CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The next morning, Max contemplated the names of the three owners of the Blue Moon Motel Orville found. “Never heard of any of them.” He munched on corn flakes.
“You sure?” Orville chewed eggs beside him at the kitchen table.
He’d decorated the kitchen as an island hut with tons of wicker, bright oranges, neon greens and citrus yellows.
“These are rich men,” Orville said. “Figured you might have a history with one of them.”
“Nope.” Max gobbled more cereal. “Just because these guys own the motel doesn’t mean they’re involved. The killer might’ve been a guest there.”
“True, but you have to cover all angles. He could work there and an owner or someone hired him to frame you.”
“Or the killer has a beef with me himself.” Max swallowed. “Could be someone I used to deal w
