French Vanilla & Felonies Page 9

  Tom carefully draped the strap over my outstretched arm, as if feeding a ravenous animal. "Up late celebrating the new job?" he asked, taking a big step back.

  I grabbed Lilly's hand and led her inside. "Something like that. Bye." I pushed the door shut with my thigh.

  Lilly and I settled on the couch, her sucked into an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, me actively avoiding movement. It was clear this was a ship of fools and I was the captain, janitor, psychologist, and cruise director. "Good morning residents, we have an exciting day planned for you. At nine thirty we have a game of Who Killed Kenneth Fisk? At noon, we'll play Anyone Here Pregnant? And Spider Web! What the Hell Does That Mean? Before dinner, there will be a tournament of Excuses Why I Can't Pay My Rent This Month. All games will be held on the Lido Deck. Clothing is required although not enforced if you are an offspring of the owner. Hope to see you there!"

  "Momma?" Lilly asked, snapping me back to reality. The Mickey gang sang their farewell song in the background. "Momma, where is my Minnie?"

  "I don't know, sweetie. It's in one of these boxes." I licked my finger and wiped breakfast off her cheeks.

  "Can you find her? Can you find her now? Puh-leeease?" Her big hazel eyes and long lashes tugged on my momma heartstrings.

  "How about we go swimming?" I asked. My head pounded in time with my heart. Submerging my achy body in a pool of cool water felt like the best idea I'd ever had.

  Lilly squealed. I winced. We found our bathing suits, I packed us a light brunch, and we padded off to the pool.

  Lilly tiptoed into the shallow end, her arms spread out and shoved into pink floaties. I dropped myself in. The water lapped over the side of the pool and slapped the scorching cement while I sank to the bottom, watching Lilly's little feet kicking feverishly underwater.

  I floated back to the surface and became a princess mermaid with Lilly. The heat was in full force, and the cold water felt heavenly. I pushed the thought of Kevin swimming naked in the pool—less than twenty-four hours earlier—out of my mind. That's what chlorine is for, right?

  We swam. We splashed. One of us had a near meltdown over a bee in the pool. The other cried because her floaties were too tight. After a while we mermaided our way to the steps and exited the pool. I wrapped my towel high under my armpits to hide my too-tiny pre-baby bikini. Luckily, it was Chase's day off, and no residents were around to enjoy the view either. Not that I was ashamed of my body. I had grown to accept and love my stretch marks and new curves. I just loved it more when it wasn't bulging over the side of a two-sizes-too-small bikini.

  I wrapped Lilly in a fluffy towel, and we parked ourselves on a lounge chair. Within minutes the sun had soaked up most of the chlorine dripping off our bodies. I reapplied sunscreen, protecting our freckled figures from the ultraviolet rays. Lilly sat in my lap snacking on goldfish crackers and apple slices. I leaned back, resting my head on the plastic backing of the lounger. The fresh air dulled my headache to a more manageable throb, and I allowed my shoulders to relax while soaking in the much needed vitamin D.

  I turned and looked out to the third courtyard. I couldn't see the black door from my seat, and all was peaceful. Kevin must be nocturnal.

  Poor me.

  All I heard was the quiet footsteps of a man walking out of Apartment 36. He had a small brown bag and tucked it carefully under his jacket. A jacket? He looked over his shoulder and hurried out to the carports. I propped up on my elbow and watched as yet another man exited Apartment 36, same small brown bag carefully tucked into his arm. The man, late forties/early seventies/somewhere in-between, dressed in casual attire and flip-flops, also looked around the courtyard before exiting to the carports.

  It struck me as odd, most certainly suspicious.

  "Momma?" Lilly put her little hand on my cheek, forcing my attention. "Cracker, puh-leeease."

  I dug into my bag and pulled out more goldfish crackers. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught another person, female this time, around the same age, walking through the courtyard. She stopped at each door, noting the number, until she came to Apartment 36. I leaned over and watched the woman enter the apartment.

  You notice the tenants in Apartment 6 have a constant flow of visitors. The visitors tend to arrive and leave within minutes.

  I refilled Lilly's cracker supply and threw the rest of our belongings into my bag. I swung Lilly onto my hip, bag over my arm, and pushed open the pool gate. It creaked and squeaked and moaned before slamming shut, loudly announcing our exit to the entire community. I rolled my eyes and continued to creep through the breezeway toward the third courtyard. Not exactly sure of my plan, I only hoped to get there unnoticed.

  The door to Apartment 36 opened. I dropped behind the nearest bush and crouched down, trying to balance Lilly and my bag without falling face first into the thorny shrub. I peeked up and watched the woman leave with the same small brown bag. Like the rest, she handled it discreetly while looking around.

  Apartment 36's door shut, and it was safe to get up. I could get up. I wanted to get up. But it became clear that the best way out of my position was to fall flat on my butt and proceed from there. The dirt clung to my still damp derriere, and I took my mud-butt up the first stairwell, eyeing Kenneth Fisk's apartment across the way. Apartment 21 (the building was not numbered sequentially. It drove delivery people crazy. The original architect was experimenting with mushrooms when he planned the building, was my guess).

  As slyly as one can with a toddler on the hip and mud on the butt, I climbed up the stairs. "This is awkward," I mumbled.

  "What's awk-wad mean?" Lilly asked.

  "It's when something is uncomfortable," I whispered.

  "What does uncom-for-tita-ble mean?"

  "It means…not comfy."

  "What does not comfy mean?"

  "These are really good questions. Please keep them in your brain, and I promise I'll answer them when we get into that apartment up there, OK, sweetie?"

  "Hey, Cambria!" Larry poked his head out his window and waved. His long, stringy gray hair dropped down like Rapunzel's. I waved back. Then Lilly waved. Then the resident from Apartment 7 walked by and waved.

  Good grief!

  I dashed up the remaining steps, opened the door to Kenneth's apartment, and closed it quietly behind us.

  Lilly slipped out of my arms and ran around. Her little feet thumped from the living room area to the kitchen to the bedroom area then back again.

  I really suck at this undercover crap.

  Positioned at the window, I slid one vertical blind over to get a look down at Apartment 36. A skeletal woman waited at the door, one bone-thin hand shoved in her back pocket and the other knocking. The door opened, and a man around my age, maybe a tad older, with a small face, slicked blond hair, and round, gold glasses opened the door and motioned her in. Minutes later they reemerged, her with the bag and him with a fistful of cash.

  I pulled out my phone, pointed it at the door, and hit record.

  There is not enough available storage to record video.

  "You have got to be kidding me," I said to the phone. I quickly went through my pictures and deleted as many as I could. Most pictures—OK, more than 3,400—were of Lilly's cute face.

  Fifty pictures gone, I repositioned the phone on a new visitor waiting at the door and hit record.

  There is not enough available storage to record video.

  Fine. I snapped a few pictures and composed a text to Cambria, noting the time of arrival, the length of stay, and the description of each visitor.

  "Can we go home?" Lilly asked, pulling at my towel, causing it to fall to my feet.

  "I'm almost done, and then we'll go," I promised.

  She slapped her forehead. It was cute. So I took a picture. Then I turned my attention back to my sting. Is that…Chase?

  It was. He strolled along the pathway, his hips swaying deliciously with each step. His dark blond hair looked extra tousled and his face extra scruffy. I wondered if he
ever shaved and what it would feel like to rub my hands across his scruff.

  Focus, Cambria.

  Since technology had failed me, a second witness would be beneficial. I looked down at Chase while the phone rang in my ear. He stopped, reached into the pocket of his jeans, and pulled out his phone. He stared at the screen and hesitated. He hesitated.

  He looked around first then answered, thankfully, because that would have been uncomfortable. "Hey, Cambria. What's going on?"

  "Can you come up to Apartment 21?" There was a possible crime in progress, no time for pleasantries.

  "The dead guy's apartment?"

  "His name is Kenneth Fisk, and yes. Can you come?" Chase looked up at me. "Don't look up. Look at the ground." He looked at his shoes.

  "Why am I looking down?"

  "Because I'm trying to be discreet here. Can you come up to the apartment, slyly?" He looked up again. "Stop looking at me."

  He used his hand as a visor. "I can't see you."

  "That's good. Pretend like you're going to fix something in here. See you in a sec." I hit End.

  About a minute later the door opened, and Chase slipped inside. He was much better at this covert crap than I was.

  He looked at me then at the ceiling. "Where are your clothes?"

  I imagined my face resembled a tomato. "Er, um, uh…" I bent down and grabbed the towel, envisioning how this could be construed. I called, asked him to meet me in a vacant apartment, and to do so discreetly. Then he finds me in a bikini. I cleared my throat. "I was swimming when I witnessed some suspicious activity back here."

  "Suspicious?" He returned his eyes to my fully covered body.

  "Very." I pulled the blind back, and we looked down into the empty courtyard.

  Lilly tugged on Chase's shirt. "Bạn là ai?" she yelled with a wave of her hand.

  Chase looked down, startled, and smiled. He dropped slowly to one knee, holding the window ledge for support. "What's your name? Wait, let me guess…hmm, is it Anna?"

  "Nooo, it's not Anna." She giggled, shoving her fingers into her mouth like she did when speaking to strangers.

  "No? Is it Elsa? Or wait, no, I got it. It's not…Lilly, is it?"

  She released a full-face smile, orange cracker stuck in the gaps between her teeth, and nodded. I melted into a big puddle of mushiness right there. It was quite frustrating. It would be easier if he would commit to being a butthole or get ugly. Then I could stop liquefying in his presence.

  Lilly offered Chase a cracker, and he popped it into his mouth. Not concerned with germs, as I would have been. The affectionate exchange was becoming too much. "OK now." I clapped my hands together. "Let's get back to work."

  Chase winced and used the windowsill as a cane. I offered my free hand, the other clutched to the towel. "Would you like some assistance?"

  He brushed off my help. "No, just an old injury." He rolled upright. "You teach your kid…is that…Vietnamese?"

  "Yep. Doesn't everyone?" I laughed at my own wittiness, as I usually did. "Do you have kids?" Single guys weren't generally proficient in Frozen.

  "No, nieces." He moved the blind slat over and looked down. "I'm still not seeing anything."

  I glanced out the window. Alice walked through the breezeway. She wore a short-sleeved green shirt and jeans. With so many clothes on, I almost didn't recognize her.

  "Can you tell me what's going on?" Chase asked, growing impatient.

  "It's Apartment 36. I've seen several suspects coming and going, all carrying a small bag. I'm sort of a crime show junkie. So I sort of know what I'm doing. I think he's selling stolen goods? It makes sense, because if it were drugs, then why would he put it in a bag like that? If it weren't illegal, then why would everyone look so guilty when leaving? Why check the surrounding area if you're carrying, oh, I don't know, a bagel or something? Think about it. Joyce never came to the third courtyard, ever. Kevin is nuts, so anything else going on here is peanuts by comparison. It's the perfect place to run an illegal business."

  Chase opened his mouth about to reply, but I wasn't finished.

  "There was a gun, zip ties, mask, and wallet in the dumpster along with Kenneth. What if it all belonged to this guy in 36. Kenneth saw what was happening, threatened to expose 36, and was killed." I paused to take a breath—unraveling crimes is exhausting. "Not sure how a pregnancy test and spider web works into this…I haven't gotten that far."

  Chase nodded along with my explanation. Stifling a smile. "Have you met Spencer?"

  "Who?"

  "The tenant in number 36."

  "No, why. Have you?"

  "He's really nice."

  "It's a cover," I muttered.

  Chase raised his unkempt brows high up his forehead.

  I wanted to lick my finger and smooth the hairs back in place. Though that would be awkward. Almost as awkward as having this conversation in my bathing suit.

  "I feel like you may be overthinking this. I'm not seeing anyone. Couldn't he be having a party?"

  Now I was the one stifling a smile. "In the middle of the day? On a Monday? None staying for more than a few minutes? All leaving with a bag?" I was clearly more versed in criminal behavior than he was. "That reminds me—keep an eye out for any pregnant women around here."

  "Why?"

  "Pregnancy test in the dumpster?" I reminded him.

  "If someone took a pregnancy test last week, would she be showing this soon?"

  "Uh…" Good point, but still, "Some women show early." Heaven knows I did. "Do you think I've seen enough to warrant a call to the police?"

  Chase ran a hand through his hair. "I think the best thing you can do is keep documentation in case you need it. And instead of camping out in dead people's apartments and spying, how about I keep an eye out when I'm here. I'll start watching crime shows if you think it will help." I couldn't tell if he was flirty-teasing or insult-teasing. Should I be upset or aroused? This was the question every time I was around him.

  "What are you doing here anyway?" I asked in an uproused kind of way.

  Ha, good one, Cambria.

  "I stopped by to grab some tools. I've got a big job I'm helping with for a different company. Speaking of which…" He checked his watch. "I've got to head out. I'll be here tomorrow, in case anyone commits any felonies you need help with."

  "Ha-ha," I said, not really laughing, because it wasn't funny. Who knows what will happen tomorrow?

  "Is it OK if I sneak out of here, detective?" That was definitely a flirty-tease. I think.

  "You're dismissed."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tenant parks in the carport at Tenant's own risk.

  Thirty-two-year-old Spencer Bryant had lived in Apartment 36 for two months. According to his file, he paid rent on time and hadn't made a single maintenance request. According to his application, he had excellent credit upon approval and was a local dentist. Not exactly your run-of-the-mill felon yet definitely a good cover.

  In reality Spencer Bryant, DDS was a drug dealer. Writing illegal scripts and selling narcotics out of his apartment for money.

  My new theory went like this: Kenneth saw the foot traffic coming and going from Spencer's apartment and was already suspicious. One of Spencer's clients had recently gone on a crime spree, stealing wallets, guns, pregnancy tests…whatever he could get his hands on to sell for cash. Early Monday morning, he brought that cash to Spencer's apartment, ready to buy OxyContin, Vicodin, lidocaine…floss? Whatever it is that a dentist prescribes. Kenneth Fisk, who was outside his door, stretching, ready for his morning trot, saw the burglar leaving Spencer's apartment. He called Joyce to let her know what was happening. When the burglar saw Kenneth on the phone, he came after him. The two got into a scuffle, and Kenneth was killed. The burglar tossed his backpack and Kenneth Fisk into the dumpster to get rid of the evidence, thinking no one would notice. Had I not jumped in—likely no one would have.

  Still not exactly sure who was pregnant.

  Or how a spi
der web was involved.

  Also, the backpack looked to have been dumped later than Kenneth…

  What I was sure of was that Spencer Bryant had something to do with Kenneth Fisk's murder. But theories don't hold up in court. What I needed was proof.

  I printed out my carefully crafted, extremely detailed, three-page incident report along with my theory and placed them both in Kenneth's and Apartment 36's file. I closed the rusty cabinet, swiveled around in my chair, and found a reply from Patrick on my computer.

  To: cambriaclyne@eldermgmt.com

  From: patrickelder@eldermgmt.com

  Subject: RE: Nudist-Man-child

  Cambria,

  Thank you for the mental health information, specifically the one in Brazil you highlighted. I'll pass on the information. Don't hold your breath. Please note that Kevin's actions and opinions are his own and do not mirror those of my company or myself. Feel free to write out an incident report for his file instead of emailing me next time.

  -Patrick

  I read the email twice to surmise Patrick's tone, and it was not happy. Joyce warned me about bothering Patrick unless it was an emergency. If Kevin skinny-dipping and entering tenant's apartments to eat their food doesn't qualify as an emergency, then what does?

  I typed up an incident report as requested and swiveled back around to the filing cabinet. The files were in order from Apartment 1 to Apartment 39. No Apartment 40. I yanked opened the cabinet below and found a file labeled Kevin. The papers were squished tight, filling the entire length of the drawer, with not enough give to fit one more. In the next drawer was another file labeled Kevin, not quite as full. I shoved my incident report in the back and grabbed the one before it. It was handwritten in Joyce's shaky writing and dated one month prior.

  Incident Report

  Early this morning (around 1 a.m., I think) I received a call from Silvia Kravitz. She was upset because Kevin was playing his music loud and scaring Harold (her bird). I explained his mental disorders to her. I had already explained this when she called the week before, but I felt it necessary to explain again. I told her it's best to leave him alone. I then received two more calls before I became fed up and called the police. Kevin was arrested. Released on bail the following day, he came into my office and was very upset. When I asked him to leave, he took my vase, the one I keep on the counter to put fresh flowers in. I asked him to return it because my son gave it to me for Mother's Day the year before he passed away. He didn't. Instead, he took it home with him. I walked to his apartment to ask for it back, and he threw it out the window, breaking both the window and the vase. I have quit my job and will be suing Kevin for the cost of my vase.