Storm of Suspicion - 2. Chapter 2

In a small diner near Wellfleet, a few miles outside Provincetown, a handsome, well built man sat drinking coffee and chain smoking. “I need to close soon”, began the waitress.

“Is there any place to stay around here?” the man asked. The storm had already taken out trees along the main road through the cape and he had to turn back just to even find this place open. Behind the counter a radio station interrupted mid song announcing a news alert, stating that police were situated along the outskirts of Truro looking for anyone knowing anything about the murder of the nationally popular female impersonator known as Johanna James. “Female impersonator,” the man grumbled under his breath,”Fucking drag queen, she’s better off dead.”

“What’s that?’, the waitress asked as she refilled the mans coffee cup. “Oh, uh, any place to stay?”, he replied.

“ ‘fraid not,” she began. “Just ‘bout everybody round here has closed down for the winter. Might be a couple places left in P-town. It’s about 30 minutes up Rt 6. Try the Admirals Inn. Take left on Cornwall into town then turn left on Bradford. They usually have a couple rooms available for people that got too drunk to drive back to the mainland on weekends. The owner stays here winters so they should be open, if the power hasn’t been downed already”.

Outside the rain was pouring down in apocalyptic proportions. The man nearly expected to see animals start walking by in pairs as he trudged towards his car, shrugging his shoulders down into the collar of his coat and pushing into the wind. “Damned New England weather”, he grumbled. He sure as hell didn’t want to be heading back to Provincetown but he really didn’t have a choice. At least the police were likely only watching anyone leaving town. He shouldn’t have much trouble going into town, and hopefully once there nobody would recognize him. “Just stay in the room, keep a low profile…” he thought to himself. As he began to pull out of the driveway a bolt of lightning struck, illuminating the sky for a brief moment. The radio which had been playing Norah Jones now went completely to static. “Lightning must have hit the radio tower,'' he mumbled, reaching to turn the radio off as he pulled out of the now darkened driveway.

A few miles ahead, the falling rain reflected the flashing of blue lights. From behind, flashing red lights quickly approached as a fire engine swerved around the mans car, turning abruptly off on a side street almost directly ahead of him, nearly causing him to crash. “What the F…? Well, I guess I better just slow down”, he resolved. “No need to get into an accident or draw any attention.” As he approached the flashing blue lights, two police cruisers were positioned at the roadside. One officer stood in the middle of the road wearing a bright yellow rain slicker, obviously directing traffic. Not that there was much traffic at this hour and particularly with the inclement weather. As he was cautiously waved passed by the officer, he could see the lights from the patrol car illuminating a vehicle which had struck a power pole on the other side of the road, snapping it in two. The broken wires from the pole on one side of the wreck flapped wildly in the wind, throwing off fiery sparks like a dragon trapped by its tail. Another officer with a flashlight seemed busy at investigating the wreck. The man sighed heavily with relief as he continued beyond the accident without being stopped. As the stranger continued along Rt 6, he made a left turn towards the center of Provincetown. He was both surprised and relieved to not had seen any police except those at the accident.

Outside the Admirals Inn, a vacancy sign waved in the wind by a single hook. The strong winds had nearly torn off the sign, which as a whole leaned heavily towards the building. He parked his car in front and made his way up the steps into the front lobby. Seated beside the front desk, an older man was sipping tea. His back was turned towards the door while watching a TV placed over the fireplace. As he entered, the wind caught the door and abruptly slammed it shut behind him. The portly man jumped up startled. “Oh my,” he screeched, “I didn’t see you drive up”. The Innkeeper was a short bald man of at least 60 years old. His fair complexion was clear with only fine wrinkles as someone that had either led a privileged life or at least had the means to keep himself taken well care of. His clothes were neatly pressed and designer brand. Not designer like younger people wear but of the more sophisticated expensive silks and linens such as Burberry and Ermenegildo Zegna; usually worn by old money types. He appeared somewhat nerdy with his round rimmed glasses hanging off the end of his nose as he positioned himself behind the desk and extended his hand towards the stranger. “May I help you?”.

“Do you still have rooms available?” , the stranger inquired.

“Honey, if I didn’t have a room I’d let you share mine!”, the innkeeper started but refrained, quickly realizing that the man was not amused. “Everyone left this morning before the storm, I can give you any room in the house you want. Are you with the FBI?”

“Huh?”, the man winced.

“Oh never mind, I just thought maybe you were here with the investigation. Big news you know. One of the local drag queens was found dead at the leather bar! Poor thing was all beat up in the bathroom. Blood everywhere. Had the heel of a shoe sticking straight out of her forehead. She must had tried seeing who had a bigger cock, her or one of the leather Daddies!” Giggling over his own joke. ”I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t be saying much. You must be a reporter, You’re a reporter aren’t you?”

“Um, actually…”, began the stranger.

“You’re a reporter! I knew it!” screamed the innkeeper. “I know people you know, I could tell when you walked in the door. Well anything you need to know just ask for Carter, that’s me. I hear everything that happens here in P-town. I’ve even thought of starting my own paper. It’d surely make a fortune. I don’t know why but folks just tell me everything. My honest face I guess. See that’s why I knew you were a reporter, it’s that honest face you have.”

“Um, actually”, again the man started, “a room?”

“Oh yes deary, of course. I understand; Mum’s the word. I won’t tell anyone there’s a famous reporter staying here. Now let me get you a room, um… Mr….?”

“Um...ah...Frye”, the stranger stammered. Carters flamboyance was more then starting to irritate him. He felt Carters mannerisms were exactly why the general public were prejudiced against gays and all the drag queens that were shown on the news certainly didn’t help progress either. At this point though, he wanted nothing more than a hot shower and sleep. Hopefully by tomorrow the storm will have passed and he could get out of town unnoticed. If nothing else, Carter had at least unwittingly provided him with a cover while he was stuck here. Also he may actually prove to be a valuable resource, if he doesn’t create too big of a scene.

“Here we are Mr. Frye. I gave you room 219. It’s a corner room and very spacious. It also has a private entrance off the back stairway. Just up these stairs and gayly to the end of the hall.” Carter giggled like a schoolgirl, but still unamused by the stranger. “Now if you’ll just give me a credit card…”

“Actually I’ll be paying with cash. How much for the night?” the man replied as he pulled a money clip from his front pocket.

“Oh… well, the room is usually $150 a night off season but since you’re using cash then I’ll give it to you for $100 even.” Carter wasn’t accustomed to anyone paying in cash so it sounded like a good round number. Carter handed the man his room key and he quickly made his way up the stairs, carrying only a small black backpack.

It was just after 10 pm when the man had settled into his room and began undressing to get into the shower and then get to bed. As he lit a cigarette he turned on the television. The 10 o’clock news broadcast out of Boston was just doing the review of the local weather forecast. “An early onset of storms have ravaged the Cape today with reports of downed trees and power outages from Falmouth all the way to Provincetown. Traffic on and off Cape Cod has been completely stopped with both the Bourne and Sagamore bridges closed until further notice.”

“Shit”, he gripped aloud as he snuffed out the cigarette and headed to the shower. After finishing, he sat on the edge of the bed and continued drying off, half paying attention to the remainder of the news broadcast. A bolt of lightning and thunderous rumble lit the room then left everything in complete darkness.

<>

Thom reached into the top drawer of his desk and fumbled for a flashlight. He’d learned long ago that power failures this far out on the Cape were still fairly common and kept several flashlights stashed throughout the bar. He was more than ready to get out of there anyway. The police had held him there all day and he still hadn’t closed out the bar tabs from last night nor any of his other duties. The police still would not allow him to clean up the mess from the murder; a task he wasn’t looking forward to yet anyhow although Thom was anxious to remove as many reminders of the evening as possible. He may even give the barback something extra to clean it up, when the time came, he resolved. His hand brushed against a photograph on his desk as he reached to light an antique oil lamp. Thom still needed to at least put away all the cash and receipts in the safe before leaving. As the light flickered trying to ignite, he paused looking at the photograph, “Oh Johanna, what the hell were you doing here anyway?”. Thom quickly finished putting things away and locked the safe. As he blew out the lamp, he grabbed the keys from the desk and made his way to the door. As he stood outside the bar locking the door, the wind swept across his back reminding him that he was still wearing only a leather vest and jeans. He decided that he just wanted to get out of there and didn’t want to bother going back inside for a change of clothes. He quickly turned and walked briskly to the Admirals Inn, a few blocks away. The owner often kept a room available for Thom so he wouldn’t have to drive back to his house in Wellfleet. “It’s likely I couldn’t get home tonight anyway with the weather and all”, he declared as he crossed Commercial Street and made his way up Pearl.

<>

Steven awoke suddenly to the sound of thunder and rain beating steadily against the window. He had completely passed out from exhaustion on the sofa in the lobby. He looked around the room as he rubbed the stiffness from his neck. For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was but the sight of a strange man in a police uniform standing stoically by the front door quickly reminded him of what had happened and that he wasn’t dreaming everything, despite the thought of what a nightmare the whole situation was.

Karla continued rummaging around Stevens room, looking for anything out of place. The police had turned everything upside down already and the room was off limits but with no lights and nobody directly securing the room, she decided to take advantage of the situation. Steven kept his room modest as he typically worked around the clock during the summer and mentioned that he often rents it out to last minute guests for extra cash. All his clothes were kept locked in a closet. There was an overturned box by the window with an assortment of random clothes were strewn across the floor, which she decided must have been the items Steven said he had set aside for the Goodwill. Just as Karla was getting ready to leave the room, her flashlight caught sight of a small piece of paper sticking through a crack in the floorboards. As she bent down to pick it up, a voice behind her startled her and the paper dropped completely beneath the floor.

“Karla, what are you doing?”, Steven began. “The police didn’t want anyone in here yet”.

“I was just going to get you a change of clothes but I can’t find any…” Karla fumbled, quickly making an excuse for being in the room.

“No bother, I’ll just grab a hoodie or something from the gift shop”, Steven replied, grabbing Karla’s hand and nervously pulling her back down the hall before they are discovered there by anyone. “Come on, let’s get some sleep. I put you in room 103 and I’ll be in the adjoining room”. Steven had just enough sleep to now be thinking logically but was still wore out. As he laid in bed trying to figure out how he’d landed in such a predicament, the patter of rain against the window took a hypnotic hold on him and he again drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile next door, Karla paced the darkened room. “Was that piece of paper a clue”, she pondered. Without actually tearing up the floorboards she’d never know. “Who was the stranger that rented Stevens room and why was he here? Why did he kill Johanna and how was Steven mixed up in this mess?”