by Erin Huss
Oh.
I fidgeted with the watch on my wrist, making a conscious effort not to vomit, or cry, or both. I'd specifically not asked for death specifics because I specifically didn't want to know. I'd already seen too much, and I wanted to sleep again…someday.
"Obviously, she didn't go out any window because the timing doesn't work," I said. "I just don't understand how she managed to get from her apartment to Julia's apartment if she was so badly injured. Why not knock on her own resident's door?"
"There could have been someone chasing her, she saw the light on in Apartment 15, decided to go for it, and that's all she wrote."
"What did she write?" I asked. "Did she leave a note?"
"It's an expression. That's all she wrote."
I just stared at him. This was no time for idioms.
"Never mind," he said. "Truth is, people don't think clearly when they're injured and in life or death situations."
"People don't think clearly regardless." I folded my arms over my stomach.
"There were Twinkie wrappers stuck in her hair," he said. "Quite a few, actually."
"You never responded to my text message!"
"I said there were Twinkie wrappers in Violet's hair, and you didn't even bat an eye."
"I'm an apartment manager. Nothing shocks me anymore. Why didn't you respond to my text?"
"I was in an interview." Hampton cleaned his glasses using the underside of his shirt. "Do you know how we can get a hold of Daniella Lopez?"
I shook my head. "She's out of the country. I've already left her several messages."
"Don't be surprised if she moves after this."
"Really?" I tried not to sound too hopeful. "Have you spoken with the owners of Cedar Creek? Do they know about Star Management? Did you know about Star Management before I told you?"
He gave his pants a hike.
I took that as code for no.
The LAPD should seriously consider putting me on their payroll.
"We knew she'd filed for a business license in 2011, but we couldn't find any bank accounts linked, and she claimed zero income on her last couple of tax returns. Dick Dashwood, he didn't know about the company," he said. "He did say they attempted to fire her earlier this year. According to him, she was difficult to work with, but her reports were pristine, and she ran a tight ship."
"That's bananas!" Also, brilliant, considering she thought of the scheme on her own.
"My best guess at this point is, she gambled all the money away on horse races and reality shows."
OK, it was just bananas. "So David is her bookie and her killer? How can he collect his money if he kills her? That doesn't make too much sense." Granted, I'd never dealt with a bookie.
"Nothing has been confirmed. But his prints were in the apartment, he has a record, and he's our prime suspect."
"There had to be a second person, right? The window was open, and he ran down the stairwell. Something isn't adding up."
"Agreed. We brought him down for questioning shortly after you left last night, but he hasn't given us anything. We'll break him eventually."
Eventually?
I checked my watch. David had been there for over fifteen hours. If he hadn't confessed by then, I doubt he'd confess at all. Which meant he could not have done this to Violet. Which meant someone else did. Which meant that person could still be around, somewhere.
I thought about Dolores's threat to slice my throat.
I thought about the property owners who wanted Violet gone.
I thought about the non-Floridian daughter who was quick to ransack her mother's apartment after she turned up missing.
I thought about all the residents who'd received rental increases shortly after moving in.
There were quite a few people who had motive to kill.
Or…it was David, and he was immune to Hampton's interrogation skills. They needed someone more versed in psychological tactics. A detective with the ability to manipulate. The ability to intimidate. The ability to properly wear hairpieces.
Speaking of intimidate and manipulate and inability to wear apparel. Silvia Kravitz approached. Her silk robe open and flapping at her sides. Harold on her shoulder, wings out and flapping at his sides. "Apartment Manager! These people are being so loud in the pool, and they're not allowed to have those large… What is this about?" She pointed to the crime scene tape.
Hampton made himself scarce.
"We had an…um…incident," I said.
Silvia brought her hand to her chest. "First there's a creepy man looking in our patios, and now this! How many people are going to die before you get fired? It's like I'm living an episode of one of those trashy crime shows you watch."
"How do you know what I watch?"
"Because your television faces the window. Everyone knows what you watch."
Note to self: keep blinds drawn, always.
"The man you saw was Larry's lawyer," I assured her. "It has nothing to do with what happened here."
Silvia shook her finger at me. "No. No. No. Everyone knows Brian T. Rains. His commercials air during Wheel of Fortune. The man I saw was no lawyer. He was trouble. Probably a friend of yours."
"No he wasn't. I don't have friends." That came out wrong. Anyway. "What did this guy look like?"
"He was about this tall." She held her hand just above her head. "He had dark hair and was wearing a shirt with Vegas printed across the front and Went on Vacation, Came Back on Probation written on the bottom."
Definitely not something a lawyer would wear.
Not a smart one anyway.
I rubbed my temples. "Did he have sleeve tattoos and look like a young Bob Saget?" I asked.
"How am I supposed to know that?" Silvia huffed. "All I know is, he was peeking into windows like a complete pervert."
"How many times did you see this happen?"
"Tuesday, late afternoon." She held up one finger. "Wednesday, midmorning." Two fingers. "Last night." Three fingers. All three fingers an inch from my nose.
"Why didn't you call me last night?"
"Because obviously our safety is not your concern."
Good grief!
I called Hampton over. "Silvia, Detective Hampton. Hampton, meet Silvia and Harold. She has information for you."
I walked away, and a beach ball smacked me in the back of the head, again. I kicked it, meaning to send it back over the fence into the pool, but it landed squarely in Kevin's face.
"What was that for?" He flung the ball in the air and spiked it back. I dodged out of the way, and it went whizzing past me and rolled down the breezeway, stopping at Chase's feet.
Chase!
"I leave for three days, and CSI is…" he started to say, when I buried my face into his chest and inhaled his familiar sexy man scent. He wrapped both arms around me and held tight. The situation suddenly felt less horrid.
"I found Violet dead in Apartment 15," I mumbled into his chest.
Chase didn't speak. Instead, he squeezed me harder. I peeked over his shoulder at Hampton. Silvia waved her hands around, retelling the tale of the pervert in Vegas clothing. He nodded along. Her perv sounded a lot like David. He was a bookie. Which meant he had most likely spent time in Vegas. He didn't strike me as a perv, but I doubt he was looking for anything pervy—more so looking for Violet.
My best guess: she had escaped after he stabbed her. Not sure where the Twinkie wrappers came into play. Perhaps she was stress eating when David approached her, and she fell onto her discarded wrappers, and they were entangled in her hair before she ran off. He had no idea where exactly she went but knew she couldn't have gone far. Which led him to my place. He had to find the body before anyone else did.
Again, my best guess.
Also, my head hurt.
"I see Hampton has met Silvia," Chase said with a chuckle. "Poor man."
Poor man indeed. Except, "Is he blushing?"
Chase squinted. "He is. But Silvia looks like she's about to cry."
"Her cheeks are red, too."
"Oh my gosh. She just touched his shoulder. I've never seen her touch anyone before…holy crap." I gasped. "He's holding Harold? Silvia doesn't let anyone touch her bird, and Harold bites…ewww. Did Hampton just…"
"Yes, yes he did." Chase lowered his head.
"He kissed the bird," I whispered in shock. "On the beak, and Harold didn't bite him."
"He's an animal lover."
"This is getting weird."
"Agreed."
"But I can't look away."
"Me either."
Hampton and Silvia were flirting with each other five feet from a murder scene.
The two went together like ketchup on a banana.
Cheese Whiz on Frosted Flakes.
Pineapple on pizza.
Grandma Ruthie used to say, "Attraction is a funny business. Don't try to make sense of it. Just go with it."
Good news: if they fell in love and got married, Silvia would move in with Hampton and I would no longer be her apartment manager!
Or…
Bad news: he'd move in with her.
Hampton returned Harold and walked toward us. Silvia moved on to Kevin. No flirting this time. She waved her arms around, complaining about his hairless companion.
Chase and I just stared at Hampton as he approached.
"What?" he asked.
"How'd you get Silvia to like you?" I asked in awe.
"She's a nice, perceptive woman," he said.
Perceptive: yes.
Nice: no.
"Her description lines up with David," he said and extended a hand to Chase. "Did you just get back?"
"Landed less than an hour ago. Anything I can do to help?"
"I've got it all under control," he said with more confidence than I'd ever heard before. With reason, I supposed. He had a body, and he had a suspect.
The optimist in me was relieved.
The pessimist in me knew this was far from over. Nothing in my life ever appeared as it seemed. There was always something or someone lurking around the corner ready to rear his or her ugly head. It was just a matter of whose head it would be.
Also, if my mind were a pie chart:
70% worst-case scenarios
20% optimist
10% ice cream
So who knew how this would turn out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
—The definition of a polyp
We were back in my apartment before five. Chase and I sat on the couch, while Lilly played with the plush airplane he'd brought back for her. "Momma, watch." She held the toy high above her head and made the whooshing noises of a plane gliding through the air. It was cute until she crashed the plane into the wall and sent it spiraling to the floor, where it exploded with fiery sound effects.
I really need to get this kid socialized before she buys a ferret.
"Thanks for my toy." Lilly gave Chase a hug. "It's more fun than rice!"
Chase looked to me for clarification.
"I'll fill you in later," I said.
"Glad you like it, kiddo." He kissed the top of her head, and she continued to crash her plane.
I snuggled closer to Chase and rested my head on his shoulder. Life felt more manageable with him around. The stress of all the murders and lies and unauthorized pets melted away. If only for a moment. He was warm and kind and easy.
Not easy, easy.
Not like man-whore easy.
My relationship with Chase was not a nauseating roller coaster. It was more like a gondola ride down a smooth canal.
And I could use more gondolas in my life.
There was no question about where he stood. No question if he did or did not have feelings for me. No question about any of it.
Well, except one.
"Can you come to New York with me if Amy makes the finals?" I asked.
"When is it?"
"A week from Monday."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I can make that work."
"Good." I settled back on his chest, when another question trotted into my head. "How many kids do you want?"
"Why do you ask?" His eyes went to my stomach, and I sucked in my gut.
"I don't want kids," Kevin announced. "They're messy."
Oh yeah, Kevin was there. He was sitting at the kitchen table eating a yogurt, with his feet propped up on a chair.
"My uterus has polyps," Mrs. Nguyen said.
Oh yeah, Mrs. Nguyen was there too. She was perched on the other side of the couch with a fan positioned in front of her.
"What's a polyp?" Lilly asked, still flying her plane across the room.
"It's like a…a…" I'm stumped.
"It's a growth?" Chase said.
Lilly nodded, thought this over, and then asked, "What's a growth?"
"It's something that has grown off the skin or an organ, like a tag," Chase said.
Lilly nodded, thought this over, and then asked, "What's a uterus?"
Chase squeezed my knee. "I'll let you handle this one."
My head was too murky and my heart too heavy to talk female anatomy. "How about we eat sugar?" I suggested instead, and the subject was instantly dropped.
"Yay!" Lilly flew her plane to the kitchen, and I took a head count for ice cream cones. All hands went up except for Chase. His pie chart didn't include ice cream.
I grabbed the box of waffle cones, package of brownie bits, and tub of double fudge. I began assembling by shoving bits of brownie into the cone, to keep the ice cream from dripping out the bottom. A trick I'd learned from my Grandma Ruthie.
She was basically a genius.
I ran my ice cream scooper under the hot water and glanced out the window. Hampton entered the first courtyard from the parking area, and we locked eyes. He gave a slight nod of his head, and I knew he'd been over to Cedar Creek to talk to Stormy and Antonio. My insides shriveled, thinking of how they took the news.
"Kevin, can you take over?" I passed him the scooper, and he sprung into action, making perfectly round mounds of ice cream.
I reached for my keys, but Chase snatched them off the counter before I could grab them.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.
"I'm going next door to check on the staff. They just found out their manager was found dead. That's a lot to take in."
"Give them time to process. You can stop by before we go."
Go? "Where are we going?"
"Out to dinner. You need to get off this property, for awhile at least."
True.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
—It's hard to keep track of all the vendors.
I gave Stormy and Antonio an hour to process. Chase came with me, and we walked the ten-yard journey hand-in-hand. Six o'clock, and cars paraded down the street, ignoring the twenty-five mph limit. I waved to each passing vehicle. All were residents arriving home from a day's work. I could picture Silvia standing in the carports, arms crossed, foot tapping, face frozen, eager to tell everyone about the missing property manager found dead in Daniella's apartment. As a retired actress, she had a gift for storytelling.
And exaggeration.
"Watch your step." I pointed to the curb in front of Cedar Creek so Chase wouldn't trip like I had many times.
He laughed, like I'd made a joke. "The large Watch Your Step sign and the bright red curb gave it away."
Yeah, OK, whatever.
Must be nice to be coordinated.
Chase stopped to admire the koi pond. "I remember checking this place out when I worked undercover."
"Did you meet Violet?"
"She gave me a tour." He dipped the tip of his finger into the pond, and a bright orange fish came to the surface.
"Did she offer you a month-to-month or a year lease?" I asked.
"She offered month-to-month only on certain apartments."
I shook my head. And at the four-month mark she'd give the optio
n to pay more or sign a lease. Who wouldn't sign the lease? Too bad she didn't use her genius for something worthwhile. Like…gee…I don't know…her job. "It's hard to believe she was able to get away with it for so long."
"Considering what happened, I don't think she got away with anything."
The image of Violet in Daniella's kitchen popped into my head, and I quickly shook it away before the nausea set in.
I'll never eat Starbursts again.
I entered the code Dolores had given me into the intercom. "Be prepared," I warned Chase and opened the door. The lobby was less icebox and more Antarctic. The news of Violet's death had traveled fast. Vases of beautifully arranged flowers lined the lobby and office with baskets of fruit mixed in.
So I guess now would be the appropriate time to bring a fruit bouquet.
Everyone had hurried to give gifts of condolences, and my hands were empty. All I had was Chase. Knowing Stormy, she would appreciate a man more than flowers anyhow.
The office was empty. The digital time floated across Stormy's computer screen, and a file box sat atop her desk, open and empty.
"Why is it so cold in here?" Chase cupped his hands and breathed into them.
"It happens when you reach a certain age." I peeked around the corner down the hallway. The storage closet door was open. "Hello! Stormy?"
She poked her head out and smoothed down her hair. "Oh heavens me, Cambria. I didn't hear the intercom." She had another file box by the handles and was carrying it down the hallway.
"We used Dolores's code. Sorry." I pointed to Chase. "This is my boyfriend."
Confusion plagued her face, and she slid the box on her desk. "This is your boyfriend?"
Chase extended a hand. "Chase Cruller."
Stormy slipped her hand into his, keeping her eyes on me. "Nice to meet you, Chase," she drew out his name.
"How are you doing?" I gave her a hug. She smelled of coffee and paper.
"I feel terrible. Just awful. Sick even. I can't believe this has happened." She slumped down into her chair. "The detective asked me about leases and a management company? I don't know anything of it. I don't know what I'm more upset about. That she was killed or that she'd been stealing money." She grabbed a large iced coffee from under her desk, wrapped her lips around the straw, and took a sip. Leaving behind red lip prints. "I guess I'm more upset about the murder," she decided.
