My heart lurched in sympathy. “Oh, Mrs. Dunst—”
“No! He can’t have been.” Jay shot to his feet, slopping soda over his hand, but he didn’t notice. “Who was behind it? I’ll kill the bastard.”
“That’s nice of you to say, darling,” Mrs. Dunst said. She called everyone darling. “But it won’t bring Earnest back, and he wouldn’t like to see you in prison.”
Jay deflated.
“Anyway, I’m sure the police will have questions for you both, but I didn’t want them to spring the news on you. If they find out you were here this morning, you can say I asked you to come and talk about the funeral.”
Jay stalked out soon afterward. He was under the pump to get everything packed in time for the moving van.
I lingered behind. “Can I help with anything?”
She smiled a sad smile. “That’s so sweet of you. They’re releasing his… him today, and I have to start funeral planning, but how can I? How can I plan to bury my beautiful boy?”
I took her hand, trying not to look at the Christmas tree. “I don’t know.”
“I keep thinking that I should’ve stopped it somehow. Should’ve found him quicker. Shouldn’t have doubted him.”
“Don’t. He was lucky to have you, and he knew it. You’re a great mother.” It was true. She was a lot like her couches. Plump and not particularly fashionable, but snug and welcoming and good in a way that beat the sleek, pretentious variety without contest.
She squeezed my hand until it hurt and blinked tears from her eyes. “Do you think Jay will be okay?”
I recognized the tactic. Focus on a lesser problem to avoid the hairy mammoth standing in your living room. I’d been employing it solidly for the past two days.
“He took it pretty hard,” she went on, “and he was already feeling guilty. I should’ve told him it didn’t matter, that it wouldn’t have mattered.”
“What wouldn’t?” I asked.
She retrieved the tissues from her pocket and wiped her cheeks. “Jay felt bad for not helping us search. He was in the middle of painting something for the landlord, and we agreed he should finish it and join us afterward, but by then… And it wouldn’t have helped, you know? Earnest was… gone before we even started looking.”
“I don’t think any of us could’ve done anything.” I meant it, yet as I said the words, I wondered if they were true for me. Had I missed something? I’d spent every day with him for months. There must have been some kind of warning that he was in danger.
She wiped her eyes again. “You’re right, of course. And regrets won’t bring him back either.” She blew her nose and then, finally, took her first sip of tea.
It would have been lukewarm at best. Kind of like Connor’s feelings about seeing me again.
She squared her shoulders and looked up at me. “I’ve been trying to think about his funeral. I know which funeral home I want to use, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to make an appointment. Do you think… Would you mind going with me?”
I’d rather stick a fork in my eye. “Of course not,” I said.
After we’d finished wading through the exhausting number of options with the funeral home, I caught myself driving on autopilot to Earnest’s apartment. I still didn’t know what to do about Commander Hunt’s ultimatum, and it seemed as good a place to think it over as any. Besides, my muffins were going to waste.
Connor had tried to call me twice, but I’d let it go to voice mail. I wasn’t ready to relay what had happened with Hunt yet. Or discuss what it meant for our investigation.
I kept thinking about those erased hard drives. It made the whole case damn near impossible, so logic suggested the killer was behind it. Which added weight to the idea that Earnest was murdered to stop him publishing his most recent exposé, but one thing didn’t make sense to me. If Earnest was killed between one forty-five and three a.m. and the hard drives wiped much later between eight thirty and eleven, what happened in the intervening hours?
Surely it didn’t take that long to remove incriminating evidence? So why had the killer waited until then, when there was more chance of being discovered? Was it possible the murder and the data deletion were performed by different people? Except they had to be linked. It was too coincidental to make sense otherwise.
It seemed that despite Hunt’s demands, my mind, at least, was on the case.
As I secured a parking spot for my Corvette, I wondered if the police might be in Earnest’s apartment. Unlikely since the Taste Society’s team had already swept the place, and with confirmation that Earnest left of his own accord, it wasn’t a crime scene.
There was no telltale police tape on the door, so I let myself in. The place was a mess. Apparently the Taste Society forensic and investigation team took less care when the owner was dead. I suppose dead people don’t complain. Even so, it made me cringe on Earnest’s behalf. If he’d been here to see it, the upheaval of all his ordered belongings would’ve greatly upset him.
I straightened two of the skewed posters and propped the umbrella up in its corner before I stopped myself. It wouldn’t bring Earnest back. It might get my ass thrown in jail.
Ugh. What was I doing here? I should leave. But not without my muffins.
Mind made up, my feet retraced the path I’d taken so many times toward the kitchen. Except this time, a breeze tickled my skin. I halted midstride. Had the Taste Society team left a window ajar? I followed the breeze into Earnest’s bedroom to close it, but the window wasn’t ajar.
It was smashed.
I grabbed my phone and was debating whether to call Connor, Commander Hunt, or the landlord first when Earnest’s wardrobe door flew open. It rammed into me with the force of a champion sumo wrestler, and I hit the floor hard enough to make my teeth rattle. Shocked, I took an instant to move. A shadow fell over me. Pain blossomed in the back of my head, and darkness swallowed me whole.
Seconds later, light rushed in and I heard footsteps on the pavement outside. Hurrying away.
I sat up fast, thinking to get a glimpse of the person, but a wave of dizziness sent me face-first back onto the floor. I waited for the vertigo to subside, then eased myself gingerly into a sitting position.
The new vantage point accentuated the pain bouncing around my skull, and since the footsteps were long gone and there was no one around to hear me, I took the liberty of whimpering.
My phone was lying on the carpet nearby where I’d dropped it as I fell. I picked it up and groaned again. Me and my new nine pounds must have landed on it. The screen was cracked. I tapped the fractured glass and was relieved when it lit up under my fingertips. I dialed Connor. For some reason I always defaulted to calling him in the face or aftermath of danger.
“Nice of you to decide to talk to me,” he said in his usual dry tone.
“Earnest’s apartment has been ransacked, and—”
“Get out now. The intruder could still be there.”
Definitely should have called him earlier.
“Too late. I assumed the mess was from the forensic and investigation team until someone knocked me on the head.”
Connor said a naughty word. “Are you okay?”
“I think so, except for a mean headache anyway. Unfortunately, I didn’t see the person responsible for it.”
“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”
My throbbing skull convinced me to follow his advice. While I waited, I wondered who might’ve been going through Earnest’s apartment when the computer had already been wiped. Was it an opportunist stealing stuff? It made a sick kind of sense to rob the recently deceased. I looked around, but the $380 Kindle Oasis sitting in plain sight on his bookshelf didn’t support the theory.
Could it have been the killer removing some type of obscure evidence he’d forgotten about until now? I shivered. Somehow being brained by Earnest’s murderer was a lot creepier than being brained by a random thug.
Long minutes later, I tensed at the sound of the front door o
pening. Not that it made any sense for the intruder to come back through the front door even if they had decided to finish the job.
“Isobel?”
My heart sped up until I placed the voice. Levi. Then it beat faster for a different reason. It had been less than forty-eight hours from when I’d turned him down, and while he’d taken it well, I hadn’t expected to see him again so soon. I still wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision.
“In here,” I called, cursing Connor for reporting the incident.
Levi swept into the room like a breath of sunshine and cinnamon. “You know, I really was joking about being disappointed by your lack of being shot or poisoned lately,” he said as he knelt down to examine me. “And there are easier ways to see me than getting knocked on the head. Like saying yes, next time I ask you out, for example.” He shone a penlight in my eyes.
“Great tip,” I mumbled.
“How are you feeling?” Gentle fingers probed the lump on my head.
“Okay.”
“Liar.”
“Well, okay for someone who’s been hit on the head.”
“Any vision impairment? Nausea?”
“No. But I wouldn’t mind some pain relief.”
He rocked back onto his feet and smiled at me. “Whatever the lady wants.”
“I bet it’s not often you get turned down,” Connor said, startling both of us.
Levi recovered quickly. “Less often than you. I’ve heard your bedside manner is terrible.”
Connor smirked. Then his eyes landed on me and the smirk disappeared. “Are you sure she’s okay?”
“Yes. But she shouldn’t drive for twenty-four hours and will need monitoring overnight for concussion.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her. Save her going into the medical facility.”
Maybe the head injury was more serious than Levi thought. I could’ve sworn Connor just volunteered to spend time with me.
I tried to read him to work out why, but his eyes had left me to scour the room, assessing every detail.
Levi rummaged through his kit and handed me a packet of pills along with a bottle of water to swallow them with. “Take two of these up to four times daily for the next couple of days until you’re feeling better. And don’t tell Connor since it’s against Taste Society regs, but I’m giving you my business card again with my direct number on it.” He winked at me. “Only because you can’t seem to stay out of trouble, of course.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Connor said, “since I think it’s a good idea.”
I busied myself by taking the pills and hoped the bottle of water would hide my face. The problem was, the plastic and liquid were both transparent, so it wasn’t as effective as I would’ve liked. “Thank you both for the vote of confidence.”
“We have every confidence in your ability to find trouble,” Levi told me. “Call me when you do.” He gathered his things and swept back out of the room, leaving me wondering again why I’d turned him down.
Connor’s eyes rested on me for a few seconds before he spoke again. “Are you feeling up to standing?”
“Yes.” I got up to prove it.
“Either this break-in was by a different person than whoever erased the hard drives, or they’ve grown careless now that Earnest’s death has been ruled a murder. Can you take a look around to see if anything’s missing?”
I walked through the five tiny rooms, being careful about where I placed my feet to avoid stepping on anything. “It’s hard to tell when it’s in this state, but I don’t think anything’s been taken,” I concluded. “Except for the computers and hard drives, which I’m assuming the Taste Society team laid claim to.”
Connor pulled out his phone. “That doesn’t give us any clues about the intruder’s identity or purpose then. We’ll have to hope the crime scene unit finds something that does.”
“The LAPD crime scene unit?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my nose where Hunt’s mustache had almost stabbed it. This was bad. Really bad. “Any way you can avoid telling Commander Hunt I was here?”
Maybe Connor heard the edge of hysteria in my voice because he looked up from his phone and gave my question some thought before answering. “No. Not after the intruder attacked you. It could be important to the case, and your DNA might be found mixed up with theirs.”
I let out a wobbly sigh. Would a Christmas miracle be too much to ask for?
Of course it would.
In lieu of a miracle, my mind turned to muffins. My headache was fading, Commander Hunt was looming, and I needed comfort food. “Would it count as tampering with a crime scene if I took my muffins home with me?”
Connor’s lips twitched. “Now that I ought to be able to avoid telling Commander Hunt about.”
I had an urge to hug him. But as amusing as his reaction might be, annoying him wasn’t the best way to return his kindness.
He called to report the break-in to the police, and I phoned the landlord to fix the window. We went outside and found a patch of sunlight to wait in. I offered Connor a muffin, which he declined, and I bit into the white-chocolate-and-raspberry goodness myself. It would have been even better with a cup of tea, but I suspected that would be pushing the tampering thing.
“Is Hunt likely to come here?” I asked.
Connor eyed me. “Probably. What’s up?”
Lucky the muffin was moist, or I’d have had a hard time swallowing. “I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that I need to stay out of the case, or he’ll throw my ass in jail. I only came here to collect my muffins. The problem is, I’m not sure he’ll believe me.”
10
I was more familiar with Earnest’s landlord than I should’ve been after a few months of working with Earnest. Mr. Bradley was a small mole of a man, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a mood to match. He even waddled rather than walked. I waved him over when he arrived.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but I was hoping not to have to see you again for at least another six months. This damn building is burning a hole in my pocket faster than my husband is, and that’s saying something.”
“Uh,” I said.
“Who’s this anyway?” he asked, squinting at Connor.
“I’m Connor Stiles, a consultant with the LAPD.”
Mr. Bradley sucked in his cheeks. “Oh boy this can’t be good. I hope you’re not about to tell me my best tenant is in some kind of trouble.”
“What makes you think he might be?” Connor asked.
Mr. Bradley’s shoulders slumped. “Because that’s the type of luck I’m having lately.” He pointed at the building behind us. “I got four tenants in there. The place is rent controlled, and three of the four have been there for over a decade. Hell, one of them’s been there two decades. That means they ain’t paying nearly what they should be, and with the screwy wiring and hot water pressure issues of late, the rent’s not even covering my costs. Mr. Dunst is the only one paying a fair price, so with a police consultant here and the broken window Ms. Avery reported, I’m betting it’s not good news.”
“I’m afraid you’re correct,” Connor said. “Mr. Dunst has been murdered.”
Shock and horror flitted across Mr. Bradley’s face. “No. I don’t believe it.” He reached up and removed his black fedora-style hat, wringing it in his hands with a desperate, single-minded focus. As if he could just find the right hidden lever, it would transform into a magic carpet and fly him away.
After about thirty seconds of this, his whole body sagged. “Oh no. Not in the apartment. No one’ll want to rent it now.” He was muttering to himself, oblivious to how he might be affecting Earnest’s bereaved girlfriend. I was glad Mrs. Dunst wasn’t the one breaking the news.
“The murder did not take place in the apartment, Mr. Bradley,” Connor said. “But I suggest you rein in your thoughts and feelings on the matter.” He made obvious eyes at me, and the landlord looked chagrined.
“Ah, I’m sorry
, Ms. Avery. Sorry for your loss. Um. I guess you better show me that window.”
A couple of uniformed policemen arrived shortly afterward, and between them, Mr. Bradley, Connor, and me, Earnest’s tiny, ransacked bedroom felt more than a little crowded. Still, I counted my blessings. It wasn’t nearly as claustrophobic as it might have been if Commander Hunt was there as well.
I was making a break for some fresh, outside air when I spotted him striding across the road. Pulse quickening, I slammed the door and squeezed myself into the bedroom again. Maybe he’d overlook me if I was one of the crowd.
Yeah right.
Commander Hunt’s cold blue eyes locked onto me as soon as he entered. “Ms. Avery. A word.”
He marched out to the front garden, and I followed, trying not to drag my feet. The wintry, fresh air I’d been longing for was somehow hard to breathe.
“I thought we had an understanding,” he drawled. “What the hell were you doing here?”
I pretended to be fascinated by a plastic bag being chased by the wind to avoid his gaze. “Collecting some personal things.”
“What things?” He leaned in close, looming over me, and making his voice equally threatening. “In case I didn’t make myself clear, I wasn’t bullshitting when I warned you about interfering in my investigation.”
Great. I’d have to tell him. “Just my muffins. I swear.”
He leaned back.
“I brought them over Friday before I knew Earnest was missing and then forgot to take them home. I didn’t want them to go to waste. And his apartment isn’t a crime scene, so I wasn’t interfering! At least it wasn’t a crime scene until an hour ago when some intruder bashed me over the head…”
A glint came into his eye. I suspected he was thinking the whack might do me good. “Let me get this straight. You were assaulted and sustained a head injury over some muffins?”
“I guess so, yes.”
“Well.” He almost looked pleased for a moment. “I hope for your sake that they’re damn good muffins.”
“They—”
“Let me clarify something for you. If I find out you’re lying to me, the head injury’s going to seem like the highlight of your week by the time we’re through.”
The Hunger Pains (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 2) Page 9
