After plenty of sampling the dough and then the finished product, I bribed myself into exercising by promising to restock my pile of books at the library afterward. I’d drop off the cookies to Mrs. Dunst at the same time.
I exchanged my PJs for sweats, pulled on an old pair of trainers, and knocked on Etta’s door.
“I brought cookies,” I said.
Her eyes latched onto the plate. “Are you bribing me for something?”
“No. I’m about to go for a walk and thought I’d see if Dudley wanted to come.”
Dudley’s eyes were latched onto the plate too. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that food came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, usually from a person’s hand.
“He’d love to. I’ll get some bags, treats, and his leash for you.”
“Can he go down the stairs now?”
“Oh yes, he’s been doing that from day three.”
“What?” The day he’d refused to go down the stairs, forcing me to spend time with Aunt Alice and Henrietta, had been day three.
“He’s a fast learner,” Etta said, mistaking my surprise and handing me all the walking accessories.
I grabbed a cookie as a treat for myself, too, and wondered why Mr. Black had been over yesterday if she didn’t need him to carry Dudley. But I wasn’t about to ask. I’d done my due diligence and had washed my hands of it. As she’d pointed out, she’d survived on this earth a great deal longer than I had. She could make her own decisions. All the evidence showed they were working out for her, which is more than I could say for mine.
Dudley wanted to do his usual sniff investigation of the stair landing, so I followed him around then hauled him away when he lifted his leg on my dead cactus. I was hoping it would miraculously recover, given no one was supposed to be able to kill a cactus. We headed for the stairs and stopped when Dudley planted his feet at the ledge.
“Oh don’t try that again. Etta told me you know how to do them now.”
He used his big brown eyes to brainwash me, but I wasn’t buying it. I pulled out a treat. “Come on, you can do it.” He whined and watched the treat with every fiber of his being, but he didn’t step forward. I bit into my cookie while I thought about what to do. His focus shifted to the cookie. Experimenting, I broke off a piece, making sure it was free of chocolate chips, and gave it to him. “Do you like that, boy?”
He liked that.
“Want some more? Come on, take one small step.”
He lifted his front leg and waved it over the edge of the stairs before putting it back onto the concrete landing.
I gave him another piece of cookie to reward him for at least trying, then beckoned again.
He repeated the paw wave but still didn’t get down to even the first step. “Ugh. You’re just like Earnest,” I told him sadly. Except I wasn’t one of Dudley’s special people he trusted enough to overcome his anxieties. I would have to get Etta’s help.
With Etta leading the way, Dudley walked carefully down the steps then looked to me for more cookie. Sighing, I handed him another crumb.
I was left with a pathetic pile of chocolate pieces.
Etta laughed at me before returning to her apartment. “Sometimes I think Dudley’s better at training humans than the other way around.”
“You might be right.”
We started walking. The morning drizzle had cleared, and the winter sun was making a halfhearted effort to filter through the clouds. Despite the chill in the air, it was a lovely day. The recent rain had washed away the usual smells of exhaust fumes, dusty asphalt, pot, urine, fast food, and booze and replaced it with that specific, soul-lifting freshness that only long-overdue rain can bring.
Even so, my mind flitted uselessly between the funeral and the case. Like Etta and Mr. Black, both were now out of my hands. I inhaled deeply, determined to put the thoughts aside and enjoy the incredible air and buoyant company.
Dudley waltzed along, practically skipping with excitement every time he caught a new scent or marked a new pole. I wished I could be more like him. Not the peeing on everything part, the simple, joyous part. Humans tend to think we’re superior because of our intelligence and use of tools, but who’s more content? Animals live in the moment. Dudley might have had a rough past, but he wasn’t thinking of it right now. He was enjoying what was in front of him. I was trying to, but I kept dragging Earnest’s murder with me.
I blew hair out of my eyes, exasperated with myself, and walked faster. Might as well burn some calories if I couldn’t appreciate the day. Along the way, I tried to devise a method of convincing Dudley to walk downstairs with me. What could be more motivating than a cookie? The challenge was similar to coaxing Earnest to leave his home, so I attempted to draw from my experience. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see cocaine or psychology working for Dudley.
Two poop bags and forty minutes later, we returned to the apartment building and the dreaded steps. I froze. Dudley stopped and cocked his head at me. All my arm hairs stood to attention. I figured out who might’ve killed Earnest.
I dropped Dudley home and called Connor to outline my hypothesis. He wasn’t as sure as I was but agreed it was plausible. The problem was, we had no proof. Everything was circumstantial. There might be some DNA evidence in the suspect’s car or house, but to find it we’d need a warrant. And to get a warrant, we’d need to convince a judge. And to convince a judge, we’d need more than my gut conviction and loosely connecting dots.
Connor told me he’d speak with Hunt and get back to me.
That left me to twiddle my thumbs. Some people can twiddle their thumbs and produce amazing knitting or crocheting works of art. I wasn’t one of them, so I went to the library and then Mrs. Dunst’s house instead. I came home with an armful of books, four more casseroles (now she knew I had guests to help me eat them), and a burning impatience to hear from Connor.
I started on one of the novels but couldn’t concentrate. I fed Meow. I logged into my email and deleted the ones from Aunt Alice in case she ever asked to look. I cleaned out the fridge. I made sure the volume on my phone was up high for the dozenth time. I plucked my eyebrows. I unclenched my jaw. Checked my phone again.
My body still ached from its night in prison, so I ran a hot bath. While I waited for the tub to fill, I discovered an old bottle of “Delicious Bubbles” under the sink, probably left over from a previous tenant, and dumped some of that in too. I’d just stripped down and submerged myself up to my ears when Connor finally called. I sat up and lunged for the phone, sending a wave of bubbles over the side. I wiped more bubbles off my face before answering it. Maybe I’d overdone the Delicious Bubbles.
“We have a plan,” he said. “Hunt wasn’t happy, but the media have his balls to the wall, and with no better leads, he agreed it was worth checking out.”
Connor outlined the details. The LAPD wanted the evening to gather any supporting evidence they could without alerting the suspect, and tomorrow we’d confront the murderer. At least who I hoped was the murderer.
“I can’t believe you got Hunt to listen,” I said. I’d been sure he’d dismiss the whole thing as soon as Connor mentioned my name. The commander must be very protective of his balls.
An ugly thought occurred to me. Or perhaps I should’ve said an even uglier thought since the commander’s scrotum against a wall was not something I wanted to visualize. He was going to be super mad if he went out on a limb and hit another dead end, especially if the press got wind of it. Would he throw me back in jail if I was wrong?
“I might’ve told him it was my theory,” Connor said. “To make sure he’d give it a fair hearing.”
I used my spare hand to fashion a beard of bubbles around my chin. I didn’t know whether to be indignant or touched. My beard plopped into the bath. I decided on touched. Connor was trusting me enough to put his own ass on the line.
As if his thoughts had followed the same path, he said, “I hope to hell you’re right about this, Avery.”
I swiped
the remaining bubbles off my chin, suddenly feeling foolish. “I hope so too.”
21
I barely slept that night. Accrued sleep deprivation made my eyes bleary, but I had too much nervous energy to care. Connor picked me up at eight a.m. because they needed me for the plan to work. He handed me another espresso in a thermos, and I chugged it down, forgetting to enjoy it.
When we arrived at our destination, Hunt was there waiting for us in an unmarked vehicle. He offered me a stiff nod, and I managed to restrain myself from gloating. Just.
I strapped on my wire—a police-issue one this time—and left the boys in the car. At the door, I gave myself a moment to tamp down on my jittery emotions and channel Dr. Kelly’s tranquil calm. Time for stage one. I rang the doorbell.
Before I was ready for it, Humphrey was standing in front of me. He was a large, thickset man, but the extra padding around his waist and the slump to his shoulders had stopped me from considering how strong he must be. Until now.
As always, his face was cragged and weather-beaten, like a cliff face slowly being worn down by the relentless beating of the sea. Only in Humphrey’s case, the beating came from too many demands and not enough good to counterbalance them.
“Hi, Humphrey. Do you have a few minutes? I brought cookies.”
He looked over his shoulder with a harried expression. “Um, well Mother is over, but I guess so.” He stepped back, and I followed him down a hallway that was a replica of Earnest’s, except without all the posters.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.
“Please.”
“Make me a new cup while you’re at it,” demanded his mother. “This one’s so weak I can hardly taste it.”
Humphrey shuffled off to obey, and I sat down with Mrs. Fierro in the small living area. As I’d noted at the funeral, she was tall and big-boned like her son, yet she didn’t have his world-weary defeated air. Stuffed into a recliner with a woolen throw over her legs and a walking cane propped by her side, Mrs. Fierro looked ready to fight. Her hair was neatly pinned back, her eyebrows were thin and over-plucked, and her mouth was a slash of painted red. Even the thick, black angular frames of her glasses had attitude.
“Is your knee feeling any better?” I asked her.
“No. That’s what old age does. Makes everything worse. My hemorrhoids were dripping with blood this morning. Something for you to look forward to.”
“Um. Sorry to hear that.” And I was sorry, but I wasn’t sure whether it was more for her or myself. “Cookie?”
She snatched one from the plate.
“Must be tough to have a bad knee. Can you walk upstairs with it?” My question was not as casual as it seemed. Nor was it related to Etta’s claims. I had no interest in Mrs. Fierro’s sex life.
“Pah! You have no idea. I’m confined to flat surfaces like a damn cripple. Next I’ll be stuck slithering on my belly like a snake.”
Well, she had the right personality for it.
Humphrey saved me from having to formulate an appropriate response by returning with two mugs of tea. I offered him a cookie in gratitude.
“Don’t even think about it, Humphrey,” said Mrs. Fierro, sending flecks of cookie flying from her mouth. “They’re no good for you.”
Humphrey put his cookie back.
Holy smokes. How could he bend over backward for this woman and still let her treat him like a three-year-old? Especially when she was such a blatant hypocrite.
The only explanation that made sense was that he’d never gotten far enough away from his mother’s shadow to learn perspective. To discover she wasn’t always right and that others held different opinions. That he was more valuable and more capable than she’d led him to believe.
And after five minutes with the woman, I was certain she’d never let him. She was a bully through and through.
Unaware of my speculation, Humphrey stared at the cookies wistfully and then turned his shy smile on me. “What can I do for you, Isobel?”
“I was wondering—well, with Earnest gone and eight months of his rental contract remaining—whether you know anyone who could be interested in taking it over?”
He glanced at Mrs. Fierro, who sipped the steaming liquid and puckered her mouth like it tasted rotten. “Well, actually, Mother might want to move in. It would help me respond a lot faster when she needed me for anything. It’s hard with the forty-minute drive between us. Worse if traffic is bad.”
Mrs. Fierro took another sip and grimaced again. “Pity it won’t help you make a damn cup of tea.”
Humphrey looked crestfallen, so I took a sip of my own and said, “Mine is lovely, thanks.”
Mrs. Fierro shot devil eyes at me. To evade her gaze, I scanned the room. It was clean and neat but furnished bachelor style, with cheap timber veneer furniture, brown fabric couches, and no embellishments or Christmas decorations anywhere. Unlike Earnest’s mom, I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Fierro would do anything to change that. My eyes were drawn to the sole splash of color. A stack of DVDs on top of the entertainment unit and a packet of Cheetos Bolitas.
Time stopped.
How many US citizens had a thing for Cheetos Bolitas? What were the odds Humphrey did? We’d never recovered the packet Earnest had bought right before he died.
Humphrey and Mrs. Fierro were both staring at me now. I took another sip of tea and tried to remember what we were talking about. “Well, if you’re happy to take over the rental contract, that would make things easy,” I said. “How soon could you move in?”
“Mother’s lease is almost up, so as soon as you wanted, really.”
“Great. That sounds convenient for everyone then.” I helped myself to a cookie. Mrs. Fierro could rot. “It might need a new paint job once we remove all his posters from the walls. And they have yet to figure out what’s going on with the sporadic water pressure or the power outages I’m afraid, so that could take a while for the landlord to fix. I guess you might be able to help them work out what’s wrong, Humphrey. You do maintenance stuff for a school, right?”
“Yeah, that’s one of my jobs.”
I smiled at him and made a show of looking around. “Maybe that’s why your apartment is in better condition than Earnest’s.”
Mrs. Fierro had given up on her tea but appeared disgusted all over again at this information. “I don’t want some ramshackle apartment. You can move in there, and I’ll have yours.”
“I can’t move out or my rent would go up, remember, Mother? But I’m sure the landlord would let me paint it for you so you can decorate it however you like.”
“Are those Cheetos Bolitas over there?” I interrupted, hoping Connor would get the hint. “They were Earnest’s favorite.”
Humphrey flinched.
Connor and Hunt rapped hard on the door.
I put my tea down. Time for stage two.
“LAPD. Open up!”
Humphrey’s eyes darted around the apartment, looking for an escape route. There was only one way in or out. Without smashing a window anyway.
“Goodness, we better see what’s going on,” I said, getting up to open the door before they broke it down. Humphrey didn’t move to stop me.
Connor and Hunt stormed in, guns in hand, like a pair of badasses in the movies. The plan was to overwhelm. To distract him from the fact our evidence was so scanty. They converged on Humphrey.
“Hands up!” Hunt shouted. “We know you harassed and murdered Earnest for his apartment. You wanted to be close to your aging mother, but with twenty years of rent-controlled pricing, you couldn’t afford to move.” Humphrey’s battered features crumbled. “Your bank records show you’re barely scraping by, but your one neighbor with stair-free access was agoraphobic and didn’t want to move either. So you tried to force him to.”
That was my biggest bit of guesswork. I’d been asking myself for days why anyone would want to kill sweet, gentle Earnest if it wasn’t for his whistle-blowing. So when I’d found myself annoyed by sweet, gentle
Dudley’s refusal to go down the stairs, it had planted a seed in the back of my mind.
But who would Earnest’s agoraphobia inconvenience aside from the people who loved him most? He was a good tenant who paid his rent on time despite all the maintenance issues they’d been having. That made me think of Mr. Bradley complaining about all the long-term tenants who wouldn’t move out of his rent-controlled apartments. If none of them wanted to move out, what happened if someone wanted to move in?
Humphrey was shaking his head, but there was little conviction behind it, like he’d already given up. His outstretched hands were shaking too.
“We know your apartments share a crawl space where you left dead animals under Earnest’s floor to stink the place out,” Hunt continued. “We found your prints down there as well as on the hot water pressure valve and the fuse box, which are both mysteriously malfunctioning despite the efforts of numerous plumbers and electricians. But it wasn’t enough, was it? Earnest wouldn’t leave no matter what you did to his apartment. So you had to escalate things.”
Hunt paused for breath.
Humphrey’s gaze had fallen to the floor, perhaps wishing he was back in the cramped, dark safety of that crawl space. His hands were still raised, and every now and then, his head gave the slightest half shake of denial.
After I’d put the first puzzle pieces together, Humphrey’s kind offer to help me move Earnest’s stuff out, despite the burden he was already shouldering with two jobs and his mother, seemed suspicious. It would certainly make life easier if she lived next door. But he was quiet and shy, and I couldn’t see him plotting murder, so I’d dismissed him and gone back to pondering how to motivate Dudley to go down the stairs without Etta.
Since cookies and praise hadn’t worked, I wondered if the negative motivation of Meow stalking after him might. Had Humphrey’s thoughts taken the same turn? That he might be able to persuade Earnest to leave if enough bad things happened in the apartment? There had been an awful lot of maintenance issues that confounded the tradesmen called out to fix them. And I thought Humphrey had once mentioned being a facilities and maintenance worker for a local school. So he’d have the skills for it.
The Hunger Pains (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 2) Page 18
