He rose and placed his hands on my waist. “Yes?”
I used all of my willpower to step away from him. “But it defies logic that every person in the Roaring Twenties could have desired you!”
“It isn’t terribly logical that you played my pianola and I came back from the dead, and yet here we are.”
Plopping back on my desk chair, I agreed. “What’s our next step?”
“Elementary, my dear Andre. You and I become more… intimate.”
“Freddy, I’m talking about the investigation!”
“Ah. Speak to young Archer again. Find out if there were any further ramifications from his cheating, and if so, ascertain whether or not he blames Alexandria for them.” Sitting back down on the window seat, he asked, “Have we exhausted all the suspects, or only ourselves?”
“Alexander also mentioned Preston Steele in 2A. Evidently Preston was one of Alexandria’s business investors.”
“Investing! A white-knuckle activity, believe me. Henry Ford once asked me to invest in one of his cars. I turned him down—in the back seat.”
“Freddy, can we focus on the investigation!”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking you to do. I certainly can’t traipse out of here and ask Preston Steele about his investment in Alexandria’s company, but you can, my boy.”
“That won’t be too difficult. I have a date with him tomorrow night.” I cringed, waiting for Freddy’s response.
I was shocked when he grinned and said, “Perfect!”
“Did you hear what I said, Freddy? I have a date with Preston Steele, an attractive man who is the vice principal at my school, and he lives in this building. My aunt Nia arranged it.”
“I heard you. And have no fears, the date will go just fine.” He winked at me. “Since I’ll be here as your fire extinguisher.” Rising and towering over me, he added, “That means ‘chaperone.’”
“I figured.” Squirming in my seat, I said, “Preston is coming here at seven. I’m sure he’ll assume he and I are going out to dinner or to see a movie.”
“No petting pantry for you two lads. Dinner will be served right here.” He had a maniacal look in his eyes. “Under my watch.”
“All right.” I had learned that arguing with Freddy was pointless. I opened my laptop.
“What on earth is that contraption? A new invention funded by Alexandria?”
“Not exactly. It’s a computer, invented by a gay man, Alan Turing, the year after you were shot.”
“What does it do?”
“It stores whatever I’ve written, and I can do research without going to the library.”
He sat on my desk. “Hm, a magic box.”
“Pretty much.” I hit the keyboard.
“What are you doing with it?”
“I’m searching Alexandria’s name for information about her.” I grinned. “Interesting!”
“Spill the beans.”
I read, “Alexandria Popov Sokolov rubbed elbows with Russian bank owners, suspected Russian spies, and prominent Republican politicians.” I explained, “Meaning before her investments turned sour, Alexandria may have been involved in money-laundering.”
Freddy nodded. “The Russian mob can be quite… persuasive and frightening. Eddy Hoover stood up to them on a number of occasions, and it wasn’t easy.”
“Members of his party nowadays aren’t so brave.” I continued typing. “Yikes!”
“What is it?” He moved closer.
“Alexander told me their mother was a businesswoman in Saddle River.”
“So?”
“He didn’t say she was one of the wealthiest women in the country!”
“How did she make her fortune?”
I read on. “Clothing lines, jewelry, cosmetics, furniture. You name it, she seems to have dabbled in it.”
“If their mother is so wealthy, why didn’t she help her daughter during Alexandria’s time of financial difficulties?”
“Alexander said his mom wanted to ensure her children were self-made.”
Freddy shivered. “Thankfully my parents didn’t feel that way. What’s the point of having rich parents if they don’t share their wealth?”
“But their mother will share her wealth—after she’s gone. And since Alexander said the woman’s practically at death’s door, I’m guessing that will be soon.”
He paced the room again à la Sherlock Holmes. “Alexander and Alexandria will inherit a fortune upon their mother’s death. Therefore Alexander could have murdered his sister to become the sole beneficiary. Or Denis may have done away with his wife before the divorce went through, assuring his position as beneficiary in his wife’s absence.”
I used his terminology. “Freddy, you’re the bee’s knees!”
He grinned. “You finally noticed.” He lifted me to my feet. “Now what are we going to do about it?”
Nestled in his arms, I gazed up at Freddy’s handsome face and everything else disappeared. He kissed my forehead, cheeks, nose, and finally my mouth. Walking me backward toward the bed, he nibbled on my ear and then down to my neck.
“Freddy, remember what we said about being friends.”
“I feel very friendly.”
After he kissed me again, I said, “We can’t do this. You’ve been dead eighty-five years.”
He pressed his erection against mine. “But I feel very much alive.”
“You’re a ghost and I’m a person.”
“What’s wrong with a mixed marriage?”
Remembering the sight of Alexandria’s dead body at my feet, I said, “Freddy, Alexandria was killed in front of my door in the building my aunt manages. The place I’ve considered home for my entire life, which was your family’s homestead. We have to find out who killed her.”
He released me. Straightening his bow tie and pocket handkerchief, he said, “Andre, though we’ve known each other only a short time, and you are certainly not the most stimulating conversationalist, to my surprise I’m beginning to care a great deal about you. You’re down to earth, common, and genuine. I’ll admit, I adore that. And it makes me want to move mountains for you. So if finding Alexandria’s Johnson brother, meaning murderer, is what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“Thank you, Freddy.” I rubbed my hands together. “What’s the next step in our investigation?”
“We should read Denis Sokolov’s book—in bed.”
“Do you mind if I read it alone?”
Freddy feigned heartbreak. “All right. If you prefer spending a night in bed with a book rather than with me, I’ll leave you to it.” He added, “Read carefully, note any possible similarities between Denis Sokolov and the character of the murderer, and if you find any, confront him on it. Writers love talking about their books. Aggie kept me up many nights doing just that.” Waving goodbye, he said, “Have a good read. You know where to find me when you need me.” He disappeared.
I was happy to have Freddy back, and I wanted nothing more than to spend time with him. However, I needed to read Denis’s book without interruptions to see if it held any insights into Alexandria’s murder. So I headed for the kitchenette, where I microwaved a frozen veggie burger and poured myself a glass of coconut almond milk—a gift from Aunt Nia. Then I took the book on the side table near the entryway. Sitting at the kitchenette counter, I ate while reading the first chapter, which set up the story of a down-on-his-luck writer living in a mansion owned by his wealthy wife. As I continued reading, except for the husband who adored her, nearly every character in the story had an argument with the rich wife. It was no surprise to me when the wife was murdered, but whodunit?
I glanced at my watch and realized I’d been reading for a few hours. After rubbing my tired eyes, I headed out to the balcony to watch the sunset. Streaks of coral, saffron, and scarlet shot through the sky, as if the gods were skating on it. Following his nightly routine, Leander stood in his underwear behind the window of the next apartment cleaning the lenses of his camera
s. Then he moved on to his exercises with hand weights: squats, curls, reverse curls, bent-over row, flies, and dead lift. As usual, he smiled and waved. I returned both; however, this time I thought only about Freddy. With my eyes feeling somewhat rested, I proceeded back inside my apartment. After cleaning up the dishes in the kitchenette, I took Denis’s book to the chaise. Lying down, I continued reading. In the middle of the night, I gasped at the revelation that the husband had committed the murder, because his wife had cheated on him with her personal trainer. The murder weapon was one of his wife’s scarves.
Chapter Nine
I WOKE early the next morning, dressed quickly in a tangerine polo shirt and jeans, and gobbled down cereal and juice. After patting the pianola and saying goodbye to Freddy, I hurried out of my apartment. Then I ran down the two flights of stairs and pulled open the heavy silver door of the building. Since ominous gray clouds filled the dark blue sky, I ran along the sidewalk to my gym. Once inside, instead of heading for the locker room, I made a beeline for the section of the gym reserved for personal trainers with their clients. I spotted Hunter Buck kneeling next to a woman lying on the mat. With his lean, cut muscles peeking out of a gold tank top and cranberry shorts, he rested his hands on her protruding stomach and flabby back, offering her encouragement as she struggled to do sit-ups. After sitting up five times—with Hunter’s assistance—the woman collapsed, gasping for air. He sounded like a children’s television show host. “Good work, Mirabel!”
Sweating profusely, Mirabel sat up on one elbow. “Do you really think so?”
He helped Mirabel to her feet. “You are doing a wonderful job.”
Her face turned the color of her pink leotard and tights. “That’s because I have such a wonderful trainer.” She wobbled in his arms.
“Steady now.” He held her close. “Are you all right now?” He offered her a sexy smile.
She swooned. “Much better, thank you.”
“Good.” Finally releasing her, he asked, “Same time next week?”
She cocked her head. “I’d like to make even more progress. And my husband has been out of town so much lately. Do you think we can have another session this week?”
“For you? Of course.” He ran a manicured hand through his black roots and bleach-blond locks. “How about tomorrow?” He slipped a phone out of his shorts’ pocket and checked the screen. “I can do three o’clock.”
She giggled merrily. “Three o’clock it is.” Not taking her eyes off him, she backed out of the room, waving and giggling. “See you then.”
Hunter grabbed a towel and wiped his face, leaving tan makeup residue on the towel.
I made my way over to him. “Hunter, do you have a minute?”
He offered me a porcelain-veneer smile. “Andre, would you like to book a training session?” Checking me out, he added, “You’re in good shape.” Placing a hand on my shoulder and staring into my eyes, he added, “But I can make your body feel even better.”
“I’m okay working out on my own. Thanks anyway.”
Hunter’s smile disappeared, as did his hand from my shoulder. “What do you want?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about Alexandria Popov Sokolov.”
He nodded, checking himself out in the wall mirror. “I heard she died in your apartment. She rip you off too?”
“Alexandria stole money from you?”
“Indirectly.”
“How?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because I have friends looking for a personal trainer. And your name could come up—if you answer my questions.”
He combed his hair. “Alexandria was one of my clients. Like a lot of them, she wanted more. I obliged. Until she became jealous.”
“Jealous?”
He chuckled. “I tried to explain to her that women hanging all over me was an occupational hazard. Alexandria didn’t buy it.”
“What did she steal from you?”
He took a step back. “If you’re trying to clear yourself and pin Alexandria’s murder on me, you can save yourself the trouble. Like I told that detective in our building, I was with a client—in her home—at the time Alexandria was murdered.”
I couldn’t help smirking. “And I’m sure your ‘client’ would testify to that.”
“My client would do whatever I ask her to do.” He glanced at his expensive-looking watch, no doubt a gift from a client. “I have another session in a few minutes. Are we done here?”
I leveled with him. “Hunter, whoever killed Alexandria did it outside my apartment door. It may have been someone trying to frame me.”
“So you’re playing armchair detective?”
“Something like that.” I didn’t tell him Freddy was sitting in the armchair and I was doing the legwork.
“I told you everything I know.” He started off.
I stepped in his path. “I saw you and Alexandria arguing in front of her apartment door. Tell me about the exercise machine, Hunter.” When he paused, I added, “Shawnee thinks the murderer is a resident in the building. Whoever did it could strike again—at one of us!”
He sighed. “When Alexandria’s business investments tanked, she borrowed money from Russian thugs. The loans came due. She couldn’t pay them back, since her money was tied up in other business investments. When the mobsters leaned on her, she panicked, and she leaned on me.”
“How?”
“I created an exercise machine. Alexandria had funded the cost of the parts, distribution, and advertising. We had worked out a 60 percent for her and 40 percent for me profit deal. The machine was slow to catch on. Alexandria needed money to pay back the loans. She also became jealous of my other clients.” He moved light hand weights to the mat, setting up for his next client. “Next thing I knew, Alexandria pulled the plug on the machine.”
I followed him. “How?”
“Since we hadn’t returned a profit after six months, she took the limited sales income for herself, as well as the patent—in her name.”
“Did you sue her?”
He shook his head. “I threatened to, but Alexandria pointed to the fine print on the contract, which gave her the right to the patent. Besides, it would have cost me more money for a lawyer than the little I would have made on the machine.”
“Did you threaten to tell Alexandria’s husband about your relationship with her?”
He cocked his head at me. “I’m not a kiss and tell kind of guy.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Alexandria and I had a blowup. I told her to kiss my ass, which by the way she had done before and enjoyed quite a lot. That was the last time I saw her.”
“When was that?”
“Outside her apartment. Three days ago.”
Another adoring client entered the room.
Hunter whispered to me, “Give your friends my number. You have it?”
I snickered. “I have it all right.” After changing in the locker room, I scurried to the main gym, where I did cardio and lifted weights. Then back in my street clothes, I left the gym and entered the health-food buffet. As I lifted a tray and got on the buffet line, I asked a rail-thin teenage girl refilling a container of bok choy, “Is Milo here?”
She shook her head. Fine hair formed a pink halo around her gaunt face. “He’s at the college.”
“Is he taking a summer class?”
She shrugged, snapped her gum, and was gone.
After eating my lunch, I left and started walking home. Suddenly, the gray sky unleashed pellets of heavy rain. By the time I arrived at my building, I was drenched from head to sneakers. I yanked open the heavy door and squished up the two flights of stairs, leaving puddles behind me.
As I arrived at my floor, I bumped into my neighbor—literally. “Leander, I’m so sorry.”
He wiped a droplet of rain off his tight T-shirt. “No worries. It needs a washing anyway.”
We shared a smile.
I explained, “I got caught in the rai
n.”
“It becomes you.” He leaned into me. “Have you started Sokolov’s book yet?”
“I finished it last night.”
“You’re fast.” Leander offered me a wide grin.
Not wanting to insult him, I added quickly, “And I’ll read your article soon.”
“Save it for a bout of insomnia.” His eyes twinkled.
Glancing at the puddle around my sneakers, I said, “I’d better go change.”
He held my arm and his bicep swelled. “After reading Sokolov’s novel, I suspected he killed his wife.”
“I can see why.”
“Until I overheard Alexander Popov and his sister arguing—the day she was murdered.”
“Where?”
“Inside Alexander’s apartment. I heard them from the hallway.”
“What were they arguing about?”
“It sounded like Alexander was scolding her for borrowing money from the Russian mob. He offered to help her pay back the loan, but his sister wouldn’t hear of it. Things got pretty heated.”
“Did you tell that to Detective Shawnee?”
Leander scratched at his trimmed auburn beard. “Sure. He asked me not to talk about it with anyone else.” Resting a hand on my wet chest, he added, “But since we’re neighbors.”
Rain drizzled from my nose onto his hand. “I’d better go. Thanks again for the books. I’ll get them back to you soon.” I took off.
He called out after me, “You know where I live.”
The moment I got into my apartment, I headed for the bedroom to dry off and change into my blueberry short-sleeved shirt and black chinos. Then, remembering Freddy’s comment about writers being open to discussing their books, I raced out again, ran down the hall stairs, and knocked on the door of 1A. Denis Sokolov, unshaven in a gray T-shirt and jeans, answered the door. “What you want now?”
I ate humble pie. “Denis, I’m really sorry to bother you, especially during your time of mourning.”
“Yet you did—again.”
Since groveling didn’t work, I tried the direct tactic. “I read your latest book.”
“If you want me to sign it, this isn’t a good time.”
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