The Legend of Joe Moran
Chapter 9"Where?" was all Jeff Spencer could ask.
"Hattiesburg, Mississippi. That's where Terry Moran O'Bannon told me he lived before he moved to Terre Haute." Stu wasn't a whole lot happier than his partner there was another step, another place, another day in the search for Joe Moran. Especially when it seemed Bailey was going in reverse rather than forward. But he'd come this far to discover . . . what exactly was it he was trying to find? Some hint of where Joe Moran might have gone when he left Audrey, or some reason why Moran married redheads and then vanished on them? Or, at this point in time, where it started? What made him this way? Stu was certain he would end up in Glenwood, Arkansas, so what prevented him from traveling there instead of Mississippi?
In the years he'd been a private investigator he'd learned that sometimes you have to move backward to move forward, and that's what he was trying to do eventually . . . move forward. But hopscotching around the country was wearing him out. He knew he was going to need a rest soon, and it was probably going to be in Hattiesburg. "Listen, I know what it sounds like, but I have to do this, Jeff."
Spencer knew better than to question Bailey's judgment. Stu had a nose for uncovering people no one else could find or clues no one else could see. This might sound like a wild goose chase, but Stu knew what he was doing. At least Jeff hoped he did. "I suppose you want to talk to Suzanne?"
"That would be an excellent idea. I'll give you the whole story later." Jeff could hear the weariness in his partner's voice, the curiosity, the determination to solve the problem. But he heard something else there, too, for the first time. Confusion.
"Stu, is everything alright? You sound – I'm not sure what to call it. Odd."
Stuart almost laughed. Jeff couldn't begin to know how right he was . . . odd was the best way Stu himself could describe it. He tried to sound like the man Jeff Spencer was used to hearing. Whether he succeeded or not was a question only Jeff could answer. "I'm just tired. Tired of airplanes and hotels and places I've never been and probably never will be again. Switch me over to the classy part of Bailey and Spencer, would you? I've got to get out of Indiana."
Jeff buzzed their receptionist on the intercom. "Suzanne, Stu's on line two."
"Bonjour, Stuart. Where are you going this time?"
"Get me as close to Hattiesburg, Mississippi as you can, Suzanne."
Suzanne was gone more than a minute or two this time. When she came back she didn't have good news. "I can get you into Biloxi or Jackson, Stuart, but you will have to drive to Hattiesburg from either one."
"Which ones closest, Suzanne?" He wasn't looking forward to a drive after a flight.
There was sympathy in Suzanne's voice when she gave him the answer. "They're about equal distance from Hattiesburg. The flight into Biloxi leaves in 90 minutes. The flight into Jackson leaves at ten tonight."
It wasn't a difficult decision. The sooner Stu got in Hattiesburg the sooner he could get some much-needed rest. "Biloxi, Suzanne."
"Hold on, Stuart. Let me confirm."
Another two-minute delay. Then that delightful French accent again. "You are confirmed on TWA Flight 478, leaving in 88 minutes, from Gate 12 in Terre Haute. Flying time approximately four hours. I had to book you in Frst Class, Stuart. That's all that was available for twenty-four hours."
"What about the flight to Jackson?" Stuart would love to fly first class but he wasn't sure Audrey Moran would pay for it.
"Hold, please." This time Suzanne was back quickly. "All seats are sold."
Stu sighed. He'd work out the expense account when he returned to California. "Alright. I'll be on the flight to Biloxi. Thanks, Suzanne. Tell Jeff . . . "
"I know, Stuart. I'll tell Jeff you'll call him in the morning."
"Thanks, Suzanne. You're the best."
Stu hurried in to take a shower and shave. When that was finished he chose his clothes carefully; he had four hours of airplane flight and who knew how many hours of driving before he could get some rest. He dressed casually, comfortably, then finished packing. Checking out, driving back to the airport and turning in his rental car were all accomplished with as much speed and efficiency as he could muster. He had enough time to grab a quick bite, so he found someplace in the airport that he could get a hamburger and a cup of coffee. When he was finished he found Gate 12, picked up his ticket, and waited for boarding to begin. He didn't have to wait long.
First Class boarded first, and Stuart settled into his seat comfortably and relaxed just a bit. He couldn't afford to go to sleep now, lest he not be awake enough to make the drive to Hattiesburg. He found a stewardess and asked if she had the latest newspapers; she responded that she had both a Terre Haute paper and a Biloxi paper. He settled for the paper from Biloxi. Once they'd taken off he was offered his choice of beverage and was handed a menu for dinner. He passed on food but requested a cup of coffee.
Everything was smooth until they'd been up in the air for about two hours, when the Fasten Seat Belts and No Smoking signs came on. The next thing they heard was the pilot's voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've turned on the Seat Belt sign in anticipation of what may be ahead for us. There are thunderstorms between here and Biloxi we're hoping to avoid, but we want to make sure our passengers are safe in case of turbulence. We'll let you know when we have a further update. Thank you."
Stu went back to his paper. There was no sense worrying about something that might not happen. Almost thirty minutes passed before there was more information. "Folks, this is the captain. I'm sorry to report we're unable to alter course enough to avoid the storms. We could be in for a bit of a roller coaster ride, but there's nothing to worry about. Please keep your seatbelts fastened. Thank you."
Great, Stu thought, not looking forward to the turbulence. Maybe I should have waited for a flight to Jackson. He'd no sooner finished his ruminations than the plane dipped left before righting itself. It was the beginning of what could best be termed a bumpy ride. For the next thirty minutes they dipped, dropped, and rolled as much as any flight Stu had ever been on. If he was fighting sleep at the beginning of the trip he no longer had that problem. He was wide awake.
Stu wasn't a nervous flyer; he'd done so much of it that very little disturbed him. This flight did. He kept waiting for the weather to even out and stop tossing the plan around like a rubber ball, but that didn't happen until the plane began its descent into Biloxi. Stu breathed a sigh of relief and handed the newspaper to the stewardess when she passed. She smiled at him and he smiled back. He was more than relieved to be landing.
Once he'd retrieved his suitcase and travel bag he went to the car rental counter. In another fifteen minutes he was behind the wheel of a 1960 Ford Thunderbird, with a cup of coffee and a map in his possession. It shouldn't take him more than 90 minutes to make the drive to Hattiesburg.
Closer to two hours later he arrived in Hattiesburg and went looking for a hotel. It took him a few minutes but he finally found The Hattiesburg Motor Inn and pulled into the parking lot. One he'd gotten checked in he took his baggage up to the room. It wasn't anywhere near as luxurious as the Great Northern had been, but it wasn't bad, and it was clean. Stu unpacked and hung up his suits, leaving the shirts that needed laundering in the bag provided and sent them down the laundry shoot, per instructions.
He called the front desk and told them to hold his calls, then laid down on the bed. It was comfortable and that was all he required. Within minutes he was asleep. The next time he opened his eyes it would be morning in the deep South.