Room 403 - A Marice Houston Mystery: A Marice Houston Mystery

By Dellani Oakes

Marice Houston and friends are back - as usual, trouble finds them. Marice, Butch & Arnie are transporting a convicted serial killer from Missouri to Nebraska, in a blizzard. Nearly at their goal, their prisoner has a seizure, requiring transport to the local hospital. While there, things go horribly wrong, miring them hip deep in a quagmire of intrigue and murder. The situation is compounded when Marice gets some surprising, and somewhat upsetting news. Join Marice as she and her team dig deep to find out what happened in Room 403.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pennywise Press
• Release date: Aug 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201056834

Dellani Oakes

Dellani is a happily married mother of four—three boys and a girl. She also has one beautiful, golden haired granddaughter. She lives in the sunny, hot climes of Florida's east coast, not far from World Famous Daytona Beach. Dellani once told her publisher that she had enough books, finished & unfinished, to keep him busy for the next 10 years. He didn't believe her, but he should have. A few years later, she's upped that number. She has 53 finished novels, Conduct Unbecoming is her sixth published novel. Dellani hosts two shows a month on Blog Talk Radio – Dellani's Tea Time and What's Write for Me, which air on the Red River Radio Network. Look for Dellani's shows the second Monday of the month and the fourth Wednesday. Both shows air at 4:00 PM Eastern time.

Book preview

Dedication:

As always, for my husband & children. You may not understand what I do or why,

but at least you don't mind that I do it.

To Casie & Gabbi for being wonderful & supportive.

To my mother, who woke the love of words in me.

For Audrey—because you're Nana's angel. For Amberly, because you're Nana's princess. For Nilania, because you're Nana's joy. I love you all so much!

Many Thanks To:

Suzette Vaughn for the amazing cover.

Karen Vaughn & Christina Giguere for being my cheering section.

Marta Moran Bishop and Susan Stotler who also encouraged me.

Rose Wheeler for bringing Marice and friends to life.

Room 403

by

Dellani Oakes

CHAPTER ONE

It's two days before Christmas. Am I at home, enjoying a roaring fire, hot toddies and a snuggle with my honey? No. I'm slogging across Nebraska in a van, which refuses to go over 55 miles an hour, with Arnie French and Butch Davis. We're transporting a prisoner from Kansas City, Missouri, to some backwater town in western Nebraska. The weather outside is frightful.... And I'm not just quoting the song, which is currently playing. It's 10 below, with a 20 below chill factor, near blizzard conditions, and nowhere to stop.

The last town we passed was Oshkosh, which isn't nearly as impressive as it sounds. The sign said it had a population of 832. Because of the weather, we couldn't even see it from the road. Here we go, praying we won't go off into a ditch. At least we're close to our destination, Scottsbluff—where the hell is that anyway? Not quite as dismal as some other spots we could be, but I'd far rather be home.

Did I mention that Arnie has insisted upon listening to Christmas music? Not the good stuff, okay? He's got on the Christmas hits of Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. While I like their voices, I'm not a huge fan of White Christmas. If I have to hear Rudy the Red Nosed Reindeer again, I might have to kill someone.

What's got you so uptight? the prisoner, some baby faced, cold blooded killer, asked me. For the seventeenth time, I might add.

No talking, Inmate, I snarled.

Just trying to be friendly, he moped.

I don't do friendly with a criminal, I replied. Be quiet.

I need to rock a piss, he snapped.

Do you see a place to stop? Butch asked him. I don't know about you, but I'm not getting out of the van to piss in the snow. It's twenty below. You want to freeze it off?

The prisoner squirmed. I gotta goooo....

Butch, who was driving, rolled his eyes at me. I was riding shotgun. Arnie drew the short straw, and was in back with the prisoner. I really didn't want to stop. Not just because of the security issues, but because my turn to be in back was next, and the prisoner has IBS with the worst smelling gas I've ever encountered. I nearly lost my lunch because of it. It was bad enough up front. In back, it was lethal.

Anything on the GPS? Arnie asked. Cause now he mentions it....

God, you men! Such babies. You can't hold it until we get there?

Not all of us have a steel clad bladder, Deputy Houston.

I know better than to have three cups of coffee with breakfast and two glasses of Coke with lunch. I turned off the music, followed by much protest. "If I have to listen to you complain about having to pee, I'm not going to have Frosty the Snowman as an accompaniment. I'm senior on this gig, and I've been nice, so far."

The prisoner, a kid named Regis Fife, snorted. Nice? Ha! Bitch, is more like.

Arnie leaned close, but still out of reach. Need I remind you that Deputy Houston is not in a good mood right now. And she's a crack shot.

Best I've seen, Butch added.

And you're pissing her off. So, keep your yap shut, Arnie concluded. I apologize, ma'am. If we can arrange a restroom....

I'll see what I can find. I want a secure location, I replied, slightly mollified by his apology. Looks like a Highway Patrol office in twenty miles, I said, after consulting our GPS. I'll give them a call.

I'd as soon get off the road anyway, Butch said. This is getting bad, M...Ms. Houston. He'd almost called me by my first name. We try to avoid any personal details in front of prisoners.

Butch, Arnie and I have worked together a long time. Not only that, Butch and I were beneficial friends, on and off, for years. Until I got with Kris, we spent a lot of quality time together. Taking the, nearly obscured, exit slowly, he eased off the gas without touching the brakes right away. We were in the middle of nowhere, so he didn't even stop at the snow crested sign at the bottom of the off ramp.

Making an easy, wide right, he trundled along for a few miles. The snow and wind were suddenly worse, and we could barely see.

Should be about another half mile, I said, eyes watering from looking at the flying flakes.

Right or left?

I consulted the GPS. Left. There!

A distinctive sign appeared out of the gathering gloom. It was only about 3:00 in the afternoon, but the sky was darkening fast. Butch had to guess at the driveway, and clipped a curb, bouncing us around. None of us cared. Even the prisoner didn't bitch. Rolling to a halt in a handicapped spot, Butch put the van in park and heaved a shuddering sigh.

That! he pointed behind us. No fun!

Since he's not given to panicking, I knew he was really flustered by the weather. I don't like driving in snow and ice, but I've never had to find my way in a blizzard.

We unloaded the prisoner, throwing a heavy blanket around him, since we couldn't put a coat on him without uncuffing him, and tromped into the Highway Patrol office. We were greeted by the desk sergeant, the lieutenant and the captain. None of them looked happy to see us, particularly when they saw our prisoner. Their expressions darkened after they checked the weather. No one said anything, but I knew what was running through their minds. We were all stuck here, in this office, until the weather cleared.

How the hell did you even get here, Houston? the sergeant asked, his tone nearly as chilly as the great outdoors. The road's been closed for the last ten hours.

We didn't get the memo. We should have been notified immediately. We filed our plans with the offices along our route. You'll have gotten an e-mail from our boss, Butch growled.

I couldn't fault him. He was still shaking after our drive. We could all use a cup of coffee to unwind. Looking around, I asked for the coffee pot, and a perky civilian worker named Holly, showed me to the kitchen. The coffee pot was even more terrifying than the one in the Marshal's office—which is pretty scary. The difference is, there, I keep it scrubbed. This one hadn't been cleaned since the dinosaurs roamed the Earth. I asked for gloves and a Brillo pad. Giving me a curious stare, Holly handed me both.

You're gonna clean it? she gasped, when she saw what I was doing.

If you think I'm drinking anything that comes out of that pot, you're mistaken. Those dregs are from the Hoover Administration, I grumbled as I rolled up my sleeves.

Giving a giggle, Holly strutted out. She was about my height and build, but more like a cheerleader than a cop. Of course, she's a civilian, so she can be the leader of the pep squad, if she wants. Probably not much over 20, her medium brown hair was sleek and pulled into a tight French braid. My hair won't do that. The curls pop about five seconds after it's put up, and I look like a dog with a serious case of mange. I envy women with thick, straight hair. Sighing a little, I set about cleaning the pot. Twenty minutes, and four Brillo pads later, it wasn't pristine, but I could stand it. I'd given the filter basket a good scrub, too, and finally had it in working order. It was set up and running shortly after.

My team, and members of the Highway Patrol, wandered in, sniffing happily. The sergeant smiled and grabbed his cup, waiting in line. When the pot finished, I poured him some, then got cups for the guys and me. Anyone else could fend for themselves.

We got our boy squared away? I asked Butch.

Yeah. This was more important than that?

I thought you needed fortification. I didn't realize it would take this long to get coffee. Don't you ever clean that? I directed at the sergeant.

We had a bet going who would break first, he said with a chuckle. Holly doesn't drink coffee, so she said she was damned if she'd do it. The guys and me, we'd rather get shot than clean anything. And the captain claims it's below her pay grade.

Well, if there's money on it, I get it, I said. Because that was a bitch. But I wasn't drinking from a pot that looked like Sasquatch took a dump in it.

It tasted about that good, too. He winked at me. Holly! he called. Bring the Deputy the bet money. I reckon we all lost, and she's done all the work.

Seconds later, she came back with about fifty dollars in small bills. Already on it, Sarge. I thought anyone that brave, deserved it. She handed it to me with a smile. Thank you. You know how bad that smelled?

Good guess, yeah. Thanks. I pocketed the money with a smirk at the men.

Sergeant John Rafferty, the man next to me held out his hand. That there's Lieutenant Ivan Claussen and the lovely lady in the corner, is our boss, Captain Eloise Sanders.

Pleased to meet you all. I'm Marice Houston. My men are Butch Davis and Arnie French.

We met when you were scrubbing the pot, Sanders said. You can call me Lou.

I'm Marice. We shook hands.

What's the kid done? Rafferty asked once we were all settled with our coffee.

"The kid is a stone cold killer, Butch replied. Don't let that cherubic visage fool you. Keep your girl away from him. In fact, only Arnie and I will deal with him. He's conniving, smooth talking and very convincing."

For real? He seems like a nice kid.

That boy's a cross between Ted Bundy and Charlie Manson, Arnie replied. The less time I spend with him, the better. Not kidding about the girl. She's his target demo. If we'd had any choice, we'd have passed on by, but the weather was hell.

We're known for that in this neck of the woods, Lou replied. Johnny, go get Holly. I'm not happy with her being that close to the cage.

Their holding cell was apart from the main room, but both cells were within view of the squad room, and the door was open. Rafferty went to the office door and whistled, tipping his head at Holly. She joined us, curious. He explained the rule about talking to Fife.

Sure thing, Boss, she said to Sanders.

Rafferty went back to his desk. He could keep an eye on the cells, as well as the front door.

How many men do you have out? Butch asked.

No one is on patrol, Sanders said. The road is closed. However, we've got a few guys who live not far from the highway. If there's a serious emergency, they can respond. They all own four wheel, off road vehicles, with snow plow attachments.

Comes in handy, I bet, Arnie said.

Around here, yes.

Do you have food? I asked. Might have been a sudden, off topic question, but it had just occurred to me. It was going to be dinner time soon, and I was getting hungry.

Yes. It's mostly canned food and MREs, but we won't starve. The heat is gas, we have a wind powered generator, and there's a cistern of water, and a well. We've learned to be self-sufficient over the years. This is a very remote office, Lou replied.

Most aren't this well equipped, Claussen bragged. All Lou's ideas.

I've been snowed in a time or two, she added. I like my creature comforts like flushing toilets, heat, and hot showers.

And food that doesn't come out of the snack machine, Holly said with a smirk. Please don't share that again. She giggled when the Captain tossed a balled up napkin at her.

That's what I get for working with my niece, Lou said with a grin. She's heard the story too many times.

Oh, you can tell it, since they haven't.

Thanks for the permission, I was going to anyway.

Just so you know, it's sanctioned.

We all laughed at that.

It was my first assignment. Even more remote than this. Blizzard on Christmas Eve, and I was at work. Like now, we were simply manning the station for an emergency. It was me, my sergeant, captain, and a guy who'd flipped over in the ditch. He was bleeding a good bit, and it was my job to try to stop that. Power cut off about an hour later, and it started getting cold. We were lucky to have blankets and running water, but the heat wasn't on. It was gas, but the thermostat was electric, so we got chilly quick. Only food we had were a few stale cookies in the break room, and the stuff in the snack machine. We broke into that, and shared it out per meal. Luckily, it had just been stocked, as had the soda machine. I subsisted on Funyuns and orange Fanta for three days. She shuddered. Still can't eat that shit.

Man, that sucks, Butch said, shaking his head.

But the good thing, Holly said. The man stopped bleeding, and came back to see auntie after he'd healed up. How long have you been married? She smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Like you don't know. Holly was born on our second anniversary, she explained. Twenty-five years, she said with a grin.

No kidding? That's pretty cool, Butch replied. Marice, you think you'll be married to Kris that long?

Yeah. You think you'll be alive long enough to see it? I snapped.

Chill, Mar. You know I'm kidding.

You know I'm not. I tilted my head, giving him a sappy smile.

Rolling his eyes, a common occurrence when he's around me, Butch started laughing.

Have you all worked together long? Claussen asked, glancing from one to another.

We exchanged a thoughtful squint.

I've known Butch for eight years, Arnie for six? No, seven. We've worked on prisoner transfers, on and off, for at least five.

How old were you when you joined up? Holly asked me. She was very focused and interested, so I was happy to answer her.

I was twenty-two. I went to college in criminal justice, and had already talked to a recruiter. I took a year off because my brother—was killed. I didn't go into details. It was still hard for me to realize that he'd been murdered, not killed in an accident, as we'd always thought.

I'm so sorry to hear that, she sounded genuinely sorry. It's hard losing a sibling. My older sister was killed in an accident a few years ago. It's tough.

Yes, it is. Maurice was my twin, I said as steadily as I could. I miss him every day.

Holly leaned forward, taking my hand, squeezing it. I smiled at her and we shared a moment.

Are you interested in becoming a Deputy Marshal? Butch asked her. He'd picked up on her interest, too.

I'm thinking about it, she replied proudly. Auntie says I'm not allowed to be a trooper.

Oh? I turned to