Better Late Than Dead: Episode 19

This is episode nineteen of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. However, it can be purchased on Amazon in the Kindle or paperback versions.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins.

(Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

Episode 19 

Rich drove to the Hillcrest Motel. He climbed out of the Jeep. A folded note was in the door. The note told him to come to the office. He set his bag inside the room and walked to the office.

A mousy old man, Mr. Rhinehart, the owner, sat behind the counter reading the newspaper.

“Mr. Rhinehart,” Rich said, “I found this note in the door. What is it you wanted to see me about?”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Larsen,” Mr. Rhinehart said nervously, “I left a note for you. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“You see, you see,” Mr. Rhinehart stammered, “I run a respectable business, and I care about the reputation.”

“Exactly what the cockroaches were telling me just the other night,” Rich said. “I’m joking.”

“Well, well,” Mr. Rhinehart said, “that’s not funny. A little joke like that gets around, and the next thing you know, people start talking.”

“I apologize,” Rich said. “The joke stays between you and me—and the cockroaches.”

“All the talk going around about you,” Mr. Rhinehart said. “You know, now, I’m not judging or anything. And I really don’t know anything anyway. But talk is talk, and it’s kind of like, you know, the roaches joke. People will start believing things.”

“That happens,” Rich said. “But I’m not sure why you want to see me. As far as I know, I’ve been a good guest at this fine establishment. Have there been any complaints?”

“Oh, no, no,” Mr. Rhinehart said, “it’s nothing like that. It’s just that you're a murderer—oh my, that came out wrong.”

“Just spit it out,” Rich said.

“Well, I’m concerned you’re hurting my business,” Mr. Rhinehart said.

“Everybody who stays here is just passing through,” Rich said.

“What I’m trying to say is I want you to move out,” Mr. Rhinehart said.

“This is a surprise,” Rich said. “I’ll tell you what, let me think on it tonight and I’ll let you know in the morning.”

“Actually,” Mr. Rhinehart said, “I want you out now!”

“Actually, Mr. Rhinehart, I’m paid until the end of the month.”

Mr. Rhinehart stood. He reached under the counter and handed Rich a check. “That’s a refund for the rest of the month.”

“Unless I’m breaking one of your rules, I’m staying till the end of the month,” Rich said.

“I will call the sheriff and have you removed,” Mr. Rhinehart said firmly—well, as firmly as Mr. Rhinehart could muster.

“I don’t think you will, and I don’t think you can,” Rich said.

“Please, Mr. Larsen,” Mr. Rhinehart said, “can you please leave in the morning?”

“As much as I disdain your petty tone and sanctimonious demeanor, I intend on staying until the end of the month,” Rich said. “I paid in full, and I paid in cash.”

“You want cash?” Mr. Rhinehart asked.

“No,” Rich said, “I want a room. I have a room. You have my money. I’m sorry this is tough on you, but we all have tough decisions to make. And you made your decisions when you accepted my money until the end of the month. When the end of the month comes, I’ll be gone. And you can charge another ten dollars a night to stay in the room I stayed in. I’m a celebrity, Mr. Rhinehart. If this was Vegas, they’d be paying me to stay.”

Rich waited for a reply. Mr. Rhinehart’s lips nervously quivered, but no sound came out. Rich turned and opened the door. He stopped and turned back to Mr. Rhinehart.

“By the way, don’t think you’re going to get away with not changing my towels or sheets. And don’t go through my stuff.”

Rich did not wait for a reply. He walked back to his room, where he enjoyed a ham salad sandwich, a small bag of chips, the cherry pie, and a bottle of soda. He turned on the TV news.

“It has been confirmed by sources that an arrest is imminent in the Larsen family double murder. A reliable source in the sheriff’s office has said their prime suspect will soon be taken into custody.”

Rich flipped the TV off.

Geez, Rich thought, that’s as bad as the newspaper. The news anchor sounded and looked as if he was dragged out of sixth-period study hall.

He left the room and jumped into the Jeep. I need a long ride, Rich thought, like Tijuana, Mexico.

He backed out of his parking space and pulled onto the road. He headed away from town. He leaned back with one hand on the steering wheel. For a moment, he fantasized. He was driving away from it all. He was driving to a place where he had no beginning and had no end. It was like Belle-Île-en-Mer. Where people help you blend.

I would go there, he thought, but every breeze, the bleat of lambs, every glint of sunshine, the smell of the pastures, and the taste of agneau du large, island wine, and those butter cookies... I’d be a fat expat in no time. Evenings with Elbert and Maggie. Just like old times—but without my Bridgette. I could not bear it. I’m wondering if I can bear anything ever again. Maybe I was never born to be happy, fulfilled, and content. Maybe I was born to be locked away.

There is such a strange chain of events. My parents were killed. I’m a prime suspect. And I can beat the whole thing if I give up Elbert—tell the CIA where he is. What if there isn’t a link? What if these circumstances fell into their laps?

Hiram, what does he know? Is he holding something back? Miss Winslow said he’s working harder on this case than he has on any other. He’s working as if we’re going to trial. How can he be so sure? I suppose those are questions I should be asking Hiram.

Rich made a U-turn and headed back to the Hillcrest Motel.

Maybe Mr. Rhinehart has had the opportunity to think things over, Rich thought. Maybe a basket of fruit and a bouquet will be waiting for me. Nah, never happening.

With an hour of daylight remaining, he pulled into the driveway of the Hillcrest. Cars were in front of every room. The no vacancy sign was lit.

“I’m sure not hurting business,” Rich mumbled.