Lake Charles
“A teenage Filipino maid waist-bumped her housekeeping cart out of a unit’s doorway onto the concrete apron. Suspicions prickled me.
Did underpaid maids slip passkeys to sheriff’s deputies to steal into the motel units and plant key evidence to rig their frame jobs on suckers like me? But no maid would finger a corrupt sheriff’s deputy and expect to go on living in Yellow Snake. My chagrin to leave empty-handed was contagious.
“Mrs. Cornwell’s evasion perplexes me,” said Herzog. “I’d love to know who drove that sedan.”
“She’s an old lady and gets beaucoup cars,” said Mr. Kuzawa. “Sizemore’s place is just a few miles away.”
“He can wait for the time being,” I said as we left the motel. “I believe J.D. driving the party van might know the growers.”
“Sharp idea. Phone Kerns,” said Mr. Kuzawa.
A mile further brought us to a cash-and-carry store. We stopped in, and I jumped on the coin phone. A gruff Kerns back in Umpire grabbed my ring, and I detailed where we sat, and what we needed.
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