Mint Chip & Murder

by Erin Huss

  "What happened to them?"

  "The McMillses gave them notices to vacate right before I got there. As a matter of fact, their old apartment was the first one we leased under Elder Property Management."

  Two young guys having parties, bringing women home, and doing drugs seemed like a good lead. Their information would be in the archives. I really needed to get ahold of those.

  "Speaking of unruly tenants," Patrick said, "have you spoken to Kevin?"

  "No!" Oops. I cleared my throat. "I mean, no." Kevin was the McMills's estranged son, and the occupant of Apartment 40 at the Los Angeles building.

  "Didn't he go to New York with you?"

  "Yes?"

  "Was that a question or an answer?"

  "Answer?"

  "If you see him, have him call me back, please."

  "I'll do that?"

  Amy gave me a sideways glance. I turned in my chair to face the window.

  "Please let me know about the archives," I said. "Thanks, Patrick. Bye." I hung up and opened my desk drawer. Not because I needed anything, but because I didn't want Amy to see my face.

  "Did something happen with Kevin?" she asked.

  I rearranged my bottom drawer, starting with the stacks of envelopes.

  "Cambria?"

  "Man, I really need to throw some of this stuff away."

  "Cambria!"

  I could feel Amy breathing down my neck.

  "Mommy!" Lilly called out. "Mommy, I'm done!" She skipped into the office. She looked like the Joker, with raspberry jam extending from the corners of her mouth. "Do you like my new doll, Auntie Amy? It's the Statute of Liberty."

  "Statue," I corrected while wiping her face using a tissue.

  "Don't you think it's pretty, Auntie Amy?" Lilly shoved the plush toy up to Amy's face.

  "It's so cool," Amy said with forced enthusiasm. "Creepier than my elephant, but whatever. Did your mommy bring this back for you?"

  "No. My daddy gave it to me."

  I could feel Amy's eyes beating into the side of my skull, so I continued to look busy by checking my phone to see if Chase had texted me back. Still no reply.

  "Did your daddy go to New York, too?" Amy asked Lilly.

  Three-year-olds cannot keep secrets.

  "I dunno if he did or not."

  Which is why we don't tell her anything.

  "Cambria Jane Clyne." Amy turned my chair, forcing me to face her. "Did Tom go to New York?"

  "No."

  "You're lying! There's no way he just so happened to buy her a Statue of Liberty doll. When did he go to New York?"

  I decided it was time to dust the counter.

  "Ooohhh, I see how it is." Amy tapped her foot. "Looks like the girl in the barrel isn't the only mystery that needs to be solved around here."

  I knew no matter how hard she tried, Amy would never figure out what had transpired. I was still trying to figure it out myself, and until I did: mum's the word.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Can prepare pertinent market surveys

  My grandma Ruthie used to say, "There is no better medication than a good night's rest." Which is great, except my brain doesn't have a power off button. I woke up in a bad mood. Ignoring my sore calf, I stomped to the office to start my day. There were several housekeeping items to deal with (rent, deposits, filing paperwork, going through messages, normal everyday manager stuff), before I could dive deeper into the woman in the barrel. Amy was snoozing on my couch, having stuck to her promise of not leaving until she knew what happened in New York. During our friendship, we'd mostly dealt with her relationship problems, not mine. She'd talk about it in an obsessive manner until the issue had passed.

  Me?

  Avoidance was my coping mechanism of choice when it came to dealing with issues of the opposite sex.

  And by avoidance I meant investing in a good spy movie, or binging my favorite crime show If Only, or eating ice cream. Not solving a murder. But that was what I had to work with.

  Oh, and the ice cream.

  Mint chip felt like a suitable breakfast. Dairy for my bones. Mint for my digestive system. Chocolate for my mood. I'd call that well-balanced.

  After looking more carefully over the files I'd brought home, I realized the barrel was located right above Apartment 4B. I waited until 8 a.m. to call the current resident, who had lived there for over twenty years. The conversation was riveting.

  Me: Have you ever gone into the attic?

  Resident: There's an attic?

  Me: Yes, there's attic access in your hallway.

  Resident: Where in the hallway?

  Me: In the ceiling.

  Resident: Huh?

  So that was a bust. My best bet was the resident prior, May Ashburd, who moved into the apartment in 1990 and moved out in 1996.

  "And who are you again?" May asked for the third time since she'd answered.

  "My name is Cambria Clyne, and I manage the apartment building in Burbank, where you used to live."

  "That place was a dive." May had the voice of a woman who'd punch you in the face if you looked at her wrong.

  "I'm happy to report it's turned around over the last few years. I'm calling because I'm curious if you ever happened to look in the attic?"

  "Why?"

  Excellent question. "I'm conducting a survey."

  The line went silent.

  "Hello?"

  I heard a door close, followed by the distinct slam of a toilet seat. "I may have peeked up there a few times," May finally said.

  "What did you see?"

  "There were big metal barrels. Made me nervous. What if there was an earthquake? They could fall through the ceiling and land on my head!"

  I felt like May and I could be friends, because that would have been my first thought. "How many were there?"

  "Five of them, right above my apartment."

  The toilet flushed, and I pretended not to notice because May held useful information. "Why did you look up there?"

  May washed her hands. I could hear the faucet running in the background. "I had neighbors from hell. They were loud, threw parties, had obnoxious friends, and they would drag big bags up and down the stairs at all hours of the night. They'd store those bags in the attic. They even had someone sleeping up there once."

  I thought back to the pillow I'd found near the barrel. "What apartment number was this?"

  "Apartment 2B. Alvin and Sherman. I never forget the names of people who annoyed the hell out of me."

  I shuffled through the stack of folders I'd brought home. No Alvin or Sherman. These must be the roommates Patrick mentioned. "Did you tell the manager?"

  "We had a few managers come and go, and none of them did anything. I'd see Mr. McMills there all the time, and I told him what Alvin and Sherman were up to. He gave a notice to all tenants saying we weren't allowed to go into the attic. Finally, he kicked them out right before the new management company took over."

  This was a great lead. "After Alvin and Sherman moved out, did you happen to look in the attic?"

  "Sure did." May's voice sounded far away, and I could hear dishes clanking in the background. She was quite productive when on the phone. "A few months before I moved out, I heard a scraping noise across the ceiling in the middle of the day. I worked nights back then at Warner Brothers, cleaning studios, and it woke me up. I checked to see what the Sam Hill was going on. And all those barrels were gone."

  "All but one, right?"

  "I didn't see any." So the barrels were moved after Patrick took over management. However, he claimed to have never been in the attic. How was he able to have the barrels moved if he didn't know they existed?

  "Do you know where the barrels were taken to?" I asked.

  "Not a dang clue."

  Shoot.

  "But I do know that the maintenance guy had to go up there a lot," May said. "He'd give me a day's notice, saying he had to use the attic access in my apartment. So damn annoying."

  Interesting
, but not suspicious. Anyone proficient with tools and construction wouldn't have built a wall with plywood and tape. Of course, if a person were desperate and rushed and had just killed a woman, they might not be in the right frame of mind to construct a wall…

  Note to self: Check maintenance logs.

  "Do you remember what month the barrels were moved?" If I could get my hands on the work orders, then I could see who moved them, where they went, and if one was left behind.

  "It would have been September. What kind of survey is this, anyway?"

  "A market survey," I said, which made absolutely no sense. Market surveys were conducted to collect information on rental prices and vacancies from other managers. Lucky for me, May didn't ask any questions. Instead, she continued to wash her dishes until I thanked her for her time and we hung up.

  Alvin and Sherman jumped to the top of my suspect list. A small part of me wanted to add Patrick's name right under the McMills's. I couldn't imagine Patrick killing anyone, but I'd been deceived before by people I trusted. If I were to find large barrels in the attic at either of the properties I managed, I would call Patrick before I moved them. Heck, if I owned a management company, and I was taking over a building, I'd do a full tour of all attics and storage closets to make sure everything was in order.

  Of course, May's timing could have been off, and maybe the barrels were gone before Patrick took over.

  I decided to call Patrick and run this by him. His voice mail answered on the first ring, and his mailbox was full. It wasn't like Patrick to not check his voice mails.

  I sent a text message instead, asking Patrick to call me back, and reminding him to ask Trevor McMills about the archived files. I'd like to take a look before Hampton and Chase used their badges to confiscate everything.

  I turned off my computer, put a sign in the window saying I'd return at one, and went into the apartment. Lilly was perched on Amy's back—who was still asleep—watching cartoons with the Statue of Liberty doll on her lap.

  "Why is her asleep on my couch?" Lilly asked.

  "It's she, and Aunt Amy is having a hard time dealing with the real world."

  "Shhhh!" Amy scolded and put the pillow over her head. "It's too early."

  "You ready to go rent apartments?" I tried to sound excited.

  I should have tried harder.

  Lilly responded with an exaggerated sigh. Accompanying me to work was not her favorite thing to do, and I couldn't blame her. No three-year-old wanted to be dragged around on apartment tours. Lucky for her (and me), this was her last day on the job. She started preschool tomorrow. We'd found a safe and somewhat affordable place right around the corner. I didn't want to spend her last day of no school dealing with a dead body, but if I wanted to live next door, then I had to make sure this didn't get out. Which meant staying ahead of the gossip and finding out who was in the barrel.

  Easier said than done.

  Lilly and I got dressed. Me in jeans, a blue T-shirt, and white Converse (my usual attire), and Lilly in a Captain Marvel costume. As a parent, I'd learned to pick and choose my battles. There were worse things in the world than dressing like an Avenger.

  We were gathering our stuff when there was a knock on the door.

  Amy threw the blankets off her head. "Who is here so freaking early in the morning?"

  I checked the peephole. "No one," I almost sang. "Go back to sleep."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To Burbank. Do you want to go shopping for a first day of school outfit for Lilly later?"

  "Obviously."

  "Good. I'll be back around one. Or you can go home, and I'll meet you at your place."

  "What happened in New York?"

  "Bye." I opened the door wide enough for Lilly and me to squeeze outside.

  "Why are you sneaking out of your apartment?" Chase asked, standing in front of the door with a grocery bag and a pink donut box.

  "Aunt Amy is having a hard time adjusting to the real world," said Lilly.

  Chase looked to me for clarification.

  "She's asleep on my couch. Boyfriend is out of town. Apparently, third place on Celebrity Tango doesn't do much for your career." I pushed past him, keeping my eyes on the carports.

  Chase caught up. "What's the rush?"

  "Amy doesn't know about New York, and I don't want to tell her," I said, low enough for Lilly not to hear.

  We passed my upstairs neighbor Mickey, who was up and walking the property, muttering to himself—something about government conspiracies and corrupt cops—the usual. Chase, Lilly, and I stopped to wave then kept walking.

  "Why aren't you telling Amy?" Chase asked.

  "Because…wait a second." I suddenly remembered. "You never did text me back. Please, please, tell me you didn't agree to a double date with Hampton and Silvia."

  "He's my partner."

  "You didn't answer my question."

  "I brought ice cream." He held up the bag. "Mint chip, french vanilla, rocky road, and double fudge."

  I tried to roll my eyes, but I was only partially successful.

  "And I came with news about the girl in the barrel," he said.

  This got my attention. "What's the latest?"

  Chase held up the bag and box. "Pick your poison. Ice cream or donut?"

  "That bad?"

  "You're going to want coping mechanisms."

  Great.

  My gut said, "No, no, please no! Stop eating. Make it all go away."

  My mouth said, "Donut." I grabbed a glazed cruller, my favorite kind of donut and detective, hehe. "Go ahead and give it to me."

  "Dental records won't be helpful in the case, because the victim didn't have teeth."

  I went ahead and shoved the rest of the donut into my mouth and grabbed another. "Why the heck didn't she have teeth? Was she old?"

  "No, preliminary results put her between thirty-five and forty."

  The donut hit my stomach like a brick. Ugh. I felt awful. Poor thirty-something-year-old, petite, toothless woman. "Do you think the"—I looked down at Lilly, who had wrapped herself around my leg, and was intently paying attention—"the k-i-l-l-e-r removed the teeth?"

  "Yes and no. She had bone resorption and two implant posts, which is consistent with someone who had a fixed denture. We think the killer removed her dentures."

  "Thirty-something is young to have dentures. Right?" I ran my tongue across my teeth, trying to remember if I brushed this morning.

  "There's more," Chase said. "They ruled the cause of death blunt force trauma to the head."

  Oh man, this was getting worse by the minute. I knew from my crime shows that blunt force trauma to the head was typically a crime of passion. Which meant the victim was likely in a heated argument when she got clocked. A lovers' quarrel? An argument with a neighbor? The manager? The maintenance man? The owner of the building? Or had she been in one of the bags Sherman and Alvin dragged up to their apartment and stored in the attic?

  "Do they have any idea who she was?" I asked.

  "No. There was no identification on her. Fingerprints won't be helpful because the body is too badly decomposed. She was dressed too nice to be homeless. Her clothing dated her to the midnineties. They believe she was of Hispanic descent. No exact date on her death. It could take up to a year to gather more information. Hampton wanted me to give you a heads-up, because they're going to release the story to the press."

  Great. Just great. What was I supposed to do, though? Justice was more important than a pay increase, financial security, nicer apartment, career advancement, and vision insurance.

  "You're not even going to try to figure out who she was first?" That just sounded like lazy detective-ing to me.

  "Of course we are, Cambria. We have very little to go off of right now. Hampton called Patrick and the McMillses, but he hasn't heard from either of them."

  "The McMillses are on a yacht in Mexico, and I spoke to Patrick last night. He didn't know much. When is the story releasing?"

/>   "Thursday."

  "Thursday?" I perked up. "As in the day after tomorrow?"

  "Yes, they want to run a few more tests. We're going to see how those pan out."

  "I can work with Thursday! I already have a few leads."

  Chase arched an eyebrow. "If you have leads, then you should give them to me."

  "Probably a good idea. I'll text you the information I found out this morning about the roommates in Apartment 2B. The more people we have working on the case, the better."

  "The LAPD is happy to assist you."

  "Good." I winked and went in for a kiss, when Lilly smacked me on the stomach. "Ouch. What's wrong?"

  "Can me go now?"

  "It's we, and in a minute."

  "Before you go"—Chase bent down and opened the pink box—"I picked out a unicorn donut just for you, Captain."

  Lilly cowered behind me.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "Nothing." She dug her face into my thigh. This was very unlike her. She loved Chase. Especially when he had sugar.

  "Lilly." I tried to pry her off my leg, but she had a tight grip. "Come on, Lilly."

  "Tell him to go away!"

  "Lilly," I scolded. "Stop that."

  "It's fine." Chase closed the box and stood up. "I get it," he said, but I could tell he was hurt. How could he not be?

  "It's not fine." I pried Lilly off my leg and took a knee so I could be at eye level. She pouted her bottom lip, red in the cheeks. "It's not OK to be rude when grown-ups are talking to you. If you don't want a donut, that is fine. You say, 'no, thank you.'"

  I could almost see the little wheels in her head turning. A part of me wanted to kiss her on the cheek because she was so dang cute, but I didn't want her to grow up to be a butthead. Los Angeles had enough of those walking around. I had to remain firm.

  "Got it?" I tried again.

  "OK." She looked up at Chase with her big hazel eyes. "Can you please go away forever? And can I have the unicorn donut, please?"

  Horrified is the only word I could use to describe how I felt. I'd never seen Lilly be so rude towards anyone, let alone Chase, whom she adored.

  At least, she used to adore.

  "Here you go, Captain Marvel." He handed her the unicorn donut, which was really a glazed jelly-filled with rainbow sprinkles on top.