Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery)

by L. J. Parker

  Could he really be so normal now? The uncertainty gave her goose bumps. “Do you remember anything else before Oakwood? What kind of work did your father do? What town were you in?”

  Emmet frowned. “Don’t want to talk about that.” He turned and glanced at the clock on the stove.

  “Okay, that’s all right. Do you remember much about the early years at Oakwood?”

  He shrugged.

  “Were you frightened, being left at a place like that?”

  He shook his head, and then after a thoughtful beat he nodded. “I was pretty scared one night when lightening hit a tree outside in the yard. It was an awful noise. Woke everybody up that wasn’t already awake from the rain coming down so hard. The tree fell over and pulled hundreds of roots up in the air like arms and fingers waving at us from outside the widow. That was scary for all the little kids.” Emmet chuckled as he described it now.

  Cassie forced a smile, still painfully imagining what it must have been like for a child to lose everything, and then be left in that place.

  “Dr. Baylin told me they had children and adults mixed together at Oakwood. Did someone on staff take care of you when you were younger?” Cassie was trying to ask questions that would keep him talking. From the look on his face, she wasn’t doing so well.

  “We took care of ourselves,” he said, as though it was a silly question to ask. For the second time he turned to look at the clock on the stove. It was 2:55 right now.

  Cassie took a long drink of her lemonade. Emmet picked up his glass and drank all of it.

  “So then you met Rosalie when you came to live at Baylin House?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “There were several others already living at Baylin House when you arrived, weren’t there?”

  “Yes,” he said, “the dorm room was full. Willie and I moved into the room that Miss Bea uses now.”

  “You and Willie?”

  “Yes. I took care of Willie at Oakwood, so they let him come with me.”

  Cassie would definitely ask Dr. Baylin about that.

  “And Miss Rosalie took care of everyone all by herself at Baylin House? Harvey hadn’t come to work yet?”

  “Neil and Tom helped. After they left, I helped more. Everybody did some. But it was better when Harvey came and showed us how to ride the bus.”

  Emmet glanced at the clock yet again; 03:02pm.

  “I understand everyone at Baylin House works somewhere in town. Where do you work, Emmet?”

  “I work at Stern Electronics. I’m retired now, but I still go on Fridays.”

  “Stern Electronics? That’s a big company clear across town. Do you ride the bus all that way?”

  “Yes, I ride the bus.”

  “And what do you do at Stern?”

  “They call it Security Maintenance . . . I empty waste cans and put everything in the grinder so it comes out dust before it gets buried. That’s how we make sure nobody steals the designs from papers that get thrown away.”

  He looked at the clock again even as he finished his sentence --03:04pm. This time when he turned back Cassie couldn’t avoid the furrow deepening between his eyebrows. He was tired of questions. Cassie was making him late for something.

  She pushed up from the chair. “Emmet, I didn’t realize it was getting so late. I have a lot more questions to ask you, but I need to go home and make some phone calls. Maybe we could talk again some other time?”

  He nodded, but his attention wasn’t on Cassie, he was already collecting their glasses and set them in the sink, then went straight to the recliner where the TV remote waited on the arm.

  She pulled the door closed as she left.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cassie parked in a visitor spot near the elevator to unload the heavy ‘All In One’ printer, a bag of supplies, and her satchel all in one trip.

  Inside the apartment, she set up the machine on the breakfast bar. Then she used the scanner to store pages into JPEG files beginning with the documents from Sydney Owen, and then her rental contract with Bayside View, putting the originals in manila envelopes. Then she scanned all of the AmEx charge receipts and dropped that envelope in the bedroom nightstand.

  She typed her conversation with Emmet while it was fresh in her mind, then a few notes about Rosalie and her mysterious package, and added more to her growing list of questions to ask Lawrence Baylin the next time she calls him.

  By seven-thirty her head wouldn’t take any more and neither would her hands.

  While the printer whooshed out manuscript pages for Rosalie to read tomorrow, Cassie stood and stretched her shoulders, did a few knee bends, twisted her back left and right -- none of it was enough. Her muscles felt like knotted rubber bands.

  She turned everything off and went downstairs for a fresh air walk on the beach. It was cooler now that the sun was dipping behind the trees, and it felt good just to be moving. She skirted the lower edge of the ball field to reach flat wet sand at the water’s edge.

  She glanced up slope toward the park interior and spotted Emmet sitting on his bench. He had the familiar brown bag on his lap, and something dark green hanging from the corner of the bench.

  He was too far away to read his expression, but he was looking right at her. She raised an arm and waved. His head tipped down in a nod.

  She stayed on her original path all the way to the pylons under the pier, then turned around and headed back at the same pace. The sun was gone now, completely behind the trees with only a few streaks remaining across the sky.

  Emmet was still at his bench. Cassie raised an arm to wave again, and this time he waved back. Did that mean he was feeling friendly? She hoped so, because when she trotted up the sand toward him, the last of the birds took flight.

  “I’m sorry, Emmet, I didn’t mean to scare them away,” she panted. It had taken more out of her to trudge uphill in dry sand than the whole run back from the pier.

  He shrugged and shook his head. “They’ll come back if they’re still hungry.” He brushed a few crumbs off the bench to make room for her.

  “Thanks,” she wheezed, and sat down.

  He tipped his gaze to the path near the water. “You like to run?”

  Cassie bobbed her head taking one more deep breath trying to get her lungs satisfied. “Not when I’m home in Vegas. It’s too hot in the desert. Down here the air is cool. The beach is nice.”

  He nodded, and she guessed it was a trained courtesy; he wouldn’t know what she meant about desert heat or Las Vegas.

  “That must be the popcorn without salt you told me about,” she said, eyeing the brown bag. “Do you make it at home?”

  “Harvey brings it to me.” Emmet dipped a hand into the bag and tossed it onto the sand a few feet in front of them. Two birds returned to pick at the morsels, hopping cautiously closer with one eye on the white puffs, the other eye watching Cassie’s feet. She kept completely still until the birds hopped farther away.

  “Did anyone else ever work for Miss Rosalie like Harvey does?” Cassie asked in a quiet voice, hoping the birds would not react.

  “Only Miss Bea,” Emmet answered in his normal tone, and threw out another handful of popcorn.

  “So the dorm was full . . . and you and Willie were in the other room . . . it must have been really crowded when Harvey moved in too. How did Rosalie manage that?”

  “She said Harvey needed his own space, so he remodeled the storage room on the other side of the dorm. That’s his room now.”

  “So Harvey is skilled in remodeling . . .gardening . . .car repairs . . . all of that has to be a huge help for Rosalie.”

  Emmet grunted and gave her a sideways glance, but he didn’t add anything.

  A series of buzzing noises began humming from the trees behind them; the sound of floodlights kicking on.

  Apparently, that was a signal to Emmet and the birds, too. The last of them whooshed into the air as he noisily rolled the paper bag closed. He stood, grabbing the hanging green
thing from the side of the bench -- it clanked. Cassie saw now it was a mesh bag with a few empty soda cans inside.

  “You collect aluminum cans?” She stood to follow, and quickened her pace to keep up with him. He was already striding toward the ball field.

  “There’ll be more in the morning.”

  “How do you get them to the recycle place to turn them in?”

  “Harvey comes for them.”

  “And then brings the money back to you?”

  “The money is for Baylin House. Rosalie won’t let me help with my paychecks, so I give Harvey the cans to turn in.”

  Emmet kept walking at a steady pace on the edge of the grass. The big mesh sack and its few cans clacked at his side. He paid no attention to Cassie slugging in the dry sand beside him.

  But as they entered the ball field she spotted a dark Lincoln Navigator in front of the Rental Office again. She stopped, staring at the vehicle. Emmet stopped and looked at her. “Something wrong?”

  “I’m not sure,” she stammered, “I think that’s the car that bumped into me a few days ago and then drove off.”

  “Bumped . . . you mean hit you? A car hit you?”

  “Hit the car I was driving, yes. Broke the bumper.”

  As she spoke, the living room light in Cassie’s apartment clicked on. She had left the drape open at the sliding door, so there was no mistake that someone was inside her apartment; she saw two shadows move across the door, and then the drape slid closed.

  “Someone is in my apartment,” she gasped.

  “That’s your place up there?”

  “Yes!”

  Cassie pulled the cell phone from her pocket and called 911, reporting in as few words as possible that a burglar was inside her apartment.

  “Where are you now?” the 911 dispatcher asked.

  “I’m across the street in the ball park, looking at the sliding glass door, and I can see someone inside my apartment.”

  “All right, just stay where you are. Do not go to your apartment until an officer arrives. I have a unit less than five minutes from you and I want you to stay on the line with me until he gets there.” The Dispatcher kept Cassie busy relating the description again, and to spell her name, and to describe exactly where in the ball field she could be located.

  Cassie saw her lights go off while she was explaining that she was a visitor from Las Vegas. A minute later Inspector Fozzi left the Rental Office and drove away.

  The Navigator turned onto Bayside Boulevard at the same moment a tan and white patrol car turned onto Sandy Lane. The patrol car rolled down the street and pulled across the gated Bayside View exit drive.

  Cassie started walking across the ball field to talk to the officer. Emmet veered left, heading toward his place.

  “Emmet, I hate to bother you,” she said even while she was walking away from him, “but I might need you to talk to the officer too.”

  He kept walking as though he didn’t hear.

  “It might take more than one person to convince them I really saw what I saw,” she urged.

  He glanced her way, shook his head, and kept walking. Cassie was trying to think what to say next to convince him, when a tan and white Expedition rolled down the street, swung a U-turn in front of the patrol car, and parked at the curb. Detective Rob Baxter stepped from the driver seat.

  “Oh Holy Cripes,” Cassie groaned under her breath, and walked faster toward the Detective, leaving Emmet to continue home in peace.

  The patrol officer spotted Cassie first. He pointed his chin in her direction. Rob turned. “You made the call?” he asked.

  “Yes. I was across the street in the park when I saw my lights turn on.”

  “Any chance they’re on a timer?”

  “No, and I wasn’t the only one who saw it. A neighbor was with me and saw two shadows cross behind the slider before one of them closed the drape. It’s too dark to see it now, but the drape was open when I left there an hour ago.”

  “Got your key?”

  Cassie slid the ring out of her pocket, fingered the house key attached the rest, and handed it to him.

  “This is Officer Montoya,” he said, taking the key from her.

  Then he handed it to Montoya and said, “Third floor top of the steps, Unit 301. Check it out before we let her go up there.”

  Cassie sucked in air at the idea he already knew the apartment. She hadn’t given the unit number when she told him she moved to Bayside View. She gave it to the dispatcher when she called 911, but she did not say anything about it being next to the stairs.

  Officer Montoya used Cassie’s gate key to let himself through the sidewalk gate into the rear parking area. As the gate closed behind him, Cassie noticed the Rental Office door opening. Melanie Swaffar trotted out on her high heels.

  “Ms. Crowley, are you all right? Has there been a problem?” She was speaking to Cassie but her eyes were glued on the Detective. She looked close to slobbering on herself as she came beside him.

  “Yes,” Cassie answered tersely, “someone was inside my apartment when I wasn’t home.”

  “Inside your--?” Melanie looked shocked for about two seconds, even glanced at Cassie for a heartbeat, but that was the extent of her attention to her tenant.

  To the Detective she said, “Oh that must have been me with the Health Inspector. I tried to notify Ms. Crowley first but she wasn’t home.” Her chest swelled with a conciliatory deep breath; Cassie suspected she was trying to make her breasts pop out of her lacy scoop neck blouse.

  Cassie demanded, “So exactly why was a Health Inspector needing access to my apartment when I wasn’t home?”

  “Not just your apartment, Ms. Crowley, he was checking the whole building. Apparently someone called in a complaint of noxious odor coming from this area, and he was required to investigate.”

  “Find anything?” Rob asked in his honey baritone.

  Melanie’s mouth dropped at the sound of his voice. But she recovered quickly. “No, it was a crank call, there was no odor to concern anyone. I had no idea the Police had been called or I’d have asked him to stay and explain it to you himself.”

  The Detective took out his little notebook and flipped to a clean page, then asked for her name and the name of the Health Inspector. She suggested they should go into her office so she could give him the Inspector’s business card. “I’m afraid I don’t remember his name,” she cooed.

  Cassie seethed. Melanie knew damned well what the inspector’s name was and so did Cassie; it was his second visit for cripes sake.

  The Detective wasn’t fooled, either. He asked Melanie to go get the card, stating he wanted to wait outside for the Patrolman to return. Melanie huffed her disappointment and sashayed to her office.

  She still hadn’t come back with the card when Officer Montoya returned. Montoya handed Cassie’s key back to Detective Baxter. “It’s clear and nothing looks disturbed. Ms. Crowley will have to inspect personally to determine if anything is missing.”

  Rob thanked him and said, “We’re good here; you can radio it in. I’ll get the information for the report.”

  Then he handed the key to Cassie. “Ms. Crowley, would you make sure nothing is missing? I’ll bring a form for you to sign after you’ve had time to check around.”

  My goodness, that was awfully impersonal for someone who’d already bought her a drink and left messages on her answering machine with his home phone number!

  Or maybe it was important not to give the Patrolman the impression they already knew each other. Whatever . . . It was only iced tea at the coffee shop, and not a real date . . . yet.

  “Thanks Detective,” Cassie said, trying to sound just as distant while she snatched the key from his hand. “You know where to find me.” Then she scurried through the gate.

  She actually did a quick inspection of the apartment when she got inside. Nothing looked disturbed; everything was exactly as she left it with the exception of the closed drape at the slider. The equipment loo
ked intact on the breakfast bar – computer and printer and the stack of manila envelopes. Her satchel was still on the sofa and her wallet was still inside. She felt paranoid checking for the AmEx card and cash in the wallet, but it would have been embarrassing to admit to the Detective if she hadn’t.

  Cassie’s stomach growled, reminding she had not eaten since lunch. The TV dinner she planned to eat tonight was in the freezer, but with the Detective due any minute she didn’t want to fill the apartment with the odor of nuked halibut and broccoli.

  She stepped outside and checked the parking lot; the elevator was quiet, nobody on the stairs. If she hurried, she could slam down a couple graham crackers with peanut butter to quell her hunger. Now, contrary to just a few minutes ago, Cassie hoped the Detective would NOT knock on the door too soon.

  Half an hour later she’d finished two loaded crackers, hurriedly brushed her teeth, and was still waiting. There was no sign of Detective Baxter. She replayed the conversation in her head -- he did say he would bring up the form -- but he didn’t necessarily say he would do that tonight, did he? Maybe she was waiting around for nothing. She went to the slider and looked at the street below. The Detective’s tan and white Expedition was gone. She checked the parking lot; no sign of it there either.

  Sullen, she ate the TV dinner, brushed her teeth again, and went to bed.

  Somewhere around midnight the phone rang. Cassie thought it came from the movie she was watching on TV when she fell asleep. More asleep than awake, she listened when the answering machine in the kitchen picked up.

  “Hey there, Mizz Crowley, this is one tired old cop just getting off shift, and you’re still not home yet. I want to talk to you about that incident at your place, so give me a call if we can get together tomorrow. Otherwise Thursday’s my night off. Maybe you’ll let me show you some sights around our fair city if I promise not to keep you out too late. . .”

  Cassie recognized his home number at the end of the message.