard anything about her again."

"Back to the night of the murder. Did Cyrus call to ask you to get rid of anyone?" Fitzgibbon asked.

"No, I never heard a peep from him for the rest of the night. There were no neighbor complaints either." Powell shook his head. "It's still a complete mystery how no one heard Cyrus being murdered."

Jude had to admit he was puzzled by that fact as well. Not only had he heard Ten and Ronan getting it on, but he'd been able to hear the low hum of regular conversation. Not enough to make out words, but any conversation held at anything louder than a whisper would have been heard by the neighbors. "There's one more mystery maybe you can solve for us."

"Sure thing." Powell appeared more relaxed than he had a few minutes ago.

"What happened to the pills?" Ronan and Jude asked at the same time.

"What?" Powell's eyes widened.

"You said you sold Cyrus Xanax. There were no traces of it in his blood during the autopsy, and there's no record of the pills being found when the police and crime scene unit searched the room."

Powell eyed the office door.

Jude couldn't help but think the man was trying to figure out if he was fast enough to get out of the room before one of them could catch him. Jude shook his head no. "Tell us, Powell. If you don't, our next call is to the Old Orchard Beach Police. You can explain it to them." It struck Jude that the police work on this case had been shoddy from the beginning.

"Okay, fine." Powell sighed, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "When Aida found the body the next morning, her first call was to me, not to 911."

"This just keeps getting better," Ronan muttered. "What did she tell you?"

"That Cyrus was dead in a pool of blood." Powell paused for a brief moment. "I went into the room and saw the body for myself. He was definitely dead."

"What did you take from the room?" Jude asked, his thoughts turning to the missing satchel and the cash inside it.

"The pills. They were sitting on the table near the sofa. There were five in the bag, and that's how many I'd sold him," Powell said, his head bent low. "I looked for the money, but it was gone. There was also a bag of weed and rolling papers. I took those things too."

Ronan grabbed Fitzgibbon's arm and pulled him across the room. Jude was behind them. "Do you believe him?"

"I do," Fitzgibbon said. "He was obviously looking to save his own ass."

"What about you?" Ronan asked Jude.

"I do, if only for the reason that Alexandria Longfellow was still in touch with Jake Powell. If she thought he'd had anything to do with her son's murder, she would have made sure he was investigated and wouldn't still be sending him Christmas cards."

"Good point," Fitzgibbon muttered, walking back to the front desk. "Were there any rumors about the murder after it happened?"

"Just the usual bullshit that it was a mafia hit or that Cyrus owed money to a loan shark."

It was more likely a spurned lover than either of the things Powell mentioned, but with no proof, Jude was at another dead end. "Who do you think killed him?"

Jake shook his head. "I don't know. Cyrus did so much for this community. He donated money to food pantries and the public library. He spread a ton of his money around town every summer. I can't imagine anyone wanting to see him dead."

"Is there anything else you can tell us that might lead us in the direction of the killer?" Fitzgibbon sounded exhausted and annoyed.

"Just one thing," Powell said, licking his chapped lips. "If you find the killer, does that mean Cyrus's ghost will leave the motel?"

Jude wished he'd brought Cope with him to answer this question. "Not necessarily. According to what Cyrus told my husband, he's happy here at the motel and has no plans to leave."

A look of relief spread over Powell's face. "That's good to hear. I make a ton of money every year renting that room. People come from all over to sleep in the murder room in hopes that Cyrus will try to communicate with them. I also have a lot of ghost hunters who pay more than the going rate to investigate the haunting. With Cyrus and his money gone, these rentals help keep the motel running."

"And this has nothing to do with shiny new Mercedes parked around back, right?" Ronan asked, raising a quizzical brow.

"Cyrus is money, Detective O'Mara," Powell said simply. "I won't be shamed over that. His death is a tragedy, but his spirit keeps food on my table."

"Thanks, Powell," Jude said. "If you think of anything else before we check out in the morning, let us know."

As they headed out of the office, Jude's thoughts turned to Chet Hines. Powell intimated that no one in Old Orchard would be stupid enough to kill their cash cow. He tended to agree with that line of thought. Affairs of the heart, however, were another matter. Hines could have unintentionally killed Cyrus in a fit of passion. He wouldn't have been thinking of how Cyrus's money benefited the community. His only thoughts would have been about revenge.

Jude couldn't wait to confront the man with his lies.