Neighbors and More (High Rise Series)

by Mona Risk

  “How long did he stay, Mrs. Partson?” Ladd waited, his pencil in hand, half way toward his mouth, as if he planned to bite on it.

  “He left by 2:00 pm.”

  “Did anyone else see Steve Bairey after that?”

  Dianna crossed her hands on the table and twiddled her perfectly manicured fingers. “I passed by the Jacuzzi on my way from the beach. I stopped and talked to him for a few minutes,” she said with a lilting voice and a Latino accent.

  “I wonder if you were the last person to talk to him,” the detective mused. “Was any one else around?”

  “There were people in the pool around the corner, but he was alone in the hot tub.”

  “Thank you. Did anyone else see him today?”

  “I saw him in the elevator, around noon,” Dante said.

  “Were you going up or down?”

  “Up. I’ve just arrived from the airport. He got off at the fifth floor.”

  “Okay. Mr. Partson?”

  “I saw him several times. In the morning and later in the afternoon. I’ll tell you about the details later.”

  Dante stifled a sigh of exasperation and noticed Detective Ladd’s eyes narrowing. Greg had to act differently from everyone else.

  “Very well. Mr. Partson, I’d like to post a note on the bulletin board notifying the owners and residents that anyone who saw and talked to Steve Bairey should come and see me. Now I will talk to each one of you separately. Ms. Oliveira, I’ll start with you. Stay here please. The others leave the room but not the building. You need to be available for questioning tonight.”

  “Why all this questioning?” Dianna asked. “Do you suspect foul play?”

  “So far it’s a simple routine investigation,” Ladd answered, his tone as neutral as could be, without looking at any one of them in particular. “Oh, and don’t talk to journalists if they contact you for comments.”

  Dianna patted her hair, a subtle smile on her lips. “Really, the press is going to be here? Would they take pictures of us?”

  “I hope not,” Greg grumbled. “We don’t need negative attention on our building.”

  For a change, Dante couldn’t agree more with Greg. The idea of his picture displayed in the newspapers, and maybe captions about the address where he lived, repulsed him.

  They reached the door, but Greg remained seated at his place.

  “Mr. Partson, you can leave too.”

  “Dianna is my girlfriend. We have no secrets from each other.” He accompanied his statement with a menacing look at Dianna that meant he wouldn’t tolerate any secrets on her part. “You can shoot your questions in front of me.”

  Dante stifled a snort. A few minutes ago, Greg had introduced Alexa as his wife, not his ex. Now, it didn’t bother him to publicly reveal that Dianna was his girlfriend. Talk about a nabob.

  “Mr. Partson, please don’t interfere with how I run my investigation,” Ladd said with a cold stare and a glance at his watch. “And don’t delay us. It’s already 8:30.”

  Dante held the door open for Greg and closed it behind him. Even if Greg insisted on staying with Alexa for her interview, he’d be kicked out.

  Greg scowled at him. “You can stop smiling, Cantari. The troubles are just starting. For all of us.”

  Chapter Four

  “Dante, sit down.” Alexa shuddered, blinking several times. “Seeing you standing at the bar reminds me too much of Steve hovering there.” Would she ever stop seeing Steve’s ghost in her home?

  “On the contrary, my dear. Maybe seeing me in the places where he stood will make you forget him. Maybe I should kiss you in every one of those places to give you different images to replace the lousy ones.” He waggled his eyebrows and she couldn’t help laughing. He walked to her and handed her a glass. “Here, a light Zinfandel. It will help you unwind.”

  Alexa didn’t feel like drinking, but automatically extended her hand to accept the drink, her gaze lost in the delectable contemplation of Dante’s wide shoulders, now dressed for the evening in a striped shirt, his strong legs clad in a pair of beige pants. With his dark curls smoothly combed into place, he was the best thing she’d looked at in a long time.

  Although it was already nine, she hoped they would go out for dinner right after their interview with the detective. Alexa had slipped into a black silk dress with a silver sequined top and matching high heeled sandals.

  “Believe me, I was unwinding plenty before we met those people downstairs.” While she sipped the light wine, a thought hit her. “Do you think Greg will keep harassing me now that he’s insisted loudly Dianna is his girlfriend?”

  “Knowing Greg, one has nothing to do with the other. The man sets himself above every decent law and thrives on control. He may show up with the detective. Just ignore him.”

  As if fate had heard them, the bell chimed.

  “I’ll get it.” Alexa rushed to the door, more than eager to get her interview over with.

  Sure enough, Greg accompanied the detective. Detective Ladd turned toward him. “Thank you for bringing me to Mrs. Partson’s apartment. I will talk with Mrs. Bairey next, and then with you.”

  “You can interview Alexa and me at the same time.” As usual, Greg never gave up.

  “Mrs. Partson?” Ladd raised his eyebrows asking her opinion.

  “No. I don’t want anyone present while talking to you,” Alexa said, for the sake of making a point.

  “In that case, excuse us, Mr. Partson.” The detective stepped into her entrance hall and simply closed the door behind him, before Greg could protest.

  “This way, please.” She waved him to the living room where Dante lounged in a chair.

  “Should he go too?” Ladd’s smile indicated he already knew the answer and the reasons behind it.

  “He’s my lawyer.”

  “I see.” His smile widened. He sat in one of the leather chairs, turned on his mini-recorder, and opened his pad. “Mrs. Partson, how long have you known Steve Bairey?”

  “I met Steve and Julia when they moved into this building eight years ago. Greg and I went out for dinner with them and other neighbors a few times, but we weren’t particularly close. After my divorce, they offered their help. At first they came together to ask if I needed anything from the supermarket, or the hardware store. A year later, Steve started coming on his own.”

  “What would they get you from the stores?”

  “Nothing. Greg made sure the bar and the fridge were well stocked for his own use.”

  “Did Mr. Partson keep coming after your divorce?”

  She sighed. “Divorce didn’t bother Greg. He was here every other day for one reason or another.”

  “You never threw him out?” Ladd arched a curious eyebrow, and Dante studied her sheepish expression and the blush covering her cheeks.

  “I just couldn’t be that rude. You see, Greg was my father’s best friend. He helped me after Dad’s death. He came here mostly to read his email when his computer was down.”

  “Sweet Alexa. Some people don’t deserve your kindness,” Dante mumbled, while shaking his head. “You’re too sweet for your own good.”

  “Have you ever been intimate with Steve Bairey?”

  When Alexa glanced at Dante, the detective cleared his throat. “Do you want Mr. Cantari to step out?”

  “No. I don’t mind talking in front of him. He may as well hear it all now.”

  Dante rewarded her with a warm smile.

  “We used to greet each other with a kiss on the cheek when the four of us met. Steve continued to do this. I didn’t worry about it at first. One day, he tried to give me a deeper kiss. I pushed him away. He wouldn’t let go and started grabbing my breasts. I pulled at his hair, kicked him, and managed to get him off me.” Her gaze flew to Dante.

  His eyes glared with a menacing glow and his lips stretched into a thin line, but he didn’t interrupt her.

  “And?” Ladd prompted.

  “He immediately apologized and told me he’d fa
llen in love with me and was going to ask Julia for a divorce and marry me. I said, ‘No way. Get out.’ That was a year ago.”

  “Did he bother you again?”

  “For a long time after that, he behaved himself. Then two months ago— after you left, Dante— he came to discuss a recent assessment. You see, he’s the treasurer of our building association. By then I had relaxed my guard. I let him in. At the end of the discussion, he helped himself to a drink and handed me one. I didn’t realize how strong the drink was. He must have spiked it with something. I fell asleep or passed out. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in bed with Steve.”

  She wrung her hands while staring straight ahead. Had Steve slept with her? Had he touched her intimately? The bile rose in her throat. For the life of her, she couldn’t look at Dante.

  “What happened next?” Ladd asked.

  “I was half-naked and so was he. I don’t know if he forced himself on me or not.” Shame invaded her heart as she remembered Steve half lying over her. “I jumped out of bed, called him every name I could think of, then threw his clothes at his face, telling him to get out. He apologized, saying he’d drunk too much and couldn’t remember what happened. He got dressed and left. I complained about him to Greg without telling him the whole story.”

  “Did you file a report with the police?”

  “No, I couldn’t talk to anyone about this incident.” A shudder shook her. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her chest. “I just couldn’t repeat the details. I tried to forget the whole thing.”

  “Did Steve come back?”

  “He stayed away for two months, but he knocked on my door yesterday and today.”

  “Why did he come yesterday? And why did you let him in?”

  “I didn’t let him in. Yesterday, I left the security chain on and he talked to me through the door. He told me he’d get his divorce finalized in a few days. He was madly in love with me and would I consider marrying him. I said absolutely not.”

  “And today?”

  With a scowl, she glared at the bar and the table. Steve had stood there. “I was in my bedroom, getting ready to go shopping. I heard my front door opening and closing.”

  Alexa stared at the rug as she relived the scene.

  ****

  “Alexa, sweetie, it’s me.”

  “Damn it.” Alexa stiffened, recognizing Steve’s voice.

  The jerk. He was in her living room, uninvited and unwelcome.

  The vein in her temple pounded like a drum. She wanted to kill the bastard. Digging her nails into her palms, she stomped out of her bedroom. “Get out before I call the police.”

  In swim trunks and a matching shirt, Steve greeted her with a big smile, his sun-streaked hair falling on his forehead in disarray. A handsome hunk, who left her indifferent. Mad. Wanting to scratch his eyes out.

  “Hey, I came on a friendly, peaceful mission.” He raised his hands encumbered with a carafe of golden brown liquor and two round crystal glasses.

  “Bastard, give me my key and get out.” She uttered through gritted teeth and outstretched her open palm. Being the treasurer, he must have accessed the locked room where the manager kept spare keys for all the apartments. Tomorrow she’d change the locks.

  “Out. Get. Out.”

  “I’m here to tell you… To promise I won’t bother you anymore. You don’t want me as your husband or boyfriend. Fine. Can we at least remain good friends?” he asked with a smile that should melt an iceberg.

  But this iceberg refused to melt. “I don’t need friends like you.”

  “Just listen, please. I’m leaving Fort Lauderdale. Moving to Atlanta.”

  “Oh?” Something in her chest eased.

  “I came to say goodbye and give you back your key.” He deposited his carafe and the goblets on the dining table, and handed her a key. “I brought Amaretto, our favorite, for one last toast.”

  Amaretto had never been her favorite liqueur, but she wanted him out of her place. “I have to go in a few minutes.”

  “So we’ll make it a quickie.” He meandered to the bar, poured the drinks, and gave her a glass. “To what could have been, but will never be.”

  She snorted at the way he phrased his toast. Narrowing her eyes, she assessed his jovial smile. How could she forget the morning he woke up next to her? She'd often wondered if he’d spiked her drink to trick her into bed.

  No way would she ever swallow anything he offered her. She raised her glass halfway to her lips, determined to find an excuse to avoid drinking. The strong odor of bitter-sweet almond wafted to her nose. She almost gagged. “My stomach—”

  A cell phone ring chimed in the silence of the room, saving her the trouble to complete her sentence or to slosh the liquid on the floor.

  “It’s mine,” Steve said. “Excuse me.” He set his drink on the dining table and walked out to the balcony to take his call.

  She put her glass next to his and squinted at the twin goblets of Amaretto that challenged her commonsense. Drat. The glassware belonged to her bar. The gall of the man. Irritation zapped through her system. He must have picked them up as soon as he entered her apartment while she was still in her bedroom. A shudder raked her. Nothing good had ever come out of this scumbag. Biting her lips, she cursed herself for forgetting to hook the security chain when she came back home after lunch.

  While he still spoke on the phone, pacing the balcony, she picked up the glass he’d held and hustled to the kitchen. Determined to avoid a repeat performance of her nasty past history with Steve, she poured the drink down the sink, rinsed the goblet, and filled it with iced tea. Same color as the Amaretto.

  Her heart racing, she glided back to the dining area, with her harmless tea in hand, and settled in a chair, waiting for her nemesis to finish his call.

  Still engrossed in his telephone conversation, Steve was facing the ocean. A moment later, he clicked his phone shut and slipped it into his shorts pocket. He strolled back into the living room, an apologetic smile on his lips. “Sorry about that. It was Carter. He had a question about business.”

  She shrugged. Honestly, she couldn’t care less about Steve or his roommate.

  “Now we toast.” Steve took the glass remaining on the table and smiled. “To you and me being friends.”

  He raised his goblet and emptied it. She sipped hers slowly.

  “Go ahead, finish it,” he insisted, his hazel eyes blazing.

  “I don’t drink that fast.”

  “Okay I’ll have another with you. Then I’ll go soak in the Jacuzzi for a few minutes.”

  “It’s not good to drink and go into the hot tub.”

  “Don’t be silly. Those tubs are made for sharing a drink and fun.”

  She gulped down her iced tea. “I have to go.”

  “Me too.” He gave her a strange look. “Good bye, sweetie. I’ll sure miss you.” He kissed her on the cheek, sauntered to the entrance door, and turned to glance at her. “I may call you later.”

  “From Atlanta? Don’t. Have a good trip.”

  “Yeah. I will.” He arched an eyebrow, stared at her for a moment, and walked to the door. She slammed it behind him. About time.

  With a big humph of relief, she hustled to clear the table and left the glasses and bottle on the kitchen counter. A throbbing headache pounded at her temples. Thank God, he was leaving for Atlanta and she’d managed to survive his visit without problems.

  ****

  “I hope you didn’t wash them?” Dante asked as he and the detective leaped off the sofa.

  “I didn’t have time what with Greg and you visiting one after the other.”

  “Thank God.” Ladd grabbed his briefcase and reached the kitchen in a few giant steps, followed by Dante. The detective extracted plastic bags and latex gloves from his briefcase and deposited them on the counter top. He dug his hand into his treasure bag again and came up with a camera. After clicking a few pictures of the glasses, carafe, and the whole kitc
hen, he slipped on the gloves and carefully slid the carafe and two glasses into plastic bags, enveloped the precious packages with bubble wrap, and put them into another bag.

  He turned around and scanned the counter top bar separating the kitchen from the living room. “Where did Steve stand when he poured the liquor?”

  “Here,” Alexa said, pointing to the other side of the bar. “He poured the drinks here, at the bar, but when the phone rang he left his drink on the table and I did the same.”

  Ladd took more pictures. “I think I’m done.” He surveyed the living room one last time. “Before I leave, would you mind if I have a look at the rest of your apartment?”

  The detective was doing his job, and she had nothing to hide. She shrugged. “Sure, go ahead.”

  Without waiting for her to show him the way, he strode to the office and surveyed the room. “Do you often work here?”

  “Not really. I e-mail my friends and order things on the Internet.”

  “Your computer?” He pointed to the desktop sitting on the humongous antique desk.

  “Actually, it’s Greg’s old one. I use the laptop.” She showed him the small PC laying on the cocktail table in front of the sofa and the wide-screen TV.

  “So the bedrooms and office face west and have views of the Intracoastal?”

  “Yes, and the living room and kitchen face the ocean on the east.”

  The detective clicked a few pictures. He did the same in the guestroom and then returned to the living room and walked the hallway leading to her bedroom. He entered, surveyed the room, snapped a couple of pictures. His camera in hand, he opened the closet and stared at the two full-size suitcases. He bent and lifted them, assessing their weight. His eyebrows arched. “Are you traveling soon?”

  “I was going to New York tomorrow to visit a school friend, but I changed my mind after what happened.”

  “It’s wise.” He shot a picture of the suitcases and continued his exploration of the bathrooms.

  “Well, I’m done with my questions. You have been most helpful, Mrs. Partson. Mr. Cantari, did you talk to Bairey in the elevator?”