My eyes burned as tears formed in the corners. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I know. He was always so levelheaded, no matter what. Remember that time Ashlee’s baby guinea pigs escaped after she left the cage door open?”
“And your father managed to scoop them up in my purse, while you two girls ran around and almost stepped on them, and I sat on the counter and screamed. I never did get that purse clean.”
Mom and I were still laughing at the memory when Ashlee walked into the room.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Dana and I were reminiscing about when your father saved us from those runaway guinea pigs.”
Ashlee put her hands on her hips. “I swear I didn’t leave that cage open.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Mom said as she pulled the rice from the microwave. “Now, who wants to set the table?”
We spent dinner chatting about what we’d done all day. When I mentioned visiting the gas station where Bobby Joe had worked, Mom shot me a look that said we wouldn’t be discussing murder over our poached chicken. After clearing the table and washing the dishes, I grabbed my car keys and my purse.
Ashlee ran into the bathroom for a few minutes and emerged with brushed hair, a touch of blush, and a new layer of lipstick. Was I supposed to get dolled-up, too? I frowned at my reflection in the hall mirror and ran my fingers through my blond hair, wincing as I hit a few snarls. I was stopping by a dead guy’s apartment to pick up an iPod and quiz his roommate. I didn’t need to dress up.
I walked out to my car and settled into the driver’s seat, while Ashlee got in the other side. “Think we should call first?” I asked as she buckled her seat belt. “Let him know we’re dropping by?”
“Seriously, Dana, he’s a guy. He doesn’t care about those things.”
“If you say so.” I started the car and backed out of the driveway.
I knew from comments that Ashlee had made that Bobby Joe lived across town in a complex by the train tracks. I drove down the main strip, noting that the Get the Scoop ice cream parlor was doing a brisk trade on this sweltering summer evening.
In the passenger seat, Ashlee looked out the window and sighed. “Bobby Joe and I used to always have ice cream after we saw a movie. We’d share a banana split sundae.”
I swore I saw a legitimate tear in her eye. “I don’t know if I’ve said it, but I’m really sorry he’d dead,” I told her.
“Thanks. This weekend’s rally would have been huge for him. We’d be at the fan appreciation night right now.”
We were both silent as we passed the row of new businesses that had opened two weeks earlier, signs of life on what had been a dying block. Blossom Valley was starting to drag itself out of the recession, one business at a time.
I turned off Main Street and drove down Jasmine Road, past a long row of small, worn-down tract houses. This was the old part of town, where the cracks in the sidewalks and potholes in the street were extra deep.
“Where did Bobby Joe live again?” I asked as we got farther away from the main drag.
“The Palm Villa Apartments. Sounds way more posh than it is.” Ashlee gestured toward my side of the car. “It’s up here on the left.”
I drove a couple more blocks, pulled into the apartment lot, and parked in a visitor space. Behind the cluster of apartment buildings, I spotted a lone palm leaning to one side, only three fronds left on the thin trunk.
Shutting off the engine, I handed the keys to Ashlee. “In case you want to listen to the radio.”
“How long are you planning to stay in there? You’re only here for my iPod.”
“That and to talk to Bobby Joe’s roommate, if he’s around. He might be able to give me a lead on who hated Bobby Joe enough to kill him.”
Ashlee waved her hand. “Good luck. Half the time, that guy’s too stoned to make a sentence.”
“Great, I can’t wait to talk to him.” I stepped out of the car, then leaned back in. “Guess it’d help if I knew which apartment.”
“Follow the stink of ganja.”
“Ashlee.”
“Twenty-seven. It’s the second building back.”
I slammed the door shut and stepped onto the walkway, following it along the side of the closest building. The complex had eight or ten buildings, as far as I could tell, each two stories tall with four apartments per building. Once I got around to the back of the first building, I could see that each apartment had a small patio or balcony. Someone had draped a large beach towel over the nearest railing. Below it, planters hung above a patio.
I moved to the next building and checked the numbers on the side. Number twenty-seven was the ground-floor apartment on the right. A hibachi grill was visible through the fence slats, along with a couple of cheap lawn chairs. I went up the walk and under the stairs, where I stopped and stared at the door. Was I an idiot for going into the apartment alone? Did Stump kill Bobby Joe?
Even if he did, surely he wouldn’t kill me with the sun still shining and neighbors so close. I knocked on the door.
Music pulsed through the thin wood. As I raised my hand to knock louder, the door flew open. The smell of pot hit me full force, and I staggered back, coughing.
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” the guy who opened the door asked. I could only assume this was Bobby Joe’s half-baked roommate. He wore denim shorts and a T-shirt that had a picture of a lawn on it and said, “I Love Grass.” His feet were bare, but I just knew he had a pair of flip-flops lurking nearby. His brown hair hung well past his collar, a scruffy beard covered his chin, and as he spoke, I could see bits of food in his teeth.
As I fanned the air in front of my face, another guy slipped around the first. He glanced at me on his way by, his intense gray eyes the color of thick ice, and I was momentarily mesmerized.
“Later, dude,” he called over his shoulder as he headed down the walk.
I cleared my throat a couple of times, trying to rid myself of smoke. “I’m Ashlee’s sister,” I said to the guy who had answered the door. “I stopped by for some stuff she left here.”
“Right on, dude. I’m Stump. Come on in.”
And here I’d thought Ashlee might be lying about his name.
He stepped back to allow me to enter, but I paused. What if Detective Palmer stopped by for some of Bobby Joe’s personal effects? Would I end up in jail for being in an apartment where someone was smoking pot, even if I wasn’t?
Stump seemed to understand my hesitation. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve got a medical marijuana card. It’s all good.”
Well, in that case. I moved past him into the apartment, taking shallow breaths to limit how much pot I inhaled. I wasn’t sure if someone could get high from secondhand smoke, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.
Stump closed the door, crossed the tiny living room, and twisted a knob on the stereo. The volume of the music dropped a few decibels. He settled on a threadbare plaid couch he’d probably retrieved from a Dumpster and stared at the giant-screen TV eight feet from his face.
I waited for a moment, but he didn’t move.
“So, um, any idea where Ashlee’s stuff might be?” I asked.
Stump blinked a couple of times. “What? Oh, right. Probably Bobby Joe’s room, if the fuzz didn’t take everything already.” He gestured vaguely to a short hallway on the other side of the living room, where I could see three doors.
I tried the closest one and found myself in a bathroom, illuminated by a night light. The shower curtain showed streaks of something, and the toilet bowl looked suspiciously dark. I shut the door before I felt the need to call my doctor for antibiotics.
I tried the next room, flicking on the light. Every wall was covered with posters of monster trucks, each with names like Black Stallion and Eradicator. I stepped inside, shut the door, and allowed myself to breathe a little deeper. The bed was unmade, jeans and T-shirts were strewn across the floor, and a half-eaten slice of pizza was growing mold in an open box.
I felt a wave of sadness as I surveyed the remains of Bobby Joe’s life. No one had bothered to come in and clean up. Did he have any family? Anyone close by? I hadn’t even asked Ashlee if a service was planned.
The only other furniture in the room besides the bed was a beat-up desk. I sorted through a handful of papers on the scratched surface. Each was a pencil drawing of a monster truck, some doing wheelies, some upside down, and one doing some corkscrew maneuver that defied gravity. Notes were scribbled at the bottom of each page. Bobby Joe had been quite the artist.
I shoved those papers to the side and uncovered an assortment of receipts, movie-ticket stubs, and loose change. The desk seemed to be his dumping ground when he emptied his pockets at the end of the day. I poked among the papers and found an ATM receipt from two days before Bobby Joe’s death. He’d withdrawn a hundred dollars, leaving an account balance of two hundred and seventy-six dollars. Not exactly rolling in dough, unless he had a secret offshore account somewhere. Based on the sparse furnishings, that seemed unlikely. I opened the desk drawers but didn’t find anything worth noting. And there was no sign of Ashlee’s iPod.
My phone rang, and recognizing Ashlee’s ring tone, I pulled it out of my pocket. “What?” I didn’t hide my irritation.
“How much longer are you going to be? The car’s getting hot.”
“Take a walk outside.” I kicked at a heap of clothes as I talked, but only the dingy, stained carpet lay underneath.
“Forget it. A nosy neighbor already came out and pretended to water her flowers while she tried to spy on me. That old biddy’s always poking around.”
Old biddy? Was my sister watching Andy Griffith reruns? “I’ll be out in a bit. I still need to talk to Stump.”
“Well, hurry up, would ya?” She clicked off without saying good-bye.
Nothing like a little gratitude when you were trying to clear your sister of a murder rap.
The floor of Bobby Joe’s closet held three pairs of shoes and a pair of heavy work boots. On one side of the clothing rod, a heavy jumpsuit much like the one in Crusher’s cabin hung from a plastic hangar that sagged from the weight. A black helmet with lightning bolts sat on the shelf over the rod.
Stepping to the bed, I hefted the thin mattress and checked underneath, as I’d seen detectives do on TV. Only a box spring with holes in the thin fabric greeted me. I had no idea whether the police had already searched through Bobby Joe’s belongings and taken some items. I had to assume they had, though it was impossible to know if the cops had left this mess or if it was Bobby Joe’s natural state.
Disappointed that I hadn’t found a note with a list of people who hated Bobby Joe or maybe a diary full of blackmail evidence or even Ashlee’s iPod, I dropped the mattress back down and left the room, switching off the light on my way out.
As I shut the door, the smell of pot wafted down the hall and tickled my nose. I went back to my shallow-breathing routine. I was definitely going to keep my questions brief.
Stump sat on the couch, staring at a group of meerkats on the TV. The sound was off, and the stereo in the corner still blared rock music. He smiled at the animals and sipped a beer.
“Thanks for letting me look in Bobby Joe’s room,” I said, stepping in front of the giant screen so he couldn’t miss me.
Stump lowered his beer can and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, when’d you get here?”
I couldn’t picture this guy clubbing Bobby Joe over the head. It required too much effort. Too much concentration. “You let me in a few minutes ago, remember?”
He squinched his eyes, apparently in deep concentration, then smiled. “Yeah, dude, right on.”
At least Ashlee hadn’t hooked up with this guy. Bobby Joe was starting to look like Bachelor of the Year.
I sat on the other corner of the worn couch, the thin cushion flattening even more under my weight. “Were you and Bobby Joe roommates for a long time?”
Stump scratched his beard. “Uh, a year, I think.”
“So you must have known all of Bobby Joe’s friends. Can you tell me about them?” I suspected Stump could barely remember what he’d had for lunch today, but maybe he’d surprise me.
“Bobby Joe’s friends didn’t really come here much. He was dating some hot chick for a while, a real nice piece of tail.” He squinted at me. “Wait, that’s your sister, right?”
“Right.” I’d be sure to pass the compliment along. “Did Bobby Joe ever talk about people who might want to harm him? Anyone who held a grudge?”
Stump took a swig of beer and burped. “We didn’t talk about anything that deep, man. Mostly sports and stuff. Bobby Joe spent most of his time in his room when he was home. I think it’s cause I play my Christian Rock so loud.” He gestured with his can at the stereo.
“You like Christian Rock?” Guess he didn’t actually listen to the words.
“You bet. I’m way spiritual. Go to church every Sunday.”
I sniffed the air and wondered if he kept his nice church clothes in the car so they wouldn’t reek.
“So you can’t help me with Bobby Joe?” I asked. If Stump couldn’t provide anything new, I wanted to go home, breathe some fresh air, and wash my clothes.
“Naw. Everything was going great for him, man. He was real jazzed about this monster truck rally. Thought it’d be his big break.”
Exactly what Ashlee had said. Maybe Bobby Joe had more ambition than I’d given him credit for.
“Well, thanks again. I’ll let myself out.”
He hadn’t actually moved, but I figured I’d say that anyway.
I stepped outside, closed the door, and took three deep breaths of muggy air. Heaven. An African American woman on the patio directly in front of me was watering the geraniums in her hanging pots, only she was mostly watering the cement as she tried to surreptitiously watch me and kept missing the plants. Perhaps this was the neighbor Ashlee said was spying on her.
With a little wave, which the woman ignored, I followed the path out to the front and stopped at the curb. I looked to the left, then to the right, then in front of me again.
My car was gone.
And so was Ashlee.
10
I stared at the empty parking space, as if my car might magically materialize, then yanked my cell from my pocket and speed-dialed Ashlee. As I listened to first one ring, then another, a whisper of panic started in my stomach and slithered its way up my throat. I’d left her alone in an iffy neighborhood. What if someone had decided to steal my car and Ashlee along with it?
Ashlee answered on the third ring. “Hey, you finally done?”
Guess she hadn’t been kidnapped. I scanned the street, wondering if she had parked out of view, playing a little prank on her older sister.
“Where are you?” I asked. “And where’s my car?”
“Don’t get all bent out of shape. I told you it was too hot to sit out there, so I drove over to Get the Scoop.”
My earlier thread of panic twisted into a knot of anger. “Get back here and pick me up.” I could barely get the words out from between my clenched teeth.
“Relax, I’ll be right there. I’m almost done with my cone, anyway.”
“Forget your stupid ice cream and get over here.” But I was talking to myself. She’d already hung up.
I jammed my phone into my pocket, then paced up and down the sidewalk, working myself into a sweat. The nosy neighbor came out front to water her daisies. Those must be the most overwatered flowers in the neighborhood.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and walked over.
“Beautiful flowers,” I said to the woman. The deep lines in her face and white hair put her age at eighty or so. Her T-shirt said, “Official Antique.”
“Thank you, honey. I do love to garden.” She plucked a dead leaf off a stem.
“It shows. I’m Dana, by the way.”
“Yolanda.”
I pretended to admire the blossoms for what I deemed an appropriate
amount of time. “Say, I bet you have a good view of everything that goes on around here.”
Yolanda sniffed. “Well, I try to stay out of other people’s business.”
Yeah, right. “I’m sure you do. But it can’t hurt to keep an eye on things, make sure the neighborhood’s safe.”
“So true. I do my part.” She glanced around to make sure no one was watching us. “I couldn’t help but notice you went into that riffraff’s apartment. They’re not friends of yours, are they?”
“No, ma’am.”
Yolanda gave me the once-over. “I didn’t think you were the type.”
“What type is that?” Even as I asked the question, I’d swear I caught a whiff of pot floating by.
“Druggies, stoners, potheads.”
Wow, Yolanda was pretty hip.
Her enthusiasm increased as she talked, her arms waving more and more, watering can swinging. “These guys traipse through here all hours of the night. They think no one notices how they stop by for five minutes and then come back the next week and do it all over again.”
This was certainly a new angle. I swiped at my temples again as I felt sweat trickle down the side of my face. “Are you saying Stump was dealing drugs?”
“Not just Stump, but Bobby Joe, too. And what kind of stupid name is Stump?”
Bobby Joe might have had his faults, like cheating on my sister, but I hadn’t pegged him as a drug dealer. “Are you sure?”
Yolanda cackled. “Of course I’m sure Stump is a stupid name. Might as well call himself Log.”
“No, I meant are you sure Bobby Joe was involved?”
“Yessum. I happened to be crouched down, pruning the base of my lemon tree one afternoon, and overheard him making a deal right at his apartment door, in front of God and everybody.”
I had to take a moment to digest that information. My little sister had been dating a drug dealer? Did she know?
“Sounds like their operation was pretty big with all the people coming and going,” I said.
“Big as the great sky.” Yolanda said. “’Course, that don’t mean they didn’t have their differences. They were shouting at each other something fierce a couple of nights ago.”
All Natural Murder Page 8
