“Hey.”
“Argghh!” I jumped and released my bag.
Bill leapt off the sofa. “What’s the matter?” he screeched groggily.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped, my heart doing a trampoline act.
“Thought you’d like some company. I came over a couple of hours ago and laid down on the sofa for a minute. Guess I fell asleep,” he said.
“I guess.” I collapsed into my recliner and exhaled my fright. “You scared me. I didn’t see your cruiser outside anywhere.”
Bill rubbed his beard. “I like to keep things between us on the down low. I drove my BMW and parked it down the block.”
“It doesn’t matter where you park your car. Etonville has eyes and ears on us.”
“Sorry to frighten you. I meant to text earlier but got sidetracked by the ME’s office,” he said.
“Ruby?”
“Yeah. Her blood alcohol level was .06,” he said.
“Not at the illegal level.” I’d become aware of the legal blood alcohol level during an earlier investigation.
“No, but high enough to make driving slightly dicey. Especially given her petite build and body weight.”
“Does he know what she died from? Was it a heart attack or something?”
Bill nodded. “It’s preliminary, but the ME says it looks like carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“She was asphyxiated? Don’t you die of carbon monoxide poisoning in closed spaces like garages? Ruby died on the open roadway.”
“I’m having Timothy go over her car in the morning. Maybe there was a malfunction in the exhaust system. A crack in the manifold or something,” Bill said and rubbed his eyes.
I shivered.
Bill put a protective arm around my shoulder. “You cold?”
“Tired,” I said. No sense in sharing what I thought I witnessed at Timothy’s tonight, especially since I couldn’t be one hundred percent positive that I actually saw something worth sharing.
Bill smiled slyly. “I guess we’d better get you into bed.”
OMG. No mystery chapters tonight.
* * * *
The alarm buzzed a staccato rhythm and I woke up. Buttery sunlight streamed in the bedroom window and I winced. Time to get up already? I pulled the sheet over my shoulder and promised myself ten more minutes to snooze. I was in the middle of a delicious dream…lounging poolside at a luxury resort, soaking up rays and cool breezes, while a handsome man served me a pink drink with an umbrella poking out of it. Was it Bill? Speaking of which…I peeked at the left side of my bed. Somehow, the shrieking of the alarm hadn’t awakened him, though he’d been the one to set it. I studied his blondish beard, spikes of his sandy brush cut sticking up in all directions on his head, and frown lines in the space between his eyes, firmly closed. He must have been exhausted. I kissed the tip of his nose. His eyes fluttered open.
“Yep. It’s six thirty. You wanted to be gone before the neighborhood woke up.”
“Price I pay for a private life,” he griped and threw back the cover.
As if that was remotely possible. “I’ll put on some coffee.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll get some on my way to Timothy’s garage.” He rolled out of bed and dressed in a flash.
I whipped on a bathrobe and followed him to the front door, barely keeping up. “So, talk later?” I asked as he strapped on his belt and holster.
“Sure.” He hugged me, yawning in my ear.
Truly romantic. “Did Edna bring your costume to the municipal building? Until you hear different, the show goes up the end of the week.”
He opened the door.
“And let Penny know if you can’t make the tech tonight. It’s in the park.”
“Got it.”
I grabbed the back of his uniform shirt. “You’re a man of few words this morning.”
He laid a whopper of a kiss on me. “Actions speak louder than words.”
Yahoo!
Bill had no sooner stepped onto my front porch when two of my neighbors, each attempting to control a frolicking dog, immediately stopped their conversation. They waved merrily.
“Hi, Chief,” one said. “Gonna be a beautiful day.”
The other agreed.
Bill ducked his head, practically ran to his car down the block, and I gamely waved back. “Morning!” I was standing in my robe for all the world to see. I scampered back inside and shut the door. Oh well, life in a small town…
I toyed with the idea of hopping back under the covers, but I was too wide-awake now to surrender to my dreams again. I luxuriated in an extra cup of coffee, a slice of toast, and the New York Times. By eight, I was ready to face the day. I stayed in the shower longer than usual, letting the warm water ping off my face and run over my shoulders. Funny that Bill hadn’t mentioned our vacation last night, as he had nearly every day since we first agreed to plan one together. He was so gung-ho about sleeping in a tent, fishing for dinner, preparing a gourmet meal on a camping cook stove. Had he been that preoccupied by Ruby’s death? I pushed thoughts of her passing out of my mind, as I slipped on my black skinny jeans and a stretchy, red, knit top. Red was my power color, and I needed to dive into the day with some energy. Wilson, Henry, the contest-winning entrees—
My cell binged. It was Lola: Are you up? Coffee? Need a favor. I’ll explain. I texted back that I was up and would meet her in twenty minutes. I picked up my keys from the coffee table in the living room and spied a manila envelope. Bill’s name was on the outside, official looking papers on the inside. I’ll bet he needs these today. I’d swing by Timothy’s on my way to Coffee Heaven.
By the time I left my bungalow, the neighborhood was a beehive of activity. The beautiful weather coaxed people outdoors to mow grass, water flower beds, and powerwalk down the street. I whipped out my cell phone and pretended to have a call—never mind that no one was on the other end. If I appeared to be busy, I wouldn’t have to acknowledge my neighbors with anything more than a perfunctory wave. I settled into my Metro and, phone to my ear, my simulated conversation rattling on, I backed out of my driveway. I ditched the phone as I hit the street—no sense tempting fate by pretending to chat illegally.
The roads were already crawling with Etonville residents as I swerved my car down Main Street, avoiding the manhole covers where the Department of Public Works was paving the road. Ralph directed traffic in the opposite direction—standing in the street, gesturing with his arms, blowing his whistle from time to time. I wasn’t sure his actions weren’t clogging the roadway. Glad I was heading north instead of south. I inched along until I could turn left to cut over several streets and swing by Timothy’s service station.
Up ahead I saw Bill’s squad car. Good. I was hoping he was still here. I pulled over on the side of the road and clicked off the engine. I snatched the manila envelope off the seat and strode to Ruby’s car where Bill and Timothy had their heads tucked under the hood.
“Hi,” I said.
Timothy jerked his head out. He shoved his ball cap up his forehead and ran a hand over his grizzled beard. “Hey there, Dodie.”
Bill followed suit. “What are you doing here?”
Was that a suspicious glimmer in his laser baby blues? “You forgot this.” I held out the envelope.
“I did?” Bill asked sheepishly. “Guess I was distracted this morning.”
Timothy considered the exchange between Bill and me, stifling a chuckle.
“You could have delivered it to the department,” Bill said. “No need to track me down. But thanks.”
“I wasn’t sure how important the papers were.” Bill was right; I could have stopped by the municipal building on my way to Lola’s. Then I realized what was bothering me. The light in Ruby’s car last night was an itch that required scratching. “Have you found anything? About Ruby’s car?” When Bil
l and I had officially “gotten together” back in March, I had assured him that I would stay out of future investigations—at least in public. It would be easier on both of us—but I had my little hairs to keep track of, and right now they were giving me a hard time.
Before Bill could stop him, Timothy said, “Well, you know, carbon monoxide is deadly stuff.”
“Even outside a garage?”
“Dodie…” Bill gave me a warning glance.
Timothy was oblivious. “Uh-huh. CO2 can get into the engine compartment and then the body of the car. A cracked exhaust manifold. A leak between the manifold and the heat shroud. The tail pipe not securely connected to the—”
“Can you take a closer look at the engine and exhaust system and let me know if you find anything?” Bill asked.
“Uh-huh.” Timothy removed his cap. “Course she was due for an inspection. Maybe they woulda’ caught something with the exhaust system.” He pointed to the state decal on the front windshield. Ruby’s car was overdue for its date with the Department of Motor Vehicles.
New Jersey was a stickler when it came to car inspections. The DMV didn’t mess around. I should know. I’d missed the inspection deadline by two days years ago and had to pay a fat fine for my mistake. “What a shame. If she’d had the inspection, she might be alive?” I asked. I had always found the state inspection to be relatively inconsequential. Until now.
Timothy shrugged. Bill was silent. Was now the time to mention the light?
“Give me a call later?” Bill said, tipping his hat at Timothy, and leading me by the elbow back to my Metro. “Dodie, we had an agreement.”
“We do. But this isn’t a murder and I thought I saw something last night.”
“What?”
“On my way home, I was driving past Timothy’s and—”
“This place isn’t on your way home from the Windjammer,” Bill said.
“Not exactly, but I like to drive around Etonville late at night when the streets are empty and everything is quiet, so I came down to this end and—”
“Dodie!”
“Right. I was cruising past and when I looked up into my rearview mirror…” What did I really see? “A light went on in Ruby’s car.”
“A light? Like the dome light?”
“Not that bright. Maybe a flashlight? Could have been a cell phone flashlight,” I added.
“So you stopped and investigated?” he asked.
“Me? No! I drove on. When I looked up again, the light was gone.”
Bill exhaled slowly. “So you can’t confirm that what you really saw was a light. You only think you might have seen a light?”
“I guess so.” My cell pinged. “Lola. I should go.” I backed away.
“Stay out of trouble,” Bill called out.
* * * *
“You gals all set?” Jocelyn asked as she rang up our coffees to go.
Lola took a sip of hers and snapped the lid on the container. “Thanks, Jocelyn.”
“By the way…” Jocelyn tugged on the front of her uniform and leaned over the counter. “If you see Walter, tell him I said ‘Hey.’”
Lola gazed at me. “Oh. Sure.”
I held it together until we were safely in Lola’s Lexus—a cleaner, more comfortable ride than my Metro—which I parked in front of the Windjammer. “Guess who has the hots for your director?” I hooted.
“Jocelyn?”
“Yes.”
“No!”
“Yes! And she’s serious about it.”
“Does Walter know?” Lola asked.
“I doubt it. You know how oblivious he can be. Besides, he still has eyes for you.” I sipped my caramel macchiato.
Lola steered the Lexus out of town and onto the highway. “You’d never know it from last night’s rehearsal.”
“Bad time?”
“After we suffered through one of Walter’s warm-ups—we had to be trees in the Etonville Park…you know, swaying, falling, branches bending in the wind—he gave notes for an hour. They included an especially detailed critique of Dale and me. Everything we did was wrong. The timing on the choreography was off, the blocking was incorrect. He gave me line readings. Me!” Lola concentrated on the road. “I tried to be calm and supportive of Walter, but Dale was so fed up he nearly burst a blood vessel.”
I’d seen Dale explode a couple of times at rehearsal over blocking notes. “Guess he doesn’t like to be corrected?”
“I could have throttled Walter. Penny was getting frustrated too.”
“And that takes some doing.” Penny was protective of Walter. “How did Alex handle the accompaniment?” I asked.
“Fine. There were missed cues but by opening night he’ll be good to go.”
“At least he knows the show.”
“True. Even Walter had to compliment him on taking on the extra load.”
“Maybe if Walter knew about Jocelyn, it would improve his mood?” I suggested.
Lola cut her eyes in my direction. “Can you picture the two of them?” She approached the Creston turnoff and switched on her GPS. “I don’t really know what part of town we’re going to.”
“You never did explain why we had to go to Ruby’s apartment,” I said.
The GPS directed us to continue down the main drag for a mile and a half, and then turn right on Barrow Street.
“I didn’t want to go alone. Thought it might be creepy. But both Walter and JC said Ruby had taken notes and created music cue sheets from the rehearsal in the park Monday night.”
The night before Ruby died. “Wouldn’t Penny have that?” Penny carried her prompt script and clipboard around as if they were the Holy Grail.
“You’d think so, but Walter said Penny was busy doing I-don’t-know-what while he and JC and Ruby were timing music to light cues. Ruby insisted on keeping her own record of the cues, and said she was taking the sheets to work on them. Since we didn’t need them until we moved to the park for the technical rehearsal, I thought Ruby might have left them home. They weren’t with her score. Of course she barely looked at the score.”
“I suppose you could create another set of cues?” I asked.
“We might have to, but finding the cue sheets will save us a ton of time rewriting all of Ruby’s notes.”
“So you called her super?”
Lola checked her GPS. “I explained it all to him. Not sure he understood but he agreed to meet us at her apartment to unlock the door.”
We traveled over Barrow and onto Hamilton Avenue. Lola eased her Lexus to the curb and we stared at 119, the address she had for Ruby’s apartment building. The neighborhood was old and worn, like Ruby herself. The faded red brick structure housed four floors of apartments. The courtyard had remnants of a dried-up fountain. In its heyday, the courtyard must have been an attractive setting. Now, however, debris littered the empty fountain. Single-family homes bordered either side of the apartment building, and parked cars lined the curb. On the opposite side of the street were a deli, a post office, a tavern, and a church. The streets were uninhabited.
“This is it,” said Lola.
We got out of the Lexus and followed a cracked cement walkway, through patches of dry brown grass, to the back of the courtyard and the entrance into the building. Lola called a number and in a minute, the super opened the door. “I am Nikolas. Come, come. I am sorry to hear about Ruby. She was nice woman.”
I judged his thick accent to be Eastern European. About forty, with thinning dark hair, he wore a plaid work shirt and a tool belt that jingled. He led us to the elevator and explained that he had not entered Ruby’s place in the seven years she’d lived there. Ever? Ruby was on the verge of elderly, and she’d never needed help with the plumbing or heating or electrical? She’d been self-sufficient.
We rode to the third floor in silence, and then m
oved down a hallway to an end unit. Nikolas fiddled with the keys and pushed open Ruby’s door.
“We’ll only need a few minutes to find the papers,” Lola explained.
“I will come back in fifteen minutes.” Nikolas left us alone—as though we needed discretion to search among Ruby’s things.
Lola and I walked to the center of the two-room apartment. There was an efficiency kitchen, with a refrigerator, stove, and sink on one wall, and a table, chairs, and bookshelves on the opposite wall. A laptop sat on the table. A door led into a miniscule bedroom that allowed for a single bed and a chest of drawers. A sofa facing a flat screen television and an upright piano occupied the remainder of space in the apartment. Everything was neat as a pin.
“Wow. Doesn’t seem like Ruby,” I said.
“I know what you mean. The flask, cigarettes, her scruffy look like she’d spent days in the same clothes. Where are the ashtrays and empty liquor bottles?” She sniffed. “Even the air smells clean.”
I poked my head into the bedroom. Nothing strewn about, some clothes in a closet neatly arranged on hangers. Two pairs of dark slacks, several blouses, and knit tops. “I’ve never seen her in nicer clothes—like these. Are we sure it’s her place?”
“Yes.” Lola found a piece of junk mail addressed to Ruby on the bookshelf.
“It’s pretty sterile,” I said.
“Well, it shouldn’t take me long to find the cue sheets—if they’re here.” Lola took a glimpse of the room, gazed at the bookshelf, and moved into the bedroom.
Out of sheer curiosity, I ducked into Ruby’s bathroom. It was a bad habit of mine…checking out medicine cabinets. Ruby’s held the basics—toothpaste, dental floss, face cream, hand lotion, an outdated prescription for an antibiotic, and an open bottle of Ambien. It was half full; without thinking, I snapped the lid back on.
I re-entered the living room and walked closer to Ruby’s books. I was always curious about the things that people read, or at least pretended to read. Ruby had a handful of romance novels, biographies of presidents from Eisenhower to Obama, and a series of books on Indiana—its history, a text on its native plants, and a phone book for Indianapolis dated 1970.
Just in Time Page 4
