Mint Chip & Murder

by Erin Huss

  "Larissa Lopez disappeared in 1978," Hampton said for the fifth time since he arrived. "The timing doesn't work."

  "Reena said the woman, Lara, looked nice. Like she had money," I said.

  "Who would give her money?"

  "I don't know. The married man she was sneaking around with? What I do know is that Larissa Lopez knew Sherman in Apartment 2B. She did disappear in 1978. Then a woman matching Larissa's description shows up eighteen years later, dressed nice, looking for Sherman. Then argued with Patrick about a child. Now we have a dead woman in a barrel wearing the same outfit that this Lara woman was last seen in. I think Larissa is Lara, and I think someone must have paid her to disappear."

  Chase was studying his hands while I gave Hampton all the information. "If she had money, why was she wearing the same outfit?"

  An excellent question. One I didn't have an answer to. I had zero experience having money. "I don't know. You should ask Reena. Just be careful—make sure you don't mention the McMillses."

  Chase looked at me. "Why?"

  Uh. "She doesn't like them. That's all."

  Hampton twisted his mouth and turned his attention to me. "You're saying that Larissa Lopez disappeared for almost twenty years, reappeared, and then was killed?"

  I felt like saying seriously man, have you not been listening to me the entire time? Instead I said, "It's a strong possibility," because even if he did wear his pants high, and he was dating my nightmare of a resident, and I was being forced to go on a double date, he was still a put-his-life-on-the-line-to-protect-and-serve-every-day cop. He deserved respect.

  "We need to speak to Maria tomorrow," Chase said.

  "Why wait until tomorrow? I have her number." My phone was already out, the line ringing in my ear, when I realized it was almost ten thirty. A little late, but this was important.

  "Hola?" Maria answered, her voice throaty, like she'd just been jolted awake. Oops.

  "Hi, Maria. It's Cambria—"

  Hampton snatched the phone from my grasp and left the room.

  "Hey, what did he do that for?"

  "Cambria, you have to remember this is an active investigation, and despite what you think, you are not a detective."

  "Pffft. I should be."

  "We don't know anything for sure. And please don't talk about this to anyone." He gave me a look of warning.

  I pretended to zip my lips.

  Hampton returned. "Maria confirmed Larissa, who also went by Lara, disappeared in 1978. She did suspect Larissa was pregnant right before she vanished."

  A horrid thought crept into my mind. What if Patrick was the father? What if they had a child? What if she returned and he killed her? Oh, no. I gasped so loudly, Chase smacked my back, assuming I'd just choked on my ice cream. Because, of course, I had a gallon of mint chip out. This was stressful!

  "No…no…" I huffed out. "I'm fine. It's just…you don't think…" I didn't want to utter the words, but I had to. "You don't think she was in a relationship with Patrick. Do you? And this was all an awful attempt to cover up an affair?"

  Chase and Hampton shared a look. Hampton gave his head a slight nod. Chase returned the nod, and the two headed right for the door.

  Guess that is a yes?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Wingman

  It was hard to sleep for multiple reasons. One being that Amy was in my bed, snoring. The other was the thought of Patrick down at the police station, being grilled by Chase and Hampton. Even if Patrick decided not to quit, and I kept my job, and this whole Cedar Creek business never happened. My boyfriend interrogating my boss would surely have put a damper on our professional relationship.

  I only hoped they hadn't completely discounted Sherman. The man was in jail for assault. Clearly he was capable of heinous crimes. He could have done this. The child Lara was speaking of could have been his. Why Patrick would have been involved was beyond me. According to both Reena and Patrick, the two unruly roommates had been kicked out before he even started working there.

  I couldn't figure out what the connection between the three was.

  The ceiling creaked when my upstairs neighbor, Mickey, got out of bed for his midnight bathroom break. I heard his thump, thump, thump across his bedroom floor, the slam of the toilet seat, and the whoosh of the toilet flushing.

  Gotta love multifamily living.

  I threw the covers off and walked myself to the bathroom. Though I didn't have to go. Instead, I splashed my face with water a few times and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My blue eyes were cradled in bags, and my face was void of color. If I hadn't had a pulse, I'd have sworn I was dead.

  After a few more splashes of water, I determined sleep was not an option. I grabbed my pillow and was about to go to the living room when I heard the faint vibrating sound of my phone on the nightstand. This late, it was either the emergency line or news of the woman in the barrel.

  I scrambled to answer before the call went to voice mail. Kevin?

  "Hello," I whispered, tip-toeing out of the room.

  "I'm at your door," Kevin said. "Open up."

  "Why are you at my door?"

  "I'll tell you when you open it."

  I put my eye up to the peephole. "What have I told you about wearing clothes when you walk around the property?" I angry whispered.

  "Open the damn door."

  Fine. Fine. "Fine." As soon as I turned off the alarm and unlocked the deadbolt, Kevin exploded into the room. Face red, fists clenched, mouth swearing. He had on a pair of red boxers with Groom printed across the butt.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "My sperm donor. That's what."

  "Huh?"

  "My father. Dad. Pop. Parent. Padre. Papa. Forebearer. He's a hypocrite." Kevin punched my table.

  "Please don't take out your frustration on my furniture," I said.

  "I want to hit something," he said through gritted teeth. "Rip something to shreds."

  "Hold on." I ran back to my room and grabbed the elephant. "Go for it."

  Kevin yanked the plush toy from my grasp and ripped its head off. It snowed stuffing as he continued to dismember the animal limb by limb, muttering profanity under his breath.

  I decided to wait until he finished before I asked what had happened.

  It took a while.

  …still waiting…

  I scooped us each a bowl of ice cream for when he finished.

  …still waiting…

  I polished off my bowl.

  …still waiting…

  I went ahead and ate Kevin's bowl, my eyes wide as I watched him shred the last bit of the stuffed animal.

  He turned to face me, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Thanks."

  "No problem."

  "That felt good."

  "I'm glad."

  He looked around the room, taking in the mess he'd just made. "The kid's not going to cry over this, right?"

  "No. She didn't like that thing anyway."

  "Good. Because I didn't want to hear her get all whiney and you get all crazy."

  I rolled my eyes. "Care to share why you showed up at my door in the middle of the night to mutilate my child's toy?"

  "My dad is a hypocrite!"

  "Caught that. How?"

  Kevin marched to the kitchen and grabbed the box of generic Cheerios then searched the cabinet for a bowl. "When I told my parents I was gay, they freaked out. Told me it was immoral and all this crap. Then they sent me to a therapist who tried to treat me." He returned to the table with a mixing bowl filled to the brim with cereal. "When that didn't work, they exiled me here, and I haven't heard from them since. Immoral, Cambria."

  "So you had all this pent-up anger, and now you're finally releasing it?" I asked, trying to understand why the sudden rage. Kevin typically laughed his problems away.

  "Stop trying to overanalyze my feelings. I'm mad because my dad had an affair."

  "What? When did you find this out?"

  "It's
in the book!"

  I rubbed my temples. "Kevin, the book isn't a biography."

  "Listen to me," Kevin said, his mouth full. "I'd heard my parents fighting before. My mom had accused him of sleeping around with tenants. I was young, and I didn't think too much of it because who doesn't sleep with their tenants?"

  I raised my hand.

  "In the book, Enst McMall was a womanizer who slept with both the women and men."

  "You don't know that it's true," I said.

  "Wait a second!" I started to put two and two together. "You think your dad had an affair with the roommates from El Salvador?"

  "Between the book and the argument my parents had? Sure. He accused me of being immoral when he was the most immoral of us all!"

  Reena hadn't mentioned Ernest McMills having an affair with the women in Apartment 11A. However, I didn't ask. We'd never talked about the women from El Salvador. My mind worked to make sense of this. Which was hard to do, given the fact it was midnight. There was still the screaming woman with a limp from Apartment 14B. I had no idea how she factored into this. "Do you think your dad had an affair with Larissa?"

  "Who?"

  "Honestly, do you listen to anything I say to you?"

  "Every few words. You talk a lot."

  I sucked in a breath and started, "Larissa is Lara and…you're not listening to me." His eyes were practically rolled up into his head.

  "When you start a sentence with a big gulp of air, I know it's going to take forever."

  I smacked my forehead. "We think the woman in the barrel is Larissa Lopez who disappeared in 1978. She was in a relationship with a married man…" I had to speak to Reena again. It was late, but the party had been just getting started when we left. There was a good chance she was up.

  If only I had her phone number.

  Wait one minute.

  I may not have her phone number, but I did have book blogger Nathan's business card! Surely he still had to be at the party.

  I dug my jeans out of the hamper and found the card still in the back pocket. Occasionally I amazed myself at how resourceful I could be. On the back of the card, it had Nathan's Snapchat, Facebook, Instagram, Litsy, Pinterest, Twitter, Tumblr, QQ, LinkedIn, Reddit, YouTube, Vine, Flixr, and TikTok accounts. Along with his blog, website, email address, and no phone number.

  No phone number!

  How in the world could this man have every single social media account but not have a phone number? Honestly!

  I went to Snapchat, Facebook, and Instagram and sent him a message with my phone number, asking him to call me ASAP. That it was a matter of life or death. Not a total exaggeration. We did have a dead person.

  "What if he doesn't check his social media until tomorrow?" Kevin asked.

  "Something tells me Nathan checks his accounts regularly."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because I can see he has already read my Facebook and Instagram messages. Aaannnddd, my phone is ringing." As soon as I answered, I could hear the music in the background. Hallelujah! The party was still going on. "Nathan, I have to speak to Reena Hike right now."

  "Who is this?"

  "I met you a few hours ago. You spoke to my friends Amy and Kevin. Is Reena there? It's an urgent matter. Tell her it's Cambria, and it's manager to manager. She'll know what that means."

  "Sure, let me find her." I could hear the hesitation in his voice. The music became muffled, and I could hear indistinct chatter in the background.

  "Who is this?" Reena demanded.

  "It's Cambria Clyne. Sorry to bother you—I have a very important question. Did Ernest McMills have affairs with the residents?"

  There was a beat of silence. "Go away," I heard her say to Nathan. A door closed and the music stopped. "What did you say?"

  "Manager to manager, did Ernest McMills have affairs with his residents? It's in your book. Was that based on a true event?"

  "Manager to manager, I don't know. I never witnessed anything. There were rumors of him spending way too much time in certain apartments."

  "Do you know which apartments?"

  "Not sure. One of the rumors I heard was that Mrs. McMills found out about his affairs, and that's one of the reasons they hired the management company and Trevor. So he wouldn't need to come around."

  Kevin waved to get my attention. Ask if my dad is gay, he mouthed. I had Reena on speaker. I'd made Kevin promise not to say a word. Since this was manager to manager and all.

  "What about him having affairs with men, too?" I asked Reena.

  "I added that part to give the character depth. He was too dull as he was. Plus, I needed him to end up with the Czar of Thombadioan in the next book. It's the only way to insure the Civil War can commence."

  Kevin pulled at his hair, red in the cheeks. "Spoiler alert," he angry whispered.

  I gave him a look of warning, and he settled down. "Reena," I said, "the woman you saw arguing with Patrick, do you think she was a resident at one of the other properties the McMillses owned?"

  "That could explain how she knew Patrick. He took over the entire McMills Los Angeles County portfolio."

  Huh? That would put a wrench in my Larissa theory. This woman who went by Lara with the black pants could have been a resident from a different property. Maybe even the one I lived at. Mrs. McMills could have found out about the affair. Then she hired a management company, the woman found out she was pregnant, the woman tried to get in contact with Ernest McMills, Patrick told her no…

  However.

  Surely the medical examiner would have noted the woman was pregnant. So there goes that theory. She could have already had the baby, but what does that have to do with Sherman? Unless it was in fact Larissa and she'd had the baby back when she disappeared in 1978. Ernest McMills could have known about the pregnancy and thrown a bunch of money at her to make her disappear! She'd come back eighteen years later to…I wasn't sure. Tell Ernest McMills the child wanted to meet him? She first stopped at Sherman's apartment, since they were old friends. Then she came back, and that's when she ran into Patrick. She asked to get in touch with Ernest McMills—Patrick said no. Mr. McMills caught wind that she was in town, and he didn't want to risk his wife finding out about the kid, so he killed her.

  However.

  That would mean there's a love child out there in their early forties who was… My eyes slid to Kevin.

  "Reena, I gotta go." I hung up the phone and asked Kevin, "What year were you born?"

  "1978. Why are you making that face?"

  Oh. No. No. No. No.

  "You're not going to start crying again, are you?" Kevin asked. "You know I hate when you cry."

  "Kevin," I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

  "You don't think—" I started to say, fully questioning if I should even throw out this accusation.

  "Not typically. But sometimes. Why?"

  "I meant…" I sucked in a breath then quickly blew it out, not wanting to lose Kevin. "Do you think it's possible that your father had an affair with Larissa, she got pregnant, they hid her away, and she had the baby. Then your father raised that baby with your mother, and they…I don't know, paid this woman off. Then she reappeared when the child was eighteen, wanting to see him."

  Kevin polished off his cereal. "I don't have any siblings. Remember?" He walked his bowl to the kitchen and dumped it in the sink.

  "I wasn't talking about a sibling. I was talking about you."

  Kevin picked at his back teeth. "Start your story over. I forgot to listen to most of it."

  Oh, for heaven's sake! I retold my theory, making sure Kevin paid attention this time.

  "You don't think my mother was my mother?" he asked.

  "It's a farfetched theory. Worth looking into, though. Do you have your birth certificate by chance?"

  "Do you honestly think my parents would not put their names on the certificate if your crazy story were true?"

  "No, but it should have the doctor's name, hospital, and place of bi
rth. We could start there. You did say your mother never showed any affection towards you."

  Kevin's mouth went to a line, and his eyes grew distant. He looked like he wanted to punch something again. I was out of giant stuffed animals. I did have a few throw pillows I didn't love.

  "We need to find out. Let's go," he said.

  "Whoa, where are you going?"

  "To get my birth certificate. Grab your shoes."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where is your birth certificate?"

  "At my parents' house."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You want to go to your parents' house in the middle of the night?"

  "Yeah. You coming?"

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa. We could request the certificate from the state."

  Kevin gave me a look, as if my stupidity had offended him. "That will take months. Are you coming or not?"

  "Um…" I wrestled with the decision. See, I was trying this new thing where I didn't intentionally insert myself into dangerous situations. And it was quite possible that Ernest McMills was a killer.

  Ultimately I said, "Let me change first." Because I was also trying this new thing where I kept Kevin out of jail. And he was less likely to break any laws if I was around.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Proficient at fighting fires

  (both figuratively and literally)

  The McMillses lived in Brentwood—a quiet, upscale neighborhood in Los Angeles near the Getty Museum. The streets were lined with trees. The houses were large, and the movie stars were plentiful. Even in the dead of the night, the mansions were stunning, each one lovelier than the next. Until we reached 2256 East Vincent Street.

  Situated between a Mediterranean style home with a well-groomed yard, and an Italian style home with vines crawling up the sides, sat a massive clunker of a house with dead grass, and chipped paint.

  I slowed down and peered out the window of my car. "This is where you grew up?"

  "Yep. The man refused to fix anything, and looks like he's stuck to his mantra."

  "Don't they have an HOA?"

  "Yep, and they hate him."

  "I can't believe the HOA hasn't done something about this."

  Kevin shrugged. "Ernest and Enest don't part with money easily."