The Woman Upstairs

by Camryn Eyde

  Ricci pursed her lips. Mrs. Carter was right. Unfortunately, she’d spent any readily available money on materials to fix the apartment while waiting for the insurance payout to come through. “Very well, but I’m not going to be able to get it to you until next Friday at the earliest.”

  Mrs. Carter’s face soured. “I’m afraid that won’t do. The kids and I are flying out on Monday, I expect the money to be in my account before that time.”

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Miss Velez, you are in possession of funds that are rightly mine. You should have transferred that money to me three days ago as per the agreement in our contract. If I don’t see that money by Monday, I’m going to be in contact with you via my lawyer. Do you understand?”

  Ricci was scowling when she said, “I understand.”

  Mrs. Carter nodded and strolled off to the elevator. “Enjoy cleaning up the mess.”

  “Bitch,” Ricci mumbled when Mrs. Carter’s elevator had shut and whirred downwards. Forty grand was a lot of money to have on hand, and she’d used what was in her building management account on fixing up apartment five. Curling her lips, she headed to the stairwell, wanting to stomp out her frustrations.

  She attacked the accounting with vigor instead.

  Step two: Accounting, mail, and bills.

  The office off the main lobby was small, but meticulous. A two-way mirror gave her a slitted view of the lobby. A lobby devoid of life except for Hank, the guard on duty. She grimaced when she looked up to see the man pick his nose. Gross. Halfway through paying her security team their monthly wage, her on-call maintenance phone rang. Clipped to her belt when she was away from her apartment, she answered it. “Good afternoon, building maintenance.”

  “My toilet stopped working,” said a woman with a deep husky voice layered thick with Russian accent.

  Ew. “The main toilet or the en suite one, Mrs. Kriskov?”

  “I don’t know. The toilet in the little closet.”

  “Okay. I can have someone look at that in five minutes. Would that be agreeable?”

  “Da.” Mrs. Kriskov hung up on her.

  Ringing Howie, she promised the man a hug in return for him fixing the toilet in apartment three A. A relative bargain. She added a bonus kiss on the cheek for him if the man could avoid offending the mutli-millionaire widow.

  With a quick click of a button, her accounting was done.

  The mail revealed nothing but bills and a bulky package emblazoned with a logo from her security firm. The security footage! Grimacing at the fact the footage had probably been sitting on her desk for a couple of days, she rang the contact at the police department to arrange delivery. They sounded unimpressed. She concurred.

  Step three: Compliance.

  Several phone calls later, she had inspectors coming for a multitude of jobs. Fire safety checks, pest control, central heating maintenance, and window cleaning. Knowing each tenant had privacy issues, she typed up a letter informing them of each maintenance task. She made sure to give Mrs. Dellaroy the most notice.

  Step four: Lunch.

  “Afternoon, Hank,” she said as the guard walked over to her as she left the office.

  “Afternoon, Ricci. Hey, I thought the Carter’s moved out.”

  “They did.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s probably best not to let any of them past the lobby. If Mr. Carter turns up again, let me know. I’d like to ring his neck.”

  “Yeah, I heard it was a mess up top.”

  Ricci nodded and glanced around the lobby. Spotting the security dome by the elevator, something Mrs. Carter said came back to her. “Who was on duty on the thirteenth?”

  Hank rubbed his smooth chin and said, “Day, evening, or night?”

  “All of them.”

  They walked to the security desk together. “Bob was on from eight to two. I was on duty from two until midnight, and Stuart had the midnight to eight shift.”

  “Did you see Mr. Carter at all?”

  Hank shook his head.

  “Would you do me a favor, see if the other guys saw him?”

  “Sure.”

  Nodding, she strode back to the office and tore open the package of security tapes, noting they only covered the fourteenth and fifteenth. She was damn sure she’d asked for the entire week. She yanked the phone from her belt.

  “Horizon Security, how may I direct your call?”

  “This is Rica Velez, manager of Parkland Apartments, Manhattan, New York, I’d like to speak to a consultant about security footage I received today.”

  “One moment, ma’am.”

  Ricci taped a pencil on the desk as she listened to an odd collection of music. Staring at the stamp on the parcel she had torn open, she frowned when it was dated for yesterday. She was pretty certain that footage was supposed to have been couriered almost instantly.

  “You’re speaking to Harrison, how may I assist you?”

  “Harrison, it’s Rica Velez from Parkland Apartments, Manhattan, New York. I made a request for security footage on Monday. I only received it today, and it doesn’t contain the dates I require.”

  “Okay, let’s see if we can sort that out for you. First, I need some proof of identification.”

  Running through the rigmarole of birth dates, addresses and security passwords, the man put her back on hold. Lulled by the sound of clanging drums and screeching violins, she nearly tipped herself off her chair when Harrison came back on the line fifteen minutes later.

  “Miss Velez?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “The order I have in front of me outlines a request for security footage from the three lobby cameras for midnight of the fourteenth of this month, to midnight of the sixteenth. Is that correct?”

  Ricci sighed. “No. I needed the lobby cameras, the side access, the elevator and the fifth floor hallway, from the twelfth to the sixteenth.”

  She heard Harrison typing. “Apologies for the delay, Miss Velez. I will get a technician on that immediately. Expect delivery…” He typed some more. “Monday morning.”

  Great. “Fine. Thank you.”

  “Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Have a good day.”

  “Yeah,” she muttered as she hung up.

  “Ugh!” Ricci tossed her phone at the couch that evening and pinched the bridge of her nose. After an hour of pleading, the bank, as expected, said they could transfer the money, but not until five working days had passed. That meant the money wasn’t going to go through until next Friday. Mrs. Carter was going to go radioactive when she found out.

  “Everything okay?”

  Startled, she looked up at Tara’s entrance and said, “No.” She looked Tara over. She was clothed in a form-fitting dress, complete with heels and matching jewelry. “Going somewhere?”

  “To dinner. I felt like a change of scenery.”

  “Understandable.” A vacation to Hawaii sounded brilliant right now, Ricci thought. She let out a long sigh as she shut her eyes and pinched her nose again.

  “Would you…”

  Ricci looked up again. “Would I?”

  Tara cleared her throat and nibbled on her bottom lip briefly. It looked uncertain and a little bit adorable. “You look…despondent.”

  Ricci arched an eyebrow. “Despondent?”

  “Depressed.”

  “I know what it means. Who the heck says despondent?”

  “I do.”

  Giving Tara a droll look, she muttered, “Of course you do.”

  Tara glared at her. “Forget it.”

  “Forget what?”

  “My invitation to dinner.”

  Tara strode toward the outer door before Ricci’s mind caught up. “Wait. What dinner invitation?”

  “The one I was about to extend. Consider it rescinded.”

  Ricci threw her arms up in the air and grunted. “Fine. Whatever. Hope you made reservations.” />
  Tara froze at the door and Ricci couldn’t help the smug smile that crossed her face. Crossing her arms, she said, “You did call ahead, didn’t you?” Tapping her bottom lip, she said, “Hmm…Friday evening dinner reservations in Manhattan. If you’d called three months ago, you might have got yourself a table. A little overdressed for the local diner, aren’t you?”

  To her credit, Tara said, “Luckily I have a hankering for a burger and fries then.”

  Ricci burst out laughing. Boy how she needed that release. After recovering, she took a large breath of air. Tara looked like she was trying to hold down a smile. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll take you out to dinner.” At Tara’s surprise, she said, “Unless you’re serious about a burger, I happen to know people that owe me favors. Do you feel like French or Italian?”

  “French.”

  Winking, Ricci said, “Consider it done. I’ll be right back.” She had the fastest shower in her short history and spent three seconds staring at her closet. Choosing a tried and true little black dress, she pulled it on, twisted her hair up into a messy bun and rushed back to the door.

  “You’re…” Tara looked her over. “In a dress.” The woman swallowed.

  “Told you I’m not always butch.”

  “No. Definitely not,” Tara said, her voice low.

  Feeling a little aroused at the low timbre, and at Tara’s continued scans of her body, Ricci held out her arm. “Shall we.”

  “Certainly.” Taking Ricci’s arm, they stepped into the lobby only to find it occupied by the guard and another visitor.

  “Zoe!” Tara sounded like she was choking.

  Ricci was pulled up short, caught by her arm linked in Tara’s.

  Zoe’s gaze zeroed in on the contact and her face darkened.

  “You’re sleeping with her!” She yelled at Tara. Her face contorted in distaste.

  Ricci took offense. “Hey!

  “What are you doing here?” Tara asked. Her voice was soft. She looked so small. Ricci tightened her grip on Tara’s arm.

  “I’m here to apologize. To try and reconcile our marriage. Instead, I find you cavorting with the help.”

  “Hey!” Ricci said again.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Tara said.

  “That’s plain to see.” Zoe’s eyes cut to Ricci’s. “Tell me, does she lay there like a stuffed doll for you too? I hope you have more luck with her than I did. She’s a cold-hearted frigid bitch and a terrible lay.”

  “That’s enough.” Ricci stepped forward. “From what I understand, you spread your legs willingly. Tara may be defensive, but she didn’t break anyone’s heart, now did she?”

  “She doesn’t have a heart to break. Surely you’ve noticed?”

  “What I’ve noticed is a woman in pain because the one person that was supposed to be on her side until death do they part, went and screwed another person.” Her eyes glanced over Zoe’s shoulder to find her security guard watching carefully. With a small nod, he moved forward and took Zoe’s arm. “You need to leave.”

  “Get off me!” the woman screamed. The guard paid no attention and corralled her to the door. “Tara, please? We need to talk.”

  Tara’s eye were downcast and her jaw was as stiff as her posture.

  Ricci rubbed her arm. “She’s gone.”

  Moving away from the touch, Tara nodded. “I think I might turn in.”

  “Wait. What about dinner?”

  “I’m not really in the mood.”

  “Hey,” Ricci said, catching the woman as she approached the door to the apartment. “Don’t let her get to you.” Tara didn’t answer. “Look, we’re all dressed up, I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are too. Let’s get out of here for a little while and enjoy some fine food. What do you say?”

  Tara didn’t answer straight away, but she did dab at her eyes with a tissue she pulled from her clutch. Composing herself, she straightened and looked Ricci in the eye, with her defenses back in place. “Okay.”

  Chapter Eight

  Grape Juice and Headaches

  “That was magnificent,” Tara said, pushing away the demolished dessert Ricci convinced her to try.

  “I know, right?” Ricci said, pushing her own plate away. “Marco has to be the best pastry chef in the city.”

  “Which begs the question. How do you know him?”

  “That is a long story.”

  Tara reached over for the wine bottle and refilled their glasses. Calling for another bottle, she sipped at her drink and leaned back. “We have time.”

  “That we do.” Ricci whet her throat with what she considered was overpriced grape juice, and enjoyed the tangy flavor of the white. “Marco used to be my boyfriend and arch enemy.”

  Tara almost inhaled her wine. “Boyfriend? But I thought—”

  Ricci held up a hand. “I was five at the time. I discovered my sexuality when I was eleven when I had the world’s biggest crush on my English teacher.” Ricci sighed. “That woman had breasts out to here.” She demonstrated.

  “Crass.”

  Ricci winked. She blamed the wine. “Anyway, Marco lived in our neighborhood. He was the son of the local baker, and he was huge. Pudgy couldn’t describe him. Marshmallow huge. Short too. Kids used to pick on him all the time. Mean little pricks, they were. Marco was just as mean in return. We all used to hate him, until one day, a group of boys ganged up on him and were really going to town. I walked past and thought he got what he deserved, but then I heard him crying. I told the boys to lay off, but they didn’t listen.” Ricci averted her eyes. “I kinda kicked one in the…you know, and then it was on. They started beating me. I beat them back, and in the end, we were all caught by the local kindergarten teacher and put on detention for the rest of our pre-school lives. That sucked. Ma wasn’t impressed.”

  Tara was smirking. “I can imagine. I also take it that your delinquent behavior that day branded Marco your boyfriend.”

  “It did. They all forgot about it over summer because they were all busy being ninja turtles or power rangers or something. I went into primary school a free agent.”

  “And you still are?”

  Ricci raised an eyebrow. “Why, Miss Tara, are you asking if I have a girlfriend?”

  “I was. I’m curious.”

  “The answer is no. I’m too busy for that.”

  “Playing tycoon in your block of apartments and singing off-key?”

  “My singing isn’t that bad, and I don’t play tycoon. Yes, a lot of my time is invested in maintaining the building. That’s not a crime, and it’s a perfectly reasonable career path. What’s wrong with that?” Ricci hadn’t mean that to sound angry

  “Nothing, however, misplacing your frustrations is.”

  Ricci sighed. “Sorry. You just sound a lot like my mother.” In Spanish, she said, “Mija, why do you waste your life on this silly little apartment. Forget this place and this lifestyle and move back to our neighborhood. It’s good enough for your brother, so it’s good enough for you. Why are you wasting your life this way? Can’t you be like the other girls and find someone to love and have babies with?” Ricci downed the remainder of her glass and refilled it.

  “I’m sorry,” Tara said when Ricci had taken a deep breath.

  “No, I am. I didn’t mean to snap at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

  Tara considered her for a moment. “I probably did. I haven’t exactly been the most accommodating person since I met you.”

  “You have a good reason to be off your game.”

  Tara nodded and sipped her wine, refilling the glass also. “I promise you, I’m not usually so unpleasant.” Sighing, Tara rested her elbows on the table. “Zoe…she…”

  Reaching over when Tara faltered, Ricci squeezed her hand and said, “You don’t need to tell me anything.”

  Tara gave her a brief smile and said, “Zoe was my everything once. She was the person that helped me breathe again. After my disownment from my parents when I was eighteen, she was the fr
iend I turned to, and she helped me through it. She was the classic, straight best friend that I always desired but could never have. After high school, she went to culinary school and I did an MBA at Yale. We both ended up in Houston and moved in together. One night, after a break up with her latest boyfriend, she got rotten drunk and climbed into my bed. She started kissing me and begging me to touch her. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I’d been in love with her since I could remember.” Tara laughed to herself. “Unsurprisingly, our friendship fell apart the next day and I moved out, and not long after, I moved to LA.”

  “That’s where you were before New York, wasn’t it?”

  Tara nodded. “She came over a year or so later to run a restaurant, and she called me. We started up a tentative friendship again, and then, one sober evening, she kissed me again. She declared her feelings for me, and the fact she was scared last time, and one thing led to another. We moved in together, we entered a civil partnership a few years later, and now…now it’s all over. Again.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ricci said, squeezing the hand she hadn’t released.

  “I should have seen it coming.”

  “How so?”

  “It wasn’t the first time she cheated on me.”

  “What?”

  Tara took a swig of wine. “The first time, it was with the restaurant owner. Some exotic attractive man with arms of steel. I was a wreck and we nearly broke up, but she begged and pleaded and proposed.” After a deep breath, she continued, “I got too comfortable.”

  “And she broke your heart again.”

  Tara gave a dry laugh. “Somehow, I think it was still broken from the first go round. When I walked in on her and Wayne, I felt nothing. I was more angry with myself than anything. I’d let her fool me twice. Twice!” Tara drained her glass. “Not again. Not this time. I’m a free agent just like you.” Tara raised her glass after refilling it. “To new beginnings.”