A death in calgary, p.1
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       A Death In Calgary, p.1

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A Death In Calgary
A Death in Calgary

Mary Daugherty

Copyright 2011 by Mary Daugherty

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.


This book is dedicated to my dad, Herbert C. Brown.


I want to thank my husband, Ray, for his patience, understand and all those shoulder and backrubs. I also want to thank all my friends for encouraging me to follow my love of writing, with special thanks Laura Osterfeld for allowing me see the world through her eyes.

Fleeting are the moments,

Between each breath,

That are wasted on hesitation,

Between life and death….by Laura Osterfeld

Chapter One: The Arrival

Death came to town driving a 1969, black Cadillac hearse. He pulled up in front of the aged motel and stepped from the vehicle. As he emerged from the driver's seat, he stood up and took a dire look around. He was tall and had a head of dark shoulder-length hair that blew in the wind as he pulled the collar of his worn duster up around his neck. He strode around the vehicle and into the lobby of the dated and well used building.

There was no desk clerk to greet him. He looked at the bell.

"I hate these damn bells," he mumbled to himself. "Hell must be full of these annoying damn things."

Just as he reached out to hit the bell, a young man ran around the corner blabbering something about where he had been and sorry he was not at the desk.

"Ok," said the desk clerk, out of breath. His hands were flailing in the air like one of those inflatable thingies.

"I take it you need a room! We have two beds or one bed to a room. No fancy stuff like 'fridges or coffee pots or microwaves. Coffee is always in the lobby if you want it. The Pit Stop has some pretty good food if your standards ain't too high. So what'le it be?" he finally paused for another breath.

"One bed, I won't be staying long and I pay cash," Stated the man.

“Your address and phone number, sir.” the desk clerk never looked up from the registration sheet.

“None. I will pay up front for each day that I am here.” The man’s tone held no room for arguments.

"Oh, ok, yes sir, we can do that!” The jittery desk clerk completed the paperwork and handed it to the man to sign.

"Logan Carreau; sounds like a southern name." He read the registration slip upside down as Logan signed. Logan did not look up. "Don't forget the Pit Stop now; business has been a little slow lately down there! To tell you the truth, business is a little slow all over town."

The Pit Stop restaurant was a slight bit slower than usual. It had just gotten robbed last week by a rather nice looking family passing through, so local people were a little spooked by strangers now. Of course, most people coming into town were strangers.

Logan prepared to leave the lobby and was summoned quickly back by the clerk.

"Excuse me, sir. You forgot the make and model of your vehicle. Just security, you know." The clerk had been working at the motel for two years and never once had he failed to complete registration paperwork. The address line read ‘transient – no address.’ Something had to go in that blank. Elliot Humphrey was a by-the-book kind of man. He was proud of his work and had the certificate to prove it, hanging right over the printer in the office. Other workers teased him but he knew they were just jealous. He would be a manager there one day. He just knew it, and when he was, he intended to make all twenty rooms more modern. He was installing one of those fancy shower heads in every bathroom and putting a microwave in the lobby next to the coffee pot.

“It's a 1969 black Cadillac...hearse." Logan added as he walked out the lobby door without looking back. Elliot took down the information.

Elliot looked out the window as the stranger left the lobby of the motel. He felt a chill run down his spine as the door closed. Sure enough there was a hearse parked right out in front of the motel. That had to be bad for business, thought Elliot.

Still, he stood gaping out the window with nosy interest as Logan pulled away from the front door in his Cadillac. He shook his head and wondered if there was any such thing as a normal person like himself any more.

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