Mint Chip & Murder

by Erin Huss

  Viper was wrapped around a headless statue in the corner of the room. I kept my distance. I'd seen what Viper could do to a mouse, and I was not about to go near him.

  Kevin's laptop was open on the coffee table, with help wanted ads on the screen.

  "Looking for a new job?" I asked.

  "My probation officer is breathing down my neck. Apparently, I'm not supposed to leave the state, and I need a job…blah, blah, blah. Whatever."

  "What about working as a sketch artist?"

  "Nah, I've given that up."

  "Why? You were so good." He'd been taking classes. His ability to create a rough sketch of a suspect had come in handy on several occasions.

  "Meh." He shrugged.

  "You sorta need to pay rent soon." After Kevin's last stint in rehab, the McMills's trustee, Trevor, revoked the rent-free provision from Kevin's agreement. He thought it would force Kevin to grow up and accept accountability. Not so sure it did anything but build more resentment on Kevin's end.

  "Are you here as my supportive friend or greedy landlord?" Kevin fell onto the couch with a grunt.

  "Supportive friend…who needs support."

  "You're not going to cry again, are you? Because you look like one of those Shar-Pei dogs when you cry. Trust me, it ain't pretty."

  "Thanks, and I will not cry."

  "Good. Sit." He patted the spot next to him.

  I lowered onto the couch, still keeping an eye on Viper. "Did you ever visit the Burbank property when you were younger?"

  "Hell, nope."

  "Why not?"

  "My parents never took me there because they're horrible, awful, malevolent, foolhardy, abysmal people."

  "Have you been reading your thesaurus?"

  "Best ten bucks I ever spent. Anyway. Blah, blah, blah. Hurry up. You found a dead body and…"

  I blew out a breath. "Yesterday, a dead woman was found in a barrel, hidden behind a wall in the attic. They think she was killed at least twenty-five years ago, which puts her there around when Patrick took over. There are two roommates who would drag big black bags up—"

  "You take forever to tell a story," Kevin cut me off.

  The fact I'd never smacked him on the backside of the head was a miracle… Wait a second. A memory flashed through my mind of the two of us sitting at a bar in Vegas. He'd told the waiter I was a retired call girl, and I'd smacked him on the backside of the head. So I guess there was no miracle after all.

  "I want to get my hands on the archives for the Burbank building," I said.

  "You're looking at me like I can help you."

  "Trevor told Patrick no, but I really need to look. Do you have any idea of how I could get my hands on those files?"

  Kevin scratched his belly and smacked his lips. "Yeah, so, I could get you what you need."

  "How?"

  "Girl, I've got my ways."

  "We can't do anything else illegal."

  "I told you the Bellagio fountains were not a swimming pool," he said. "No, nothing illegal. Be ready first thing in the morning, and I'll take you to Trevor's office."

  "I can't go in the morning because it's Lilly's first day of preschool."

  He grunted. "You always play the mom card."

  "It's the only card I've got."

  * * *

  I left Kevin's apartment feeling drained and ready for bed. The sun hung low in the sky, and the temp had cooled to an enjoyable seventy-five degrees. I could see the residents from Apartment 13 lounging by the pool. I could hear Sophie from Apartment 36 yelling at her son, Lumber, to stop drawing on the walls. I could smell the sweet spices simmering in Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen's apartment, and I could almost taste her delicious beef pho. I could feel the slight breeze on my face as I gazed up at Cedar Creek towering over us.

  It was strange to think that this time next year, I could be standing at my window, staring down at this apartment complex, reminiscing of my time spent here. The residents, and the crimes, the arrests, and that one time Larry from Apartment 32 fell off the roof and tried to sue me. Then there was that one time I accidentally burned down the lobby. Chase and I had first met while I was sitting on the picnic table near the pool. He'd been working as the maintenance man at the time. I had practically combusted at the sight of him. He still had that effect on me. Which was why I dreaded the conversation we had to have.

  Back at my apartment, Lilly was watching Toy Story, and Amy was curled up on the couch with her phone. "This is seriously the best book, Cambria. You have to read it. It's like I'm reading your life, except it's super hot, and set on a different planet. We have to meet Reena tomorrow."

  "I'm planning on it."

  "I think I'll buy a paperback. I want to highlight scenes in case my agent scores me an audition."

  "Don't you think it's weird that Reena took off right after I talked to the old maintenance man?"

  "If the maintenance man is anything like Zork, then I doubt the two still talk."

  "Who the heck is Zork?"

  "He's the maintenance man at Borbank. The two are having a hot fling right now, but I'm fairly certain he's hooking up with a goatshifter in Apartment 7Z."

  "Right. OK. Anyway. I'll be right back."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Bathroom." I shut the door to my bedroom and locked it. My suitcase was still in my closet, filled with the clothes I'd taken with me on my trip. It would take me at least a week to unpack. If not longer.

  I first had to remove the giant elephant, and toss the stuffed animal across the room. Then I sat on the floor, unzipped the front pouch of my suitcase, and pulled out the little blue box. Inside was a simple, gold, solitaire diamond ring. I slipped it onto my finger and watched the way the light danced off the small diamond. I could barely handle being a mother, girlfriend, friend, and apartment manager. Could I handle being a wife?

  I wasn't so sure.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Easily adapts

  Anyway. I didn't have time to dwell on any potential engagements. It was Lilly's first day of school, and dropping her off was far more emotional than I anticipated.

  "Momma, why are you crying?"

  "Because you're so pretty. Just one more picture."

  Lilly held up her lunchbox and forced a smile. She had on the Munsters shirt with capri jeans, her hair in pigtails with big pink bows, and she sported a new pair of white Converse shoes. I took roughly two hundred pictures—stopped to erase a few because the memory on my phone was getting full—then took about two hundred more.

  "Take one of Lilly and me." I thrust my phone into Amy's hands, and crouched down next to my baby girl, and smiled. The Little People Preschool was a block away from my apartment, located in a purple building with pink shutters. The teachers were friendly, and welcoming, and none of them had warrants out for their arrest, criminal hits, or evictions on their records (Tom and I did the research). It was the perfect place for Lilly, which made the three hundred dollars a week for three days a little easier to swallow.

  "Daddy!" Lilly pushed me out of the way and bolted.

  Tom pulled his aviators from his face, and hugged our daughter with his good arm, kissing her on the forehead.

  "Why is Tom's arm in a sling?" Amy asked.

  "Long story."

  "Let me guess. You were with Chase, wrapped in a hot, passionate kiss, when Tom appeared. He grabbed Chase by the fur, a fight ensued, and the victor took you to bed."

  I gave her a look.

  "I'm getting way too into this book. But I'm thinking I should audition for Meola, Zankla's best friend. I could totally play the shape-shifting werewolf. Right?"

  "Totally," I said and waved to Tom. I'd been up all night imagining how this interaction would go, and the sight of him gave me an instant headache.

  "Hey, Cam." Tom sauntered up, holding Lilly by the hand. "Hello, Amy."

  "Tom," she said, giving him the once-over. "You look like crap."

  "Thanks. Hey, how'd your dancing competition go?" />
  "I'll wait in the car and read." Amy padded to the parking lot.

  "I really like razzing her," Tom said to me once Amy was out of earshot.

  "And she really hates it."

  "Thus, the reason I do it." He released his flirty side smirk and kissed me on the cheek. "OK, Cam, let's a take picture."

  "It's Cambria, and I already took around four hundred. I'll send them to you."

  "I need some of her and me." He handed me his phone, and I took another hundred pictures. Seeing Tom and Lilly side-by-side reminded me how much they looked alike. It's really hard when someone you love so much looks like someone who has the ability to drive you absolutely bonkers.

  About a thousand pictures later, we were ready to drop our little girl off at her very first day of preschool. As we opened the door and signed her in, the woman in the barrel came to my mind. Was the woman in the barrel a mother? Had she walked her own child to preschool? Was there a mother out there living in misery for the last twenty to thirty years, wondering where her daughter was?

  These were the questions I hoped to get to the bottom of today.

  Lilly darted right for the bin of blocks without so much as a "see you later" or an "I love you" or a "thank you for raising me." It killed me to think of Kevin's parents so easily dismissing their own child. You'd have to drag me away from mine. And the teacher practically did.

  "She'll be fine," Ms. Nicole assured us, ushering Tom and me to the door.

  "But—" I started to protest.

  "She'll have a great time. We'll see you at pickup." Ms. Nicole closed and locked the door.

  Tom and I pressed our faces against the window.

  "How can she just leave us like that?" I asked, wiping away a tear…or two.

  Fine, I was sobbing.

  "I don't know," Tom said.

  I looked up at him, his forehead pressed against the glass, eyes wet, and face stoic as he watched our little girl. The day I showed up on his doorstep and announced my pregnancy, he swore. He cried. He cursed. He sobbed. He got all lawyer-y on me and demanded a paternity test. Then he attached the F-word to a variety of different nouns. In that moment, I was fully prepared to raise our child on my own. Who would have thought this handsome playboy would have turned out to be a wonderful, supportive, doting father?

  Tom gazed down, his eyes locked on mine—hazel on blue. I felt a familiar twinge in my stomach. I'd spent so many years pining over this man, only to have my heart broken with each rejection, each new fling he'd bring home, each time he'd profess his feelings, only to pull back seconds later. I was so busy trying not to vomit on this emotional roller coaster he was taking me on that I'd never stopped to ask myself what would happen when the ride was over. What would happen if he gave up his playboy ways and wanted to settle down with me? What would happen if he reciprocated my feelings?

  I loved Tom. I knew I did. But I did not trust him. Not with my heart.

  "Bye." I rushed out the door.

  "Cam, wait." He grabbed my elbow and spun me around. I nearly head-butted his chest.

  Do not look him in the eyes, Cambria.

  Do not do it.

  Nothing good happened after direct eye contact. I'd learned that lesson the hard way.

  "No, Tom. I'm not rehashing anything…except, did you tell Lilly you wanted Chase to go away forever?"

  "No!"

  "You sure?"

  "Yes, I'm sure. Why does it matter? Chase can't possibly still be around after what happened."

  "Uh…I have to go."

  "Hold on." He still had me by the elbow. But it's not like I was making a great effort to get away.

  Note to self: Check if the new job comes with mental health benefits.

  Pretty sure I needed intense therapy rather than vision.

  "You told him, right?" Tom asked.

  "I gotta go," I said to his chest.

  "Don't run again."

  "Look, I don't have time for this. I have a huge work problem that I must deal with."

  "Did you not get the job at the complex next door?"

  "Not yet. They're still running my background check. Which is why I need to keep a low profile, and…well…" I launched into the entire story of the woman in the barrel. Might as well. He was bound to hear about it eventually. I did so without eye contract, staring directly at his clavicle.

  "How many murders do you plan to solve this year?" he asked.

  "It's not my fault people keep showing up dead. What am I supposed to do?"

  "Call the police, let them handle it, move on."

  Sound advice, I'd give him that. "It's not just about my job. This woman is at a medical examiner's office, and who knows how long it'll be before they're able to identify her. Even with the media's help. This could take years. I already have a few leads, and I really think I can help."

  Tom ran a hand through his hair. "What do you need me to do?"

  Oh. I hadn't expected him to offer. I was sure I'd need legal advice at some point during my investigation. Until then… "Pick Lilly up from school."

  "Got it." Tom cupped my cheek in the palm of his hand, and I directed my eyes to his chin. "I meant what I said when I gave you that ring."

  "The problem is, Tom, I don't know if you meant what you said. I think you freaked out, jumped on a plane, and made a rash decision."

  "It wasn't rash. I thought about it the entire plane ride over."

  "It's a thirty minute flight."

  "You can do a lot of thinking in thirty minutes. I meant every word I said. I do love you. I want to be together. I want to be a family. I want you in my life as more than the mother of my kid."

  "I'm not doing this again, Tom. Not now." I forced my legs to move and successfully managed to walk away.

  "That's fear talking. You know you can trust me, Cam," Tom called after me. "Otherwise you wouldn't have changed your mind!"

  I swung open the passenger side door of my car and crawled over Amy.

  "What did Tom just say?" she asked.

  "Nothing." I shoved the key into the ignition, pumped the gas a few times, reattached the rearview mirror, and we were off. I checked my watch. "Do you want to come with me to run an errand with Kevin?"

  "No, drop me at the bookstore. I want to grab the rest of the books in the series."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Excellent judge of character

  Downtown Los Angeles smelled like BO, smog, and pot. Lots and lots of pot. I pulled the collar of my shirt over my nose to keep from getting a secondary high while I crossed the street, following Kevin. We'd parked in a lot around the block. Cost me twenty bucks for the first hour, and five dollars every thirty minutes thereafter.

  Note to self: Should you not get the job at Cedar Creek, look into parking lot management.

  The office building was tall and blended in with the other ten high-rises on the street. We stepped into the air-conditioned lobby with about fifteen other people, all gathered around the elevators, staring at their phones.

  I clutched my bag and tried not to appear as anxious as I felt. I really, really hated elevators. And it wasn't the thought of plunging to my death, or being crammed up against strangers in a tiny box, or the possibility of being stuck in that tiny box crammed with strangers while dangling fifty feet above the ground by a thin cable, that made me nervous.

  It was all of the above.

  "You look like you're trying to hold in a fart," Kevin said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  "Leave me alone," I muttered through a smile.

  The elevator doors parted, and everyone pushed forward. I ended up face-to-face with a woman who had breakfast stuck between her front teeth. We avoided eye contact as the doors closed. I instantly ran through all the worst-case scenarios. Cable breaks. Earthquake hits. Fire. Flood. Medical emergency. Elevator stalls. The good news was, if we were to get stuck, I had a package of fish crackers in my purse, along with an orange juice box, two chocolate chip cookies, and a water bottle I could empty s
hould anyone need to relieve themselves.

  Note to self: You're neurotic.

  Up to the second floor we went. The elevator dinged and paused for a little too long.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  The doors finally parted, and I practically leapt out into the hallway.

  "Were you even listening to me?" Kevin asked.

  "Huh?"

  "I was talking to you the entire time. Telling you our plan."

  "Oh, sorry. I was preoccupied. What's the plan?"

  "OK, we're going to walk in."

  "Right."

  "And we're going to say hi to the receptionist."

  "Got it."

  "We're going to ask for Trevor."

  "OK."

  "Then we're going to ask Trevor if we can look at the archives."

  My shoulders dropped. "Are you kidding me? Patrick told me Trevor said no."

  "I can be very persuasive." He wiggled his hips in a circle.

  "Trevor is your cousin."

  "I know. Get your head out of the gutter."

  Oh, geez.

  The lobby of Trevor's office looked exactly as I pictured it would: bamboo trees, Buddha statues, no chairs—only overstuffed pillows, crystals (lots and lots of crystals), oil diffusers, and some sort of bell/guitar/flute melody playing in the background. Felt like I'd just stepped into a day spa, not the office of a man who managed millions and millions and millions of dollars' worth of real estate. While some might find his ways unprofessional, I found them refreshing.

  The receptionist had more piercings in her face than I could count, and she brought her hands together and bowed. So I bowed back.

  "Trevor in?" Kevin picked at his back teeth. "I'm Kevin McMills."

  "Did I hear Kevin?" Trevor stepped from behind a sheer folding partition. Trevor typically wore flannel shirts rolled up to his elbows to better show off the stack of rope bracelets tied around his hairy wrists. But today he had on a long white tunic. His dark hair was twisted into a bun on the top of his head. His beard was big and poufy and looked like pubic hair. His glasses were dark-rimmed and about two sizes too big for his face. "What are you doing here—oh!" Trevor's eyes landed on me. "You brought my favorite manager."