Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery)

by L. J. Parker

  He glanced in both areas, and shook his head. “Better get new stuff at the store.” Then he came out to the clothes closet and opened the door. “Everything in here is yours?”

  “Yeah,” she answered without looking up.

  She was trying to be swift and discrete pulling her underwear and socks from the second drawer in the dresser. The rest of the drawers were empty.

  Cassie’s white bag was barely half-full. The one Rob was filling was near the top, but she could see the whole closet was empty except for naked hangers. She moved to the nightstand drawer and retrieved the stored envelope of AmEx receipts and the filled notebook.

  “There are more envelopes like this in the other room that I need, if possible.” She held up the 8x11 manila to show him.

  “We’ll see,” he said. “Have we got everything out of here?”

  Cassie glanced around. Damn, she was getting tired of this ‘moving out’ routine! “No, wait!” she said, dropping to her knees on the floor beside the bed. She heard Rob suck in as she fished her arms underneath until she felt soft canvass, and then pulled the collapsed Voyager Duffel out from under the bed.

  Rob took the Voyager by the handle, gathered the top of her white bag, and they retraced their steps back through the short hall into the living room.

  Cassie took a hard look this time. It was a disaster. The breakfast bar was in splinters, the new printer lay next to the sofa looking like a truck had run over it. The slider drape was closed but with late afternoon sun shining directly on it she could see the silhouette of a large diagonal crack in the glass. The TV was tipped on its side with the picture tube missing – probably scattered all over the room. Everything was covered with splinters of wood and glass and dust thick enough that she barely spotted the clipped group of manila envelopes on the floor.

  “There they are,” she said, pointing.

  The Fire Captain took a few steps into the room and pulled it from the floor with his gloved hand, but he did not bring it to Cassie. He locked eyes with the Detective, and shook his head as bits of dust and glass slid to the floor from the top envelope.

  “If you could just open that one and give me the contents?” she tried. “It should contain papers from County Records and from the Business License Division. I need those for my work.”

  He unclipped the batch, opened the flap, peered inside, and shook his head. “Nothing in here,” he said. He raised the flap on the next envelope and pulled out pages Cassie recognized was the rental contract signed with Melanie Swaffar. He handed those to the Detective. Then he ticked through the rest of the envelopes to show the flaps still folded out, never used, nothing inside any of them.

  “Were the papers here last night when you came up to check everything?” the Detective asked.

  Cassie honestly didn’t know.

  “The envelope was,” she told him sheepishly, “I didn’t think I needed to check inside. Anyway, I scanned copies of everything before I went down to the park last night. I just need to get to my computer to make sure it wasn’t messed with.”

  “Where’s your computer now?”

  “Down in the car. I hadn’t brought it upstairs yet.”

  Cassie could only guess what was going on in the minds of the Detective and the Fire Captain. This was no wiring accident. They needed to stash Cassie somewhere out of the way so they could do their job.

  “Is there a Best Western anywhere close to Baylin House?” she asked Rob.

  “I’ll get you an address and some directions from here. We need to wipe you off and the bags too, and you need to run your clothes through the laundry before you touch anything. I don’t want any particles to follow you out where you’ll breathe it later”

  He did exactly as he said. Standing on the front walk outside the apartment door, their gear was removed and stowed in another plastic bag. Then Cassie’s knees, arms, and the front of her shirt -- everything that touched the floor and the bed when she reached for the Voyager -- were wiped with a tacky cloth to remove any specs of dust. The notebook and envelope from the nightstand drawer were removed, wiped, and set aside. The white bags themselves were wiped, and then the Voyager, and finally everything went down the stairs and into Cassie’s car.

  Rob squatted beside the open driver door to point to a location on her city map – a Laundromat half a mile from the University campus, and a motel only another block from there. She could find it.

  She gave him the new cell phone number; he wrote it on the back cover of his little notebook.

  “Cassie,” he said, caressing her arm tenderly with the backs of his fingers. He met her eyes for barely a heartbeat. Then he shook his head and stood. “Remember what I said; just dump everything directly from the bag into the washers without touching it. I’ll call you to find out exactly where you are when I’m done here.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Cassie checked in at the Treasure Isle Motel, drove around behind the swimming pool to park, and tested the key for room 116.

  It was a typical motel layout; definitely not The Marlin, but decent enough for a quarter of the price. It would do for a couple nights until she found something longer-term.

  The manager directed her to the same coin Laundromat Rob suggested. Cassie only asked in hope there were machines in the motel complex. No chance.

  She parked in front of the Laundromat door, and bought quarters from a vending box in the wall, thankful nothing she owned required dry cleaning.

  When all was stowed back in the car, she walked next door to Walgreens and scooped up a box of toaster pastries she could eat cold, a cheap coffee pot and supplies, and replacements for the personal items left behind. She really hoped Dorothy Kennelly did not check the the AmEx account again for at least a week or two. The old witch was going to freak even worse when she saw it the next time.

  Dusk was deepening. Cassie drove through Burger King for something fast and filling, feeling pressure to have everything unloaded and safely locked inside at Treasure Isle before dark. Delayed reality of an explosion in her apartment was beginning to leach into her senses.

  Would anyone go that far just to steal some stupid papers that were public record anyway? Or had somebody actually tried to kill her? No way! That had to be just her imagination at work.

  She put her clean clothes in the closet, switched off the noisy air conditioner, found a plug in the bathroom to recharge the cell phone, and then soothed her unraveling psyche with a long shower.

  It was eerily quiet when she finally turned off the water.

  It was also completely dark when she turned off the bathroom light. She turned it back on long enough to find a switch for the lamp on the nightstand. Someday, Cassie thought, I may get used to finding my way around strange living quarters, but I still won’t like it.

  She plopped on the bed and dumped out the satchel. Rosalie’s envelope slid out with the computer. Cassie picked it up; she had forgotten it in all the excitement. But she wasn’t in the mood to tackle it tonight. She shoved it back into the satchel.

  While the laptop booted, Cassie used the motel phone to call AmEx and reverse authorization for Bayside View’s charges; pending investigation of course, but the woman she spoke to was sympathetic when Cassie explained the rented space was uninhabitable after an electrical fire. “. . . and since there wasn’t another unit I could move into, my payment for three weeks rent needs to be reversed. I will negotiate something with them for my personal items destroyed and the few nights I had possession.”

  “It’s all taken care of, Ms. Crowley. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  Not unless she could block Dorothy Kennelly from receiving any more information about the account, but Cassie didn’t actually say that, she just said ‘no thank you’ and hung up.

  She was relieved to find the scanned file documents intact. Each page came into view on the screen with impressive clarity, and she carefully inspected every line.

  But after twenty minutes there was nothing
to see that Cassie hadn’t understood just fine the first time. Rosalie had signed over ownership to the Rosalie Baylin Trust, which caused the old license to close and a new one issued. The complaints, bogus as they were, were all against the new license. Rosalie was correct -- the news of her illness was out and the alligators were circling.

  The cell phone rang and Cassie jumped, stumbling over the bed to get to the bathroom where it was still recharging, expecting to hear Rob’s voice.

  “Miss Cassandra!” It was Bea Morgan. “I’m so glad you answered! Emmet called here all worried and I’ve been calling your apartment for two hours!”

  “Emmet? Is he all right?”

  “He’s worried about you, Miss Cassandra! He said the Fire Department came to your apartment building, but they wouldn’t let him in to see you.”

  Cassie hadn’t thought how much of that commotion Emmet Pine might have seen, or that he would pay attention to it. When there was a problem last night, he sure didn’t want to get involved.

  “I’m fine Bea, I wasn’t in the building when it happened and I’ve got all my stuff out of there. Please let Emmet know I’ve moved to a different location until the mess is cleaned up.”

  “Well. . . that’s good news, yes . . . I’ll let him know . . . ,” Bea’s voice trailed out like she was stalling, wanted to say something she didn’t want anyone else to hear.

  Cassie remembered her promise. “I tried to talk to the Police about Brady,” she said. “They won’t give me any information on the phone. I have to go down there tomorrow and show my ID. We still might need . . .”

  Cassie stopped when she realized she was talking to a dead line.

  That was weird. Not only the strange tone of Bea’s voice, but the whole business of Emmet worrying about Cassie. She couldn’t fathom him trying to get into the complex to check on her. He only tolerated her because writing the book was important to Rosalie, right?

  Right!

  Cassie put away the laptop and clicked on the TV for distraction.

  Rob called a few minutes before nine o’clock. She gave him the room number; he said he would be there in half an hour. That kept her excited enough to stay awake.

  The Nine O’clock News came on. Cassie sat through a video of her apartment complex, the fire truck, and then the missing kitchen window, all of it shot from a helicopter. “The incident is under investigation, no details are available yet.”

  Somebody must have put a gag on Melanie Swaffar.

  The follow-up of older news was more interesting: “Cordell Bay PD Public Information Office has identified the deceased as Douglas Skolnik, aged 64, owner of Doug Skolnik Private Investigations with an office located on Hefner Street.

  “Coroner Jeff Kirkland’s office lists Cause of Death as exsanguination resulting from blunt trauma to the spleen and kidney areas. In plain language, folks, Mr. Skolnik was beaten to death!

  “Skolnik’s death is estimated between noon and midnight on Sunday, July 13th.. The body was not discovered until three days later, found in the trunk of a vehicle parked behind the QuickStop Mart at Lazuli Avenue and San Miguel Street in the old San Miguel area south of the river.

  “Police have confirmed speaking with two persons of interest, but declined to identify them at this time. We’ll bring you the latest updates on this case as soon as they are released. Now back to you, David . . .”

  Cassie thought about that for another minute. Then she scrambled for the steno book and flipped to the back where she was accumulating names and addresses, adding Doug Skolnik PI on Heffner Street to the list. She was curious to see if Bea or Harvey recognized that name.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Rob showed up looking even more stressed than when Cassie left Bayside View. He glanced around the room as she closed the door behind him.

  “Are you comfortable enough here for a few days?”

  “Anywhere with a decent bed is good for me,” she answered, trying to lighten the tension he brought with him. She pointed to the chairs at the table.

  Rob sat down nearest the corner, still visually inspecting the room and not looking happy about what he saw.

  “It won’t take long to find another apartment,” she offered, sliding into the other chair. “I looked at University Commons before I went to Bayside View. Maybe they’ll still have an open unit.”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t suppose I could put you on a plane tonight and ship you back to Las Vegas, could I?”

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going back to Vegas until I finish the project with Rosalie Baylin. I need this paycheck.”

  He nodded.

  She slid her hands from her lap to the table, and leaned forward. “So I really caused all that damage plugging the printer in at the kitchen? I know it draws a lot of--”

  “No,” he cut her off. “We think the weight of the printer is what kept it from being as bad as it was intended.” Rob reached across the small table and folded his hands over hers. “Someone has threatened your life, Cassie. I’m not just trying to scare you; I need you to understand this is serious.” He circled his thumbs under her wrists. “Starting right now, I don’t want you to step outside this door without me knowing about it. I need you to tell me everyone you’ve talked to since you got here, and I need to know everything you’re going to do before you do it.”

  Cassie frowned and slid her hands free, dropping them into her lap again. “That’s too much--”

  “That’s the way it has to be. Unless you’re willing to leave until we have a lock on it . . ?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  Rob took out his little notebook. “You have a cell phone. I need you to call me whenever you leave one location for another.”

  He ripped out a clean page and wrote a phone number with the same prefix as Cassie’s new cell phone. “Call this number as you leave; tell me where you’re going, and don’t be surprised if I ask you to call again when you get there.”

  She stared at the paper. “My day starts early. Who’s going to answer when you’re off duty?”

  “It will still be me. That’s my private cell phone.”

  “At seven-thirty in the morning?”

  “I don’t care if it’s four-thirty in the morning! As long as you’re in Cordell County, I want to know where you are. If I don’t answer, leave a message. When this is over you can tell me to kiss off, and I’ll leave you alone, but right now you’ve got to let me do my job.”

  They locked eyes in a standoff.

  “What did you find in my apartment?”

  He continued a hard stare. “We found an unexploded charge stuck to the underside of what used to be the breakfast counter. I’m assuming your printer was sitting on top of the counter?”

  “What do you mean, a charge ?”

  “CSI says it’s an amateur attempt at using an underwater explosive of some kind. They’re still working on it.”

  “But you said unexploded . . . if it didn’t go off, then what happened?”

  “Looks like a chain reaction began with primer cord connected to the phone on the wall, and run under the counter close enough to the back of the stove to flash the 220 source. The combination of primer and 220 loosened the breakfast bar and the weight of the printer pulled it down. Our tech people think that’s what dislodged the terminating connection that was supposed to blow the rest. We’re lucky you weren’t standing in front of it.”

  To borrow Henry Wainsworth’s phrase, NO SHIT, SHERLOCK!

  Cassie’s mouth suddenly tasted like asphalt. She eyed the handful of quarters left over from the Laundromat, and went to the dresser to retrieve them.

  “Did you notice if there’s a vending machine out there anywhere? I need something in my throat.”

  Rob was in front of the door before she could get to it. “You stay here. The fewer people who see you the less I have to worry. Hand me the ice bucket and I’ll fill that too.”

  Cassie was in no position to argue. Sh
e retrieved the brown plastic bucket and handed it to him.

  When he returned, she put the heaping bucket back in the tray on the bathroom counter, slipping a small cube into her mouth to slow the acid fire.

  Rob was back at the table with two cans of soda. “I didn’t think to ask if you have a preference,” he said.

  She sat down and reached for one of the cans, shaking her head. “I don’t.”

  She took a couple sips, letting the bubbles roll down. When she was sure she could speak without her throat clenching on her words, she said, “this tastes wonderful. Thanks.”

  “Good. Now tell me what’s going on, Cassie. I know about the editing job and Rosalie’s Baylin House project. Who else have you had any kind of dealing with?”

  Cassie took a deep breath. “I stepped on some toes at city hall.”

  “Doing what?”

  “The Health Department is holding up the Baylin House license renewal, so I picked up copies of the complaints. You already know about Fozzi’s visit to Bayside View for some phony odor report. He was there the day before, too. Melanie said he was asking who belonged to my phone number.”

  Rob frowned, but he said nothing. She watched the ballpoint moving while he wrote in his little notebook.

  She recounted last Thursday for him; the Realtor’s visit, Rosalie’s request for help, the Power Of Attorney letter, driving to the Business License office, and Sydney Owen’s cryptic message.

  “I still haven’t figured out what she wants me to see, but I haven’t been able to get hold of her to ask.”

  “Those are the papers missing from the envelope?”

  “Yes, along with Sydney’s 30-Day Extension of the license. She left a message on my answering machine that she needed to warn me about something, and we were supposed to meet for dinner Friday night. She didn’t make it, and now the City switchboard says she’s on two month Leave Of Absence.”

  Cassie took another drink of the soda while Rob added to his notes.

  “I also met with the manager of the Baylin House charity account. She probably figured out I think she’s embezzling funds. She’s trying to get them shut down so she can sell the land.”