by GP Gardner
“Twenty what? Vacancies? Open the key box, Cynthia, and look at all the yellow and red tags. There are a lot more than twenty.”
She did it, distracted by the effort to get her story straight. I felt a little sympathy for her, but only a little.
She scanned the board and said, after a minute, “Thirty-six yellow tags. That’s a rough count.” Her voice cracked.
“Okay, now the red tags.”
“They’re in transition,” she said suddenly. “Not rented but not ready to rent. Maybe the painters haven’t finished.”
“Okay. And how many are there?”
“I see nine. If the box is up-to-date.”
I jotted her numbers on the edge of my paper and paused to add. Forty-five vacancies, compared to fifty-two on Emily’s list. Not a big discrepancy, but why should there be any difference? And I knew that at least three of the red-tagged units were actually rented—one to me and two to the students.
I raised my phone and snapped a few photos of the key box before she could close it again.
Cynthia had turned a pasty white. I wondered if I might not look a little different, too. I was surprised and sort of horrified I was enjoying this confrontation when it was obviously torture for her. Maybe I was executive material after all. I stood up.
“Here’s what I need, Cynthia.” I raised a finger as I said each item. “The number of rental apartments, the number currently rented, the number vacant and ready to rent and how many need to be prepared for rent. For any unit that’s empty but not ready to rent, give me the specifics. Building and unit number and what needs to be done to get it rentable. Be sure to include the units occupied by the students working at the hotel and any other units that fall into that category. Got it?”
I thought she might pass out. Or attack me.
I pressed on. “An hour, shall we say? If I’m out, you can leave your report with Patti.” I turned and walked out of her office on rubbery legs.
Patti was down the hall, standing at an open door and probing inside. It was the supply closet, and her left arm held a disorderly stack of legal pads, index cards, a box of tissues and a tape dispenser. In her right hand she gripped a stapler and a few pens.
“I have to make another trip.” She hadn’t looked at me.
“Let me help.” I still felt a little shaky, but it didn’t seem to be visible.
Patti gave me the stapler and pens. I looked into the closet and saw a jumble of office supplies, the same products Patti was holding, plus boxes of plain and hanging file folders in various colors, labels, name tags, letter trays, markers and old plug-in telephones. Everything you’d need to start an office supply store, but no spare computers. One item that caught my eye was sitting on the floor, beneath the bottom shelf. It was a square red lampshade with gold satin lining. I’d seen one like it in the lobby on my first visit to Harbor Village.
I touched the lampshade with the toe of my shoe.
“Pretty shade.”
“Hmm.” Patti peered over the armload of supplies. “Oh, is that from our parrot lamp? Did you ever ask the cops to bring it back? I hope somebody didn’t just walk off with it.”
She closed the door with her hip and hitched her load higher in her arms.
We walked around the corner and down the hallway toward my office.
“I’m afraid I just gave Cynthia a heart attack.”
“Good. How’d you do it?”
“I asked for a report on the rental status of all units.” I sighed. “Doesn’t sound like much work for the rental agent, does it? But Cynthia doesn’t seem to take orders well.”
“Probably the first time anybody ever gave her one. With Jamie in the Assisted Living building and Nelson in the witness protection program, Cynthia has been a real diva ever since she got here. Except for two days every month when the dragon lady showed up. Do I sound awful, calling her that when she’s dead?”
We went into my office. Patti dumped the supplies on the table and went out.
I added my items to the flow then sat at the desk, looked up a phone number and placed a call to the hotel at Point Clear. “Marjorie Zadnichek, please,” I said when someone answered.
After a brief delay, she answered in a breathy, musical voice.
“I’m Cleo Mack, calling from Harbor Village, about the students who’ve been staying with us.”
“I hope they haven’t caused any difficulties.” She sounded concerned.
“Not at all. They seem like very nice people. But I’ve just taken over the director’s job here and I’m hoping to save myself a search through old receipts. The students want their security deposits returned, and I need to be sure they paid the deposits personally, that it wasn’t something the hotel did on their behalf.”
“Oh, they told me they’d been to see you. It’s so nice of you, getting their checks ready before they leave. They’ve been the nicest employees we’ve ever had, and I hope they’ll all come back next summer. And yes, they paid the deposits themselves. Do you suppose we’ll be able to work out the same rental arrangement next year?”
“I’m too new on the job to answer that definitely. Who was your contact person here?”
“I think her name was…oh, she used to be a realtor. Cynthia something. From one of the old-time families.”
“Yes, I know her. Cynthia Quarles. But you’ll want to speak to me next spring, if you decide to call back. That’s assuming I don’t retire before then.”
“Oh, don’t do it,” Marjorie Zadnichek spoke with urgency. “Worst mistake of my entire life. That’s why I’m here, you see. I’ll tell you what. Come down and have lunch with me one day and I’ll talk you out of retirement. We’ll go to the Birdcage Lounge. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, even if you’re new in town. And you must join the League of Women Voters, too. Let’s get together soon. Do you have a free day next week?”
I promised to call her back in a few days. And it wasn’t just a stall; I actually looked forward to it. We hung up and I got one of the legal pads Patti had brought in and stapled my note with Marjorie’s name and phone number to a page. Call about lunch at the Birdcage, I wrote.
Patti came back with more supplies and laid out everything in an orderly fashion then began stowing things away in the desk drawers.
I got out of her way, stepping around the braided tree to look out the window. I wanted a look at the materials Travis’ assistant Yolanda was sending, but the rain was too heavy to walk to the apartment right now. I checked e-mail on my phone and saw that one message from Yolanda had just come in.
“Can I print something from my phone?”
Patti shook her head. “You don’t have a printer yet.”
“I mean, can I use your printer?”
“You could if I had one. I’m sharing with Deidra.”
I gave up without looking at Yolanda’s message.
“Here are some purchase forms.” She laid them in front of me. “Have you decided what computer you want?”
I hadn’t. In fact, I wondered if it were really a good idea to order a new computer, since it might not arrive before my one-month commitment ended. Maybe Harbor Village could buy a printer and I’d bring my own laptop every day? The weather outside at the moment made that seem like a bad idea. I didn’t think computers and water mixed well.
Cynthia looked in through the doorway. “I’ll come back later.”
“No, no, that’s fine.” I motioned her in.
“I’m just leaving. I think.” Patti looked at me for direction before scurrying around the desk and out, leaving the door open.
Cynthia sat in one of the armchairs. She had nothing in her hands, no paper, no notes, no report. She stalled, crossing her legs and placing her fingertips together carefully then looked at me and flashed a toothpaste smile. “I’m so glad you’re aware of the little rental problem we’ve ha
ving. I’ve been wondering what I should do about it.”
“Yes?” I waited, as noncommittal as possible. No doubt she would claim she’d been on the verge of reporting it.
She arched her eyebrows and smiled again, waiting.
I didn’t step in.
“Since there’s no clear line of authority…” She paused. “I decided to let the problem work itself out, you know? And it looks as though that’s happening, so maybe it won’t be necessary to do anything. Jamie’s gone and the students are leaving. What do you think we should do?”
“How did you hear that the students are leaving?”
“Oh, I forget. Just in the course of business.”
“And when did you first report this problem?”
“Well, as I said, there wasn’t anybody in charge. So…” She shrugged.
Both Jamie and Lee had been in charge and everybody knew it.
“Do you have the unit report ready for me?”
“Oh, I don’t have anything yet. I wanted to be sure I understood exactly what you want. This may be a simple job or it may take a while, and I didn’t want to go off on a…a misunderstanding, you know?”
“Let’s keep it simple.” I pulled the legal pad around and jotted down the essence of my categories, leaving room for her to insert the answers. “Here’s a template. Just write the numbers in. How long do you think that will take? Can I get the list before we leave for the day?”
“I’ll try.”
She got up quickly, took the sheet of paper I’d written on and left the office.
She had to be involved. If not, how would she know which units got a red tag? How would she know not to rent my unit to the next person to walk in?
I was willing to bet she’d just tried to reach Jamie by phone, to get their stories coordinated. Jamie was certainly involved. After all, who arranged my rental and warned me not to mention it to HR? Who wrote up two leases over the weekend? Whose signature was on the students’ receipts?
But another thought occurred to me. If Jamie left Saturday and the building was sealed off all weekend, how did those leases get onto Emily’s desk? Was there anything else Jamie might’ve done while she was in here alone?
I needed to talk with Travis, but he wouldn’t be available for a few more days. And I couldn’t wait that long.
I walked out to Patti’s desk and asked if she’d seen Chief Boozer.
“He was outside earlier.”
“If he comes back, I need to talk with him.”
Patti looked curious but didn’t ask questions.
I closed my office door and sat at the table, finally going through the receipt book Emily had retrieved from Jamie’s desk. The first receipt, numbered 001, was dated January eighth. So there might be another book, or books, from last year.
The final two receipts were dated a few days ago and made out to me, one for my deposit and the last one, numbered 061, my first month’s rent.
I turned through the receipt copies rapidly. About half were made out for three hundred fifty dollars, covering deposits and rent payments for the students. The highest amount I saw was two thousand dollars. I didn’t take time to add up the dollar amounts but estimated it at sixty thousand dollars. The rent scam business wasn’t just pocket change.
I was still looking at the receipts when someone knocked at the office door. I closed the book and covered it with a folder before I went to the door.
It was Chief Boozer. “Hello there. You’re looking for me? Got time for a cup of coffee? I thought we might find one in that dining room down the hall.”
“Good idea. I don’t know if anyone’s still there, but let’s find out.”
I put the receipt book in my desk drawer, hesitated, and took it out again. No sense in taking chances with it at this point. I dropped it into my handbag, which I hung over my shoulder.
Out in the hall, Jim Bergen was leaning on his cane and flirting with Patti.
She wiggled her fingers beside purple eyeglasses and giggled. “I have six different colors to match my nails.”
Jim and I traded smiles that said we both found her adorable, and I told Patti, “If Cynthia brings a report for me, she can leave it with you. I’ll be back before you leave.”
“Okay.” Patti’s eyes sparkled, probably at the opportunity to needle Cynthia. “Remember to ask about the lamp.”
“Oh, right. I will.”
Jim, Chief Boozer and I walked through the lobby to the dining room. It was late but Carla and Lizzie were still there, along with Ann, Ada and Gloria. Ann kept knitting without looking at her hands but they stopped talking and stared at us.
“Chief,” Ann greeted him. “Have you found the murderer yet? People want to know.”
“You wouldn’t want to rush the investigation and ruin it, would you?”
She laughed. “Well, I’m locking my door until you give us a signal.”
“I still have your cookie plate,” I told Gloria.
“I know where it is if I need it.” She gave me a sweet smile. If we had a Christmas program, she had to be Mrs. Claus.
Ann asked Jim, “Did you smell the cookies baking? Did they grab you by the nose and pull you right across the street?”
He laughed good-naturedly, eyeing the cookies spread out on wire cooling racks on the back counter. I saw oatmeal with raisins or nuts or both and chocolate with a drizzle of white icing.
The women were baking for the political forum, but they were delighted to have us sample the merchandise. Lizzie went to start a fresh pot of coffee while Ann made up three small plates, each one with a sample of flavors.
“We’re not going to get in your way,” Chief Boozer promised them, hinting for a little privacy.
“No. We’ve got business to discuss,” Jim said.
The problem was he wanted cookies, too, and the cookies were with the people. “How about we take this booth back in the corner?” He gestured toward the booth nearest the cookie racks.
“I like this one.” Chief Boozer was already at the opposite end of the dining room, turning one of the little tables in front of the window.
I settled the question by joining him and Jim wasn’t far behind me.
We talked about the rain first. Boozer mentioned minor accidents around town.
Jim seemed impatient with small talk. He looked at me. “What have you learned?”
“More problems.” I didn’t elaborate.
He grinned.
Chief Boozer took a sip of coffee. “We sent two detectives to Charleston and nobody’s there. McKenzie is driving to Houston. Jamie Barnes could’ve gone with him but didn’t. She waited and flew out this morning. By the time we can get to Houston, they’ll be holding a memorial service, and I don’t like to interrupt that. And when it’s over, they’ll hit the road again. Meanwhile, here we sit with multiple suspects, no clear motive and no murder weapon.” He looked at each of us in turn. “That pretty well sums it up.”
Jim asked, “What about motive?”
Boozer shrugged. “The answers are going to be right here.” He tapped on the tabletop. “Harbor Village. So I thought I’d come have a cup of coffee and see if anything jumps out at me.”
“Well, I haven’t seen anything jumping out, but there’s something I’m trying to drag out. I haven’t talked with Travis yet, but you’re going to inherit this at some point, I’m sure.”
Chief Boozer gave a little wave, giving me the floor.
“First, before I forget, I’m supposed to ask when we can get our lamp back.”
“What lamp is that?”
“The one from the lobby. Shaped like a parrot.”
He shook his head. “I’ll check on it.”
“The bad news is, we’ve got an embezzlement problem. A few apartments are being rented off the books, including mine. The rent money
isn’t coming into the Harbor Village account.”
“Uh-oh,” Jim said. “That could be serious. Connected to the murder?”
“I don’t think so.” I hadn’t really thought about it. What would the connection be?
Boozer was waiting for details, looking at me and bouncing his fingers silently on the table. I told them about the Russian students wanting their deposits back and Emily saying she hadn’t received any funds from them all summer.
“And you have confidence in her,” Jim asked. “That’s the most likely scenario, the bookkeeper juggling funds. Is she the redhead?”
“Yes. She’s young but seems to be honest.”
“Maybe there are multiple accounts,” the chief proposed. “One she doesn’t know about. Have you looked?”
“She says there’s only one checking account and the bank agrees. But I did learn something, by accident. I called the bank to see about getting added to the account. I guess the message was garbled somehow and the manager picked up thinking I was Jamie Barnes. He asked if I was calling about the Harbor Village account or the Ferrell account.”
The chief’s brows went up. “And the students are paying into the Ferrell account?”
“Exactly. And so am I, for my apartment rental. But since it’s not a Harbor Village account, I don’t have the authority to check on it. The banker wouldn’t have told me anything, except for the mix-up about who was calling.” I pulled out the receipt book and dropped it on the table.
“I sent the bookkeeper to assisted living to get this out of Jamie’s desk. It has receipts for this year, beginning in January. I haven’t added it up, but it looks like sixty or seventy thousand dollars. There are receipts at the right time periods, and in the right amounts, to match the Russian students. And my two checks are the last ones listed.” I opened it to the right spot. “I left my checks in the office Thursday, for Jamie to pick up.”
Chief Boozer picked up the receipt pad and fanned through it. “Anybody involved besides Jamie? Pretend I said allegedly.”
“Michelle is Jamie’s shadow, so she might be involved. And I think our rental agent, Cynthia Quarles, has to be in on it, too. She’s the contact person for rentals and has to know not to rent apartments that are already occupied off the books. Marjorie Zadnichek, at the Grand, said Cynthia was the person she talked with about putting their student workers here. If she didn’t know how their rent was paid, she was negligent.”