by Mary Maxwell
When I reached the first room, I glanced quickly through the open door. It looked like the aftermath of a violent storm or argument; clothing everywhere, a wicker chair on its side, an uncovered mattress speckled with unfortunate stains. On the opposite side of the hallway, the opening revealed a bathroom with turquoise tile, a dark blue plastic shower curtain and mounds of damp towels on the floor.
“It’s clear,” I whispered to Viveca before moving forward.
When we reached the second bedroom, I stopped and held my breath to listen. There was a muffled scratching coming from the other side of the door.
And then the irritated and very loud cry of an angry cat.
“My money’s on Bad Dog,” I said, turning to Viveca and putting away my gun. “That’s the name, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “The poor thing’s probably hungry.”
“Sounds about right.” I turned the knob, cracked the door and peered into the opening. I saw a small orange tabby with one snaggletooth and four white paws. “I’d say he’s hungry and pretty peeved.”
When I opened the door a few more inches, the cat suddenly lurched from where it was huddled on the floor and rocketed into the hallway. Viveca screamed, I heaved myself out of the way and we both scurried back toward the living room.
“The door’s still open!” I cried. “We should close it before he escapes.”
But it was too late. By the time we reached the front of the apartment, there was no sign of Bad Dog. I followed Viveca into the corridor and down the stairs. Just as we hit the second floor, a woman came toward us with the wayward feline in her arms. Her hair was a tumble of dark curls with one bright white streak above her left eye. She was wearing a short silk kimono, black gladiator sandals and a pair of red mesh basketball shorts.
“You guys looking for this?” she said.
“Oh, yes!” Viveca gushed, scurrying toward the stranger. “We thought maybe he’d get out through the downstairs door and be lost forever.”
The woman smiled. “Not a chance! He’s too dependent on canned tuna and kitty massages.”
I resisted the urge to laugh, but she could tell from my face that I was amused by the last bit of information.
“I know, right?” She rolled her eyes. “After Timothy moved in and I heard Bad Dog yowling, I went upstairs immediately and told him the poor little guy just needed his chakras balanced and his energy pathways opened.”
As a raucous laugh flew out of my mouth, the woman shrugged and offered the cat to Viveca. When she made no attempt to take the little creature, the dark-haired stranger tucked him under one arm and scratched behind his ears.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to make fun. It’s just that I’ve never heard about cats getting New Age treatments.”
“Oh, totally,” the woman said. “I live in the apartment right below Tim’s.” She nodded at a door that was decorated with miniature Tibetan prayer flags and a Grateful Dead poster. “I’m his girlfriend.”
I glanced at Viveca, but she had her eyes glued to the other woman.
“You’re Delilah?” she said in disbelief.
The other woman put one hand on her hip. “That’s me!”
“Well, I’m Tim’s sister,” Viveca said. “And I’m—”
Delilah’s face lit up with a massive smile. “Are you seriously? I’ve heard so much about you. All of the funny stories about your Barbie collection and the wood chipper and—”
“Is Tim at your place?” Viveca asked.
“No,” Delilah answered. “He’s at band rehearsal until probably midnight or something.”
I watched as Viveca processed the information, hoping that she would find some comfort in the fact that Tim was carrying on with business as usual.
“Does he have his phone with him?” she asked Delilah.
The other woman shrugged. “I guess so. I haven’t tried to call since he left.”
Viveca nodded. “Okay, so…” Her gaze drifted to the floor and the thought went unfinished.
Delilah looked at me. “Are you part of the family, too?”
I shook my head. “My name’s Kate,” I said. “I’m Viv’s neighbor up in Crescent Creek.”
“Okay, that’s cool.”
An uncomfortable silence slithered around us as Viveca’s lips began moving silently. It seemed like she was working something out about her brother, so I figured it was a good time to engage Delilah in conversation.
“How long have you and Tim been going out?” I asked.
“It feels like forever,” she answered. “Even though I just moved in a couple of months ago. It was right before Tim’s band did that gig in Dallas. The one where a reporter from Rolling Stone caught their first set and wrote a glowing blurb in the magazine.” She paused to beam proudly, revealing a small diamond in one tooth. “But my tarot card reader believes that Timothy and I were together in a previous life.”
Viveca grunted derisively. “Like when he lived in Austin?”
Delilah didn’t crack a smile. She was dead serious about the mystical connection that she shared with Viveca’s brother.
“I should take Bad Dog upstairs,” Delilah announced. “Then I can tell you more about our past lives if you’re interested.” She shrugged and grinned. “Let me just close my door real quick.”
When neither Viveca nor I said a word, Delilah returned to her apartment. Through the open door, I caught a quick glimpse: an austere living room with an ornate wood and brass coat rack just inside the front door. The rack was empty with the exception of a floppy black hat and multicolored patchwork coat. The hat had a large feather tucked under the plaid fabric band that ran along the brim. Remember what Rodney always said, I told myself as I smiled. Catch every detail. Don’t miss a thing.
“Suits her, doesn’t it?” Viveca asked in a hushed voice when she noticed the bohemian getup.
I nodded, but kept my mouth zipped.
After Delilah closed and locked her door, she twirled around, flashed a wide smile and headed for the stairs.
“Okay, Bad Dog,” she said in a singsong tone. “Back upstairs, buster!” She looked over at us. “You guys wanna come with?”
Viveca was right on her heels. “Yes,” she said, giving me a quick look. “Don’t we, Kate?”
I nodded and stepped into line, trudging back up the steps and down the hallway without another word.
“Here you go, big kitty,” said Delilah as we walked into Tim’s place again. “Why don’t we get you situated in your room with some fresh water and a new bowl of Meow Mix?”
Even though the woman came off as ditzy and dubious, it seemed that she really liked Tim’s irritated cat. I stayed in the living room while she and Viveca escorted Bad Dog to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. When they returned, I asked Delilah to tell us how she met Tim.
“In this lifetime?” she asked gravely. “Or the previous one?”
“Take your pick,” I said, tossing a quick wink at Viveca. “We’ve got all night.”
Delilah casually strolled across the room and perched on the arm of an upholstered chair that looked like it had seen better days. “Well, I was coming in from Wild Oats with two enormous bags of organic produce,” she explained, holding both of her pale, slender arms up to reenact the scene. “My acupuncturist had recommended that I try a better diet, so I threw away all of my Jenny Craig and bought a bunch of leafy green things. You know, like kale, Swiss chard, bok choy.”
“Sounds awful,” Viveca said, taking a seat at the end of the shabby brown plaid sofa. “But what’s that got to do with my brother?”
“Well, as you must know,” Delilah said, arching one eyebrow, “Timothy is a very polite man. As I stood outside the main door downstairs, struggling to turn the knob without dropping my groceries, he came up from behind and offered to give me a hand.”
“Chivalry is not dead,” I offered from where I stood near the windows. “I take it this was after Tim had started subleasing his place fro
m Toby?”
Delilah nodded vigorously. “A couple of weeks after he moved in,” she said. “Although I certainly didn’t think it was a smart romantic choice once I heard him arguing with the guy that lived across the hall. I mean, they were going at it so viciously that I thought somebody might end up dead.” Her mouth gaped open as she realized the irony of her remark. “Oh, g-g-gosh,” she sputtered. “I didn’t mean that literally or anything. Especially after what happened with Tim’s neighbor the other day.”
“What were they fighting about?” I asked.
Delilah snickered nervously before her glossy red lips lifted into a crooked grin. “I have no idea,” she said. “But I can tell you one thing for a fact.” Her eyes fixed on Viveca and the grin blossomed into a bright smile. “That brother of yours has got himself one pretty fierce temper. And I’m determined to do everything in my power to get him to keep calm and carry on.”
CHAPTER 10
I watched Viveca while she kept her eyes pinned to Delilah’s smile. The room was quiet for a few seconds as I tried to decide if I should ask a question or wait. In the end, there was no need for either.
“I’m just pulling your leg!” Delilah suddenly blurted. “He and Delmar were arguing about football that time I heard them in the hall. Timothy would never hurt anybody.”
Viveca sighed softly. “That’s not what the police think. It really seems like they suspect that he did kill the guy.”
Delilah’s mouth slid into a frown. “Do you really think so?”
“Unfortunately,” Viveca said.
“That’s horrible.” The other woman’s body went limp and she slid over the arm of the chair and into the cushion like buttercream frosting melting in the summer sun. “Tim didn’t tell me a word about that,” she added. “Maybe he was trying to keep me from getting too worried or something.”
“Delilah?” I said, casually smoothing a wrinkle on my sleeve. “What’s Delmar’s last name?”
She glanced over and shrugged. “Not really sure,” she said. “Sanders? Singer?” She threw up both hands and giggled. “Do I look like the kind of girl that would be interested in a dumpy guy like that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you?”
The jittery expression on her face made it obvious that she wasn’t sure if I was being serious or joking. To put her mind at ease, I slipped in a follow-up to remove any doubt.
“What kind of girl is interested in dumpy guys?”
In an instant, her eyes narrowed and the muscles in her jaw tightened. “How should I know? I’m Timothy’s girlfriend.” She lifted her chin slightly. “Remember?”
I ignored the glib remark, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand by asking Delilah if she knew where we could find Viveca’s brother.
“Did you call him?” she asked.
Viveca explained that he wasn’t answering his phone.
“Then maybe just leave a note over there.” She gestured at the cluttered kitchen counter.
“That’s what I do whenever I can’t get him to answer and he isn’t home.”
“Did he tell you where he was going?” I said as Viveca got up and walked to the counter.
Delilah leaned against the back of the chair. “We’ve got plans to go hear some music tonight. He better get his butt back in time for the late show.”
“Who’s playing?” I said.
She blinked. “What?”
“You just mentioned that you and Tim are going out tonight.”
She giggled again. “Oh, that’s right. Uh, it’s a band from Boulder. Nobody you’d know.”
“What club?” I asked.
The squinty, evasive expression reappeared on her face. “Ah, it’s the…um…” She swallowed and brushed one hand across her face. “Sorry, I’m kind of spaced from the lack of sleep. We’re going to Mercury Café. Do you know it? They have belly dance classes on Monday. Maybe you guys should check it out sometime.”
I looked over to see if Viveca heard the suggestion, but she was rummaging through the pizza boxes, magazines and unopened mail on the counter.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling at Delilah. “But what’s the name of the band tonight?”
Her face went rigid. “Jeez, dude! What is this—the Spanish Imposition or something?”
Between the increased volume and irritable edge, Delilah’s coarse comment brought Viveca back into the conversation.
“What did I miss?” she asked, walking toward the sofa.
“Twenty questions,” Delilah snapped. “Your friend here seems to be super interested in what Timothy and I are doing tonight.”
Viveca nodded. “What are you doing?”
Delilah’s jaw tightened again. “We’re going to Lost Lake Lounge,” she said. “It’s up on Colfax if you want to check it out. There’s a band from Boulder playing. They’re called Moonglow Heaven.” She paused and brushed her face again. “They do mostly reggae and blues,” she said in a calmer tone. “Although, to be honest, you two don’t look like the kind of girls who are into that kind of thing.”
CHAPTER 11
“What was that supposed to mean?” Viveca hissed. “‘You two don’t look like the kind of girls who are into that kind of thing.’ I mean, she’s one to talk, don’t you think?”
It was twenty minutes later and we were back in the BMW, heading to the Denver PD offices on Cherokee Street. As we left Tim’s apartment, I’d called Adam Caldwell, the detective that Trent suggested I talk to about the situation. He told me that he was at police headquarters for a meeting and could spare a few minutes if we got there in the next half hour.
“I mean, my brother has never mentioned that Delilah’s a total flake,” Viveca added. “And I can’t believe that he’d ever date anybody so judgmental.” Her hands were squeezing the steering wheel with a death grip that was turning her knuckles white. “I cannot believe that she made those cracks about what kind of girls we are!”
I gave her a gentle nudge with one elbow. “I know, especially since we’re women and not girls.”
The remark worked. Viveca’s scowl quickly softened into cheerful laughter as she ran through a list of things she didn’t like about Delilah.
“I mean, can you tell me what that was on her head?” she said. “A dead raccoon? Cruella de Vil’s spare wig?”
“It was a two-tone disaster,” I offered. “Although she’d also probably say that we’re not the kind of girls who could understand such a fashionable hairdo.”
Viveca groaned. “And that outfit! What a freak! Knee-high sandals and a silk robe? Like some kind of wannabe supermodel!”
“Well, the most interesting thing about the last part of our conversation was the fact that Delilah mentioned two different clubs in her flustered explanation of where she and Tim were going tonight.”
“So?” Viveca frowned. “Why are you surprised? She doesn’t seem like a very organized kind of person.”
I nodded. “I agree, but don’t you think there was something jumpy about her whole demeanor?”
Viveca considered the question. “I suppose so,” she said eventually. “But that’s the first time we’ve met her. Maybe she was nervous because I’m Tim’s sister.”
“Anything’s possible,” I agreed. “But, whatever the reason, she was pretty flustered.”
After a few minutes of silence, during which she kept one hand on the wheel and nervously nibbled on a thumbnail, Viveca said there could be another reason Delilah was acting so strangely.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Maybe she had something to do with the neighbor’s murder,” she suggested. “And maybe all of her—”
I tapped her arm to interrupt. “That’s our stop,” I said, pointing at the angular stone-and-glass buildings in the next block. “We should try and find a parking place so we can go talk to Detective Caldwell.”
“Are we meeting him in the lobby or what?”
I shook my head. “In the courtyard between the buildings,�
� I said. “I’ll give him a quick call as soon as we park. He’s leaving for an appointment in a few minutes, so we’ll just talk outside and ask him what he knows about Tim’s case.”
She took a deep breath. “I cannot believe this is happening, Kate. My brother’s such a good guy.” She slowed to a stop as the light turned red. “Did he always get good grades? No. Was he a terror during high school? Absolutely. Can I see him trying to kill somebody with poison? Not in a million years.”
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hit the gas when the light turned green. A couple of moments later, the driver in the car behind us blasted the horn and Viveca shook off the hazy recollection.
“Sorry about that,” she said, waving in the rearview mirror.
When we finally found an open parking space and started walking toward the Denver PD building, I called the number that Trent had given me for Adam Caldwell. It rang six times and dropped into the guy’s voicemail.
“Hi, Detective Caldwell,” I said as we crossed Bannock Street and headed north. “This is Kate Reed again. Viveca England and I are on the way. We should be there in less than five—” A muted beep-beep-beep signaled an incoming call, so I checked the screen and toggled to the other line. “Detective Caldwell?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “I was on the elevator and couldn’t get to my phone.”
I told him we were on the way and asked if he still had time to talk.
“Ten minutes max,” he said. “I’m due on the other side of the city shortly.”
“Okay, we’ll hurry,” I told him. “How will we know it’s you?”
He laughed. “Don’t worry, Kate,” he said. “Trent sent me your high school yearbook photo. I’ll be watching for you.”
Before I could register a defensive comment about my hair in the picture, the line went dead.
“Are we all set?” asked Viveca.
“He’ll be waiting for us,” I said, sliding the phone into my back pocket. “But he doesn’t have much time.”
CHAPTER 12