Death Is A Redhead

Chapter Ten: Armando Gastelum

The best remedy to cure a chill has always been a warm fire. Not even the invention of the heater can compare to the comfort of an open flame in the fireplace. It seems to penetrate even the coldest and darkest of days. Felicity sits before one now, her feet propped up on a plush ottoman. But not even the homiest of fireplaces can chase away the chill which occupies her very being.

Unconsciously, she taps the heel of her tennis shoe against the cool tile. The redheaded killer has killed again. Another man is dead because of her. It never occurred to Felicity that she would kill again. David saw it. Every crime has a motive, right? How is this new victim related to Robert Volkov?

They were both killed at hotels. Robert at a Motel 6 and this new victim at a Best Western. They were both killed in Phoenix by a redhead, ostensibly the same redhead. Very few of the details of this new case have been revealed. No names yet. Come to think of it, the public doesn't even know Robert's name yet. If that is his name.

David interrupts her thoughts, tapping on her shoulder. He leads her through the lobby of the Holiday Inn and away from the warm, but ineffectual fire. After a brief ride in the elevator, they arrive outside of their adjacent rooms. He unlocks her door and slides the keycard into her palm. Silently, he slips into the next room. Good.

It's a nice room. Nothing like the bloody Motel 6 room. It faces west. The other faced north. Late afternoon sunrays illuminate the warm room, giving it a golden glow. It's the complete opposite of the pitch-black room in which they found Jim Gallagher.

She falls backward onto the bed, expecting the soft, downy comforter of home. This isn't home, but it'll have to do. She inhales and exhales, slowly letting sleep overtake her.

Three hours later, she wakes with a start, springing to a sitting position. She can't remember what startled her, but her heart is trying to escape from her chest. She's dripping with sweat. It's dark now, just a sliver of cerulean peaking over the jagged horizon.

She leaps out of bed and flips the lights on. She's not afraid of the dark, not since she was a kid. She rubs her arms violently, smoothing out the goosebumps. Maybe she's coming down with something. She catches a whiff of her underarm. Stress sweat? At any rate, it's time for a shower.

Once in the bathroom, she grabs the hotel's complimentary soap, shampoo and conditioner. Soon, the hot running water soothes the tense muscles in her neck and back. She lingers there awhile, letting the water work it's magic. Some people claim that a good shower is therapeutic. "Let the water wash your anxieties away," they say. How ridiculous.

She steps out of shower, wrapping one towel around her soaking hair and drying herself with the other. She doesn't have any fresh clothes, so she'll have to put the dirty ones back on. This trip was not well-planned.

She exits the steamy bathroom and flips on the television. There's a tribute to Miss Scarlet's latest victim on. His name was Armando Gastelum, a husband and father of two. He worked as an auto mechanic and was well-liked by his coworkers. And now he's dead.

He didn't have to die. Felicity could have caught the killer that fateful night. If only she'd brought her cellphone up in that tree with her. Then the cops could've caught her right then and there. Robert and Jim would've been her last victims. But she was too shortsighted to remember her phone.

She should have taken the chance and leapt from the tree to get her cell phone, but no. She stayed up there to take that useless photo of the killer. At the time, she was certain it was the right decision. She's not so sure now. She prides herself on being rational, above illogical fears and emotions. In control. Now, she realizes that she hid in that tree because she was afraid. She's a coward.

There's a knock at the door, jolting her from her self-reproach. Peering through the peephole, she observes David with a pizza and an arm full of Walmart bags. Brightening, she swings the door open.

"Hungry?" he asks. David tries to solve every problem with food. It usually works.

"Yeah, come on in."

"I also got us some bottled sodas and fresh clothes." He slings the bags unto the bed and props two pillows against the headboard for back support. Seeing the news report, he flips the channel to TNT.

Ruffling through the bags, Felicity finds a pair of polka dot pajamas and three maxi dresses. She hates dresses. David snickers at her reaction.

"I would have gotten you some jeans, but I don't know your size. The dresses only come in four sizes, so I figured small was a safe bet."

"Thanks."

She flees to the bathroom to change into the pajamas. She'll have to choose between the abominable maxi dresses tomorrow. At least the patterns weren't bad. One had navy blue and grey stripes, one solid black, the other solid plum. The pajamas weren't bad either. She didn't have cause for complaint.

When she gets back from the bathroom, David is already halfway done with his second slice.

"Are you gonna get in on this, or what?" he asks, mouth full.

Felling much fresher in these new pajamas, she sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed. Pizza time. It's covered in pepperoni, mushrooms and Roma tomatoes, just the way she likes it. The Wendy's salad can't even compare. She doesn't even take a breath until the third slice. David grins at her.

"What?"

"Is it good?"

"It's alright," she replies, a slight smirk gracing the corner of her mouth.

"Good."

They finished watching Major Crimes before cleaning up and putting the leftovers in the mini fridge.

"So, I did some research this afternoon," David starts.

"Oh?"

"I looked up Pacific Horizons Marketing Company. Turns out it went under two years ago."

"Well, we can scratch that off our list."

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow?"

"Well," she says, gulping, "There's nothing left to do in Los Angeles, so we probably ought to drive south to San Diego and pay Veronica a visit."

"Hopefully, she'll be our last stop."

"We still have to find the connection between our first and third victim."

"Between Robert Shafer and that Armando guy?"

"His name was Armando Gastelum, and yes. We've been assuming that the motive surrounds Robert's past misdeeds, but how does Armando fit in? From a glance, the victims don't appear to have anything in common, other than their killer. We need to get a hold of Hector."

"I've been trying. He's not answering his phone. He's probably buried in work."

Felicity lets her shoulders slump, jutting out her chin.

"It feels like we've been working this case forever."

"It's only been two days," she says, staring up at the smoke detector.

"Miss Scarlet's a busy woman. Who would have guessed that she would kill again so soon?"

"You did." She looks him directly in the eye. Felicity really does admire him. As much as she hates to admit it, sometimes he can see what she can't.

"Well, you know how killers are. Most only kill once, but after the first, it gets a lot easier." He stops. "There is no possible way we could have stopped her. We'd been working the case only twenty-four hours when she killed again. That's not enough time to find a killer as sophisticated as this one."

"I guess so."

"Yeah, tomorrow we'll get an early start. Imagine how much more we'll know by this time tomorrow."

Felicity's cellphone rings before she responds. She gazes down at the display and grimaces.

"What is it?"

"It's my father."

Press ⭐ to continue. 😉