by L. J. Parker
“Brady Irwin,” Cassie told her. “He called from the jail last night, and the officer we spoke to said Brady was being held for questioning. Mr. Irwin is a ward of the state under the supervision of the Baylin House group home, and I’m trying--”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but my paperwork doesn’t show anybody here named Brady Irwin.”
“But he called from there last night!”
“Definitely not in my paperwork this afternoon. Please come in with ID if you need to ask anything else.”
“Yes, thanks, I understand.” Cassie hung up. If Brady wasn’t in jail, maybe Bea had already made the arrangement with Strickland Legal Services?
She called Baylin House, and got a busy signal. She called Rob’s number at the PD; he wasn’t there, and no thanks, she didn’t want to leave a message.
Rob’s home number gave his answering machine. Cassie left the message that she really needed to talk to him before tomorrow morning so would he please call tonight. She left the new cell phone number.
She took a deep, calming breath before she dialed the number for Margaret Goodman Frank.
“Hola Mamma?” a young female voice said in a pleading tone; very young, like early teen or even pre-teen.
Then a sound of juggling the phone between hands, angry whispers in Spanish, and the girl whimpering before another voice, one Cassie recognized, said, “Hello? This is the Frank residence.”
“Thank you, hello,” Cassie said. “This is Ms. Crowley, a friend of Mrs. Frank. Is she available?”
“No, Mr. and Mrs. Frank are not at home. May I take a message?”
Still out of town?
“No, thank you, I’ll just try again tomorrow. You do expect them back this week?”
The woman had already hung up.
Cassie tried calling Baylin House once more; still got the busy signal, might as well get the satchel out of the car and get some work done.
Half way down the stairs Cassie saw the mail carrier’s little white truck pull away. She walked across the parking lot to the bank of mailboxes, not really expecting anything except junk mail, but accepting it is her responsibility to clean the stuff out of the box regularly.
The small brass key fit into the lock on number C1301 and opened its door. Inside were a few junk sales brochures and a greeting card with ‘Cassandra Crowley’ printed on an automated mailing label. Probably an invitation to a sales pitch at a local restaurant, she reasoned. Cassie shoved the key ring into her pocket, dropped the junk mail into a trashcan next to the mailboxes, and opened the envelope.
A square blank greeting card inside carried another machine-printed label for its message. This one said, ‘Stay out of what is not your concern’.
Huh?
Cassie walked to the back end of the red Santa Fe to retrieve the satchel, and stood under the parking cover, out of direct sunlight, to read the message again.
It was definitely a warning from somebody, and definitely addressed to Cassie!
She wished she hadn’t handled the envelope so carelessly – fantasizing how anxious Rob will be when he bags it to preserve fingerprints. Oh, girlfriend, you are having too much fun with your imagination and—
BA-BOOM! CLATTER-CLATTER-CLATTER-CLATTER!
What the . . .?
The noise came from upstairs in Cassie’s building, sounding deeper than a fire cracker, and about as loud. The clattering noise was from small pieces of something bouncing on the parking roof, and then to the asphalt parking lot like hail stones.
It took only a few seconds for all the clattering to stop, and about that long for Melanie Swaffar to come hopping out on her high heels through the rear door of the Rental Office.
“What was that?” Melanie yelled.
Cassie stepped back from the parking cover to look up at the building.
HOLY CRIPES! CASSIE’S KITCHEN WINDOW WAS GONE!
White smoke drifted through the opening.
“Smoke!” Cassie yelled back at Melanie. “Call 911!”
Melanie turned toward her office and Cassie raced up the stairs yelling, “Fire! Fire!” at the top of her lungs. At the 3rd floor landing she glanced through the broken window, grateful not to see flames, and grateful the smoke was still white. The new printer was gone; so was the breakfast counter it was sitting on. God, she hoped that meant whatever blew didn’t start an actual fire, and hoped she hadn’t caused whatever it was by plugging in too much on the same circuit.
She didn’t hang around to verify anything. She hopped down the walkway and banged on the door of her neighbor, the only door that was not already open, pleading with everyone she saw. “Please leave the building until we can be sure what happened. Please just leave the building to be safe!”
On the middle floor two of the apartments were already vacating, a third was empty according to the neighbor, and the rotund woman in curlers who answered the door in the farthest unit was busy chasing her cat and wouldn’t leave until she had him safely in the carrier. He panicked at the sound of fire engines rolling down the street with full sirens blaring. Cassie held the cage open while the woman shoved her feline in, then, after verifying there was no more smoke and no flame visible, they both stepped into the elevator and headed down.
Melanie had gotten everyone out on the ground floor, and now they all stood in a muddling group next to the mailboxes, watching two CBFD firemen in full equipment climb the stairs to Cassie’s door. At the top, one man stood at the door while the other peered in through the window. After a cursory glance, he nodded. The door opened and they went inside.
From the corner of her eye Cassie saw Melanie shoving her way through the growing crowd that now included residents from other buildings. She backed up closer to the mailboxes, knowing she could not avoid talking to the Rental Agent, but hoping it didn’t have to be in front of the fifty-something people watching Cassie’s apartment door.
When Mel spotted Cassie the expression on her face changed to pure fury. She continued to weave forward, and Cassie took another step backward to move around the far side of the mailbox rack before Melanie got to her.
Immediately she collided backward with someone she didn’t know was there. His hands quickly went to her elbows, but the back of her head knocked his chin and she heard him suck air as his teeth crashed together.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Cassie said, turning to apologize, and then flamed with embarrassment because it was Detective Baxter holding onto her. He was trying to keep them both from tumbling over, and she had literally turned herself around inside his arms.
He grinned and moved one hand to rub his chin. “There’s an old saying about force of impact when moving objects collide.”
“Honest to God, I am so sorry,” Cassie groaned, mortified with humiliation.
But not so much that she didn’t enjoy the feel of his arms around her. Nice! And he was still smiling when he squeezed her arm, holding her for ballast. “Got your feet under you now?”
“Yes, thanks,” Cassie squeaked, tilting her head up to meet his eyes.
He still didn’t let go of her, and she definitely didn’t plan to extricate herself in any hurry. She found her voice and asked, “Did you come with the Fire Department?”
“Right behind them as soon as I heard the address on the . . .”
His voice trailed off without finishing the sentence. Suddenly his expression changed; he let go of Cassie and took a deliberate step back away from her.
Melanie Swaffar trilled Cassie’s name from only a few feet away.
“What in hell were you doing up there!” she roared. Then she spotted the Detective. “Oh! Well, I see you’ve already been apprehended for whatever it was. I’ll be serving an eviction notice as soon as I can get back inside the office, so you’d better make it a priority to move your things elsewhere before you leave here.”
To the Detective she said, “If you can’t allow her enough time to gather her belongings, I’ll have our maintenance people bag whatever was not d
estroyed and bring it to the police station.”
Detective Baxter didn’t flinch. “Are you saying you were aware of something illegal taking place that warrants an eviction notice?”
“What? No! But this is the second time the police have--”
“The Police are here because an explosion was reported in your building. We don’t know yet what caused it. Are you saying you do?”
“No, of course not!” Her tone was incredulous; her voice shaky. For just a second Cassie wondered if Melanie Swaffar was about to cry.
Melanie drew in one of those big breaths that pushed her visible cleavage against the rim of her low cut blouse, and shook her head. “We’ve never had a problem with any of our tenants in the whole year Bayside View has been open. Two visits by the Police for one tenant who has been here only a few days is evidence enough for eviction. That’s our protection against being accused of enabling whatever crime element might have come with her.”
Apparently it wouldn’t do any good to ask if Cassie could move into another unit here.
She calculated her options. She needed to get the hell out of here before Cordell Bay’s friendly sidewalks rolled up for the night, and The Marlin was out with Dorothy and her brother staying there.
Rob shifted his weight, nodding to the Fire Captain walking toward them with a radio at his ear. “Obviously Ms. Crowley has to move out of that unit,” Rob said to the Rental Agent in his professionally observant tone. “It is not in habitable condition.”
To Cassie he said, “Where is your car?”
“The red Santa Fe,” she told him, pointing to it. “I traded in the other one.”
He glanced at the car sitting in her parking space. Cassie caught the hint of a smile pulling at his eyes before he said, “Okay, let’s hear what the Fire Captain says.”
The Captain in full gear and the Detective greeted each other by titles. Then the Captain looked at Mel. “You’re the Rental Agent?”
“Yes, I’m Melanie Swaffar. What did you find in there, Captain?” She glared accusingly at Cassie. Her tone said she was clearly put out by the trouble, and hoped to enlist him in proving how much Cassie was at fault. “Do I need to make living arrangements for the other residents of the building?”
The Captain answered, “There’s no effect to the other units, but your tenants will need to use the elevator until we’re finished here. I want the staircase left open.”
Melanie stood with her mouth open. After a long beat the Captain said, “If you’ll start letting the other tenants know they can go inside, it will help to clear the area.”
She blinked a couple times and clamped her jaw, and finally strode away.
To Cassie, the Captain said, “You’re the tenant in that unit?”
“Yes, Cassandra Crowley.”
“You were already outside when this happened, Ms. Crowley? No injuries?”
“No injuries. I was downstairs to check the . . . mail . . ” Cassie raised her empty hand. Where was it? She didn’t remember putting it down. She searched the ground around their feet. Nothing! She must have dropped it near the car.
“Did you lose something?” the Captain asked.
Cassie raised her head. “I was standing under the carport with mail in my hand when it happened. I must have dropped it over there.”
“Was it important?” Rob wanted to know.
“I didn’t think so at first, but I do now. It was a warning note.”
“A warning for what?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t signed; just a warning to mind my own business.”
Rob locked eyes with the Fire Captain. “What happened up there?”
The Captain pointed to his red CBFD utility truck. “Maybe Ms. Crowley could go sit in my truck while you and I take a look together.” To Cassie he said, “We’ll walk you over so nobody will bother you.”
She understood he was making sure she did what he asked.
From inside the truck she watched the Captain and Rob walk to the stairs and climb to the second floor landing. Then they disappeared beyond the parking cover and she couldn’t see them anymore.
For another twenty minutes Cassie sat, and checked her watch, which increasingly told her she was running out of time to find anything but The Marlin open for an overnight stay. She watched the EMT crew leave with the ambulance that had come in front of the fire truck, and watched the men who came with the fire truck remove most of their gear and stow it, then make a detailed check of their vehicle, and finally climb aboard.
Rob and the Fire Captain were still out of sight when the big fire truck eased carefully around the parking lot and drove out of the complex. Most of the residents had returned to their own apartments. Even Melanie was safely inside the Rental Office -- filling out her eviction form, Cassie was sure.
She checked her watch again and wished she had the cell phone with her; she could have made some calls while she was killing time. It was still in the satchel with the computer, and the satchel was still in the back of the car . . . Cassie felt the front pocket of her jeans nervously and was relieved to feel the small ring of keys. She just needed to stand up to get to it.
Rob and the Fire Captain appeared on the steps just as Cassie opened the truck door. She dropped her feet to the ground and was able to slide the key ring up, but the look on Rob’s face told her to stay where she was. She slid the ring back to the bottom of the pocket again.
The Fire Captain spoke to the Detective within Cassie’s hearing distance. “You have extra safety gear?”
“Yeah,” Rob answered. Then to Cassie he said, “Sit tight a minute while I get something.”
The Fire Captain put a bulging yellow plastic bag inside a compartment on the side of his truck. He stood next to Cassie. “He tells me you’re from out of town and haven’t been here very long?”
“Only a week,” Cassie confirmed. “I moved into the apartment last Saturday.”
“Any idea how many people know you’re here?”
Cassie shook her head.
“Any visitors, or somebody help you move in?”
Cassie shrugged. “The Health Department was here last night checking the whole building on an odor complaint, but nobody else that I know of.”
“Did they find anything?”
“The Health Department? No, I guess it was signed off as a prank call. I wasn’t home, but the Rental Agent said she took him to all the units.”
The Captain seemed to be weighing this information.
“I set up a brand new printer on that breakfast counter yesterday. I guess that’s ruined.”
He grimaced. “Did you purchase Renter’s Insurance?”
“Didn’t think about it.”
“Most people don’t.”
And that was that. He was just passing time, so Cassie didn’t ask anything else. She definitely wasn’t ready to hear it if she’d plugged in something wrong and caused this whole mess.
Rob came around the corner from behind the Captain’s vehicle. He had a green plastic tote in his hand. “Okay, let’s go get your stuff,” he said to Cassie.
They climbed the stairs together, the Fire Captain in front, Rob behind Cassie close enough for her to feel a whisk of his breath on the back of her neck a couple times. At the top landing, Rob opened the green tote and took out surgical gloves, safety glasses, breathing masks, shoe protectors, and white plastic trash bags.
“Walk only where I tell you, and don’t touch anything until we get to the bedroom. If you see something you need in the front area, just tell us.”
“Okay,” Cassie agreed.
He stuffed the plastic bags into his pocket and handed her a supply of the rest. She stared at everything, confused; there was no fire, no smoke, why did she need this?
“Don’t breathe the dust in there and don’t carry it out on your shoes,” Rob told her. “We don’t know what’s in it.”
She did as he asked, and he checked to make sure her breathing mask and glasses were sitting cor
rectly.
From behind, Cassie heard the plastic ‘clank’ as the Fire Captain lowered the faceplate on his helmet and snapped it down. Then they went inside.
Cassie was still confused about needing all the gear, but one look inside the apartment wiped out everything else on her mind. The kitchen was a mess of splinters and brown speckled gray dust on everything. The window glass was gone, of course, and the mini-blinds dangled askew on one side like pickup sticks.
The sink, dishwasher, and refrigerator looked no worse than dusty, but the stove was destroyed – the control panel on top looked like it was hit from behind by a fast moving bowling ball. And the coffee pot was just plain gone -- unless that was the weird shaped piece of white plastic impaled into the bottom of the cabinet above where it sat.
Cripes, it was a good thing Cassie wasn’t standing in the kitchen when this happened!
“Follow my steps as close as you can,” Rob garbled over his shoulder through the mask.
Cassie paced carefully behind him through the kitchen. She barely glanced at the destruction in the living room before they turned into the short hall containing the laundry. She gasped at the laundry doors, ripped from their slider track and dented in against the machines.
An odor she didn’t recognize right away faintly permeated her breathing mask; maybe it came from the wrenched plastic everywhere.
They entered the bedroom.
In here, nothing was damaged, just dusty, but the odor was strongest of all for some reason. Ozone! Cassie recognized it the same time she realized she was breathing too deep for safety.
She worked at taking more shallow breaths; nothing with an odor that strong was good for her lungs.
Rob handed her one of the white bags. “Anything in the dresser drawers?”
Cassie opened the first drawer to gather the few contents in there.
“Any of this stuff in the bathroom belong to you?”
She glanced up to see him standing in front of the linen closet inside the bathroom. “The linens belong to the apartment,” she told him. “Only what’s in the medicine cabinet and on the shelf in the shower are mine.”
