Glossed and Found

by Ink, India

  I looked for apartment C-5. After gathering a flashlight, my camera, and putting on a pair of gloves, I quietly dashed up the stairs. The lights were off on the upper floor, including the porch light, which told me that both Candy and her neighbor were out for the evening. I knew where she was, but I could only hope her neighbor didn’t come home until I was done poking around.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled out my library card and jimmied the lock. Thank God I’d learned how to pick locks while infiltrating Bebe’s factory. I wasn’t all that skilled, but knew enough to jar a cheap lock like this one.

  A click told me I’d met with success. I slipped inside and turned on my flashlight, determined to ferret out whatever secrets Candy might be hiding.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After latching the door behind me, I looked around the apartment. Small and cramped, it was a one-bedroom barely larger than a studio. The living room was filled with bags and boxes, and in the beam from my flashlight I counted a dozen bags from Northrup Department Store, three from Briarlane’s Jewelers, and a garment bag from Sarina’s. Somebody had been on an expensive shopping spree.

  No family pictures decorated the walls or tables, and the furniture was thrift-store variety. Takeout boxes sat on the counter in the small kitchenette, some of them crusted over. Taking a chance, I turned on the light over the range and blinked as the dim bulb cast a soft glow around the tiny room.

  Dishes filled the sink, and a sour odor lingered, as if milk had been spilled and then gone bad. Wrinkling my nose, I made my way into the bedroom. The bed was covered with a leopard print duvet. I turned on the light on the end table and hurriedly began to search the room. Clothes littered the floor, some obviously dirty; others looked like she’d tried them on then cast them off for another outfit. Ms. Harrison would not receive the award for Housekeeper of the Year.

  And then I noticed a handbag on her dresser. Marc Jacobs. Black, with a gold chain handle. My stomach lurched. It looked exactly like the one I’d given Lisa a couple of weeks ago. I gingerly picked it up by the chain and opened it. Nothing. Empty. But as I looked closer, I noticed an ink stain on the inner lining. The ink stain my fountain pen had made before I realized that the lid had come off. Shit—this was Lisa’s purse! Which meant that Candy had to know what happened to her.

  My heart racing, I set the handbag back where I’d found it and looked through the rest of the contents scattered on the dresser. Jewelry—some costume, some real. A topaz cocktail ring that had to cost a pretty penny. A string of pearls. A picture of Candy and Lloyd—

  What? I picked up the photo. It was from a Polaroid, and looked like it had been taken through a window. I tried to pinpoint the location but couldn’t place it. Candy and Lloyd were naked, on a bed, engaged in some hot and heavy dalliance that left me both blushing and thinking that I now knew what had attracted Annabel to him in the first place.

  They didn’t seem to notice the photographer, so I had my doubts that they’d taken this picture in order to remember their day together. I glanced at the back. The writing was familiar. In Lisa’s handwriting, it said, “Candy and Lloyd, November 13th.”

  So Lisa had caught them together. Could this all be a case of blackmail gone awry? As I was mulling over how to piece together this tidbit with Lisa’s disappearance, I noticed a savings deposit book sitting on the dresser. I opened it and gasped. Candy had a balance of $275,352. How the hell did a private nurse come by that much money, and what was she doing living in a dump if she was so well-off? Unless nobody knew she had it, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  Had she been collecting it all from Lloyd? That seemed like far too great an amount for Annabel not to notice. As I scanned the list of deposits and dates, it became apparent where she’d gotten most of the cash. Candy had made a regular deposit every two weeks for over a year. The deposits stopped right around the time Mr. Tremont had died. Candy had been either extorting, embezzling, or cajoling money out of Lisa and Amy’s father for a long time. Long enough to build up a nice savings account.

  After a period of about five months without any regular deposits, they started again. In smaller amounts, yes, but once every two weeks for the past seven months, she’d gone back to making regular deposits. I had a feeling Lloyd was responsible for the renewed activity on her account. Was that why his account was overdrawn? Or had he figured out a way to filter it out from Annabel’s accounts without her knowing?

  Lost in thought, I sat on the edge of Candy’s bed. Had Lisa came across some sort of evidence linking Candy to the loss of her father’s money? And had she threatened to expose her? Was she blackmailing Candy for the return of her father’s money by using the affair with Lloyd as leverage? And what was Lloyd’s part in all this, other than willing paramour? Did he know about Candy’s father? Did he realize he was being used? Was Lisa blackmailing both Candy and Lloyd?

  No matter which way I looked at it, the situation provided some pretty powerful incentives for Candy to get Lisa out of the way. But what exactly had happened?

  The thought that Candy and Lloyd might have killed Lisa raced through my mind, making me queasy. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. But would a thief and an adulterer stoop to murder? Could they? Lloyd stood to lose a lot if Annabel found out he’d been cheating on her.

  Winthrop had said Lloyd had agreed to an extensive prenuptial agreement. Just what did that entail?

  Wondering if I’d left anything else uncovered, I scoured the room, quickly peeking through drawers, but there was nothing more that I could see. I longed to take the handbag with me for proof, but that would tip Candy off, and I wasn’t sure just what Kyle could do based on my observations. Technically, I was breaking and entering, and Candy could have me arrested for that.

  I used my camera to take pictures of the handbag, the photograph, and the open savings account book, then made sure everything was put back the way I’d found it, although with the mess rampant throughout the apartment, I doubted if Candy would ever know the difference. After I was finished, I let myself out, locking the door behind me. Nobody bothered me on the way back to my car, and I began to think that I might have a future with the CIA after all.

  I reached home to find Auntie and Kane sitting by the fire with hot chocolate and cinnamon buns. Auntie motioned me over.

  “We were waiting for you. We’re about to watch It’s a Wonderful Life and wanted to know if you’d join us.” She held up a DVD, and I smiled. Sometimes it felt damned good to have family.

  “I’d love to, but I have to make a call to Kyle first. I found out something that might lead us to Lisa.”

  Of course, Auntie had to hear about it, and Kane, too, so I told them what I’d been up to. Auntie only blinked when I mentioned breaking into Candy’s apartment, but Kane raised his eyebrows and looked at me questioningly.

  “So, do you make it a practice to go around picking locks?” he asked. “I don’t think Kyle will be able to use your testimony to get a warrant.”

  “Maybe not, but there has to be some way we can use what I found out.” I punched in Kyle’s number and waited until he came on the line. Before he had a chance to speak, I spilled out everything I’d found. “And I have pictures—they aren’t digital, but I can get them developed at the one-hour shop tonight, if you want. The Delacorte Plaza’s open till midnight for holiday shopping.”

  “Damn it,” he said. “If you’d been invited into her house and saw everything, I could make use of it. But I can’t possibly get a warrant based on an illegal search, regardless of who did the searching. It would never hold up in court. Is there any way you can get back in there legally? Get her to invite you over?” He sounded as frustrated as I felt.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “If she and Lloyd are responsible for Lisa’s disappearance, then what the hell are we going to do? You’re right about one thing, though. If you arrest them, they may never tell us where she is. If she’s still alive now, she might not be by the time we finished with them.”
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  “I don’t know if I can get the bank to turn over her records without solid evidence. Shit.” Kyle let out a long sigh. “Let me ask around and see what I can find out. Meanwhile, see if you can find out anything more about Candy and Lloyd. Then we’ll put our heads together, and maybe we’ll have enough to piece together this puzzle.”

  I hung up and looked at Auntie. “Tell me everything you know about Lloyd and Annabel Mason, Auntie. Everything.”

  Auntie blinked. “Hold on, child. Let me call Winthrop. He would know more than me.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Winthrop, Auntie, Kane, and I were gathered around the dining room table. Winthrop looked none too pleased at being called out so late, but we assured him that this was on the clock, and he lightened up.

  “You want to know more about Annabel and Lloyd Mason? There are things I can tell you that are public knowledge. You know that Annabel has a heart condition.

  She’s always had it, but so far has managed to avoid major illness, but she has to be careful, or she could easily go into heart failure.” He looked at his hands, and I could tell the subject wasn’t comfortable for him. “Annabel is a lovely woman; I just wish she realized how lovely. She settled for Lloyd Mason because she was afraid of losing her looks, losing her youth.”

  “And Lloyd Mason is using her for her money. What about the prenup? How tight is it?”

  “I can’t give you the details, but what I can tell you is that if Annabel dies before they hit their fifteenth anniversary, he’s out with a minimal inheritance. If they divorce before their fifteenth anniversary, he’s out with the clothes on his back and a sparse settlement. He has a lot to lose if she dies or if this affair comes to light. Quite frankly, I plan on setting a PI on Lloyd as of Monday. Annabel needs to know about this, but I want proof first.”

  Winthrop’s voice was so harsh that I stared at him. What I saw in his eyes told me that he was in love with Annabel. Had they ever dated? Had she rejected him? Or had he just never had the chance to tell her how he felt?

  “How long have they been married?” I asked.

  “Nine years. Annabel was fifty-seven when they married; Lloyd was forty-three. Hence, the prenuptial agreement. If he’s having an affair now, my guess is that he’s had several over the years, but this time, he met his match in Miss Candy Harrison. He’s a stupid man to risk that much money, but then again, as I told you before, Lloyd was never a very good lawyer, and he only passed the bar by the skin of his teeth. If I remember right, it took him five tries.”

  Auntie refilled our teacups. She handed around a plate of tomato and cream cheese sandwiches, and Winthrop gave her a grin. “You know the way to my heart, Florence.”

  “She knows the way to mine, too,” Kane spoke up. He touched his nose and winked. “Just make sure you don’t lure her away with those highfalutin ways of yours. She’s all mine.”

  Winthrop almost choked on his sandwich, laughing. “Kane, if I wanted to lure Florence away, I’d do it in a second without any regrets. But she seems happy with you, and so I will remain a gentleman.”

  Auntie gave both of them a gentle whop upside the head. “You two take the cake. While you’re eating the sandwiches, I’ll get some apple pie and ice cream for us.” Kane moved to help her, while Winthrop and I stayed at the table.

  “So, have you found out anything else about Candy since we last talked?”

  “Actually, yes. I did a little digging into her background after our last discussion. It seems our nurse here worked at a geriatric home in Olympia for awhile. She was fired—I told you that much. Well, I had a friend of mine ask around, and it seems that a few of the residents who had lived there ended up including Candy in their wills.”

  “She seems to specialize in taking care of people with money, doesn’t she?” I asked.

  “Well, leaving a bequest to a caregiver isn’t in itself uncommon, but one of the sons of an elderly gentleman who Candy looked after didn’t like losing part of his inheritance, and he investigated her. Seems that she was accused of fraternizing with a few of the male residents. Nothing could be proven, and shortly after that, the nursing home let her go.” Winthrop shook his head. “I don’t know how she managed to con them out of the money, but then again, old geezers like to think they’re still attractive to young women.”

  “She can’t be stupid enough to think that Lloyd would leave Annabel for her. Surely he’s told her about the prenup. Even if he didn’t, that seems to be fairly common knowledge.” I tried to look at the matter through the eyes of a manipulator. In six years Lloyd would potentially be a rich man. Would they chance throwing that away for sex now?

  Winthrop seemed to follow my train of thought. “There’s one loophole that gives them a way out. If Annabel’s health deteriorates so that she has to be confined to a nursing home, Lloyd can go to court and get appointed power of attorney. He might not be able to get the bulk of her money, but even the interest off what she’s worth would be a powerful temptation for someone looking for a free ride.”

  “And a nurse might know just how to speed along that deterioration in health. Oh hell, Winthrop, Candy could be giving her the wrong meds in order to make her sicker!”

  “Precisely, which is why we’re going to talk to Annabel about this. I won’t have them hurting her.” His voice boomed through the room as Auntie and Kane brought our dessert to the table.

  “Is there anything we can do now?”

  “Not tonight. We have to go about this carefully.” Winthrop concurred with Kyle. “Just owning a Marc Jacobs bag doesn’t mean that she stole it from Lisa, even though you know she did. Any number of handbags have ink stains in them, and it’s your word against Candy’s—and seeing how you were in her apartment illegally, how do you think that would sound to a judge? And the X-rated photograph could have been taken by anybody. If we tip our hands prematurely, and Lisa’s still alive, we might put her life in jeopardy.”

  Auntie and I walked Winthrop and Kane out to their cars. The snow had piled a good two inches thick already. Trevor would be busy with the shovel tomorrow, that was for sure. We waved as they pulled out, then stood for a moment, watching the thick flakes silently drift to the ground.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Imp?” Auntie asked.

  I nodded. “Doesn’t it seem like it muffles everything in a cushion of silence? Time seems to stand still when it snows.”

  “Kane walked the dogs for us, so we don’t have to do that tonight,” Auntie said. “Come on, let’s get inside.” She linked her arm through mine. “We’ll find out where Lisa is. It seems like you’re getting closer. I know you’re frustrated and worried, but that’s the reality of most missing persons cases. Not all fireworks and sudden discoveries like you see on the cop shows.”

  “I know,” I said, shutting the door behind us. “I just hate wondering if she’s still alive, waiting for help that may never come. It feels like tomorrow we’ll just go back to work at the shop and eventually everybody will talk about ‘Lisa Tremont, the girl who disappeared’ as if it’s all faded and over. But it won’t ever be over till we find her—especially not for her sister.”

  Before I went to bed, a wave of nostalgia hit me, and I climbed the stairs to the landing at the door of the attic, standing with my hand on the knob, flashing back to all the nights I’d spent up here as a child, searching for comfort. Searching for the truth of my own thoughts.

  As I entered the room, I felt for the light switch. It was where it always had been, and when I flipped it, a pale but steady light flickered on from a pair of sconces mounted on the wall.

  I glanced around. There was the rocking chair in which I’d spent many a night, talking to the Cap’n and to my mother’s ghost, who I never caught a glimpse of but who I was positive could hear me. I’d come here to think, to journal, to muse, and sometimes to cry.

  I found myself drawn over to a large black trunk painted with ivy vines and roses. This was my trunk. Auntie had commissioned it from a local art
isan, and I’d left it here when I took off for Seattle, not wanting to sever all connections I had with Moss Rose Cottage. Kneeling by its side, I lifted the lid. I hadn’t looked inside since I was sixteen.

  As I sorted through the memorabilia, I shook my head, wondering at the circumambulatory route that had brought me home. Here was the doll I’d been carrying when I showed up on Auntie’s doorstep, four years old and holding the hand of my father who didn’t care if he ever saw me again. The doll was a belly dancing doll, and she was dark and mysterious. Next to the doll were the souvenirs I’d brought home from my travels with Auntie. A Bast statue from Egypt, a bottle of perfume—long faded and evaporated—from France, a woven shawl from Ireland, a tiny heart pendant that Eva had given to me on my eighth birthday. And next to my treasure trove were several faded journals. My diaries.

  “What do you know?” I said softly. “Hey, Cap’n! Remember these? I used to come up here and write in them. I’d tell you everything that I was thinking, then write it down so I would remember later. So I wouldn’t forget all my dreams and goals.”