Buyer's Remorse

by Lori L. Lake

  "Just tell me one thing. When the hell are you going to take care of this headache problem?"

  "There's no need to shout."

  Daria knocked back another gulp of Scotch and smacked the empty glass on the table. "You seem pretty complacent about your vision considering that you've been kicked off the job because of it."

  The glass in Leo's hand slipped and she nearly dropped it. "What's done is done. I can't change what's happened. I've got weeks ahead of me to deal with my quals, and now I'm stuck trying to take care of new duties for an office that hasn't given me a clue about how the hell to get the job done."

  "Then complain."

  "I've tried. The head honcho is rarely there, and from what I hear, he couldn't help me anyway. There's a backlog sixty miles long, and the dolt I'm working with didn't even come in today. So I'm stuck figuring out how to handle cases by Ouija Board and intuition."

  Daria rose. "Lord knows you wouldn't want to use intuition. Not when cold, hard facts in black and white are available." She scooped up her glass and stomped toward the door.

  "I can't believe you'd say that."

  "Just the facts, ma'am, just the facts."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To get out the Ouija Board for the Dunleavey case."

  ON THE WAY from her house to Rivers' Edge, Leo drove automatically without seeing any of the terrain she covered. Daria's comments at dinner kept whirling around in her head. She hadn't known whether to console her or to flee and deal with her own hurt feelings. She'd chosen the latter but still wasn't sure it was the smartest decision.

  What was wrong with Daria lately? She'd been touchy and critical, her lack of patience unusual. It wasn't like her to be so grumpy. She yearned for the old Daria, the woman who liked to laugh and who spread her warmth and humor around like butter and syrup on the blueberry waffles they used to enjoy making on Sunday mornings. The Dunleavey case was killing her personality. How many other cases would work the same evil magic?

  By the time Leo drove into the Rivers' Edge parking lot, her headache was pounding again, which made her angry. She hated to admit Daria was right, but tomorrow she resolved to schedule an appointment with Doctor Spence.

  The front door was ajar and the foyer deserted. A low murmur of voices came from the dining room. She wondered why nobody was concerned about the open door, shut it firmly behind her, and crossed the common area to the café. She found four elderly women sitting around one of the tables, cards in hand, a cup of coffee at each woman's elbow. She'd spoken to Mrs. Stepanek and two of the others in passing the day before and assumed that the three unknowns were Agnes Trumpeter, Nettie Volk, and Jade Perkins, but she wasn't sure.

  "Good evening, ladies," Leo said. "When you finish the hand, may I talk with you for a few minutes?"

  "Why, sure, honey. Come on in and pull up a chair." The woman who spoke looked to be the oldest of the group. Her white hair was so thin, Leo could see through it to her pink scalp. She was dressed in dark polyester pants and a neon-green silk blouse. Giant, gem-encrusted rings sparkled on both hands. Diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds glittered in the corners of a pair of old-fashioned, black cat-eye glasses.

  Mrs. Stepanek played a card and looked up at Leo. "Give us three minutes to play out, and we'll give you our full attention. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

  "No, thanks." Coffee would keep her up all night. Tossing and turning would only irritate Daria. If Daria bothered to come to bed, that is.

  Leo pulled up a chair and sat to watch. All of them were intent, focused on their cards. With a shriek of glee, Mrs. Stepanek said, "Here's a trump, so that trick's mine." Using her trick as a scraper, she swept the three cards toward her, then dropped the ace of hearts and took the next trick, too. She played the ace of spades in trump and captured another round. Flashing a grin toward Leo, she said, "Don't you love it when everything falls in place so nicely?"

  "Oh, yes," Leo said, but she couldn't help thinking that nothing had fallen into place for her for quite some time. Perhaps she ought to take up cards. "Is this Pinochle you're playing?"

  "Sure is," Mrs. Stepanek said.

  They finished the round and tallied the score. Once they'd tossed in their cards, all four examined Leo with curiosity. She introduced herself and said, "Would you mind if I tape an interview with all of you about the death of Callie Trimble?"

  "Ask away," said the white-haired lady who sat to Leo's left. "We'll tell you everything."

  Leo took a pad of paper and pen from her bag, put the much-used tape recorder on the table and started it. "First, let me get everyone's name straight."

  "I'm Agnes Trumpeter." The white-haired lady cocked her head to the side like an inquisitive bird, and the blue and green gems in her cat-eye glasses winked and gleamed.

  The next card-player said, "Nettie Volk." She wore a pale blue blouse that gave her silvery hair a bluish cast. Her glasses were gold-rimmed, and they looked exactly like those of the woman next to her who announced that she was Jade Perkins. Jade's hair didn't have the bluish tint, but like Nettie's, it was silver and cut in a bob. Her outfit consisted of a lightweight, red lounging suit with yellow geometric patterns. They looked enough alike to be sisters.

  "And I remember you, Mrs. Stepanek," Leo said.

  "Please, people call me Willie." She was bigger, wider-shouldered, and more boisterous than the others. Her dark brown hair showed streaks of gray, and she was dressed in a rust-colored blouse, jeans with an elastic waistband, and stark white tennis shoes.

  The image that came to Leo was of three blind mice and one good-sized calico cat.

  Agnes pushed up her glittery black glasses and squinted at Leo. "I wish we knew something that could help you, but I can't think what it would be."

  "You never know. Maybe some small detail will matter. Let's start with how long you've all lived here."

  They went around in order. Agnes said, "Four years."

  Nettie said, "I came before Agnes by about six months, and Jade came right on my heels, isn't that right, hon?"

  "Yes, I moved in the month after you. Such a good neighbor you were, too. You brought me flowers from the garden that first night." Jade and Nettie beamed at one another.

  "I'm the new girl on the block," Willie Stepanek said. "I just moved in two years ago."

  "Lucky for us," Agnes said. "We needed a fourth for Hearts and Pinochle, and you filled the bill."

  Agnes patted Leo on the forearm. "You can call us four the Merry Widows."

  Leo surveyed them, and they did seem merry—in the same way that a barn cat was, before he pounced upon an unsuspecting mouse.

  She ran through her litany of questions: What did they see? Who was in the dining room that night? Had there been any strangers around lately? Had anyone acted odd lately?

  None of them could add any new information.

  "Were you all here the whole evening during the sing-along? Nobody left this area?"

  Nettie ran a hand along the poof of blue hair at the top of her head. "Wait, girls. Habibah did get up and leave for a bit."

  "How long was she gone?" Leo asked.

  The four spoke all at once, spouting various time estimates until Willie said, "I think she went to the bathroom. She was gone for maybe five minutes."

  "No," Jade said. "It was longer than that. Franklin did his 'Loch Lomond' number. She was gone the whole time, and—"

  Agnes interrupted, "At least two songs."

  "No, no, no," Nettie said. "You were all so engrossed in shrieking 'Roll Out The Barrel' that you weren't paying attention."

  Jade said, "Just because you don't vocalize, Nettie Volk, it doesn't make you a better observer than the rest of us."

  "I'm not saying that. But Habibah didn't come back for quite a while. When she did, remember she went over and took the empty carafe into the kitchen and served us all coffee?"

  There was silence for a moment, then the others nodded. Willie said, "Okay, I think you're right, Nettie."
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br />   "Could any of you see what direction she went? Did she go to the restroom in the foyer?"

  "Sorry," Willie said. "We sit over there, close to the piano. We've got a partial view through the door. I'd have been able to see if someone came in the front door, but not if Habibah went around the corner to the ladies' room or toward the apartments."

  Leo asked, "Would you say she was gone ten minutes? Fifteen? Twenty?"

  They all babbled on at once.

  "Not twenty. Maybe ten."

  "Fifteen."

  "Much less than fifteen!"

  "Not more than ten."

  They continued to argue, but Nettie raised a hand and the chatter stopped abruptly. "Perhaps ten minutes, but not as much as fifteen. I think that's as close as we'll agree. Let's say ten to twelve minutes, all right, girls?" She looked around the circle. Her friends seemed satisfied.

  "But let's get one thing straight," Willie said. "Habibah is a very nice person. She'd never hurt anybody, much less kill one of us. You ask her—I bet she was in the ladies' room."

  "What about the other staff?" Leo asked. "Is there anyone who's problematic?"

  They exchanged glances, and Leo saw something was bothering them. She raised her eyebrows and looked from one to another, waiting for someone to break the silence.

  After a long pause, Willie said, "Hazel has been downright secretive lately."

  "Secretive," Agnes said, "and cranky." The women agreed, echoing the word cranky.

  "How does that fit in?" Leo asked.

  Jade pushed up the sleeves of her red lounger and folded her arms over her chest. "She's making a play for old Walter."

  Leo asked, "Aren't staff required to maintain strictly professional relationships with residents here? Isn't there a fraternization rule?"

  Jade shrugged. "Perhaps. But Walter's wealthy."

  "Very wealthy," Nettie said. "Also rather—to be honest, rather unpleasant." She leaned forward and said in a quiet rasp, "He didn't like Callie and Eleanor one bit, but I'm not sure they knew that."

  "Oh?" Leo prompted.

  "On account of their, you know, situation," Nettie said.

  Jade picked up her coffee cup. "The special relationship, she means."

  Agnes rolled her eyes. "Come on now, we're modern women. Say the word. He accused them of being lesbians. If it were true, it wouldn't bother any of us at all, but Walter's not so open-minded."

  "Oh?" Leo said.

  Agnes nodded. "He didn't think they looked enough alike to be related, so he made a number of crude comments, and Hazel was right there, agreeing with him."

  "Crude comments?"

  "Oh," Agnes said, "general rudeness. He called them the Diddle Biddies. The man has no respect. Says anything that comes to mind. He doesn't talk that much, but when he does, he often brings up topics that aren't his business."

  "So," Leo asked, "do you think Walter might have harbored enough resentment that he could kill Callie Trimble?"

  Willie Stepanek raised a hand. "I can't see it that way. He avoided them. Besides, Walter's lazy. All he does all day is move from the recliner in his room to the couch in the TV area. He doesn't bother to come to the sing-alongs, and he rarely rides the bus to the casino with us either. He's a great big lazy—"

  "Toad," Agnes supplied. The others protested, but she went on. "Don't mince words. He's a toad. Franklin's a gentleman, but Walter is the opposite."

  Willie rose and went to the sideboard to pick up the coffeepot. She came over to refill mugs. "Sure you don't want a shot? The coffee here is quite good."

  "No, I'm fine. What else can you tell me about Walter?"

  Willie topped off Jade's cup. "He won't tell you much. He's never been very forthcoming."

  "Frankly," Agnes said, "I don't think he likes women much at all."

  "Or people," Willie said. "He hates people in general."

  "But women specifically," Agnes added.

  Leo made a note to interview Walter carefully to find out what his attitudes were regarding Eleanor and Callie. "Let's talk about Hazel. What's the problem with her?"

  Jade said, "She still talks to me, and I think I have fewer hassles with her than the rest of you. She was so good about encouraging me to get back on my feet. You see, I had a minor stroke last year, and she regularly walked with me so I could regain the strength in my leg."

  "Lucky you," Agnes said. "She treats the rest of us like dirt."

  "Have a stroke, then," Jade said.

  Leo choked back a guffaw at the tiny lady's droll comment.

  "She's really good when your health is compromised. She was quite kind to me, but now that I'm walking fine, she mostly ignores me."

  Leo asked, "Any of the other aides cause problems?"

  The four women nattered on about the others, but all their comments were positive.

  "What about the manager?"

  "Rowena's fine," Nettie said. "I don't think any of us have complaints, right, girls?"

  They shook their heads and sat thinking for a moment. Leo waited to see if any other comments emerged. When nobody spoke, she said, "Tell me about Habibah's boyfriend."

  Nettie frowned. "Chuck? Are you talking about Chuck?"

  "I don't know his name."

  Agnes leaned in conspiratorially. "He dresses like a professional basketball player. About eight feet tall and likes to wear those two-piece outfits with lightning bolts and fancy braiding on the legs."

  "Track suits," Jade said. "He works over at the U. Some kind of sports coach. Walter calls him Denny the Drug Dealer—as if Walter knew anything! He watches too many crime shows. Chuck is a perfectly nice young man, and he comes to get Habibah whenever she works late. I think that's not only wise, but also sweet of him."

  Nettie said, "The world sure has changed. When we were young, no white boy could even think about dating a black girl. And now nobody raises an eyebrow."

  "Except Walter," Agnes said. "What a racist he turned out to be."

  They spoke for a while about Chuck and Habibah, discussed Sherry Colton's cute children, and from there launched into tales of their own grandkids.

  Half-listening, Leo checked over her notes and cut in when an opportunity presented itself. "Can you ladies think of anything else to shed light on this senseless death?"

  They sat thinking, shaking heads and muttering.

  "Is there anything about the way this apartment house is run that any of you have trouble with?"

  "Not at all," Agnes said, "though they do toss you out on your ear when you run out of money."

  "No provisions for welfare here," Willie said. "The motto says something about zest and comfort, but really, it ought to be 'No Pay, No Stay.'" She let out a peal of laughter, and the others joined her. "Luckily our husbands provided well for us. I've got enough dough to stay here until I'm ninety."

  "Just don't have a stroke," Jade said. "Even with Medicare, I still got stuck with a heap of bills."

  FATIGUE WASHED OVER Leo like a wall of tepid water. She left the Pinochle foursome in the dining room, but she resolved to keep on moving. She paused in the empty common area and checked her notes. She needed to talk to Sherry Colton, the Okello sisters, the housekeeper, and the one resident left, Walter Green. Five more interviews, and she hoped to be done with it. She was troubled that nobody seemed to have any clue at all as to who committed the murder. With the exception of Walter, Leo didn't suspect anyone. She wondered if the police had any leads.

  When Martin Rivers provided her with the information she'd requested, she might be able to make sense of the situation. What if she couldn't, though? What if Callie Trimble's murder was never solved, the killer never found?

  She thought of motive, means, and opportunity: the three golden precepts. Until this job, she'd been able to get away with not worrying much about those terms, even when she and her team canvassed door to door. Her main duties on the street were to identify problems, find ways to nip them in the bud, or apprehend those who committed offenses agai
nst people and property. So much simpler, she thought. She could use brute force when it was called for, and she carried a sidearm, taser, baton, and mace for protection, not to mention wearing the uniform, which gave her authority, if not always respect. She liked being a police officer on the street. She felt freer somehow. The streets were open to her, the city vast and seething with activity. Rarely stuck in one place for long, she could satisfy a kind of wanderlust she wouldn't admit to others that she possessed.

  She certainly wanted to spend time working in police investigations units before achieving commander status, but she'd never thought seriously about striving for a Gold Shield. Leo knew a dozen detectives with whom she'd worked over the years. Nice guys usually, a few enterprising gals here and there, too. Detectives were an odd lot. Strangely silent. Insular. Somehow apart from the rank and file, despite the fact that all of them had come up through patrol. Once an officer was assigned permanently to investigations, they changed. Leo thought of Pete Ullman, who'd gone through police academy with her, worked in the Eastern District for years, and was now working in the Fraud & Forgery Unit. Like other detectives, he was from the rank and file, but not part of them anymore.

  She was happy to canvass neighborhoods for the detectives, to be on the lookout for oddities and to trade theories and share her impressions, but the detectives weren't there day to day when all the street policing was done. At the same time, she wasn't on the hook if and when they were called on the carpet because crimes weren't solved. Her job was to watch, predict, and prevent. Never a need for her to carry a case through to the bitter end, and that's the way she liked it..

  At the moment, she was stuck with this job and a vexing case as well. Other than possible homophobia, she could think of no convincing motive for the killing. As far as she could tell, most of the residents didn't have the physical strength to subdue a large woman. Unless someone came over the wall, only Walter and the aide named Habibah had the opportunity to attack Callie Trimble. Walter Green was shaping up to be the sole suspect, and from what the Merry Widows had to say, his alibi didn't sound like a very convincing one.