by Julie Hyzy
“What kind of papers? Were you able to see them at all? After they left, I mean?” I asked.
Oscar shook his head. “Craig was always real careful about cleaning up everything when he was done.”
“Done doing what?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know exactly. Was out of my line of sight. But whatever it was took him hours. I got real cramped in there. Didn’t like it a bit.”
“Hours?” Scott asked. “How long did the two of them stay down here?”
Oscar shook his head. “Virginia came and left pretty quick. Craig is the only one that stuck around.”
“Let’s go downstairs for a minute,” I said. “So you can show us where you hid and where Craig was when you couldn’t see him.”
Oscar wiped his mouth with a napkin and surveyed the table. “You all aren’t going to throw away that leftover food, are you?”
“You’re more than welcome to all of it,” Scott said. “We brought in a refrigerator today. You can store it in there.”
“You’re not kicking me out, then?” Oscar turned to me. “Is he on the level?”
I gave a helpless shrug.
Scott, as though realizing what he’d implied, began to stammer. “I mean, of course you can’t live here anymore. We plan to open a restaurant and we can’t have anyone living on the premises.”
“I could be like a security guard,” Oscar said amiably. “I was a bouncer at a disco when I was young and buff.”
Bruce began clearing the leftovers. “I think what Scott’s suggesting is that we hold on to this food for you. Come by whenever you want it. We should be here most days.”
Oscar frowned.
“I’d be happy to talk with people around town to see about getting you a job, if you’d like,” I said, eager to turn the topic back to Virginia’s secret meetings.
“You’d do that for me?” he asked.
Logic warned that this might be a futile endeavor, but I always trusted my instincts. Plus, I couldn’t help myself. I liked Oscar.
“I’ll do what I can.”
He lifted a hand to cover his teeth when he smiled again. “Thank you, ma’am.”
We traipsed down the steps, Oscar leading us to a closet at the basement’s back end. He opened the door to reveal a small, cluttered space filled with mops, brooms, and buckets, one of which was upended. “I sat on that,” he said. “I tried to make it so I almost didn’t breathe. Didn’t know what would happen if they caught me spying on them.”
“Hang on,” I said. “Give me a minute.”
I shooed Bruce, Scott, and Oscar to the side and stepped into the closet and started to pull the door shut. “Show me how open it was when you were watching them,” I said.
Oscar obliged, pushing until only about an inch remained open between the edge of the door and the jamb.
“Okay, now.” I raised my voice a bit. “All three of you move out of the way. I want to see what my view is from here.”
When they’d stepped aside, I sat on the upturned bucket and stared out. I couldn’t make out much beyond the rows of equipment that took up most of the basement. Lingering odors of disinfectant did little to mask the stuffy sweat smells of the small room. Wrinkling my nose, I leaned forward, looking hard to my right and then my left, hoping to be able to stretch enough to see the dusty table that we’d noticed the day we’d found Virginia at the bottom of the stairs, but it was too far left. Even opening the door another inch, then another, didn’t allow me to see that far.
“Where was Craig when you couldn’t see him?” I asked when I emerged from the closet. “Too far this way or that?”
Oscar pointed. I wasn’t surprised when he indicated a spot far left. “He worked there for hours,” he said again. “I could hear him. And I couldn’t leave until after he did.”
I tapped a finger against my lip as I made my way over to the dusty table. “Could he have been working here?” I asked.
Oscar followed me. Shrugged. “Can’t say for sure.”
“You see these dust marks?” I asked, pointing them out. The clear spots on the table had developed a coating of dust of their own, making it a little more difficult to spot clear lines of demarcation. “Can you tell me if anything is missing from this table? If anything was stolen?”
Oscar took a step back. “I told you I didn’t steal nothing. Not even once.”
“We think someone else stole the items, Oscar,” I said soothingly. “I’d like to know if you remember what may have been here.” I pointed again. “It looks like a few items that had been here awhile are now missing.”
He scratched his chin and crouched to study the dust patterns. “Yeah.” When he stood up again, he shook his head. “Can’t remember. But I didn’t pay a lot of mind to any of the stuff that was down here, y’understand. I just came in here for shelter mostly.”
“No problem,” I said. It had been a long shot anyway. “But you said you heard him working. Could you tell what he was doing?” I asked. “By the sound, I mean?”
“Nah,” he said. “And I tried to figure it out. Surely I did. I had enough time in there to try to put pieces together and get an idea, but it wasn’t anything like I ever heard before. A solid noise. A repeating one. Louder than typing on a keyboard, but not heavy like hammering. Not that hard. And only sporadic hits. Not rhythmic like a machine.”
I tried to imagine what sort of equipment might make such a sound. “Do you mean like the devices that print receipts for bank deposits?”
“Been a long time since I made a bank deposit,” Oscar said with a laugh, “but no. That makes a tick-tick-tick-tick sound.” He closed his eyes as though to aid his memory. “This was more like crank-crank, whumpata-whumpata-whumpata.”
“Hmm.” An idea was beginning to form. I thought about those credit card blanks that had been found beneath Virginia’s body. “What else can you tell us about Craig’s activities?”
He scratched the back of his head. “Craig would yell at Virginia sometimes and say that the list wasn’t long enough. That there weren’t enough names.”
“Names?” Bruce repeated.
“That’s what he said,” Oscar insisted. “He kept saying she needed to bring him more names.”
Now I was sure this had to do with those blank credit cards.
“One more question,” I said. “How did you get in and out of the building without a key?”
He smiled widely, self-consciously covering his teeth again. “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking me that. There’s a window in back behind some overgrown weeds. You’d miss it if you didn’t know it was there.” He gestured for us to follow. We did.
He headed back toward the stairs where we’d found Virginia and pointed to a stack of boxes near the back wall. “Behind there.”
Bruce, Scott, and I peered around the towering pile. Plenty of room for a full-grown adult to maneuver. And as promised, there was an extra-large window—the kind designed to allow people to escape a basement in the event of an emergency. The sliding panes were closed, but I pushed one side open with ease. Didn’t even make a noise.
“I keep it lubricated,” Oscar said. “So nobody hears me come in or out.”
Scott nodded. “We would have found this eventually but I’m glad to know about it now.” He turned to Oscar. “Does anyone else use this building for shelter that you know of?”
Oscar shook his shaggy head. “All mine,” he said. Then with a wistful look on his face, he added, “At least it was.”
We all headed back upstairs. I pulled the fifty dollars out of my purse and added another twenty. “You’ve been an enormous help, Oscar,” I said. “Thank you.”
Chapter 13
The next morning I called Joe Bradley from my office phone. I knew he usually didn’t see patients on Wednesdays, and thus I was a little bit surprised when the connec
tion went straight to voicemail. Debating briefly, I opted to leave a message.
“I’m sorry I missed your call yesterday.” I kept my tone lively and casual. “Believe it or not, my roommates and I met the homeless person who’d been living in the Granite Building. He was in the middle of sharing information with us when your call came through. I didn’t want to give him any reason to stop talking.” I drew in a quick breath. “Rodriguez gave me an update about Virginia’s autopsy. He said you determined that it’s definitely a homicide. I’m assuming that’s why you tried to get in touch. Let me know if there’s more to discuss.” For a half second, I considered mentioning seeing him at Myrtille but decided it would be cowardly to leave that in a message. He knew I saw him; I knew he saw me. If we were ever going to address the matter, we’d do so face-to-face, no games. “Talk to you later,” I added, then hung up.
With both hands on the receiver, I blew out a breath.
“So now it’s in his court, is it?” Frances asked from the doorway. She crossed the room and sat down.
“Yep.” I pulled my hands back and forced myself to assume a devil-may-care attitude.
“But he knows you went to lunch with Davenport, does he?”
“Yep,” I said again.
“And how does he know this? Because you ran into him at Myrtille?” Before I could come up with a witty deflection, she went on. “Let’s assume you did. And let’s further assume that he backed out of his own lunch plans at Myrtille when you spotted him.”
“Nothing gets past you, does it? Which of your grapevine minions brought you that bit of intelligence?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is what you plan to do about it.” She nodded toward the phone. “That was a pretty good first step.”
“I’m so glad you approve.”
My sarcasm must not have registered because she gave a self-satisfied smirk before continuing, “Next thing you need to do is find out who the woman is. I understand she was a looker.”
“A looker?” I repeated. “What is this, the nineteen-fifties?” Before she could retort, I waved my hand. We were finished with this subject. “Were you able to get in touch with Neal Davenport?”
“Now there’s a catch if I ever saw one,” she said. Frowning, she continued, “Yes, I got in touch with him. He said he’d be happy to meet you here or at the bank. Whichever is more convenient. He also suggested dinner or drinks instead.”
Dinner or drinks. Or both. Exactly what Joe and I had planned on.
“I’d like to see the bank. Meet some of the people there if I can. If you wouldn’t mind setting that up, Frances? I’d do it myself but I think that having you run interference sends the signal that I’m interested in Davenport only on a professional level.”
She snorted. “And that’s your problem. You can’t be tying yourself down to one guy when you don’t even know for sure that he’s worth your attention. You have to play the field a little bit. Expand your horizons. Make men understand that you’re not sitting home, pining. Waiting for them to call.”
“No one thinks that,” I said. “And it wouldn’t matter if they did. What matters is how I feel about things. I’m hardly pining. And I’m not interested in Neal Davenport.”
“Yet,” she said.
I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, and Flynn called. Said he’s returning your call to Rodriguez. They had some kind of incident that kept them busy until late last night. Rodriguez thought it was too late to call back, so they’re both stopping by later.”
I glanced at the clock that sat on the mantel above the fireplace. Among the perks of occupying an office that had formerly housed a bedroom suite were the rooms’ sweeping views and the cozy fireplaces. “Still early,” I said, “and the day has already taken off at lightning speed.”
I stared out the wall of mullioned windows to my left. “If Joe calls, put him through. Even if Rodriguez and Flynn are here.” I considered a bit longer. “And even if Bennett stops by.”
Frances smirked again. “Why? So that you have an excuse to keep the conversation short?”
“Hardly,” I said. “Joe and I have a lot to discuss. The sooner we get started, the better.” Annoyed that she’d lulled me back into that topic, I countered with, “Where is Bennett today?”
She frowned. “Talking with his lawyers, but he didn’t say what it was about.”
“Probably Liza.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“I’m not planning to come in to work the day she gets out,” I said. “My goal is to pick her up from prison, get her settled in the new apartment, and tell her what her monthly stipend will be—which is extremely generous on Bennett’s part, if you ask me. I intend to make it clear both to her and to our aunt that my responsibility to them ends there.”
“Admirable,” Frances said.
I waited for the snark, but Frances remained silent.
“Out with it,” I said. “You don’t think it’s going to be that simple, do you?”
“When are things ever simple with your sister?”
Frances’s outer door opened, but before either of us could get up to see who had arrived, Rodriguez’s voice boomed through. “We come bearing gifts, ladies.”
Frances arched a brow. “A muzzle for Flynn would be nice,” she said under her breath.
That made me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Flynn asked as they came into my office.
Frances stifled a chuckle. I held up my hands. “Always happy to see the two of you,” I said. “When you add the mention of gifts, it makes your visit even more appealing.” I made a show of looking them up and down. “And as you’re both empty-handed, I assume your gift falls under the category of information.”
“Right you are,” Rodriguez said. “And from the message you left, I presume you have some to trade.”
“That I do,” I said.
Once we were all settled into our regular spots, I held out a hand to Rodriguez. “You first.”
He nodded. “I thought you’d appreciate an update. But before I begin, a quick question about the squatter you met. You’re sure he’s the same one who’s been living in the Granite Building?”
“Absolutely,” I said and gave him a quick summary of meeting Oscar last night. I decided to hold back telling him what Oscar had shared about Virginia’s clandestine meetings until I heard what the detectives had to tell me.
“Interesting.” Rodriguez frowned as he jotted notes. When he glanced up again, he said, “One more question: Why is the place called the Granite Building when it housed a glass factory?”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with the investigation,” Frances said in a snit.
Rodriguez gave a mild shrug. “Can’t a guy be curious?”
“From what I understand,” I said, “the building originally housed a granite company. Years later, when they expanded and moved out, the glass company moved in, but the building’s name stuck.”
Flynn snorted. “Good luck getting people to call it by the wine shop name, then. Losing proposition, if you ask me.”
“Good thing we didn’t,” I said sweetly. Turning to Rodriguez, I asked, “Don’t keep me in suspense, Detective. What news do you have to share?”
“First things first,” Rodriguez said as he sat back, making the seat creak. I recognized the movement for what it was: He was settling in to tell me a story. “How much do you know about Virginia Frisbie’s daughter?”
“I think she lives in Oklahoma and that she has a child,” I said. “Otherwise, nothing.”
Rodriguez and Flynn exchanged a glance that told me they’d expected that answer.
“Is she a suspect?” I asked.
“Don’t jump the gun,” Flynn said. “We’re only following evidence where it leads us and the money trail seems to be pointing to her.”<
br />
Frances scooched forward on the sofa. “How so?”
“What’s her name, by the way?” I asked. “The daughter.”
Rodriguez lifted a finger, letting Flynn know that he’d take it from here. “Kayla Frisbie. Kept her name. Married, one child, another on the way.”
The image of a pregnant woman pushing her own mother down the stairs was too horrible to contemplate. I must have grimaced because Rodriguez spoke quickly. “If the daughter is involved, and that’s a very big if ”—he sent a scathing look at his partner—“she could not have done it herself. She hasn’t been away from home at all recently. Hasn’t missed a day of work. Rock-solid alibi.”
“That doesn’t mean she didn’t hire someone,” Flynn said.
“Thank you, amigo,” Rodriguez said without pulling his gaze from mine. “What my partner is particularly excited about is the fact that Virginia had been sending money—lots of money—to her daughter on a regular basis.”
“Kayla’s husband’s a real loser,” Flynn said. “Hasn’t been able to hold a solid job for more than a couple months at a time. Keeps getting fired for flagrant insubordination.” He wagged his eyebrows. “The guy’s got anger management issues.”
“Takes one to know one,” Frances said from the sidelines.
Before Flynn could react, Rodriguez continued talking. “Kayla’s got a big house, a mountain of debt, and she’s the family’s sole support.”
“Plus, she’s pregnant,” Flynn said.
Rodriguez arched one eyebrow. “Yes, that’s been established.”
I thought about it for a second. “How much was Virginia sending her daughter?”
“Roughly speaking, a little less than ten thousand a month.” Rodriguez leaned forward, his dark eyes sparking with interest. “More than she made on her bank salary.”
I whistled. Poorly. “How was she able to do that?”
The older detective sat back, lacing his fingers across his almost-slim middle. “That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? We got a warrant to look at her investment portfolio, and that information should be coming in soon.”
