Grave Misgivings

by Kristen Houghton

  “No, I, no, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  “Okay, I’ll ask the building manager before I leave. Is he still here?”

  “Yes, he is on duty until twelve.”

  “His name?”

  “Paul Demaret. Shall I call him?”

  “Yes, but tell him that I’ll see him on my way out, preferably in his office. Also tell him that I’d like to speak with the doorman after I talk to him.”

  “Of course. I’ll do that now and I’ll make a call to the police as well.” He looks at me and Jennifer. “I’ll use the bedroom phone so you can talk to Jennifer without disturbance.” Edward Penn kisses his fiancée gently and leaves us alone.

  “You know what the message means, don’t you, Cate? He’s asking me if I have my affairs in order before I die, before he murders me.”

  I nod absently. “I won’t lie to you, Jennifer; the message is pretty clear to you, Edward, and me. We can bring this to the attention of the police and ask for their help but without an outright threat there’s not a lot to go on. Remember, cops deal in facts, so it isn’t that they won’t necessarily take it seriously but the fact of the matter is that there is no threat, written or otherwise. “And, Jennifer, the arrangement for the hit was made by you two years ago; they’ll assume that this man has taken your money and forgotten about doing the job. You have to remember that the police will be very leery of the fact that you ordered the hit on yourself. They’ll send a car to patrol this area but without a solid threat it isn’t a real priority.”

  “So my time is almost over.” She says this without emotion, just quiet resignation.

  I get up, walk over to her chair, and kneel down in front of her. “No, listen to me, Jennifer. I have the best security team in New York City keeping tabs on everything that goes on here. After I’m done talking with the manager and the doorman, I’m going to call Sec.Co to double the security detail. Believe me, Jennifer, I’ll find this man and I’ll do everything in my power to stop him from…harming you.” I hesitate over the word “harming” and she knows it. “Killing” is the word that hangs unspoken in the air between us. I close my eyes and ask her with as much confidence as I can muster, “Can you trust me to do that?”

  “Yes. I have to trust you, don’t I? What other choice do I have? If I leave here, he’ll find me again the same as he found me after I changed my appearance. He will find me, of that fact I am certain. You believe that too, don’t you?”

  KRISTEN HOUGHTON 55

  She looks at me for confirmation when she says that and I just nod my head yes. He’ll find her. “Leaving won’t really benefit you and it won’t stop him, Jennifer. Staying here and letting me find him is the best thing to do right now.”

  Edward comes back to the living room; we talk about having the police come to their condo but Edward tells me that he’d rather meet them in the lobby so as not to upset Jennifer any further.”I can handle this, Jennifer,” he says gently taking her into his arms.

  As I leave I whisper to Edward that after they talk to the police, he should give Jennifer one tranquilizer just to help her relax. With that done I leave the condo and head down to talk to the manager and doorman. I’ll call the security team on my way to my office.

  ๕๕๕

  The manager and the doorman know nothing of how the envelope with Jennifer’s name on it arrived at the front desk. I ask if someone hand-delivered it because there’s no stamp on it but neither man remembers anyone, male or female, coming in to deliver the note.

  The doorman is amazed that the woman he thought was not fit to enter the building is a private investigator and treats me with a new respect. The manager shows me the security cameras. It’s very clear that there’s no one entering the building except the condo owners. A couple of packages are seen being delivered but the doorman swears he knows the delivery service drivers and I have no cause to doubt him. The only other person who showed up late yesterday is the mail carrier, a short, muscled woman in her fifties.

  “Where was the envelope when you found it?” I ask the manager.

  “Oh I didn’t find it. We offer a service here; tenants can either opt to have their mail brought up to their apartments or ask that we keep the mail for them in personal mail cubicles behind the front desk and they’ll pick it up sometime during the day.” He gestures behind the desk to a small grouping of varnished wooden boxes affixed to the wall, many of them containing mail.

  “Mr. Penn, Ms. Brooks-Warren’s fiancé, had asked that both their mail be kept in a cubicle. They usually pick it up in the late afternoon but neither one of them came down last night to pick up the mail. When Mr. Penn came down early this morning for the paper. I handed him the mail from yesterday.”

  “A lot of mail?”

  “Just the usual. I guess some bills and of course a circular. In fact, now that I think about it, the letter must have fallen out of the circular when Mr. Penn dropped the mail. I remember that he had to bend down to retrieve everything. He held that particular envelope up to the light after he had picked the mail up. I could see it clearly, a plain white envelope with Ms. Brooks-Warren’s name on it. Of course I would have picked the mail up for him but I was...”

  “A circular from what store?” I interrupt him abruptly.

  He looks at me a bit distastefully for the interruption and thinks for a moment. “Oh not from any particular store. It’s those advertisements from many stores. You know; the stores

  GRAVE MISGIVINGS 56

  offer coupons and the circulars are delivered to everyone. You must get some in your own mail. I

  know I do. My wife likes a few of the coupons; says we save a lot of money by using them.”

  I do remember getting coupon circulars in my mail. Usually I just recycle them on Thursdays when the trucks come around for paper and plastic. The Eliminator must have known where the circulars came from, when they would be sent out to be delivered to this block, and was able to put an envelope inside the one with Jennifer’s name on it. Nice work and almost untraceable.

  “And the mail carrier,” I ask the doorman. “Trustworthy?”

  “Carmen? Been delivering mail here for the past eight years. Yeah, I would trust her with my life. Very professional and always on time. You can set your watch by that lady.”

  I thank them both for their time and make a note to come back around 5:30 when Carmen delivers the mail. On the way to my car I call Adrian at Sec.Co. but they’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary.

  “No strangers hanging around, only regular tenants entering the building. Not even many visitors. It’s an old building, Cate, for older people, not a lot of activity there. I don’t know why your very attractive client wants to live there. Sort of boring if you ask me.”

  “Maybe she likes the quiet, who knows? Anyway thanks Adrian. Double the detail and call me if anything comes up.”

  “We will.”

  I drive back to my office hoping that I can take a nap on the sofa there and then get some work done on this case.

  ๕๕๕

  Having reached my office around 8:00 am, I am able to sleep for almost ninety minutes before I hear a key turning in the double locks of the antique oak door that proclaims, Catherine Harlow, Private Investigations on a shiny brass plaque. Myrtle walks in with her usual bustle carrying a bag from Timothy’s. I smell coffee and bagels.

  She walks over to me and gently shakes my shoulder. Taking in my disheveled appearance she purses her lips and says, “Don’t tell me you slept here all night, Catherine. You look horrible. Here, have some coffee and a nice bagel, then please go home to take a shower and get freshened up. I’m more than capable of holding down the fort when you’re not here.”

  I grab the coffee and bagel. The bagel is thick with butter and cream cheese just the way I like it and I am so grateful to have it. I feel queasy from having taken the antibiotics on an empty stomach. I eat and drink like a starving woman for a few minutes while Myrtle tidies up my desk, throwing away my
used coffee container from this morning and empty bag of chips from last night.

  The food and coffee make me feel a little better and I get up to stretch. Myrtle is feeding the turtledoves outside on the fire escape. I go over to give her a hug. “Thanks Myrtle.”

  “Did you pull an all-nighter, honey?” she says turning toward me. “That’s not exactly healthy.” She sighs deeply as she says this.

  KRISTEN HOUGHTON 57

  Her voice is so maternal and concerned that, as awful as I feel physically, I have a hard time not bursting into tears. I decide to not tell her about being sick, having Giles come over, and my jealous bitch feelings. She’ll only worry about me and I don’t want to add to whatever problems seem to be on her mind right now.

  “Yes, I know and maybe going home to shower and change will be a good idea. I’ll be back later, okay? By the way, how was the bridal shower?”

  “Very lovely. I felt sorry for the bride-to-be though.”

  “Really? Why?” I ask grabbing my bag and sunglasses.

  Myrtle gives me the top-of-the-glasses stern teacher look as if I should know what she means. “She’ll be promising ‘for better or for worse’, won’t she?”

  “Part of the wedding vows, Myrtle.”

  “Yes, well, unfortunately you never can predict when the ‘for worse’ will happen in a marriage, now can you?”

  And on that disconcerting note, I go out the door of Catherine Harlow, Private Investigations.

  Chapter 12

  AFTER ANOTHER AUGMENTUM antibiotic followed by a hot shower and a shampoo, I feel considerably better. Sleep though is a priority so I call Myrtle and do what I usually do when I don’t want her to know what I’m doing; I lie. I tell her that I have to be out of the office on a case and that I’ll be in around four o’clock.

  “Anything that needs my immediate attention?” I ask guzzling a large glass of orange juice and seltzer.

  “No, we’re fine. Just received an update from that woman, the one who wants you to follow her baby-boy to make sure he’s not being corrupted by the wrong kind of girl. That’s tonight by the way. Says he said he was going to meet a friend at seven thirty concerning an art project on the Renaissance at the Metropolitan Museum over by Eighty-First Street and Fifth Avenue.”

  “Okay, tell her that I’ll follow her son to see if he’s being naughty. See you later this afternoon.”

  It’s a quarter to eleven. I set my cell phone alarm for three o’clock and, bundled in a large, soft throw, go to lie down on the couch. A couple of hours of sleep and I’ll be fine.

  Just as I’m dozing off my phone rings but I let the answering machine pick up. When I hear the voice I’m glad I did.

  “Catherine, this is Giles. Just wanted to see how you’re feeling. I can only hope the fact that you haven’t answered the phone means that you’re sleeping as you should be. Feel better and call me later.”

  ๕๕๕

  “Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,

  Beloved from pole to pole!

  To Mary Queen the praise be given!

  She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,

  That slid into my soul.”

  So wrote Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and the “gentle sleep” he mentions has done me a lot of good. Of course the antibiotics have helped tremendously. Felicia was right; I do feel better. Glancing at my watch I see that my morning has turned into afternoon and I have to go shower and wash my greasy hair.

  Since I feel better I decide to dress in a little more sophisticated manner. A light blue silky top paired with navy pants suit me well. A pair of navy sneakers with pink laces completes my outfit. I’ll be in a high-rent district later tonight and I don’t want to stand out. Melissa, who has her own high-priced pied-á-terre, told me that the trend for women who live on Fifth Avenue is to wear expensive designer sneakers after five o’clock. They dress elegantly and have their sneakers match their outfits. Comfort and class.

  My first stop after my office will be outside Jennifer and Edward’s building to speak with the “Always on time, you can set your watch by her” Carmen the mail carrier. First I have to check with Myrtle for any new business or messages. I also need to take a picture with my phone of the boy I’ll be surveilling later tonight.

  GRAVE MISGIVINGS 59

  “Well you look nice, shiny hair and all,” exclaims Myrtle with raised eyebrows when I come in the door. “Hot date later tonight? I thought Detective Begnini was out of town until Friday.”

  “He is and I don’t have a date at all unless you count spying on teenage lovers as a sort of pseudo-date. I’ll be on Fifth Avenue and Eighty-First Street doing my spying and want to blend in with the museum crowd.”

  “Oh, that’s right; I forgot about that.” Now that’s odd because Myrtle forgets nothing. “Well, you do look very pretty, Catherine,” she says looking annoyed with herself. What’s up with her and Harry? I have to check it out on my own since she doesn’t appear to want to discuss any personal problems with me.

  “Messages?” I ask.

  “Just one from Jennifer Brooks-Warren. She says to thank you and tell you that Edward told her the police were very polite but that you were right about them dealing in hard facts. Unless an actual crime has been committed, it seems their hands are tied. Edward did tell her that the only thing they can promise is to have a patrol car passing by the condo more frequently. She said she’ll speak with you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I take everything I need and head off to speak with a mail carrier.

  ๕๕๕

  Just as the doorman said, a woman pushing a wheeled mail cart arrives at precisely five-thirty. She and the doorman exchange a few pleasantries as she looks in her cart for the tenants’ mail. I step out from the shade of the building and approach her.

  “Carmen? I’d like to speak with you if you have a minute.” I hold my PI license up for her to see. She looks startled for a moment but it passes quickly.

  “I cannot stop,” she says politely but with a distinct Hispanic accent. “I’m working and I make sure that the mail is delivered on time and that my route is completed on time also. You can see me back at the post office tomorrow morning. Here is the address.” She pulls a card from her shirt pocket and hands it to me.

  “No, Carmen. What I have to ask will only take a few minutes of your time.”

  She pushes her cart of mail to a stop outside the glass doors of Jennifer’s building and looks at me again. It’s possible that she’s here illegally or has someone living with her who is. I put her possible fears to rest.

  “Carmen, I’m a private investigator working a case for someone in this building. I’m not from Immigration if that’s what you fear.”

  Carmen pulls herself up to her full height which is just about five-feet tall. Glaring at me she says clearly, “Immigration? I am a full citizen of this wonderful country. I am a naturalized United States citizen. I have nothing to fear from agents of immigration.”

  I feel uncomfortable for having assumed that she is an illegal. “I’m sorry; it was wrong of me to imply that you are an illegal. It’s just that you seemed so hesitant to speak to me that I just wrongly assumed that immigration was the reason.”

  KRISTEN HOUGHTON 60

  She relaxes and even offers me a smile. “No, miss. It is not immigration I worry about; it is making sure that I finish on time to be able to pick up my hija, my daughter from the music program she attends from three to six thirty every day after school. She is just twelve. I do not want her to walk home alone. I must finish my route by six o’clock, no later. Please understand; I worry about my girl.”

  Oh shades of Mom and Dad! They made sure that I was always picked up from school, from tennis practices and matches—from just about any activity I was in so that I didn’t have to walk home alone. They relied on themselves, my grandmother, Nonna Rita, and parents of friends. I was well protected from the “real” world even though there were certainly times I resented it.

  I
assure Carmen that I do understand and tell her about my own parents always being there to make sure I got home safely. Then I tell her I have only two questions. “You can continue working while I ask them.” She nods assent and continues her work pushing the cart inside the foyer, taking the mail for the building out in a bundle and bringing it to the manager’s desk where she greets him politely and quickly. We go outside and she begins to push her cart to the next building while I trail along.

  “Did you see anyone down by the mail office who wasn’t supposed to be there this week? A stranger kind of lurking around the mail bins?”

  She thinks carefully before she answers then shakes her head. “No, not on my shift, I didn’t.”

  “Anyone come near your mail cart while you’re on your route? Could something have been slipped inside a circular?”

  “Oh no, I always take my cart inside the buildings, never leave it alone. There are credit card bills, bank statements; I can’t have anyone stealing these important papers. Also, miss, there is no one who walks near enough my cart to be able to slip something inside it. I would know.”

  I thank her for her time and turn to go. “I hope your daughter knows what a good mom she has, Carmen.”

  She smiles at me. “Yes, I think she does.”

  Walking back to my car I think about the elusive hit man and where he might be at this moment.

  Chapter 13

  HAVING TREATED MYSELF to a late lunch of hot chicken soup thick with spicy pieces of chicken and celery at a local Indian restaurant, I drive over to my friend Melissa’s place near where I will be doing my stake-out later today. The only space I can find is two blocks away. Once parked I call Melissa’s number. After five rings she answers.