by Lynn Bohart
When Lucy lumbered over to the cage, Ahab squawked and jumped to the top perch, singing, “Who let the dogs out? Woof. Woof. Woof.”
“She won’t hurt you,” I said, smiling. “She’s more gentle than you are. C’mon, Luce,” I said, leading her into the kitchen.
April was already busy making breakfast when I finally appeared with Lucy by my side. The moment she saw me, she came over and embraced me with a hug.
“Damn, Julia! Why didn’t you call me last night?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, disengaging myself. “But I’m fine. I take it you heard all about it.”
“The police officer stopped in. You know, the one who slept here last night?” she said with raised eyebrows.
“I know. Sorry, but it was really late by the time everyone left. I wasn’t hurt, though,” I said quickly. “Lucy saved the day. I never thought I’d be grateful for this big lug of a dog,” I said, patting her on her head. “Give me a minute. I have to take her outside. My apartment is blocked off as a crime scene.”
I rolled my eyes as if it was no big deal, but of course, it was. I took Lucy out the back door and across the drive to a lawn area. With my arms wrapped around me to ward off the cold, I stood there while she did her business. We returned to the kitchen, me rubbing my hands together and exhaling frosty breath, while Lucy merely lumbered over to where April stood at the counter making waffles. I went to the pantry and found an extra bag of dog food.
“Lucy, c’mon over here.”
She was tall enough to threaten to steal one of the waffles off the plate sitting at April’s elbow.
“Don’t even think about it,” April warned her.
“C’mon, girl,” I said, pouring half the bag into a big mixing bowl.
Those big mournful eyes darted from the waffles and then back to me, while a big blob of drool slipped from the corner of her mouth. Finally, she abandoned April and came over to me. Having her in the kitchen was like having a pony over for breakfast.
“I don’t think you’ll have to make too many of those,” I said, indicating the waffles. “Ms. Jenkins left last night, as did a new guest, a Mr. Brown,” I said gravely. “So, we have no guests, and in case you didn’t hear, the police are looking for Ms. Jenkins. She may be the one who gave a key to my attacker, who by the way was probably Mr. Brown.”
“You’re kidding? How would she have gotten a key to your apartment?”
“I don’t know. But it had to be an inside job. There is an extra key to my apartment in the office. Maybe she snuck in there when no one was around. We were all pretty much preoccupied with cleaning up the warehouse yesterday.”
“I didn’t meet this Mr. Brown,” she said. “What was he like?”
“Creepy,” I replied, remembering his shocking white hair and albino look. “Remind me never to let a creepy man check in again,” I said, grabbing a cup of coffee.
April unplugged the waffle maker and came to the table with the plate.
“I don’t mind saying that this is beginning to get very scary, Julia.”
I grabbed the butter and syrup from the refrigerator and sat down with a deep sigh.
“Well, perhaps it’s all over now.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Whoever attacked me last night stole the ledger book and the MP3 player. They got what they wanted,” I said, spearing a waffle.
She slumped into a chair with an audible exhale. “So all the evidence is gone.”
I paused. “Yes.” I dropped the waffle onto my plate. “But maybe that means at least that we—the inn—won’t be the target anymore.”
April had begun wringing her hands. “Let’s hope so.”
Libby showed up at the doorway, looking very gray.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
“I’m okay,” I said, with my hand to my throat. “But I’m won’t be yodeling today. Come sit down and have some breakfast.”
“I’m not really hungry,” she said. “I think I’ll get started on turning the Jenkins room.”
“I don’t think we have anyone else checking in until this weekend, when we’re full,” I said. “So, maybe we can all take a break and catch up on other things.”
“Would you mind if I took the afternoon off, then?” Libby said. “I…haven’t done any Christmas shopping.”
Poor Libby was one of the blandest individuals I had ever known. She had mousey gray hair that was thinning at her hairline, a weak chin, a long, spindly neck, large, boney hands, and sallow skin. But after the last couple of days, she looked worse for the wear, if that was possible. She now had dark circles under puffy eyes.
“I think that would be fine,” I told her. “I’m going to the shelter this morning, so maybe you could hang out while the forensics guys are here to keep an eye on Lucy. Detective Franks said they’d be here by nine. Once they leave, you can lock up and take off.”
“Sure,” she said weakly. “I’d be happy to. I’m going to go get started on the room,” she said, and left.
“I’m worried about her,” I said to April, while I poured syrup on my waffle. “She doesn’t seem to be taking this in stride.”
April looked over her glasses at me with a furrowed brow. “And you are, I suppose? Someone attacked you last night, Julia. Yet you’re acting like nothing happened.”
I stopped with my fork poised to take a bite. But I put it down and stared at my plate for a moment.
“No, I know it happened,” I said with a sigh. “But when I think about Ellen’s death, and then Martha’s death, the breakin at the carriage house, and now the attack on me…if I don’t find a way to compartmentalize it all, you might find me huddled in my bathroom screaming.”
“Maybe a few moments of screaming might do you good.”
“That’s why I’m going to the shelter today for my regular shift. I need to be around people who need me…to be around someone whose life might just be worse than mine right now. You understand, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Of course, I do. But I also like your idea of a break. Maybe a few days without guests will force us all to slow down and just…” she stopped and just stared into her coffee.
“What?” I asked, wondering why she’d stopped.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s like there’s something here, staring us right in the face, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe a break in our routine would allow us to get centered, regroup, and figure out what’s going on.”
“Okay, look, when I get back this afternoon, let’s get in the car and drive up to the place where Ellen died.”
“Why?” she said, with a twist of her head.
“I don’t get impressions like you do, but I’ve been thinking a lot about Ellen lately and how she died. I drove up there after her funeral, and there’s something about her suicide that doesn’t ring true. I just have a feeling that somehow this is all connected. And I can’t get it out of my head, because Martha was convinced that Ellen didn’t kill herself. And now Martha is dead, too.”
April looked skeptical, but shrugged. “Okay. Why not? Crystal will be in by 10:00, so she can man the phones. I could use some things from the store anyway. Maybe we could stop there on the way back.”
I smiled. “Done.”
÷
I pulled out of my driveway about forty-five minutes later. The day was clouding over, and I could smell rain in the air, so I’d dressed in jeans, a heavy sweater and my red wool coat. As I passed Sybil’s house, she came running down the driveway waving her big flabby arms. I merely slowed down, rolled down my window and called out, “I’ll pick the puppies up this afternoon. Gotta go!”
And with that, I drove on. I glanced in the rearview mirror and watched her stop at the end of her drive with her hands on her ample hips. I knew she’d heard the sirens the night before and wanted to pump me for information, but this well was empty.
It was just a few minutes before nine o’clock when I came through the back door of the
shelter. I locked up my purse and went straight to the children’s room, where I found Emma coloring with the two little girls, Sierra and Samantha. Rosa was doing puzzles with Julio. Emma left to do other chores, and I took over. Rosa seemed in a better mood and smiled at me, but we didn’t broach the subject of her baby. Since it was so close to Christmas, we shifted gears and spent the rest of the morning helping the children dye macaroni shells to use making necklaces to give to their mothers as gifts. Emma came in at 11:15 and took the kids to the kitchen for lunch, giving me a few moments alone with Rosa.
“How are you doing?” I asked her.
She dropped her head and pursed her lips. “Okay,” she said. She placed her hand on her belly. “The baby, she is growing.”
Then tears suddenly threatened to overtake her. I got up and put my arm around her.
“Rosa, you’re positive you heard those women talking about you?”
She nodded, sniffling. “Si. They use my name.”
“Has anything else happened since Friday?”
“No,” she said. “But Ms. Kramer say they may move me.”
“Move you? Where?
“To another shelter.”
“Oh,” I said with relief. “They often move the pregnant women to the Enumclaw Shelter when they get close to their due date. It’s practically next door to the birthing center up there. That’s good. You’d get very good care.”
She didn’t look convinced, but merely nodded.
“You need to go get some lunch, now,” I said, helping her to her feet. “You’re eating for two, you know.”
“Thank you, Ms. Julia.”
After Rosa left for the kitchen, I went back to the office, wondering if Faye was still there. Perhaps I could engage her in some way to discover the name of the woman Rosa had overheard outside the laundry. But Faye was gone. I glanced at my watch and realized that she would be at her weekly Rotary club meeting, where she was the incoming president.
As I stood in the office wondering what to do next, a thought occurred to me. I could look at Rosa’s file. Maybe I could discover who brought her to the shelter. Once I had that information, maybe I could backtrack to find out who it was who brought her into the country in the first place. A nervous flutter tickled my insides at the thought of doing something so outlandish (and wrong!), but I was determined to try and help.
I scooted down the hallway to check Matt’s office, but it was closed and locked. He usually went out to have lunch with his girlfriend. So far—so good. Since Emma was with the kids, I thought I might be safe.
I slipped back into the main office and went to the file cabinet, where I’d seen Matt access resident files. I had to open and close two or three drawers until I found the drawer for current residents. I didn’t know Rosa’s last name, and so had to go through them one-by-one. I finally found a Rosa Cordero. She was pregnant and nineteen years old. Something niggled at the back of my neck as I read her file, but I didn’t know why. The file said she’d been found at the back of a restaurant going through a dumpster and brought to the shelter with no ID. Rosa had told the shelter that she had lost her apartment for an undisclosed reason. A woman by the name of Monica Garrett had brought her in. I knew Monica Garrett. She was a member of my church.
All of a sudden, my mother’s phone rang again. I pulled it out of my pocket and snapped, “What?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just got a sudden feeling that you have to be careful.”
I looked up when she said this and froze. Emma was watching me through the windows in the playroom where the children were napping.
“Uh…yeah. You’re right. Um…I’m going to pretend I’m talking to you, and…”
“Well, that’s just about the stupidest thing I ever heard,” she said. “You are talking to me. So, whatever you’re doing, stop acting like an idiot and just act natural.”
I grimaced. “Thanks. I’ll just do that. Then what?” I asked to keep the conversation going.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”
“I’m holding a file I shouldn’t be holding.”
“Where are you?”
“A homeless shelter where I volunteer,” I replied.
“Is someone watching you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, put the file away and pretend like you’re checking something off a list. Like you’re doing inventory or have been asked to complete a task of some sort.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Thanks.”
Sometimes my mother wasn’t so bad. Before I could say anything else, though, she hung up. Damn! Why did she keep doing that?
I replaced the file and did as my mother had suggested. I went over to the volunteer desk, picked up a pencil and pretended to check something off on a clip board. When I glanced up again, Emma was gone.
My heart was still hammering in my chest. I’d had enough espionage for one day. It was time to go home. I shook my shoulders, trying to relieve the tension and grabbed my purse off the desk. I turned to leave and stifled a scream. I came eyeball to eyeball with Dana Finkle. Her small beady eyes were glaring at me through folds of flesh.
“Can I help you, Julia?” she said, her putrid breath clogging my nostrils.
I backed up a step and chanced a reply, my hand to my chest, my heart beating rapidly.
“No…I’m fine, Dana. What are you doing here?”
Her bloated features seemed to puff up even more, if they could.
“I’ve just joined the board of directors here,” she said proudly. “I think the question is what are you doing here?”
Since Dana and I are not exactly friends, she probably wouldn’t know that I volunteered at the shelter.
“I volunteer. Martha and I began last spring, after Ellen died. I watch the children and talk with the women.”
“Ah,” she said, “I see. So you’re just a volunteer. Then what are you doing here in the office?”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Um…just putting some things away. And what do you mean, just a volunteer?”
“I just meant that you’re not in a position of authority, that’s all.”
“No. I volunteer. I help out around here.” My temperature was rising, right along with my anger. “When did you join the board?”
I had to get her off the subject of what I was doing in the office.
She tossed her head, putting into motion the folds of flesh at her neck.
“Father Bentley contacted me when Martha died. He needed someone he could count on.”
That made me bristle. “You say that like Martha was being irresponsible by dying.”
“Of course not,” she stuck her chin in the air. “You’re always taking things out of context, Julia.”
“That wasn’t out of context, Dana,” I said with a snap. “That was the context. And since you just joined the board in, oh, let me see…the last couple of days…and probably haven’t even been to a board meeting yet, what exactly are you doing here?”
She inhaled—her beady eyes defiant.
“When I accept a responsibility, I take it very seriously. People’s lives are at stake here, and I find that spot checks can sometimes produce interesting results.”
“Spot checks? You’ve got to be kidding. So you’re here to catch the staff off-guard, I get it.” I threw the straps of my purse over my shoulder. “I’ll be sure to let Faye know you were here checking up on her.”
Her mouth dropped opened, but I marched past her without another word, hoping to put an end to any speculation about my presence in the office.
As I stepped into the hallway, feeling giddy that I had just dodged another bullet, I glanced across the indoor courtyard and saw Rosa’s door open. I made a quick decision and glanced behind me to make sure Dana hadn’t followed me into the hallway. Then I hurried around the front end of the building to intercept Rosa.
I stopped her just as she was about to go out the front door to the
van that would take her to her weekly doctor’s appointment. I gestured for her to follow me back to her bedroom for a moment. A quick check of the hallways guaranteed that we weren’t being watched. Once we were inside her room, we closed the door.
“Rosa, I checked your file. Tell me why you were kicked out of your apartment.”
She hesitated before answering. “The woman who brought me to this country found me the apartment. I was there…hmmm…two months,” she said, hunching her shoulders as if she was just guessing. “But the man there, he found drugs and kick me out.”
I was shocked. “Were they your drugs?”
“No. No,” she shook her head vehemently. “No drugs. I don’t know where they from.”
“And the apartment manager didn’t believe you.” I said it as a statement.
She shook her head.
“How were you paying for the apartment?”
“They got me job at a bakery. I wash dishes and help with the baking.”
“But you were living on the streets when they found you. What happened to your job?”
Tears filled her eyes again. “The man who own bakery accuse me of stealing money and he fire me.”
“And you didn’t steal any money.” I said it again as a statement, not a question.
“No. I no steal anything, Miss Julia.”
“And this all happened within a few days?”
“Yes,” she said, sniffling.
“And then you lived on the streets for how long?”
She shook her head. “Maybe two days.” She held up two fingers. “I find food and sleep in the alley.”
“And then Mrs. Garrett found you and brought you here?”
Her eyes grew very wary and she inhaled suddenly.
“Rosa, was it Monica Garret who was talking to the woman who brought you into the country?”
I heard the front door open and the chatter of the kindergartners, returning from their half day at school. I quickly turned to Rosa.
“Do you have a cell phone?”
She shook her head no. I made a quick decision. My mother would have to forgive me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out her God-awful pink phone.
“Here, take this. If you press right here,” I said, pointing to the contact list button, “and then touch my name here,” I said, showing her, “you’ll dial my cell phone. Call me for any reason, Rosa. ANY reason. I want to help you. Do you understand?”
