“Let me check.” A pause and then he said, “Yep, she lives with her parents. Or her mother, to be exact. Looks like the Bascombs are divorced.”
“What about Haley?” I said. “Maybe she lives in Boulder.”
Cal turned back to the laptop and typed. “I can’t find an address for her, other than her parents. But…” he paused. I waited. “You’re in luck. She’s taking some summer classes. Here’s her schedule.”
“Good work!” I looked at the screen where Cal had pulled up her class schedule. “She’s got a ‘Women and Religion’ class tomorrow morning at ten, and nothing else for the rest of the day. I can go up to Boulder and talk to her there.”
“And never have to bother her parents,” Cal said.
I nodded. “And hopefully she’ll tell me who the third fan is.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Haley’s “Women and Religion” class was held in Eaton Humanities from 10 to 10:50 on Saturdays. I wouldn’t have thought it was the ideal day to take a class, although it would leave students time to work during the week, if they wanted to. The University of Colorado’s sprawling main campus is nestled at the base of the Rocky Mountains, and the setting is spectacular. All the buildings on campus have rough-sandstone walls and red-tiled roofs, creating a unified effect that is beautiful.
The temperature had already climbed into the eighties as I walked from a parking lot on the southeast side of campus to the Eaton Humanities building, which is on the north side of the Norlin Quadrangle, the center of the main campus.
Haley’s class was in Room 205. It was just past 9:30 when I strolled into Eaton and upstairs. I checked the room, but it was empty. Too early for any students, but no professor either. I milled around the hallway and killed time by checking some bulletin boards on the walls. And I kept my eye on the door. The first student for the “Women and Religion” class was a petite girl who arrived ten minutes early and disappeared into the room.
Man, was I ever that young?
A few minutes later, more students – mostly young women – arrived, and then an older woman in tan slacks and a short-sleeved red blouse came up the stairs. She carried a worn briefcase and had a stack of papers under one arm.
The professor, the Great Detective deduced.
Then right before ten, two more women ran up the stairs. One was tall with dark hair – Haley. She wore khaki shorts and a low-cut T-shirt. She carried a small backpack slung over one shoulder. I let her walk past me and into the room. I’d talk to her afterward, when she wouldn’t be rushing.
I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, so I went outside and sat under a tree near the building. Some students milled about the quadrangle, but since it was summer, I’m sure it was less crowded than normal. I’d worn slacks and a dress shirt as I was going for the professional private-investigator look. But as the sun beat down on me, I was soon sweating. I got up and strolled back into the building. The hallway wasn’t air-conditioned, so it was still warm, but not as bad as outside. I paced the hall.
At ten-fifty, the class ended and students streamed out of the room, some hurrying, others slow and meandering. Then Haley walked out of the room and past me. I followed her downstairs and outside. She started across the quadrangle and I hurried to catch up with her.
“Haley?” I called out.
She stopped and turned around. “Yes?”
“My name is Marlowe,” I said, again using Chandler’s detective as my pseudonym. I pulled out my wallet, flipped to my cheap private investigator’s license –which was getting a good workout – did my usual flash-it-quick trick, and then put my wallet back in my pocket. It fooled her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, worry lines creeping around the edges of her eyes.
“I’m hoping you can help me find someone,” I said. “I just need a few moments of your time.” I gestured at a picnic table that sat under a huge maple tree to our left. “How about we sit down?” I hoped that by staying in the open she’d feel more comfortable and not wonder if I was some creep posing as a cop.
“Okay.” She studied me, apparently concluding I didn’t pose a danger to her. “I guess I can.”
We walked over to the table. She sat down on one side and waited while I took a seat across from her. Then she said, “Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“Not at all. Like I said, I’m trying to locate a friend of yours.”
“Who?” Caution in her voice.
“That’s the problem. I don’t know her name, but I know you go with her to Rockies games, along with Sharonda Bascomb, and you’ve watched Charlie Preston’s condo with her.”
Pink appeared in her cheeks and she looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She reached up and began twisting a strand of hair.
“You’re not a good liar. Not only has Charlie seen you three several times, I saw you, too.”
She stayed quiet. I waited. “We didn’t think it was hurting anything,” she finally whispered. “We think Charlie’s cute.” She threw me a wan smile.
“It’s okay. My girlfriend thinks he’s cute, too,” I said.
She let out a small laugh. “You probably think we’re silly.”
“Not at all.”
She stared past me for a moment and watched a squirrel run across the grass near us. “So Charlie noticed us.”
“Yes.”
“We weren’t going to do anything. He was so nice when we met him and got his autograph, and it kinda went on from there.”
“I get it,” I said. She seemed to soften so I pressed forward carefully. “But you know what kind of trouble Charlie’s in, right?”
“Yeah, I read about it online.” She gasped. “You don’t think we had something to do with that!”
“No, but Charlie hired me to clear his name.”
“So he’s innocent.”
“That’s what I’m trying to prove.”
“He didn’t do it,” she said with force.
“How do you know?”
“He’s too nice.” She gave a weak smile. “I know, that won’t stand up in court.”
“Afraid not.”
“What do you need from us? We’re just three crazy fans.”
I put my hands on the table, a gesture conveying that I wasn’t hiding anything. Nothing up my sleeves. “I need to talk to your friend, the one with the tattoo on her neck.”
“Trisha? Why do you want to talk to her? She –” Haley stopped. “You don’t think she killed that guy?”
I turned it back on her. “Do you?”
“No way! Trisha may be a little obsessed with Charlie, but she’s sweet. There’s no way she could do something like that.”
“Tell me about Trisha. What’s her last name?”
“Appleton,” she blurted out, then she grimaced with regret.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I just want to know a little more about her.”
“She’s nice, smart. She loves animals and she wants to be a vet. And she loves baseball.”
“She’s in school, like you, right?”
“At DU.” That was the University of Denver – a good school. “She’s got a place of her own, down near the campus.” Jealousy in her tone.
“What do you think about Trisha’s…obsession with Charlie?”
“It’s a little nuts, I guess. She hoped that she could get a date with Charlie, and she was trying to figure out a way to get introduced to him. I think she even went to his friend’s house to see if she could talk him into a meeting with Charlie.”
“You mean Pete Westhaven? That’s Charlie’s friend she went to talk to?”
“She talked about it. I don’t know if she ever actually met with him.”
“Trisha’s been hanging around Charlie’s condo a lot since Pete Westhaven was killed, and I think I saw her the other night at Pete’s apartment. Was she jealous of Pete’s friendship with Charlie?”
“No, no way.” She shook her head to punctuate her words. “I see where
you’re going with this. You think instead of talking to that guy, she might’ve killed him, but I’ve known Trisha since grade school. She wouldn’t harm a fly.”
“I didn’t say she would.” Although I was wondering if Trisha was crazy enough to kill Pete. But how would she have gotten Charlie’s gun? Had she been in Charlie’s condo without his knowing? “Has she been acting different lately?”
She mulled that over. “She has been a little weird the last week, almost scared.”
“What’s she scared about?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need to talk to Trisha,” I said. “If she didn’t do anything, then she doesn’t have anything to worry about. But she might have information about Pete’s death.”
Haley twisted her hair some more. “Like what?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out.”
“I don’t know,” she said slowly.
“Please, it’s important.” I treaded carefully. “Tell you what. Call her and get her to meet me some place public. That way she knows I don’t mean her any harm. I need to talk to her,” I repeated.
She thought for a moment. “I guess I could do that.”
I waited. Her eyes darted all around, then she made eye contact and finally pulled a phone from her backpack. She looked at the phone, slowly touched the screen, and put the phone to her ear.
“Hey,” she said a moment later. There was small talk for a moment and then she said, “You’re never going to believe who I’m talking to. A private investigator.” Haley told Trisha about me and that I wanted to meet with her. “Yeah, he’ll meet you someplace public.” A pause. “He’s trying to help Charlie Preston.” Another pause and she eyed me critically. “Yeah, I trust him.” She nodded then, as if Trisha could see her. “He’s wearing blue pants and a white shirt. Yeah, he’s kind of old.”
Oh, that was harsh.
“And he knows what you look like,” she continued. She listened for a moment and then ended the call.
She looked up at me. “She’ll meet you at Kaladi’s, on Evans, just west of DU, at one.”
“Kaladi’s?” I glanced at my watch. 11:15. I hoped I could make it in time.
An eye roll. “It’s a coffee house.”
“Right.” A place that served coffee seemed to be the meeting place of choice these days. I reached out and shook her hand. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” she said. “I hope it helps Charlie, and makes you believe we didn’t have anything to do with that guy’s murder.”
“It will.”
I stood up to go.
“Hey, how did you know about Sharonda and me, but not Trisha?” she asked suddenly.
“I have ways,” I said.
She frowned. “I think my stalking days are over.”
“Probably a good idea.” I thanked her again and hurried back through the quadrangle and across campus to my car.
Chapter Twenty-Six
An hour and forty-five minutes sounded like plenty of time to get from Boulder back to Denver, but by the time I walked back to my car, got out of Boulder, then fought traffic along I-36 east to I-25 and past downtown Denver to Evans Avenue, it was almost one. I headed west on Evans past the University of Denver campus and soon saw Kaladi Brothers Coffee. I parked on a side street off Evans and walked back to the shop.
Kaladi’s was the corner shop in a single-story building on the corner of Evans and Williams Street. Each unit was a different color, one lime green, another boring gray, but The exterior of Kaladi’s was blond brick with huge, red-framed windows and a red railing in front of a small patio. The east side of the building was painted with a colorful, eye-catching mural.
No one was sitting outside, so I entered the shop. Coffee aroma hung heavily in the air as I stood just inside the door and let my eyes adjust. It was crowded with mostly college-aged people waiting in line or sitting at a long row of tables along one wall. Baristas hustled about behind a long counter. I looked up at a menu written on a large chalkboard and didn’t know how they could keep up with all the variety.
Someone bumped past me so I moved out of the way and looked for Trisha Appleton. She wasn’t in line, so I walked back by the tables. Most of the tables were occupied by groups, but I spotted a lone woman reading at a table in the corner. As I approached, however, I realized it wasn’t Trisha – this woman had shorter hair and I didn’t see the telltale tattoo on her neck. The woman glanced up at me as I drew near, gave me a dirty look and then focused on her book again. So much for that.
I noticed a short hallway that led to bathrooms, so I took a seat at a table nearby where I could see if someone came out of the Ladies Room and also keep watch on the front area. I checked my watch. One o’clock on the nose. I shifted on the uncomfortable wooden chair and waited. The minutes ticked by, but no Trisha. I gazed out the front window. A couple of guys had sat down at one of the outside tables, one of them with a large black Labrador. I waited some more. Then an older woman walked past me and down the hall toward the Ladies Room. I jumped up and casually walked down the hall as she entered the bathroom. I got a quick glimpse inside before she shut the door. The bathroom was a one-room affair, no stalls. And no Trisha.
I checked the time again. 1:15. I walked outside and looked around, but didn’t see her anywhere. When I went back inside, I’d lost my spot at the table. Just as well. Trisha wasn’t going to show up. I scoured the shop one last time, just to be sure, then went back outside. I stood on the corner and watched traffic zoom along Evans and cursed the situation. Trisha had bailed on the meeting. Was she scared to talk to me? I couldn’t blame her, but it left me wondering if she was guilty of something. Maybe Haley had changed her mind about my trustworthiness and called Trisha back and said not to meet me.
Then I had an idea. I had Trisha’s last name – Appleton – and I knew she had an apartment somewhere near the DU campus. Maybe I could find where she lived. I stepped into the shade on the side of the building, got out my phone and connected to the Internet. I found a White Pages site and typed in “Trisha Appleton” and “Denver”. It didn’t have a match for her, but it did have one for Patricia Appleton, with an age of twenty-two. The address was nearby. Bingo.
I trotted back to my car, a satisfied elation coursing through me. It didn’t last.
Trisha lived in an older apartment building on Josephine Street, just east of the DU campus. I parked down the block and walked back to her building. It was nothing fancy – four stories, each unit with a tiny balcony, no elevator. An outside security door led to a small foyer, but unlike Pete’s apartment, which had a similar setup, this one was locked. Next to the door was a panel with buttons and an intercom so you could call a specific apartment. I pushed the button next to 303 and waited. Trisha didn’t call back or buzz me in. I wondered if students now were as lax about security as I was when I was in college. I started pushing the other buttons randomly until I heard a buzzing sound. Yep, they were. The lock clicked and I pushed open the door.
Trisha lived on the third floor, so I climbed the stairs and rapped on her door. I counted to ten and knocked again, but she didn’t answer, so I scoped out the rest of the building. A back entrance led out to an alley, but there was no parking there, so I figured Trisha would have to park on the street as I had. I went outside the front door and back to the 4-Runner. From the driver’s seat, I had a view of the entrance to the apartment, so I rolled down the window and got comfortable. I just hoped that if Trisha came home, she wouldn’t use the back entrance. Then it occurred to me that, even now, she could be skulking around Charlie’s condo. If that was the case, I was wasting my time here. But there was a way to check. I called Charlie.
“I need a favor,” I said after the usual greetings.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Are you at home?”
“Yes, and I hope you’re making some progress because I can’t stand not playing.”
“I’m working on it,” I said. “I need you to go outside an
d see if your stalker is out there.”
“My stalker-girl?”
“The woman with the tattoo who’s always watching your condo.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “That’s it?”
“Yes. Call me back and let me know.”
“Sure.”
I ended the call and tapped the wheel impatiently while I waited for the phone to ring. A few minutes later, it did.
“She’s not around,” Charlie said. “I walked up and down the block.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I haven’t seen her since Tuesday. Gil surprised me with a visit to see how I was doing, and I pointed her out to him.”
“Okay,” I said.
“What’s this about?”
“I’m not sure, but you’ll be the first to know when I know something.” Just then, in my rearview mirror, I saw a woman walking up the block.
“I’ve got to go,” I said to Charlie. “I’ll call you back.”
I put my phone down and turned away from the window as the woman hurried past the 4-Runner. She didn’t notice me, but I got a good look at her. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and I saw the tattoo with the number twenty-three on her neck. Trisha. She disappeared into her building. I got out and ran to the building. I grabbed the door just as it was about to shut tight. I held it so it wouldn’t lock, then eased it open and stepped inside. I heard footsteps on the stairs. I quietly followed. Then I heard someone walking down the third-floor hallway. Keys jingled, a door opened and closed, then silence. I hurried up the last steps and down the hallway to 303. I knocked on the door and waited. It opened a moment later. Trisha made eye contact with me, then recognition filled her face and she tried to slam the door shut. I stuck my foot out to keep the door from closing, just like the detectives do in the movies. And the door smashed my foot into the jamb.
“Ow!” I yelped. “That hurts!” How in the world do those detectives do this without breaking bones in their feet?
“Then don’t put your foot in the door,” she snapped.
The Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 3 Page 48
