Belle forced thoughts of the near-kiss from her mind. She attempted to focus on her surroundings. She glanced curiously at the complex. It appeared it was two stories high, and she saw the first floor units boasted crisp back lawns encased in white picket fences. Many of the tiny lawns reflected a definite pride of ownership, since most were adorned with flowering plants of every type and color. She looked upward and saw the second story units boasted balconies, which were also crisply painted and well-cared for.
“What do you see?” Dare asked her, catching her gaze.
She swallowed. “Well, I see an upscale apartment complex, with tenants who clearly care about their homes.”
He nodded with apparent satisfaction. “We should go.”
“Where are we going now?” she asked curiously.
“You’ll see.”
Soon they were back in his car and driving to a second apartment complex. When they pulled into the parking lot, she noted this complex resembled the other, and was just as well-kept. There were perhaps fewer units here, but she spied a pool at this location, whereas the other didn’t have one.
The couple spent a few moments walking around. “What do you think?” Dare asked her.
“It’s nice,” she told him. “Are you thinking of moving in? And if so, we really shouldn’t be apartment shopping during work hours.”
“I’m not looking for an apartment, Belle,” he said with a rueful glance in her direction. “Okay, then, let’s go.”
Back in the car, she turned toward him. “Dare, exactly what are we doing?”
“Sit tight. I’ll explain very soon.” They drove off again.
She relaxed in the seat, but suddenly sat upright when she spied the apartment complex Rosaria Rodriguez currently resided in. Called Elm Place, it was a massive monstrosity in Belle’s view, reminding her of a hospital or institution.
When he pulled into the parking lot that bordered the u-shaped, boxy structures, she sighed heavily. “It’s just plain ugly,” she observed, and he nodded in agreement.
“Indeed, this place is nothing like the two complexes we just came from. Let’s get out and have a look,” he suggested.
Belle didn’t particularly want to stroll the grounds. There simply wasn’t much to look at. The building had been painted an institutional grey, and she suspected Biggs must have secured a deal on the ugly paint to have selected such a depressing color.
“Belle, do you recall Rosaria’s apartment number?” Dare inquired.
“Seven,” she told him. “She’s on the first floor, east entrance.”
He nodded and once again gently took her elbow. He led her toward Rosaria’s apartment. In order to get to her place, they entered a dark, tunnel like interior hallway. They found her apartment four doors down and on the right.
“Are we stopping by?” Belle asked curiously.
He nodded. “Yes.”
She followed him to the door. He knocked, glancing around with a scowl on his face as he waited for Rosaria to answer. He snared Belle’s gaze. “It’s so dark and oppressive in this hallway.”
She nodded. “The airs feels thick with moisture. I’d guess there’s mold somewhere nearby.”
When Rosaria opened the door, her cheerful countenance was a stark contrast to their grim faces. The woman grinned widely when she saw them.
“Hello, hello! Come in,” she called cheerfully, stepping aside to allow them in.
Immediately Belle saw the interior of the unit was as unattractive as the exterior. Clearly Rosaria had attempted to enliven the space with color, but there was little she could do to spruce up the walls, which were as grey as the exterior walls. Tenants weren’t allowed to paint, so they were stuck with the color. She suspected the commercial-type grey flooring material throughout the space had to have been purchased based on cost considerations rather than for aesthetics.
“How are you, Rosaria?” Belle asked. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
“It’s so nice to see you both, as well,” she said, smiling widely. She turned to Dare. “How are you, Mr. Jamison?”
“I’m doing well. Belle and I thought we’d stop by to see how you’re doing. Is everything going all right? Have you finally spoken to Mr. Biggs?”
“I’m doing very well,” she told them, beaming. “And yes, Mr. Biggs has visited me finally, and things are looking much better for my family and me.”
Belle shot Dare a quizzical glance, and then turned back to Rosaria. “What do you mean, Rosaria?”
“I will be moving soon,” she declared with a wide smile. “Mr. Biggs has found me a wonderful new apartment. Such a nice man,” she added.
Belle turned to Dare briefly, a confused expression on her face. She shook her head. “Rosaria, you’re moving?”
“We all are,” she said happily, clasping her hand together. “Mr. Biggs has found all the tenants better places to live, and at the same rent we are paying here. I will be moving not this weekend but the next. Mr. Biggs says we can no longer live here on account of the pipes and because the weather will turn cold in a few short months. Such a nice man,” she reiterated. “Oh, of course we must drop the lawsuit against him. Such a sweet man…” she mused.
Dare raked a hand through his hair, watching her curiously. “Rosaria, when did you last speak to Mr. Biggs?”
“Early yesterday, when he brought the water by.”
“What water?” he asked, shooting Belle a bewildered glance.
“Come,” she instructed, and they followed her to a small broom closet in the hallway just off the kitchen. She opened the door and they saw several cases of drinking water. “See, we have water to drink—all of us—until Mr. Biggs brings the moving trucks in a week.”
Belle caught Dare’s gaze, shaking her head in confusion. What exactly was happening here?
“Rosaria,” he said. “Do you happen to have a number where we can reach Mr. Biggs?”
“Sure, sure,” she told them. She hurried to her refrigerator and slid her hand along the top. “Here it is,” she said, passing Dare a business card. “Will you write the number down?” she asked him. “I must keep the card. Mr. Biggs said if I need anything, I am to call him.”
He copied the number and passed the card back to Rosaria. “It’s been good seeing you,” he said. “But we should be going. We’ll be in touch.”
“Yes. Good. We will talk soon,” she said with a cheerful grin. “You both must come see me at my new apartment.”
They stepped into the hallway and Rosaria closed the door behind them. “What was that all about?” Dare wondered aloud.
Belle shook her head. “I don’t have a clue.”
“Oh, we do have clues,” he said somewhat mysteriously as they began walking down the long hallway and outside to the parking lot. He paused and turned to her. “We definitely have clues…”
“What do you mean?” she asked, coming to a stop.
“Belle, tell me your impressions of the two apartment complexes we visited before coming to this one.”
She glanced around her, simultaneously reaching a hand up to smooth her hair. A slight breeze blew, and she turned her face to it briefly, before turning back to him. “Uh, well, the first two were upscale, well-kept. The grounds were lovely. Clearly the tenants take pride in their homes.”
He nodded. “There are several more just like those in neighborhoods throughout town,” he informed.
“Really?”
He nodded and snared her gaze. He suddenly looked deadly serious, and something about the intense look in his eyes caused a slight flutter in her chest. “It happens the complexes are not upscale, but in reality, are low income housing units. They’re some of the nicest I’ve ever seen,” he added.
Belle nodded. She had to agree.
“Jacob Biggs built them,” Dare said succinctly.
She gasped.
“And this complex, Belle,” he prompted. “what are your impressions of this one?”
She felt a sick, sinking
feeling in the pit of her stomach as she turned to study the massive structure.
“Go on,” he urged. “What are you thinking?”
She swallowed over a lump in her throat. “The complex is hideous—an obvious attempt to squeeze as many low income families into one tight, depressive space as possible.” She sighed loudly and he nodded, encouraging her to continue. “Fortunately, as yet, this place isn’t anywhere near capacity. I, uh, suspect the people who have actually moved in did so because there simply wasn’t anyplace else for them.”
“What do you see, Belle?”
She sighed. “I see a complex nothing like the others Jacob Biggs built. And … I suspect there may be a logical explanation for that, and … I suspect that had I done a bit more digging, I’d have figured it out. He didn’t build this one, did he?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then who? And if not him, why is he taking on the responsibility of finding Rosaria and the other tenants new homes?”
“I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.” He watched her intently for several long seconds. “We should go.”
Back in his car, Belle watched him. She noted his mouth was compressed in a hard line, and his eyes narrowed, as if he were deep in thought.
“Dare, can I see that slip of paper you wrote Biggs’ phone number on?” she asked.
He pulled it from his pocket and passed it to her. She studied the number, noting Dare had also written down Biggs’ address. She didn’t recognize either, and since she had a veritable photographic memory for numbers, knew for certain these had not been the phone number and address she had on file for Biggs.
She sighed loudly. “I should have dug deeper.” And then it hit her that Dare had managed a face-to-face meeting with Biggs within days of arriving on the job, when all communication she’d had with the man had been through phone messages and correspondence. Biggs had systematically rejected every attempt she’d made to meet with him, citing scheduling conflicts each time—or rather, someone had rejected her attempts.
Belle remembered Biggs had told Dare he’d never been contacted by her, or Rosaria. “I should have searched for an alternative phone number and address,” she mused aloud. “How could I have missed it?”
Dare glanced at her briefly. “If Biggs, or whoever, hadn’t actually responded to your inquiries, you would have. Since you did get responses via the phone and correspondence, what reason did you have to seek a different number or address?” he said reasonably.
“I just … should have.” She sat quietly for a moment, racking her brain. “Maybe I do need a vacation,” she said finally. “Maybe I really do.”
Chapter Twelve
Dare steered his car alongside the curb in front of Belle’s house and parked. He turned to her. “Would you stop beating yourself up? We don’t know what is going on at this point. We certainly don’t know you made any mistakes with the case, if that’s what you’re thinking. And, if you did,” he was quick to add, “you are only human, after all. We’ll sort it out,” he said cheerfully.
Belle turned to him with agonized eyes. “I don’t … make mistakes.”
He chuckled, and then smoothed a hand through his hair before turning to study her for several long seconds. He finally extended a hand to her. “Wow! It’s good to meet you, Miss Perfection. No mistakes? I’ve never met anyone else on earth like you.”
“Well, that’s probably true,” she said with a disgusted snort. “I don’t mean to suggest I’m perfect, it’s just…”
“What?” he prompted with a chuckle.
“On the job, I’m usually pretty thorough.”
He nodded, smiling into her eyes. “I’ve seen your files, and I have to agree, you are painstakingly thorough.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Why would Biggs accept responsibility for something he apparently didn’t…?”
Dare raised a hand to silence her. “Who knows? Stop worrying about it. We’ll get to the bottom of it. There’s a logical explanation. There always is. And now that we know we have some sleuthing to do, we’ll get it done. No worries, Belle,” he said, smiling and cocking his head to catch her gaze. “No worries.”
She returned his smile in spite of herself. “I’ll do some digging and see what I can find out.”
“Belle, it’s Friday. Leave it for Monday. Better yet, leave it to me.”
“You don’t think I can handle it,” she accused. “You think I’ve lost my edge…”
“No, I think you’ve lost your mind,” he quipped.
She shot him a dirty look and he laughed.
“I do not think you’ve lost your edge. You’re Belle the Bulldog, remember?” He flashed a quick grin, but abruptly sobered. “I do think, however, that you might want to take to heart the recommendation of your boss and friends that you relax and enjoy a well-earned vacation.” He checked his watch. “I have to go.”
She ignored the vacation comment. “Shall I call you at work after I’ve spent some time digging?”
“I won’t be there. I’m leaving at two.”
“Really? That won’t give you much time on the case.”
“As I said before, there’s always Monday. At least we can go into the weekend knowing Rosaria and her fellow tenants are well stocked with drinking water and are readying for a move.” Suddenly, he furrowed his brow. “I wonder where they’re moving to. We should have asked her. Ten to one, she’ll soon be settled into a complex much like the two you and I visited earlier.”
“I hope so,” Belle said, happy at least that the woman would soon be out of Elm Place.
She climbed out of the car then, turning back to catch Dare’s gaze. “I’ll see you later.”
He grinned. “If I don’t see you before, remember, I’ll be at your place eight ‘o clock sharp Sunday morning.”
She took a deep, haggard breath. “I don’t know if I’m up for a trip to the beach.”
“What? You’re going all right. I kept my part of the bargain—today. You’ll keep your part—Sunday.” His blue eyes twinkled as he waited for her response.
She sighed. “Okay, although I can’t promise I’ll be very good company.”
***
Back in her house, Belle quickly checked on the dogs and the kitten. She let the dogs out back and watched Tri dash away to pick up a ball he’d left nearby the apple tree earlier. He trotted over to her and dropped the ball at her feet, attempting to engage her in a game of fetch. She just wasn’t up to it. “Sorry, boy. Maybe later,” she told him.
The tiny kitten was curled up in a tight ball in Tri’s dog house and Belle decided to leave her there. She went back inside, heading to her room to change out of her work clothes. She tugged the clip out of her hair and the golden strands tumbled onto her shoulders. She combed a hand through it as she went to her dresser and found a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. After slipping into her casual attire, she headed for her small office downstairs.
She flipped on the computer and leaned back in her chair. With a sigh, she watched the PC come to life. She knew she could find out just about anything she needed to know about Biggs by utilizing any number of Internet search engines. She decided to Google his name, and was about to type it in when her phone rang.
“Hello.”
“GET OFF THE COMPUTER!” a deep voice boomed. An apparently all-knowing voice emanating from her phone gave her a momentary pause, until she heard Dare chuckling.
“How did you know I’d be on my computer?” she asked.
“Where else would you be?”
“You haven’t really known me long enough to decide I’m so predictable,” she said in a droll voice.
“Oh, you’re predictable all right. I’m not kidding. Get off the computer. You’re on vacation, remember?
“But…”
“If I have to extract a promise from you, I’m not above doing so. Okay, I’m doing it. Promise me you won’t go on the computer today.”
“Dare…” she groaned.
&
nbsp; “Promise me. Today you need to relax. Hey, why don’t you try your hand at simply being again?” She heard his deep, throaty chuckle on the end of the line. “But maybe you should simply be—inside, rather than outside. I’d hate for you to go into another trance, without adult supervision.”
Belle wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
“Promise?” he prompted. “Belle?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll log off.” She’d stay off of the computer today, but there was always tomorrow…
“Okay, I have to go. Be talking to you,” he said.
“Uh huh.”
She hung up the phone and with a heavy sigh, padded into her living room. She glanced around. What to do? She needed something to keep her mind off the case, and the realization that she might very well have made some mistakes in her handling of it.
Her eyes lighted on the large armoire opposite the sofa. Behind its doors was a television she hadn’t watched for several months. She just didn’t have the time to sit around watching TV. But it seemed time was about all she had these days.
She opened the doors, exposing the large screen, and reached for the remote on a shelf above the set. She aimed it at the screen, and the TV seemed to flicker to life slowly, as if coming out of hibernation. Belle dropped onto her couch, put her feet up on the coffee table, and began channel surfing.
After several minutes of indecisiveness, she finally settled on a soap opera. She had never watched soaps before, but recalled Lacey often tivo’d her favorites to watch after she got off work each afternoon.
Initially, as she watched, she practically rolled her eyes with disbelief at each bit of high drama on the screen, but curiously, she soon found herself drawn into a storyline.
In the current soap, some poor woman had developed a case of amnesia while in the jungle—why she was in a jungle, Belle could only hazard a guess—and the unfortunate soul had fallen for a guerilla in some equally unfortunate war torn country. She had married the man, but lo and behold, had come out of her amnesia and realized she had a husband and several children back home in the states. The woman had attempted to escape her jungle life and her new husband—well muscled, and with a handsome, chiseled, camouflaged face—but to no avail.
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