Double Fudge & Danger Read online

  "I've been thinking a lot lately. Your father and I were kids when we had you, and we had no idea what we were doing. The thought of having another child was too overwhelming at the time. But I can't help but wonder if you had a sibling, then maybe you wouldn't be so eager to insert yourself into other people's lives."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Cambria. You have this unhealthy need to fix things. Most landlords wouldn't go through so much trouble to visit a tenant in the hospital. They'd send flowers. If that. It's not part of your job. I wonder if you'd had a younger sibling to care for, then you wouldn't be in this situation and you'd have healthier boundaries. I'm only thinking of Lilly."

  Oh geez. "Are you watching Dr. Phil again?"

  "No. I'm listening to his podcast. Cambria, you really should listen to it too. You're way too young and far too pretty, with way too much potential to be working a thankless job."

  I applied my forehead to the steering wheel. "I'll keep that in mind."

  "You're welcome," she said, even though I hadn't thanked her. "I'm here to help."

  I could hear the smile in her voice. Nothing pleased her more than when I'd call for help, which I'd done exactly three times.

  One: during my first—and only year—of college, when I couldn't figure out how to make the iron steam.

  Two: right after Lilly was born. I'd stepped on a thumbtack and couldn't remember if I'd ever had a tetanus shot.

  Three: twenty minutes earlier when I called to ask about the hospital.

  I didn't have a thankless job…OK, maybe I did. But I had Amy. She was basically my sister!

  I turned around to check on Lilly. Drool slithered down her chin, and she flinched in her sleep. A pang of guilt stabbed my heart. She was nearly four years old and spent a majority of her time around adults. No siblings in the near future.

  This is why I don't call Mom.

  She'd make me feel guilty and think too hard. And I didn't have time to think. Not with a boyfriend on a special assignment, residents falling from the roof, and apartment managers disappearing.

  Still, she made a point.

  Then I remembered Violet's daughter. She'd grown up without siblings and in the property management world. Now she lived in a big house with her husband, two kids, and a great job.

  There was still hope.

  After I hung up with my mom, Lilly happily woke on her own. We stopped at the mall to buy a gift for the Cedar Creek staff. I couldn't decide between a bouquet of flowers or a fruit basket, and Google was of no help. So I bought a bouquet of fruit. I took it a step above and paid extra for chocolate-dipped fruit.

  Because I'm classy like that.

  And Patrick was paying for it.

  When I got home, Kevin was waiting by my door. He had on twill coveralls and bare feet. He took classes at the local junior college at night and worked for a cleaning company during the day. "The only job worse than yours," he'd said when he started. Kevin had only just entered the real world. Twenty years ago, his parents had given him the boot when they'd found out he was gay. They'd sent him there to live rent-free so long as he didn't contact them. The arrangement was going well until Kevin was arrested on charges of cocaine possession and checked himself out of rehab. Then it was decided by the family trustee that he should start paying rent.

  It had been a hard adjustment.

  For all of us.

  Kevin's face skewed up into a question mark. "What is that?"

  "It's a chocolate-dipped fruit bouquet." I dug my keys out of my bag and unlocked the door.

  "Why do you have it?" Kevin followed me inside and closed the door behind him. Lilly ran off to her bedroom, and I dropped my bag and the fruit on the kitchen counter.

  "It's for the Cedar Creek staff," I said.

  Kevin's face went blank.

  "Because of Violet," I tried.

  Still nothing.

  "The apartment manager. Violet Pumpkin. She went missing last night."

  "So you bought them fruit on a stick to make them feel better?"

  "It's chocolate-dipped fruit on a stick."

  "How much does something like that cost?"

  "Not important." Seventy-five bucks.

  "Looks a little lopsided."

  "I got hungry. It's been a long day." I took a seat at the table and dropped my chin into my palm. "Motherhood is kicking my butt. Oh, by the way. I stopped to see Larry at the hospital. I think your comment about him being armed caused a problem. They're not allowing him to have visitors."

  Kevin shrugged me off and opened the fridge. He took out a yogurt and peeled off the lid. "So what. He probably doesn't want people showing up in his room."

  "They didn't say not taking visitors. She was quite specific. He's not allowed visitors right now. All I know is that Larry runs into the office when he has a suspicious mole. There's no doubt in my mind that he would like visitors when in the hospital. You need to tell the police that you lied."

  "I can't say that, because we don't know if he was armed."

  "Kevin! He wasn't armed. You need to get over this rift you have with him. Isn't forgiveness a recovery step?"

  Kevin licked the excess yogurt off the lid and tossed it in the trash "Why don't you go deliver your lopsided fruit basket and leave my recovery steps alone."

  "Fine. But you need to tell the police you were wrong." I grabbed the fruit and called down the hallway. "Lilly, I'm going next door. Do you want to stay with Kevin or come with me?"

  "I want to go." Lilly appeared in a Cinderella dress with plastic slip-on heels.

  Um…

  Whatever.

  At least she was clothed and not screaming.

  * * *

  All seemed normal at Cedar Creek. The police cars and CSI trucks were gone. I remembered the step and saved myself from taking another tumble onto the scorching cement. I debated using the code Dolores had given me, but decided to use the intercom instead. I pressed 0 for the leasing office and waited.

  "Come in," came a woman's voice. She didn't even ask who it was. Which struck me as odd, given the manager had been abducted less than twenty-four hours earlier. If it were me, I'd be more picky about whom I allowed in.

  There was a ping followed by a click, and I pushed open the whimsical door and walked directly into a freezer. Holy crap. The A/C had to be on full blast.

  The drastic change in body temp caused a shiver to crawl down my spine and bumps to erupt on my arms. I could practically see my breath.

  In the office sat a woman with short, spiky light blonde hair. Per the plaque proudly displayed on her desk, this was the assistant manager.

  Lilly and I stood at the entryway, but the assistant manager didn't notice us. She was too busy fussing around and muttering to herself.

  "Knock, knock," I said, not wanting to touch the glass door.

  "Hello. Can I help you?" she said through a businesslike smile that faded. "Cambria! Come in. Come in." The woman hurried around the desk and moved the pile of papers on the chair.

  I took a seat with the fruit on my lap and Lilly clinging to my side.

  "And you sweet thing, what's your name?" The manager bent down to address Lilly. She had a nasally basso voice and a rough cackle. It reminded me a little of Joyce, the previous manager whom I'd taken over for. Except Joyce was about seventy pounds wet and a chain smoker. The assistant manager was younger, and rounder, and her voice was deeper and…OK, she was nothing like Joyce.

  Lilly didn't answer. Instead, she stuck her fingers in her mouth.

  "Her name is Lilly," I said.

  "Lilly!" The assistant manager cackled. "That is my favorite flower. Do you want to see our kids' corner?"

  Lilly looked to me for approval.

  "Go for it," I said.

  "It's right over there." The assistant manager pointed to a child's table with crayons, paper, and a small dollhouse in the corner of the lobby. A marvelous idea.

  Got me thinking: if I had a kids' corner, then I'd rent to people
who actually had kids, specifically three- to four-year-old girls. They'd be friends with Lilly, and I wouldn't feel guilted into procreation.

  Note to self: invest in a kids' corner.

  Lilly shuffled over with her heels clanking across the floor to the kids' corner and picked a coloring book. The assistant manager sat down, and it dawned on me that, even though she knew my name, I didn't know hers.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "Have we met before?" Surely I'd remember meeting her. Unlike my Bob Saget look-a-like, Assistant Manager had unforgettable features. Like the mole on her right cheek. The blue eye shadow that covered the entire surface area between her lashes and the highest point of her brows. Eyebrows that were penciled in and started at the inner corner of her eyes and arched over to the outer corners. Like a McDonald's logo on her forehead. Her lipstick was bright red, and her teeth were coffee stained.

  "My goodness." She took a handheld electric fan from the top drawer of her desk and switched it on. "I'm sorry for my bad manners. No, we haven't formally been introduced. My name is Stormy Albright. I'd shake your hand, but I'm drenched. Damn hot flashes. Just you wait."

  I had to concentrate to keep my teeth from chattering. "I came over to bring you this." I held up the fruit. "It's from Elder Management."

  "That's so sweet of you. I haven't had a thing to eat all day. It's been nutty coo-coo crazy here."

  "I bet. I'm so sorry about Violet. Have you heard anything new?"

  Stormy grabbed the fruit bouquet, pulled a dipped pineapple from the stack, and picked off the chocolate. "I'm telling everyone that she went on a vacation, because you know how rumors fly. Truth is, I haven't heard a thing. The woman never takes a day off." Stormy put the chocolate into her mouth and tossed the pineapple into the trash.

  "Have you spoken with Detective Hampton?"

  "He came over to my apartment last night. At first I was excited when I checked my peephole and saw a man on the other side. Men don't just show up on your doorstep when you reach my age. Just you wait."

  I assumed Stormy was in her mid to late forties. About the same age as my mother. Too young to be talking so old.

  Granted, I sucked at age guesstimating.

  "Then he flashed his badge, and I just about tossed my cookie," Stormy continued. "Poor Violet. Bless her heart. He told me they suspected foul play." She mouthed the last part, as if afraid to say the words out loud. "I told him I didn't know anyone who would want to hurt Violet but…" She looked over her shoulder to be sure no one was listening and leaned in closer. I scooted to the end of my chair and placed my elbows on the desk. When Stormy spoke, she did so at a whisper. "For the last few months, Violet has been acting strange."

  "How so?" I whispered back.

  "I caught her eating a Twinkie."

  "A Twinkie," I said in horror, even though I'd had one for lunch.

  "Yes, a Twinkie. I never saw the woman eat anything that wasn't green."

  So Violet was one of those non-processed food people. I had no idea.

  "She was so jumpy," Stormy went on. "Agitated all the time. I think she was losing it a bit." She tapped her temple.

  "Why do you think she was agitated?" I suspected it was because she'd almost been fired, but I didn't want to mention the F word in front of Violet's subordinate in case she didn't know.

  "I think it has something to do with the owners." She plucked a chocolate-dipped strawberry from the bouquet, peeled the chocolate off, and trashed the berry. "They don't get along very well. Violet says Mr. Dashwood's mother must have had a premonition when she named him."

  I don't…oh! I got it.

  Dick Dashwood.

  Ha!

  "Do you know why they didn't get along?" I asked.

  "Violet has a…strong personality. She likes things her way. Doesn't want to be questioned. Doesn't like to answer to anyone. She told me the owners should butt out and let her run the place as she sees fit. I honestly think the owners are scared of her because they never come around."

  Huh?

  I wondered if Hampton had talked to the Dashwoods yet.

  "This whole thing gives me a big fat headache," Stormy said with a sigh. "I came to Los Angeles to be an actress, not to manage apartments. This whole business is whackadoodle. I've worked here three years and don't know much about Violet. She mostly keeps to herself and does her job, and I keep to myself and do mine. Except…" She grabbed three tissues and dabbed her glistening décolleté. "I don't even know how to work this thing." She poked at the keyboard with her finger like it might bite. "Let alone work the management software program. Violet said there was no point in my learning to use it."

  "But you're the assistant manager?"

  "Violet liked to handle all the leases, rent collection, management, and…mostly everything herself."

  That's unfortunate. If I had an assistant manager, I'd have him handle all the leases, and filing, and market surveys…it would be glorious. A girl could only dream. "One trick I've learned is you can find a tutorial for almost anything on YouTube."

  Stormy peeled a Post-it from a stack by the phone and grabbed a pen. "You Tube. Is that one word or two?"

  I stared at her and blinked. "It's one word. Spelled y-o-u-t-u-b-e."

  "And I find that on the internet?"

  "Um…yes."

  Stormy stuck the yellow Post-it on the perimeter of her computer screen. She had barely legible chicken scratch handwriting. "This is helpful. I haven't heard from the owners yet, but I suspect it's now my job to keep this place afloat." There was nothing but trepidation in her voice.

  "I'm sure you'll be fine." I tried to sound more optimistic than I felt. If she had no idea how to use YouTube, then she was screwed. I knew from experience that keeping a place afloat was a lot harder than one would think. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know. I'm very worried about Violet, and I realize how crucial the next day and a half is."

  Stormy ripped another sticky note from the stack. "Write down your cell on here for me."

  "Um…sure." I grabbed a pen and jotted down my number. "Also, before I forget, when I was here last night, I saw a man in the stairwell running from, I assume, Violet's apartment. I went to the police station and met with a sketch artist." I pulled out my phone. "Have the police showed you this?" I turned my screen to show her the picture of Bob Saget Stairwell Man.

  She studied the picture. "I don't recognize him."

  "Have you spoken with Antonio?" I rubbed my hands together to get warm. "How's he doing?"

  "He's doing alright, I think." She shrugged her shoulders. "We don't talk much. He mostly dealt with Violet."

  "How's Dolores doing in Apartment 105? I heard there was quite a bit of damage in her apartment."

  "Mostly just the ceiling. Antonio is taking care of it."

  "Did a plumber ever come out?" I asked casually.

  Stormy shrugged. "Dunno."

  She was really of no help.

  I heard the clanking of Lilly's heels on the floor and felt a tug on my shirt. "Looks what me made." She held up a picture of Winnie-the-Pooh colored in purple and pink.

  "It's beautiful. Are you ready to go?"

  She nodded.

  I stood and grabbed Lilly by the hand. "Again, I'm so sorry about Violet."

  "Let's hope this is one big misunderstanding and Violet shows up tomorrow. Home from a wild Vegas trip with a big hangover."

  I agreed, that would be nice. Highly unlikely, but nice.

  Who goes to Vegas without their wallet and cell phone?

  Lilly and I said goodbye and stepped into the lobby. Stormy returned to fussing around her desk, eating the chocolate off the fruit, and paid no attention to us. Good, because I wanted to check out the stairwell, and I didn't want to pester her. I remembered how stressful it was to receive on-the-job training from a YouTube video.

  I swung Lilly onto my hip and quickly scooted down the hallway, past Apartment 105, and past a man hauling skis to his apartment, and past a woman walk
ing her cat (ah-choo!), and past the elevator, and past the mailman, and to the stairwell. I pushed open the door and looked up. The staircase spiraled up ten stories.

  "What we doing in here?" Lilly asked and her voice echoed.

  "I want to look at one thing before we leave." I shifted her to my back and checked the surroundings more thoroughly.

  There was a triangle opening under the first story stairwell, the perfect place to hide if you were, gee, I don't know, a murderer waiting to strike your next victim? Except all I found was ten cents, a dolly, a rusting bucket of white paint, an Out of Order sign, and about ninety-five pieces of discarded gum. Lilly reached out her little finger and touched one before I could stop her. I screamed. She screamed. I cried. She cried. I gagged. She laughed. I bathed her in Purell. WebMD said she'd be fine. And we continued.

  There was nothing suspicious.

  But since I was already in the building, and since I was already in the stairwell, and since Lilly was behaving so well and was freshly de-germed, I went upstairs to Violet's apartment.

  The door was closed and locked with no sign stating this was an active crime scene. Anyone with a key could easily enter and do as they please! Even I knew that a crime scene must be secured—and I received all my CSI knowledge from, well, CSI!

  Honestly.

  I checked the floor in the hallway, not exactly sure what I was looking for, but I found a quarter and a smudge that resembled a tire mark near the baseboard next to the elevator. It could mean nothing. Or it could mean everything. I supposed the perp could have taken the elevator. Stairs would have made for a faster getaway. But not everyone has elevator aversions like I do. I snapped a picture of the smudge and sent it to Hampton.

  Now thirty-five cents richer, I decided there was nothing more to do and it was time to go. With Lilly still on my back, we managed to get through the lobby unnoticed, and we stepped into the 102 degree summer day. We said hello to the koi fish swimming in the pond and watched the light dance across their scales.