by Libby Klein
“Trying to find out once and for all if Amber is using me as her scapegoat. She told me she wasn’t allowed to go near Temarius’s apartment and that’s why she sent me in. But if she’s there now like Mrs. Rotnitzky says she is, then I’ll know she’s been lying to me.”
When we arrived at the Bay Vista apartments, I had her park in the back. “Do you see Amber’s little green Pinto?”
“No. And none of the cars are on fire, so we can rule them out.”
“I hope we haven’t missed her.”
We dove out of Sawyer’s car and hit the ground running to enter the dark lobby. I flew up the three flights of stairs while Sawyer lagged behind. There was no one in the hall by Temarius’s apartment, but one piece of the crime-scene tape had detached and was dangling. I heard a ding and spun around. Sawyer popped out from around the other corner. “Where’d you come from?”
“Elevator. I’m not climbing all those steps. Now, what are we looking for?”
Mrs. Rotnitzky’s door opened a crack. She peeked out and the door closed again. Then it opened all the way and she dragged us inside. “Come on before she sees you.”
The three of us stood in her apartment. Sawyer and me with our ears to the door and Mrs. Rotnitzky standing on a footstool with her eye pasted to the peephole.
“I see you brought Slim with you.”
“She drove me.”
“Good plan. That way the blonde won’t notice your car.”
“Have the police been back?” I asked.
“Once. An officer was here this morning, but he didn’t stay long. I think he wanted to check the apartment to make sure no one had broken in again.” She gave me a pointed look before going back to her peephole.
Sawyer caught my eye behind the old woman’s back. Her eyes rolled down to the end table, where there was a full bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
Mrs. Rotnitzky stayed glued to the peephole. “Yeah, I got more Jack. My check came, so I went shopping.”
A few minutes went by and I was getting antsy. Sawyer was well past me. She was staring at the television behind us, which was playing some dating show.
I drew back and looked at Mrs. Rotnitzky. I was impressed that she was statue still looking through the peephole. “How much time do you spend doing this?”
“In a day or at a time?”
“At a time.”
“Forty-five minutes is my personal best. That’s about as long as I can hold my bladder.”
We heard a door open and shut down the hall, and then voices.
Mrs. Rotnitzky threw back the chain. “This is it! Here she comes! Get ready, girls!”
Sawyer and I stepped away from the door and waited. My heart was pounding. I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to know the truth. I’d be deeply disappointed if I caught Amber coming out of Temarius’s apartment. It wouldn’t be a surprise coming from high school Amber, but I realized I had come to respect adult Amber.
Mrs. Rotnitzky yanked the door open and jumped out into the hall. “Aha!”
We sprang out after her and found ourselves looking into the very surprised eyes of a man of slight build with long blond hair. To be fair, he could have passed for Amber’s brother. If her brother were about sixty, partial to ribbed turtlenecks, and walking a corgi wearing a baby-blue bandanna.
The man pulled out a canister of Mace. “Stay back! I’m armed.”
The corgi peed a little.
Mrs. Rotnitzky pointed at him. “There she is. The blonde I told you about.”
I held my hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. We were expecting someone else.”
He recapped his canister and stuffed it back into the little pouch on his belt. “Now see what you’ve done? You’ve made Olivander piddle.”
Mrs. Rotnitzky fast-waddled back into her apartment. “Doggone it. That was almost a new personal best.”
Sawyer was no help at all. She doubled over with laughter.
It was up to me to apologize. “We didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Be glad I didn’t Mace you. I’m a little jumpy. I moved in a few months ago with my girlfriend in four-sixteen. I didn’t realize this was a high crime area.” He tipped his head toward Temarius’s apartment.
“I don’t think it is. I’m sure you’re very safe here.”
“Really? How safe were we around this kid? Huh? The whole time Olivander and I were down the hall rolling sushi, this kid was here rolling joints and who knows what else.”
“I heard he was a good kid. What would make you think he was doing drugs?”
“I could smell it. My first week here, I called 9-1-1 to report him. After that there were cop cars here all the time. Routine patrolling? I don’t think so.”
“Did you happen to see a cop here the day he died?”
“Are you kidding? First the one arrived, then within fifteen minutes they were all over the building. I overheard that one of the cops plugged him during the drug bust.”
“Did you hear the gunshots?”
He considered that while Olivander lay down on Sawyer’s foot and rolled his belly to her. “No. We only heard the commotion from the sirens when they came flying past our window.”
I looked down the row. “So, you’re across the hall from Mrs. Rotnitzky?”
He jingled Olivander’s leash. “That’s right. I bet it’s a lot quieter on her side. We have to deal with the traffic on Bayshore. I’m sorry, we have to go for a walk before it gets too late. Come, Olivander. It’s time for potty.”
He picked up the corgi and disappeared around the corner by the elevator.
Sawyer looked at the puddle on the floor, “I think he’s too late.”
“I just want to know how Mrs. Rotnitzky, in her eighties, charged up on Jack and Coke, heard the gunshots from her apartment, but that guy and his girlfriend two doors down didn’t hear a thing.”
CHAPTER 35
Sawyer and I thanked Mrs. Rotnitzky for her watchful eyes over the hallway and the alert that “the blonde” was on the premises. Then we explained that the blonde with the corgi was, in fact, a man, and her new neighbor. She didn’t care for that and started looking through her phone book for the apartment landlord to report a trespassing man with lady hair. So, we settled her into her stuffed rocking chair, handed her the remote, refreshed her ice, removed a cobweb that had been bothering her but she was too short to reach, watered a ficus on the other side of the living room, and promised to bring her a box of Tagalongs the next time we were in the neighborhood.
Once we’d extracted ourselves from our captor, we headed back to my house. The wind was picking up and it smelled like rain. Benjamin Bunny was bouncing around on his tether like a Macy’s Parade disaster. “Looks like a storm is brewing. Are you coming in?”
Sawyer frowned. “I can’t, I have to go by the bookstore to check on things.”
“Check on what? You’re closed.”
“I have to . . . drop some stuff off and . . . make sure the lights are turned out.”
“I can go with you.”
“No! It’s fine. You’ve had a long day. Just go in and get some rest.”
Riiight. “Is this your midnight appointment?”
Sawyer blushed. “It’s only ten o’clock.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”
Sawyer’s grin didn’t meet her eyes.
I waved when I was in the house and she drove off. Figaro met me with his list of complaints. I scooped him up and nuzzled him. He rabbit-kicked my hand to express that he was too dignified for this display of emotion, but his purring told another story.
Faelynn and Rita were in the library. Rita was on the guest computer and Faelynn was reading her romance novel. They asked about the Expo and if there were any updates on the plastic surgeon’s death. I told them no and chatted with them for a few minutes. They were both still in a somber mood and Figaro was flicking his tail with impatience, so I said good night.
We headed to the kitchen, as was our custom, and I stopped by
the front desk to check my messages. My phone buzzed. It was Kim.
I sent this right after the last message for three hours in the future. Did it work?
Yep. Thanks.
So, apparently you can schedule texts in advance. I got my laptop and headed to the kitchen. Fig and I shared a piece of cheese, then I had a snack. Fig had forgotten that he’d already had dinner, so he whined for me to open a can. I ignored him, so he swatted a bottle cap off the counter. Then a box of Claritin, a bottle of thyroid medicine, two pens, and a clip for my hair. Then Fig had a snack so he would stop acting out.
I was on my way upstairs when there was a knock at the front door. I opened it to see the stranger from the La Dolce Vita booth at the Expo. He’d better not be here to make me an offer I can’t refuse.
I looked left and right to see if there were any witnesses about. Even Rita and Faelynn had gone up to bed. Where are these nosy neighbors when you need them? “What do you want?”
“Mrs. Larusso would like to remind you that church tomorrow morning starts at ten thirty.”
What kind of maniac . . . It’s after ten p.m. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“She would also like you to remember that dinner in her home follows the Mass. Dress appropriately.”
I blinked a couple of times, stunned for a response.
He turned and walked down the sidewalk and disappeared into the night.
Figaro gave me a look that said he was just as surprised about it as I was, and what we needed was another snack to overcome the shock.
I took the laptop up to my room to shake off the uncomfortable encounter. I had some research to do, and I went in the bathroom to get my Shayla Rose Immortality concentrate. My doorknob had been replaced as promised. It was installed backward with the lock on the outside, but it was there.
I searched for the cream everywhere. I wanted to Google the ingredients listed on the label. It wasn’t in my makeup bag or my medicine cabinet. I got on my hands and knees to see if it had rolled behind the toilet. It was missing.
I looked around the room, exasperated, and an idea struck me. I turned out the lights. A blue glow backlit the gauzy, white curtain in my bathroom window. Then I remembered the police chase a few nights ago. I had left the open container on the windowsill. The cream was glowing bright blue. It wasn’t glowing the first time I’d used it, so something had changed.
I dabbed a tiny bit on my jaw to see what would happen. The spot lit up like Aunt Ginny’s lava lamp. I jumped in the shower and quickly washed it off, along with all my makeup. After I toweled off I put on my night moisturizer and eye cream. I’d been at the Beauty Expo for three days and with all the drama it hadn’t occurred to me once to go shopping for supplies.
I was seriously behind in my laundry duties and I’d reached the bottom of the underwear drawer. I put on an old pair that were a little tight and pulled over some raggedy yoga pants to hold them in place. My faded tank top was two sizes too small and made me look like a really low-class stripper who would be asked for change. I really hope there aren’t any guest emergencies in the middle of the night.
I took the cream to the bedroom, swept Figaro off my laptop, and scolded him for trying to bite my hand. “What’s gotten into you lately? Do I need to change your food?”
Figaro flopped on the bed and made a slight bounce.
I could no more see the list of ingredients on the tiny pot of antiaging concentrate than I could see the dust on the moon. I took a picture with my phone and sent it to myself in an email. Once I’d blown it up on my laptop screen, I started a deep dive into jellyfish venom essence and luciferin. Apparently, jellyfish toxins are supposed to make your skin look younger by making it hydrated and glowing. That’s a big check on the glowing.
Shayla’s website promised that jellyfish toxins numb the muscles that cause wrinkles just like Botox, only the jellyfish toxins absorb through the skin without the need for injections. There was a photo of the cream in the jar glowing bright blue and the caption said, “Your skin will glow from the inside out.”
I had to look up a lot of words like “hyaluronic acid” and “retinol.” Apparently, luciferin was what gave the cream its luminescence. The antiaging concentrate’s list of benefits made it sound like a miracle drug that would take thirty years off your appearance and get you dates. Ironically, no mention of turning you into a Smurf—although there was a warning to keep it out of the light and only wear it at night.
Shayla’s website also promised that Immortality would be on the market soon and to check back often. And, of course, there were a few other products you could buy in the meantime.
Figaro started galloping back and forth around the room for no apparent reason—his favorite reason to do things. I tried to Google Shayla Rose herself, and Figaro pranced across my laptop and Googled Shia LaBeouf. I picked him up and stared into his wild orange eyes. “Behave.” I placed him on the bed, and he attacked my foot. “Ow. Knock it off.”
My second attempt found a couple of articles about Shayla in cosmetic industry magazines. She was listed as a research scientist and marine extraction expert with a degree in biochemistry. A link to a cosmetic industry journal reported that two years earlier, Shayla was reprimanded by the board of dermatology for selling products before they were FDA approved.
Her Facebook page was the normal collection of memes and photos. Shayla and her friends eating at an Indian restaurant for her birthday. Shayla posting her list of favorite movies. Shayla and her friends posing at the Adele concert. Shayla posting that she wanted a Pomsky puppy more than anything, and her grandmother leaving a series of awkward comments on the post asking if Shayla was coming to dinner on Sunday and did she want dumplings or steamed buns? There was a post last year when Shayla started a new job at Shayla Rose Skin Care that had a lot of congratulations and well-wishes. She’d commented that she was on the verge of going big-time because of a discovery she’d made in her jellyfish toxin research.
A Fraudster pop-up took over my screen and I searched for Shayla on their website. No hits. I guess there wouldn’t be. It was all plastic surgeon complaints and warnings. Figaro dove on my foot and bit me through the blanket. I jerked my foot away and he did a flip and a roll because one claw was stuck. “It serves you right.” I extracted his claw and heard a quiet meow from the other side of my bedroom door.
Figaro’s ears swiveled like a satellite dish and he jumped off the bed, taking up a position across from the door.
“Well, hello beautiful.”
Little Miss Portia blinked her big green eyes and gave another little meow, as if asking to come in.
Figaro went through a complete transformation, suddenly graduating charm school in the next thirty seconds. He sat, very handsome and dignified, and waited for his lady friend to entrez-vous.
She placed a tentative paw over the threshold and Figaro’s whiskers twitched. When she’d come all the way into the room, he dove under the bed and came back with some hideous, frayed toy chicken that I thought was long gone. He dropped it at her feet and awaited her approval.
She gave it a tentative pat and Figaro flopped with a thud.
Dale’s voice floated up the stairs. “Portia honey . . . come to Daddy. Treat.”
Portia shot out of the room like a kid who heard the ice cream truck coming down the block.
“I’m sorry, baby. You tried.”
Figaro settled into loaf position in the middle of the floor to strategize his next move, and my cell phone rang.
“Amber?”
“I know it’s late, McAllister. And I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. But I just got a really big lead and I need someone to check it out with me.”
“When?”
“I’m outside by the mailbox.”
CHAPTER 36
“You know, the world wouldn’t end if you gave me a fifteen-minute warning for a change.”
“We have to go now before the evidence disappears.”
An assault of
leaves peppered the car and Mr. Winston’s trash-can lid flopped around, beating a warning to go back inside. I crouched down and held my hair in place. “I have to change. I can’t go anywhere like this. I’m in pajamas and flip-flops.”
Amber scanned me. “If you had a toddler on your hip and a cigarette hanging out of your mouth, you’d be my last bust before I was put on leave. But we don’t have time for you to change. Just get in. No one will see you but me anyway.”
Against my better judgment I hopped in. The spring in the passenger seat poked me in the backside and I hit my head on the ceiling. “Ow! You need to get that fixed.”
Amber pulled away from the curb. “My seat’s fine.”
“So, what is this about evidence disappearing? You’re afraid someone is covering their tracks?”
“Well, yes. But in this case the rain is our enemy.”
The seat belt had betrayed me and fused into place since our trip to the medical examiner’s office. No matter how much I yanked, it wouldn’t budge. I finally got it to come out far enough to click it into place, but if I breathed out, I would crack a rib. “Okay, where are we going?”
“What I’m about to say to you never leaves this car. Got it?”
“Absolutely.” I’d hold my breath, but I didn’t have any.
“I got a tip from Birkwell. He responded to a call that vandals were hitting an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Wildwood Crest. When he arrived on the scene it was just some kids skateboarding in the parking lot. He gave them a warning about trespassing, sent them off, and did a security walk around. He found this on the side of the building.” She pulled up a screen on her cell phone and handed it to me. It was a picture of blue, glowing fingerprints by a door and on the security keypad. “He was able to scan them and run them through the police database. They’re a match for Temarius.”
“Did Officer Birkwell go inside the warehouse?”
“He can’t go in without a search warrant.”
“Oh yeah, that makes sense. . . .” My heart dropped an inch in my chest and I sighed. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
“Okay now, settle down. Nothing will happen if you don’t get caught.”
