by Erin Huss
"Why wouldn't your maintenance supervisor supervise?"
"He fills maintenance requests."
It sure felt like Violet wasn't utilizing her staff. Granted, I'd never had an assistant manager, so who was I to judge. Also, I might not trust Stormy with our management software either. "Antonio should know what's vacant and what's not if he's doing maintenance requests." I stuck the note to her monitor. "And please keep an eye out for a guy with gray hair driving a brown Buick, please. I caught him lurking around my community. He may know something about Violet."
"Aye-aye, Captain." She stood at attention and gave me a salute.
A ping of panic stabbed my heart.
I didn't want to be the captain of this ship.
* * *
I was home by eight. All was quiet, but I locked the doors and windows, set the alarms, and closed the blinds. I forwent the shower and decided on dessert instead. I stripped down to my underwear and a tank top and sat on my bed with my laptop open, the fan blasting, and a bowl of double fudge melting at my side. I searched preschools in the area that offered full-day options. Turned out I needed a second and third job to pay for them.
Who knew learning the ABCs would cost my retirement fund?
OK, that was a lie.
I didn't have a retirement fund.
But still!
I switched over to Pinterest and searched for three-year-old quiet time activities. Somehow, pinning made me feel like a better parent.
My phone rang. I crossed my fingers, hoping it wasn't the emergency line.
It was Chase requesting to FaceTime.
Crap!
I licked the ice cream from my fingertips and scooted to the bathroom to check my appearance in the mirror. I had chocolate on my nose, and Einstein could be seen from space. I tamed the mane, wiped my face, held the phone up high, and accepted his request. His cute face filled the screen, and I ached to see him in real life. "Hey you," I greeted with, what I hoped was, a seductive smolder.
"There you are. I tried calling you earlier."
"I was next door helping out the assistant manager."
Chase swung an arm behind his head. He was lying down in a hotel bed. I could tell by the bleached white sheets and matching pillowcase.
"How'd the meeting with the sketch artist go?"
"Good." I lay down on my bed and held the phone up. "I think Hampton is annoyed by me."
"I know he is," he said with a wink.
Well then. "It's just that I can't stop thinking about Violet. It's been over twenty-four hours, and I don't think Hampton is following any of our leads."
"Our?"
"I meant it royally." Obviously.
"Royally would mean me."
"Exactly."
Chase relented. "What leads do you have?"
I sucked in a breath and told him about Dolores, and the owners, and the man in a Buick, and, of course, there was Stairwell Man.
"Cambria, I know you're concerned, but Hampton could have ruled out those suspects already, or he's currently investigating them," Chase said. "You realize he doesn't need to discuss the details of the case with you, right?"
He made a point.
"I just keep going over the timing of everything," I said. "I received the first call about her bathtub at 8:12 PM. Dolores said the water had been leaking from the ceiling for ten minutes. Then at 9:50 PM I received a second call. This time the water and the ceiling were coming down, but when I showed up, she wouldn't let me in. Clearly something had happened to Violet before the first call. The window was open in the closet, but it would be really hard to drag a body out of that window and go unnoticed. My guess would be someone entered through the window and went down the stairs, except the lobby would be too obvious. They must have gone through the outside parking lot. Which backs up to our place…" A horrendous thought trotted into my head. I tried to shake it away, but it trotted right back.
"What are you thinking?" Chase asked.
"I'm going to show you the ceiling fan for a minute." I put my phone down and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
—Larry was on the roof right after I received the first call from Dolores.
—Kevin did say locking yourself out on the patio is impossible.
—Larry was not permitted to have unauthorized visitors at the hospital.
—Hampton had not shown Stormy the sketch yet. Wouldn't that be a priority one? Unless he already had a suspect in custody.
—Could Larry have been involved, run from Cedar Creek, climbed the fence into Julia's patio, desperate to escape and hide, not been able to get in, and decided to use the roof to get to his apartment instead?
I slid open my patio door, flipped the lock, stepped outside, and slid the door shut. Stupid move, I suddenly realized. My phone was on my bed. I was outside wearing nothing but underwear and a tank.
Smooth, Cambria. Real smooth.
I imagined having to climb the fence, run across the front lawn, wait for a car to leave so I could enter the property through the gate—which could be awhile since most residents were home for the night—sneak to the back, and ask Mr. Nguyen to let me in. All the while running around in my underwear. Not good.
Lucky for me, it turned out not to be a problem. The door wouldn't close all the way with the lock on.
But there's no way Larry could have…right?
CHAPTER TEN
—Just when you link you've seen it all, a bird shows up in lingerie.
…Nah.
Larry wouldn't hurt a fly. Two weeks earlier, the pest control company tried to remove a beehive from under the back stairwell, and Larry staged a protest, positioning himself in front of the hive and refusing to move. While I appreciated his stance, I had five other residents cowering in their apartments, alleging to be deathly allergic and/or deathly afraid of bees, threatening to sue and/or call Fair Housing if the hive was not removed.
Multiple bee stings later and Larry had agreed to end his protest if I promised to have the hive relocated. This did not sound like a man capable of hurting anyone. Yet my patio didn't lock from the outside, and he was on the roof right around the time Violet went missing. A coincidence I couldn't overlook.
I told Chase I would call him tomorrow and slipped on a pair of shorts. The weather had cooled, and I cut through the community with my arms wrapped around my chest, wishing I'd put on a bra. It was late and dark, and the windows around the property were lit by the glow of a television or a single reading light. I could hear the hum of cars speeding down Sepulveda and indistinct chatter from those walking down the street. Dogs erupted into a chorus of panicking barks as I walked by. Pretty sure they were trained to alert the owners of my presence. I rarely heard them bark otherwise.
Larry lived in the third courtyard, near the breezeway he'd climbed across. His lights were off, but I knocked anyway. Silvia Kravitz opened her door instead. Great. Harold, her parrot, was perched on her shoulder.
Does that bird ever see his cage?
The two had on matching blue nighties. I had no idea they made lingerie for parrots.
"Larry isn't home." Silvia placed a hand on her hip, and Harold turned his backside to me. "They're releasing him tomorrow."
"When did you talk to him?"
"I went to see him this morning,"
"You were able to?" I squeaked in surprised.
"What are you going to do about the roof? It's clearly unsafe."
"Of course it is. It's a roof."
"Then you should have a caution sign warning people not to go up there."
Random fact: when you're a property manager, you hear something new and stupid every day.
More importantly, how had Silvia been authorized and I wasn't?
"I can't put a label on everything," I said. "At some point common sense needs to be used."
If Silvia could move her face, I think she'd be scowling. "I don't want to see something like this happen again. The poor sweet man has two broken legs and three crac
ked ribs."
Poor sweet man?
I tried not to laugh.
Not because Larry was hurt, of course. But because a month earlier Silvia had called Larry an inconsiderate buffoon because she could hear him peeing though the "paper thin" walls at six AM.
"I'll look into adding this information to our House Rules," I said to appease her. I'd learned any battle with Silvia was a losing one.
I also learned that no one actually read the House Rules, so she'd never know.
"Good. It's about time you make the safety of the residents here a priority. Now, good night."
I waited until she closed the door before I flipped her off.
Then I felt bad.
Then I got over it.
I jolted down the stairs. When I hit the ground, my knee buckled, and I crashed onto the cement.
Karma for flipping off a resident.
Or just a bum knee.
Either way, it took every ounce of willpower I had not to scream. Instead, I hobbled around in agony until I could bend my leg again.
Note to self: go see a knee doctor, ASAP.
Once I regained my composure, I stood directly below Larry's patio, rubbing my sore kneecap. Legally, I couldn't enter his apartment to check the lock on the sliding door. I could, however, climb up and look at his lock from outside.
I returned with the folding stepladder from the maintenance garage. It looked as old as the building, and not exactly stable, but it was all we had. I spread it apart and positioned it under Larry's patio. One step up and the metal creaked as if it were being tortured. Another step up and my knee clicked. Another step up and I could already see my obituary.
Cambria Jane Clyne (pronounced Came-bree-a) plummeted to her death late Tuesday evening while snooping. She is survived by her daughter, Lilly Clyne Dryer, her loving parents (plus that woman her dad married), a boyfriend, and baby daddy, both who are tens on the hotness scale even if she was a seven. Cambria's hobbies included eating ice cream and watching crime shows. She won her third grade spelling bee and managed no noteworthy achievements since.
Nope.
Not how I wanted to die.
I needed backup.
* * *
"You want me to climb up that thing?" Kevin was in his boxer shorts and mismatched socks, with his hands on his head and apprehension on his face. "It's like a hundred years old."
"No it's not. I'll hold it steady for you. It's not that far up."
"Then why don't you do it and I'll hold it?"
"I don't trust my knee. Come on." I held the ladder with both hands. "Up you go."
Kevin climbed the first three steps. "What am I doing once I'm up there?"
"Take a picture of the lock on Larry's patio door."
He let out a laugh. "I told you it's not possible to lock yourself out."
"Fine. You were right, and I was wrong. Maybe. We don't know. He could have a different lock than I do. Just take the picture and hurry up before anyone sees us."
Kevin climbed the rest of the way. The ladder began to teeter, and I used all my weight to keep it from tipping. He pulled his phone from between the elastic of his boxers and his skin and snapped a picture. "The things I do for you," he grumbled.
"I fed your snake while you were locked up. The least you can do is take a picture for me."
"Whatever. OK, I took it. Now what?"
"Is there a lock on the outside?"
"Mmmhmmm. It's the same one I have on mine… Now that I think about it, I've locked myself out on my patio before."
"I'm going to kill you!" I moved, and the ladder teetered on two feet. Kevin grabbed hold of the railing.
"Are you crazy, woman?"
"Sorry, I wasn't actually trying to kill you." I sat on the opposite side of the ladder and spread my feet apart, creating a secure anchor. "I've got it. Go ahead."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Trust me."
"I did trust you until you threatened to kill me."
"It was a figure of speech. Go ahead."
He descended, carefully.
I felt better knowing Larry's story checked out. Besides, what would have been his motivation to hurt Violet? I had serious doubts the two knew each other. Which still begged the question: what did happen to Violet?
Also, why was Silvia authorized to see him and I wasn't? Silvia constantly berated the man for every little thing he did, while I patiently listened to him talk about all his physical ailments (and he had a lot of them). Hell, last week I weighed in on the suspicious boil on his back. He showed me a picture, and even though that image haunted my dreams for the next three days, I still looked up a dermatologist for him.
Mom was right—my job was thankless.
I was deep in thought and not paying attention, and without warning, Kevin jumped down the remaining two steps, and the ladder collapsed on top of me.
In lieu of flowers, the family has asked you donate to Lilly's preschool fund.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
—Property management is hard on the body.
The next morning I felt like I'd been run over by a semi.
Or…errrr…a ladder.
I reached for the water on my nightstand, but it was too far, and I was too tired, and life suddenly felt too hard. I clambered out of bed and did my pee-weigh-myself-declare-diet-starts-tomorrow routine. I even managed to get dressed in jeans, a navy V-neck, and white Converse. I did not, however, take a shower and shave my legs.
Note to self: do both before Chase gets home.
Sub-note: or at least one of the two.
Before the clock struck nine, I sent a good morning text to Chase, unlocked the lobby doors—allowing for pass-through traffic—grabbed the cordless phone from my desk, and sat on the couch with the remote control clutched in my hand. The stupid thing was broken, and it took a few hard shakes to get it to work. I settled on a rerun of my favorite crime drama, If Only, and curled around a throw pillow. The beauty of working from home is, you can watch TV when it's slow or, in this case, when you felt as if your body had aged fifty years overnight.
The only problem was, while being an on-site apartment manager allowed for downtime, being a mother did not. Tom's tall shadow drifted across the wall. I one…two…three…heaved my body off the couch and opened the door. Lilly had on pink overalls and a white shirt with roses on it. Toothpaste crusted the outer corners of her mouth and her hair… Oh, her hair…it looked as if she'd rubbed a balloon across her head.
Poor thing inherited her own Einstein.
Tom removed his sunglasses and flashed his signature side smirk. "Good morning, Cam."
"Morning. Give me." I pointed to Lilly's go-between bag, and he draped it over my arm.
"I need to talk to you. Can we meet up tonight?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm not doing this with you anymore. We co-parent. That's it."
"What if the reason I want to meet up is to talk about our kid?"
"Is it about our kid?"
"No."
For the love!
"Tom, I'm done riding this roller coaster with you. Tonight, my boyfriend is calling, and tomorrow he comes home. Would you like to take Lilly so he and I could spend time together?"
Tom was shaking his head before I even finished speaking.
"I guess it's settled then. I'll see you Friday. Have a good day in court." I swung the door shut with my hip and padded back to the couch, feeling quite proud of myself. There was a time, not too long ago, when I'd get hung up on every word out of Tom's mouth, grasping for a sign he cared about me more than just a friend. There were far too many instances where he wanted to "talk" and I'd get my hopes up, only to have them crushed. I'd wasted too many tears over that man.
Now, I was able to stick to my convictions.
Perhaps I did have superhuman powers after all.
Lilly parked herself on the couch, kicked off her shoes, grabbed the remote control, and gave it a few hard shak
es.
"Not today." I pried the remote from her grasp. "No television. We're limiting screen time."
She looked at me as if I'd lost my mind, but according to the twenty new parenting pins I'd read on Pinterest, Lilly should have less screen time and more problem-solving activities.
I retrieved a box of Q-tips from my bathroom, a colander from the kitchen, and sat on the floor.
"Are we making noodles?" Lilly asked.
"No. We're working on fine motor skills. Watch." I shoved a Q-tip into a hole of the colander. Then another, and another. It was therapeutic, and before I knew it, I'd gone through an entire package of Q-tips while Lilly played on my phone.
"Someone is calling you." Lilly turned to show me. A familiar number flashed across the screen.
* * *
"How'd you do this?" All the icons on Stormy's computer screen were gone.
"I was trying to arrange the little pictures, and then, poof! They weren't there anymore." Stormy was on the other side of her desk, hyperventilating. "I don't think I'm cut out for this job. I like stocking the Wow Fridge and organizing community events. It doesn't require a computer."
"I'm sure it will be fine," I said, which, of course, was a lie. Even the trash icon was gone, and I had no idea how to help her. "Let's restart the computer. I'll check YouTube when I get back to my office and let you know what I find." I got up and pushed her chair back under the desk. "Let's go, sweetie," I called to Lilly, who was at the Kid's Corner.
"That detective came in this morning and showed me the sketch," Stormy said.
I sat back down. "Did it look familiar this time?"
She shook her head. "There are so many people coming and going from here, though."
"Did he say anything more about Violet? Do you know if they have any leads?"
"I don't know. He asked if I knew of a reason why she would want to disappear."
"Could you think of one?"
She shook her head no.
"Did he ask about the owners or visit Dolores's apartment?"
