by CJ Love
Something thumped in one of the bedrooms or bathrooms.
A muffled scream came.
Delia’s breath left her. She hit 911 and stuck the phone to her ear.
More thumping sounded. Half-screams came from the other side of the apartment.
“911, where are you calling from?”
“Boroughbridge House on Propinquity Lane,” Delia shouted, making sure whoever was inside had heard her. “Someone is attacking Sanya in apartment 309. She’s screaming or trying to…”
“Did you see who’s there?”
“Only shadows, but it’s a big man, muscular … maybe six-foot-three, and wearing black shoes.”
Oh my God, this is taking too long!
Delia stepped into the dark apartment, shaking all over, trying to keep the phone to her ear. Her eyes were somewhat adjusted, and she saw Sanya’s dumbbell rack against the wall.
Thank God it’s not a tire rack!
Grabbing the first dumbbell she laid her hand on, Delia ran toward the wall and slid along it until she saw the hallway. She screamed, “I have the police on the phone! They’re coming.”
Then Delia dropped the cell on the floor. Yes, by accident! She reached for it but kicked it toward the hallway.
A shadow moved from the bedroom.
Delia was still bent over, reaching for her phone.
“Hello?” the dispatch operator said. “Hello, are you there, ma’am?”
Delia stared at the shadow, not wanting to give away her position. She was perhaps low enough that he hadn’t seen her yet. Did he have a weapon? There was nothing in his hands —but he was big enough to squash anyone to death with those biceps.
The man had stopped his forward motion and turned his head left and right. The phone was on the floor near his shoe. The display was lit.
He reached for it.
Turn on a light. See who it is…
No! I’m too scared.
He got his fingers on her cell phone.
You’re strong. You’re courageous.
Straightening her legs, she brought the dumbbell up and clocked Shadow Man underneath his jaw with it.
He flew backward into the hallway and hit his head on the wall.
Delia ran toward the living room and grabbed another dumbbell.
The man was on all fours when she came back into the dining room. She carried a dumbbell in each hand, ready to box him.
Shadow Man never stood up, though. He crawled right at Delia and took a big swing at her legs, catching her at the knees and sending her back into the dining room table.
Delia rolled to her side, keeping the dumbbells tight in her fists. She got to her knees and held out her fists like a boxer.
Shadow Man was on his feet and running for the doorway.
“That’s right,” she said, sounding brave. The truth was, she could barely hold up the ten-pound weights in her hands. “Sanya?”
Muffled sounds came from the bedroom.
Dropping the dumbbells, Delia stood and ran her hand along the wall until she found a light switch. “I’m coming, Sanya,” she said.
Her room was on the left side of the hallway. The full-sized mattress was half off its frame, and the bedsheets were tangled at the end of it. Sanya was on her knees, on a rug beside the bed.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Delia asked, kneeling beside her.
Sanya’s face had makeup smears trailing from her eyes. “Aaaiigghhh,” she screamed.
The Banshee is back!
Delia’s heart had not settled yet. It was still ricocheting around her chest. “The police are on the way.”
The police were there quickly, too. Delia hadn’t thought to close the door, and three men and a woman in black uniforms converged on the apartment. One called for paramedics when they caught sight of Sanya. She may not have needed hospital attention, but she certainly needed a sedative.
Don’t mind if I do.
What Delia had in mind, however, was the half-pint of ice cream left in her freezer.
The hallway outside was lined with neighbors. Even Clawdius stopped by to see what had caused the ruckus. The corgis down the hall wouldn’t stop barking. And then, Eddie and Thomi were in Sanya’s living room. They sat with Delia as she gave her account of what had happened to the police. The female officer, whose name badge read J. Hernandez, asked, “Which dumbbells did you use?”
“Those,” Delia told her, pointing to the weights on the floor in the dining room. With the lights on, she saw how crammed Sanya’s apartment was with books and plants and Boho furnishings. There were many mirrors, too, as though Sanya liked catching herself at all angles.
Delia caught her own angle in the mirror across from the couch. She was a vision of gray-flannel dorkiness.
J. Hernandez wrote in her notebook. It was hard to tell much about the officer since she wore a bulletproof vest beneath her black uniform top. Was she buxom—who knew? Did J. have tattoos? It was hard to tell since she wore long sleeves. A black baseball cap covered her hair. Was she dark or redheaded? Anyone’s guess. “What made you run in here?”
“I had the 911 operator on the phone, but it sounded as though Sanya was dying, so I … I wanted to help.”
“You knocked the guy on the chin with that,” she asked, pointing her pencil at the weights.
“I was getting by with what I saw on Bad Girls Club.”
J. Hernandez nodded and then stood. She replaced the notebook in her breast pocket. “Alright, Miss Leary, that’s all for now. You can return to your apartment.”
As though getting off the couch was so easy. It was like sitting on a leathery carnivorous plant. She got her rear end to the edge of it, but Thomi laid her hand on Delia’s wrist.
“I can’t believe you ran in here, in the dark, to stop a madman. The old Delia would’ve never done anything like that.” Thomi was dressed in black slacks, a gray cowl-neck sweater, and a brown leather overcoat. Bright-white sneakers completed the ensemble. Her eyes were wide with wonderment.
“Circumstances and all that,” Delia told her, grinning.
Thomi shook her head. Her black hair was coiled tightly, and she’d parted it on the side. “All these years, you’ve been scared and anxious. Two months ago, you started breaking into cars.”
Is she angry with me? Does she prefer scared Delia?
“Believe me, scared Delia is alive and well.” She squeezed Thomi’s hand —and changed the subject. “But, guess what. The doctor prescribed new meds for Dad, and he recognized me today … or yesterday. I don’t even know what time it is.”
Thomi sat straighter. “Really? Delia, that’s wonderful.” Then she slumped forward a little. “I think. Is it wonderful? Is he nice to you?”
Delia smiled again. “Yes, he’s been absolutely wonderful. He said he knows how much I love him.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, nodding. “I’m really happy for you. And, hey, maybe Louie would like to go see him.”
“That’s a great idea. He asked how your dad was doing.”
Two paramedics came through the door then, glancing around. They both looked about twenty years old. One was redheaded and freckle-faced. The other was blonde and muscled.
Delia pointed them toward the other rooms. “She’s in there.”
The redhead nodded, and they were off with a stretcher between them.
Thomi asked, “Did you recognize the guy who broke in?”
Delia shook her head. “I couldn’t see that well, but he was muscled like that guy.”
It wasn’t until she’d polished off the ice cream and was sitting on the loveseat with Clawdius at two a.m. that Delia thought about it again.
The guy was muscled.
Like… like Isaac Kent.
Delia dropped her feet to the floor and bolted straight up. Had it been Isaac Kent? But why would he attack Sanya?
Also, he’s still moving slowly from the wounds he got from Mate.
She sat back again and stared at Clawdius. “There’
s one way to know. If Isaac has a busted chin or bruising, then we’ve got our man.”
But why would Isaac go after Sanya, other than Courtney seems to hate the woman now?
Courtney said Isaac thought Sanya killed Jeanette. That Isaac saw Sanya sneaking around watching Eddie and Jeanette. But why would he attack her over that? He didn’t know Jeanette, did he? Isaac used to be best friends with Mate before Mate attacked him … Jeanette bailed Mate out of jail, so yes, Isaac might know Jeanette. But, is it logical that Isaac would strangle Sanya because he thought she’d killed her sister?
Does any of this make sense?
Getting off the couch and tossing the ice cream carton into the trash, Delia glanced out the kitchen window that overlooked the parking lot. She searched for Isaac’s car. The man drove an older one. Delia didn’t know the make or model, just that it was a silver sedan of some sort.
There wasn’t much light in the gravel parking lot, and there was a silvery-looking car parked next to Cactus Jeep. The cactus spikes were in the way.
Delia opened the window and stuck her head outside.
Oh, it is so cold!
Her breath appeared in the lamplight, swirling and floating away. She leaned farther out … farther…
Can’t tell!
With her head back in the kitchen, she shut the window and then grabbed her puffy pink coat from the closet in the hallway. She slowly opened her apartment door and peered out into the hallway.
Where is a dumbbell when I need it?
Sanya’s door was closed again. A small light came from beneath the edge of it. Was she still up? Delia couldn’t sleep, and she hadn’t been the one attacked. She imagined Sanya wouldn’t go to bed anytime soon.
I would never sleep again if someone attacked me in my bed! I would die with my eyes open.
Slipping down the hallway, she got to the window at the end of it. Cupping her hands, she stared out the glass. What she saw was the pale-colored car that belonged to Christopher Cornwell, the corgi owner.
Sliding to the left, Delia gazed at the rest of the cars. “Where are you, Isaac’s car?”
What does Courtney drive? A little red something or other.
She didn’t see a red something or other.
Of course, that didn’t mean Isaac was the one who’d attacked Sanya, but it was a curious thing that they weren’t home. Had they taken off after he did the deed —or were they off drinking at a bar in Buffalo?
The only way to know for sure was to see Isaac’s face. If he was bruised and swollen, then he was the perpetrator. “The perp,” she said aloud, moving toward her apartment. I sound like the police!
* * *
Delia never did go back to sleep, and when she left the apartment at four-twenty, neither Isaac nor Courtney's car was in the parking lot. They'd said they were moving out. Maybe they already had moved.
I'll ask Louie since he owns the apartment building.
Meanwhile, Delia went to work, making a Parkin cake; a dark sponge hailing from Northern England, flavored with ginger, oatmeal, and rich syrupy molasses.
It was hard to believe that King Lears had only been open for two weeks, and already business had picked up. The Ye Olde Doe and Badger restaurant farther down the courtyard had asked for regular orders of Jaffa tarts and cheesecakes. Mr. Top Shoppe himself came by every day for a scone with strawberry jam and crème. The ladies from the Wishing Well shop visited several times a week for a pork pie and/or Yorkshire pudding.
Somehow it had gotten to be October first, and the breeze coming through the Dutch door was chilly, even after eleven o’clock. That’s when Delia remembered she needed to practice Juliet and Paris’ wedding cake again. It wasn’t the cake itself that made her anxious, but the decorating of it. The matte-white design would be elevated to four tiers with satin-finished petals and bursts of burnished tones.
Easy peasy…
Nerves made her feel a bit nauseous, or was it the lack of sleep?
She’d placed the slice of Parkin cake into the display case when the Dutch door opened.
Sanya Ashbury stepped inside wearing a furry brown jacket over black yoga pants. Her ombre hair was loose about her shoulders, but the bruises still showed on her neck, ugly and swollen red fingerprints with purple edges. Seemingly embarrassed by them, Sanya swished her hair across her neck and walked straight toward the display case and Delia.
“Hi Sanya, how are you feeling?”
Truthfully, the woman didn’t look great. Bags hung below her eyes, though her makeup was well crafted. Had she washed her hair? It was a little limper than usual. She wore a pair of earrings that were shaped like little trees.
They look like broccoli.
Sanya said, “Thank you for caring about me, Delia. And thank you for coming to my rescue last night. I don’t think I ever said that to you.”
“Well,” she said, coming around the cases to stand next to Sanya. “You were a little shook up.”
Her eyes went to Bogart and Becca behind the cases. “Did she tell you how she rescued me last night? How she fought off a madman?”
Bogart lifted his red-brown eyebrows. “You’re that Sanya? Oh yeah, we heard all about it, deary. Would you like tea, coffee, or a donut, maybe? There wouldn’t be enough sugar in the world to calm me down after something like that.” He moved to the coffee dispenser without waiting for her answer.
Sanya gazed at Delia again. “What lovely people you have here. If I’d listened to Jeanette, I’d think you were all trailer queens. But, you’re so kind."
Wait, was that a compliment, or…?
Bogart came around the corner with a tall cup of coffee and a cupcake. He set it on one of the café tables. “Here you are. These calories will soothe your nerves.”
Sanya’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t know if I should eat that. I haven’t been to CrossFit in over a week.” She placed her hand on Delia’s forearm and bent forward as if she’d told a funny joke. “I wanted to see your bakery. I hadn’t thought to stop by, and well, after all your kindness to me, well, I’d like to support you, too. After CrossFit, I’ll bring all my friends around.”
Delia nodded and smiled. “We’re closing at two for the time being,” she said. “I don’t know what time your group finishes.”
“Oh, I’m going in the morning now. I’m … I’ve lost my job, so I’ve got a little time on my hands.”
Delia stopped smiling. “You don’t work for the flower shop anymore? What happened, Sanya?”
She fluttered her fingers in the air. “Oh, you know, taking a lot of time off for funerals and that sort of thing. But never mind. Let’s focus on the positive.” Her eyes lifted toward the walls and shelving. “This shop is beautiful. Did you design it?”
“I did, thank you.”
“I love the arched window on the other side of the building where the wood table sits.”
“Would you like a tour?” Delia offered, pointing toward the back room.
“Oh,” she said, hesitating.
What am I thinking? Sanya doesn’t care about this sort of thing!
But, she said, “Sure,” and then followed Delia around the corner, “You’re very clever with everything. I like your Bread Pitt area and Save the Pasties window sign.”
Delia waved away the compliment. “They’re just fun ideas I found on the Internet. I’m really not that clever.”
Yes, I am. I'm as clever as anyone.
Sanya said, “You were clever enough to see a good idea.” She followed Delia through the swinging doors and into the workroom. There were still patches of flour on the table’s surface, and some had spilled onto the brick flooring. She’d left a ceramic bowl out.
“Oh, so cozy,” Sanya said.
Okay, was this the same woman who’d screamed at Eddie last week and accused Delia of being bad luck regarding her family members? Maybe her near-death experience had changed her attitude a little.
Her life view —her entire personality!
Sanya
turned toward the kitchen area. “This is where you bake everything? I can smell the cinnamon. It’s wonderful.” She took several steps and then stood next to the metal table in the center of the room.
Too late, Delia realized something. All of Sanya’s newfound Zen was about to take a hit because not two feet away was the walk-in refrigerator.
Bogart and Becca’s faces were in the little windows of the swinging door. Now Becca pushed all the way into the room.
Bogart stared at the refrigerator and back at Delia with a do something look on his face.
I know! Delia mouthed.
Sanya turned toward her.
Delia straightened her face and smiled at the woman.
Sanya said, “So, this is where Jeanette died?”
If Delia’s stomach had toes, they’d curl. “Um, she was actually … in the walk-in area.”
Keep your eyes on Sanya. Don’t look at the refrigerator. Don’t look!
Sanya’s brows came together. “What? Why?”
Delia gave her a tiny shrug. “I have no idea.”
Oh no. Was the real Sanya ready to come out and play now?
Chapter 13
“O, that way madness lies; let me shun that.”
Her dark eyes held Delia’s for a long moment. “May I see it?”
“Um… are you sure you want to, Sanya?”
“Delia,” she said with a lot of weight in her voice. “I am struggling right now. Reg is gone, and now Jeanette is, too. Eddie and I aren’t speaking. Courtney doesn’t want to be my friend any longer, and the last time she spoke to me, she said I was a crazy bitch. I’ve lost my job. My life is absolute crap.”
“I’m really sorry, Sanya.”
“I know you are. I just want … closure. I want to put to rest the demons that keep talking in my head.”
The speech seemed to get to Becca, and the young woman opened the refrigerator door. “We found her here, Sanya. Jeanette was here.” She waved her hand toward the floor of the walk-in.
Sanya spun around. “Oh.”
Becca stepped to the side to allow Sanya entry. Then she stared wide-eyed at Delia.