by Erin Huss
"I'm so sorry."
"What do you have to say sorry for?"
"It's my fault. He heard I'd interviewed next door, and it seems to be the straw that broke the camel's back."
Mrs. Nguyen squeezed my arm. "If that made him quit, then we don't want to work for him anyway. You deserve to move up in your career."
But they didn't deserve to lose theirs. "What will you do?"
"My sister has been begging us to move to New Mexico to be closer to her. It might be time to leave California. This state is getting crazy anyway. I'm tired of being charged for every little thing."
I felt light-headed with panic. "You can't leave!"
"We're getting old, and it's too expensive around here. Do you know I paid five dollars a gallon to fill up my car yesterday? Robbery."
"B-b-b-but…" I couldn't think of a rebuttal. She was right. Los Angeles was expensive. If my job hadn't included housing, I have no idea how I would have put food on the table. But… "You can't leave!"
"Nothing is set in stone. Calm down. You are making me anxious."
I couldn't calm down. Not now. If I'd known I'd lose the Nguyens, I would have torn up Dr. Dashwood's card and never given the job a second thought. "What about Lilly?" Perhaps I could guilt her into changing her mind. "She'll miss you too much."
"We think of Lilly as our grandchild. It would be hard, but don't get ahead of yourself. We need to lose the job first."
"Right." I wiped a tear because of course I was crying. How could I do life without the Nguyens close by? They were my neighbors when I had Lilly. Mrs. Nguyen taught me how to parent. They were family. I could not lose them.
I would not lose them.
"No," I said, feeling a surge of determination. "This is not going to happen. I will fix this." I marched to the door.
"What are you going to do?" Mrs. Nguyen asked.
"I have a plan."
OK, not so much a plan, but I had an idea.
Well, more so a long shot.
First, I had to make sure this woman in the barrel story didn't get out to the press. Otherwise my plan would not work.
* * *
When I got back to my apartment, Kevin and Amy were in the exact spots I'd left them. "We need to leave," I said, and stormed to my office.
Amy blinked a few times. "Where are we going?"
"To the Reena Hike book signing. It's tonight. Remember?"
"Oh, good." Amy reached over and yanked her book from Kevin's hands.
"Hey, I was reading that."
"I want Reena to sign these," she said.
"We're meeting Reena?" Kevin asked.
"Honestly, you two don't listen to a word I say." I flung open my office door and grabbed my phone, which I'd left on my desk. A scrap of paper near my calculator caught my attention.
Francis Holland, Tammy Whitewood, and Larissa Lopez.
I dropped to my chair, the paper clutched in my hand. Larissa. These were the women from the missing person website. I knew Larissa sounded familiar. Just as I was sure there were a lot of women named Larissa.
I pulled up the missing person website once again and scrolled down until I found her. Larissa Lopez. The same last name as so many of the roommates who had lived in Apartment 11A. She fit the description of the woman in the barrel perfectly. Petite. Only five foot two. She had a thin and vibrant face with dark hair and dark eyes. Larissa was only twenty years old and last seen on October 23, 1978, in Los Angeles, California.
She certainly matched the description of the woman in the barrel, except for the fact that she had almost all her teeth. But the timing didn't work at all. Although…I crunched the numbers on my calculator. Larissa would have been in her midthirties in 1996, when only four barrels were moved.
I went to Google and searched Larissa Lopez disappearance and landed on a page called The Charley Project. A website that profiled over 13,000 cold missing person cases. Larissa's profile gave the same information as the government page did.
Date missing: October 23, 1978
Missing from: Los Angeles
Classification: missing
Date of birth: August 20, 1958
Age: 20 years old
Height and weight: 5'2, 101 pounds
Distinguishing characteristics: has a brown front tooth and is missing both canine teeth.
Details of disappearance: Lopez was last seen at a Charlotte Russe department store in Los Angeles, California on October 23, 1978. She has not been heard from since. Few details are available on this case.
Shoot.
* * *
We drove to Hollywood. My mind churned over the information I'd discovered about Larissa. There were a lot of holes in that theory. She was too young when she went missing, and she had most of her teeth. Could she have been kidnapped? Held hostage for eighteen years until she was finally killed? What kidnapper would pay for teeth implants for a fixed denture? This could be a farfetched idea, or this could be a possibility. I'd sent a text to Chase, asking him to call me as soon as the detectives finished with Sherman. If he was already in prison, he might have confessed to other crimes.
Right?
Hollywood and Highland was exceptionally busy, and I ended up having to pay twenty dollars to park five blocks away. The line to meet Reena was already down the street and around the corner. Luckily, we had our front-of-the-line pass, which I flashed to the security guard at the door. We were escorted to the back of the store, where Reena Hike sat behind a table with her books proudly displayed. She was older than her picture on the internet, but she had the same purple streaked hair and wore a tight pleather jumpsuit.
"Welcome to the Horror Eclipse." Reena had a husky voice. "Thank you for coming."
Amy shoved me out of the way, and I nearly tumbled into a shelf carrying fake machetes.
At least, I think they were fake.
"You have no idea what your books mean to me." Amy was on the verge of tears. "I personally relate to Zankla's best friend, Meola. I'm an actress. You might have seen me on Ghost Confidential or Celebrity Tango." She placed her stack of books in front of Reena. "I'm a huge fan."
"Congratulations," Reena said, not bothering to look up, and began signing the inside of Amy's paperbacks. I took the opportunity to step in.
"My name is Cambria Clyne, and I'm the apartment manager for the Burbank building you used to manage."
Reena froze with the pen in her hand and gazed up. "Cambria Clyne?"
"Yes. And this is Kevin McMills." I cocked a thumb towards Kevin and did a double take. He had a purple dot on his forehead. Not sure where that came from or what exactly it meant.
"I'm with the werewolves," he said, as if this explained everything.
Anyway. "He's also a fan of the series," I said to Reena. "I'd like to talk to you about your time as a manager. Not now, of course. But if you have time afterward or if we could chat on the phone…" my voice trailed off. Mostly because Reena's face had blanched.
Amy put her mouth up to my ear. "Don't tick her off, please. I need this part."
I wasn't trying to, but I suspected she knew something.
After a pause, Reena snapped the book closed, looking more composed. "We're having a launch party in the back as soon as I'm done. Meet me there."
"Sure." That was easy.
Almost too easy.
I thanked her profusely, and we were escorted through beaded curtains. The room was dim, the walls were dark, and the black lights hurt my eyes. Pictures of the main characters were displayed on easels, and there was a sandwich station filled with delicious-looking meats.
Don't mind if I do.
I checked my phone to see if Chase had texted me back. Nope. All I had was an email from Silvia Kravitz—once again—confirming our dinner reservations for Friday at six o'clock. Ugh.
"This place is awesome." Amy had a pink cocktail in her hand and a purple dot on her forehead.
Note to self: Read the books.
I felt left out.
Kevin walked up behind her, cracking open a Coke. "This place is like an acid trip." He took a sip of his soda then spewed it all over my face.
"Kevin!" I was drenched. Gross.
Amy put a hand over her drink. "What did you do that for?"
I grabbed a napkin from the table and followed Kevin's gaze. "Oh, my gosh."
On an easel was a picture of a frowny old man with a purple face and red teardrops sliding down his cheeks. Underneath was the name of the character: Enest McMall.
"I've never heard of him before," Amy said. "He must not appear until book twelve."
I swiped a book displayed on a table and read the back.
Tarian people…werewolves…yada, yada, yada…up against the greedy landlord, Enest McMall.
Wow. Subtle. Real subtle.
"What do you make of this?" I asked Kevin.
It was hard to tell in the dark lighting, but he appeared to be crying.
"Oh, Kevin." Amy gave him a hug, careful not to spill her drink. "Don't be sad."
Suddenly, he burst into an all-consuming, noiseless laughter.
"What is so funny?" I asked.
"The…the…the…" He sucked in a breath. "That's freaking hilarious. My dad is in the book."
"You don't know it's your dad," Amy said.
"His name is Ernest McMills," I said.
"Well then, yeah, it's your dad." She took a sip of her drink.
I put the book down when I heard a "Psst" and looked around. It was Reena, hidden behind one of the easels, gesturing for me to follow her.
"But what about—" I started to say, but Reena had already walked away. It was hard to see in the dark room, but the purple streaks in her hair glowed under the black lights, and I followed her out the back door.
We stepped into an alleyway. Reena rushed me and shoved me backwards. I lost my footing and fell into a pile of trash bags.
"What are you—"
She slapped a hand over my mouth. I smacked her arm away and rolled off the pile.
"You're not going anywhere." Reena grabbed my belt loop and pulled me back. "I refuse to be bullied."
Bullied? She must not understand what the definition of a bully is. Holy hell, this woman was nuts! If this was what years of property management did to a person, I quit.
"You're the one who attacked me!" I elbowed her in the ribs, and she stumbled into the wall, holding her side. We were both out of breath and staring at each other, calculating our next move. I checked over my shoulder. The alleyway had a dead end. I'd have to go past Reena to get out of there. So I made a run for it.
She was surprisingly fast for a woman wearing pleather. "You can tell the McMillses that I will write whatever I want!" She had me in a headlock.
I stomped on her foot, and she loosened her grip. "I'm…not telling the…McMillses anything," I choked out. "I work for a property management company."
"You don't get to dictate what I write."
"You're…being…ridiculous," I rasped, still in a chokehold, and I bit her arm. What can I say? I fight scrappy.
Reena let me go, and I fell to my hands and knees and crawled behind the dumpster for cover.
"You have some nerve," she said. "I cannot believe you brought a McMills to my launch party. Neo was wrong about you!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Kevin is estranged from his parents. He hasn't spoken to them since they kicked him out when he was eighteen. He hates them just as much as you apparently do."
Silence fell, and I dared to look around the dumpster. Reena was out of breath. Her forehead glistened, and she had a pipe in her hand. Yikes.
"He's Dolores and Ernest's child?" Her voice had less of an edge to it. "I thought he was the trustee."
"No, you're thinking of Trevor McMills. He's the lawyer over the trust."
Reena dropped the pipe. I staggered to my feet, keeping my arms up, ready to attack. This woman was wacko.
"Sorry for being a little aggressive," she said.
A little aggressive? That was like saying the sun was a little hot.
She drew in a breath, unzipped her jumpsuit slightly, and fanned her face. "You have to understand where I am coming from. I get a letter from the McMills's attorney at least once a month, threatening to ruin me if I don't stop writing."
"From Trevor?" It was hard to imagine Trevor threatening anyone.
"They can't touch me, though," Reena said. "I created a world, and sure, I drew from my own experiences, but who is to say it's the McMills I'm writing about?"
"Your villain is named Enest McMall."
"Pfft." She waved, dismissing my statement. "It could be anyone."
Sure.
"Put your hands down," she said, as if I were being ridiculous. "I'm not going to touch you. My old maintenance guy, Neo, told me you'd be coming by. He also told me about the woman in the barrel found in the attic. You think Sherman or Alvin from Apartment 2B had something to do with it?"
I eyed the closest exit points. "When did he tell you?"
"Yesterday. He called while I was here doing a book signing. Said it was urgent."
"Is that why you left early?"
She nodded. "I had to check on something."
"Did you go to the Burbank building?"
"No, I hate that place."
"Then what did you need to check on?"
Reena sized me up, as if deciding if she could trust me. "Manager to manager?"
That was code for "between you and me." At least, I thought it was. No one had actually said "manager to manager" to me before. Anyway. "Sure."
"I had to check with my lawyer before I talked to the cops," she said. "I don't need nothing jeopardizing my livelihood."
"Are you saying that… What exactly are you saying?"
"Working at the Burbank building was a stressful situation. I'm able to talk about my experiences now openly without using names. It's been therapeutic."
Ah. Got it. "So you don't want to talk to the police because you don't want to risk fans finding out how close to the truth your books are?"
"Bingo."
"Do you know anything about this woman?"
She let out a short laugh. "Let me tell you something about Ernest McMills. That man was the biggest cheapskate I'd ever met. When we had a vacancy, he'd give me a forty-dollar budget to turn the unit. Forty bucks! Then he'd get upset when it didn't rent right away."
I wasn't following. "So you think he killed the woman in the barrel?"
"Nah, he wasn't the violent type. He was just annoying. My point is, the man hated parting with his money. Then one day, out of the blue, he announced that they'd formed a trust and were grooming his nephew to take over. And between you and me, that kid was an idiot. Total meathead jock-type. I know he played football, and I think he took too many hits to the head. I have no idea how he graduated high school, let alone college. It made no sense for Dolores and Ernest to pass their fortune down to him."
"I think they were having problems with their son," I said, unsure of why I suddenly felt the need to defend the McMillses. Could be because she called Trevor a meathead when I rather liked him. Not that I'd say that in front of Reena. She'd probably stab me.
"I heard that, too. Sad story, actually. But back to Sherman and Alvin. We ended up giving them a thirty-day notice right before Elder Management took over. Their apartment was the last one I had to turn there."
This was a lot of information to mull over. The timing of everything, from Trevor taking over, Sherman and Alvin getting kicked out, Kevin being disowned, and Patrick entering the picture. I knew they happened around the same time. But it appeared they all happened at the same time.
"What about Dolores?" I asked. "His wife."
"Mrs. McMills didn't come around much. When she did, I hid. She talked down to Neo and me like we were the help. The Dolorad Witch of the Tarian Clan is based on her. The real Dolores complained about ever
ything. Captain Tightwad was easier to deal with."
I assumed Captain Tightwad was Ernest. It was hard to keep up with the real names, fictional names, and nicknames. "Do you think Sherman or Alvin killed this woman in the barrel?"
"Sherman was a loose cannon. Horrible temper. If there were a problem, I'd wait for Alvin to get home. Once, Sherman broke a step with one of those damn black bags filled with set props that they'd drag to and from their apartment. I handed him an invoice, saying he'd need to pay for the repair. It was like he was possessed. His eyes went black, and he cursed me out. I told Ernest about the encounter, and he brushed it off. He didn't care. The day Sherman left was one of happiest days of my time as a property manager. Then, about a week later, a woman came around asking for him. This was right before I was fired."
I wanted to ask why she was fired, but then I remembered what Neo said. Elder Property Management took over, and he let everyone go. Also, I didn't want to ruin her concentration.
"I was inspecting Apartment 2B," she continued, "when the woman showed up. She was dressed real cute. Had on black flowy pants with white feathers printed near the bottom, and a sheer white shirt. I remember asking her where she got her clothes. Then I went and bought myself a pair of those pants, and they set me back almost sixty bucks. Anyway. She wanted to know where Sherman was. I told her that he'd moved out and I couldn't legally give her his forwarding address, and she left. She said they were friends back in the day, and she had come into town and needed his help. I asked what kind of help, assuming it had something to do with the movie business. She wouldn't say. Then two days later, I was there cleaning out my office when I heard two people arguing. It was the new property manager…what was his name?"
A lump formed in my throat. "Do you mean Patrick?"
"That's right. Patrick Elder. He and the woman were having a heated discussion. I totally eavesdropped because…well, why not? The fight was over a child. She wanted to see her kid, and he told her that was impossible. She kept pressing and pressing and crying and crying. I remember he was empathetic, but kept saying it was impossible."
