There was a special lock on the door, but Lucas had a key for it. He opened the door, stepped inside the room, and Jennifer followed him. She was trembling so hard she had to hold the doorframe to steady herself.
“Back door and front door across from each other,” Lucas said.
“It’s not a very big house,” Jennifer said. “There are two bedrooms off to the right, and the kitchen is to the left.”
Lucas slowly moved around the perimeter of the room, and Jennifer could see that a small, braided rug had been shoved aside to make way for the faint chalk marks that must have outlined Stella’s body as it lay on the dull wooden floor.
“Oh,” Jennifer said. “I think I’m going to—to—” She slid along the doorframe until she was sitting on the floor, watching the room twist and blur and pulse toward her.
“Go ahead and faint if you want to,” Lucas said. “You’ll come around soon enough.”
Jennifer took a sharp, angry breath and blinked as everything snapped back into focus. “You don’t even care? You’d just let me lie here?”
He turned to glance at her. “You don’t look faint to me,” he said. “I don’t think I have to worry about you. Why don’t you get up and see what you can do to help?”
Jennifer scrambled to her feet. She tried to think of something clever and cutting to say, but Lucas broke into her thoughts. “We need your memory now. Take a good, long look at everything in this room. From what you told me, you’ve been here often enough to know if anything is out of place.”
“That end table,” Jennifer said. “It’s fallen over.” She automatically stepped toward it to straighten it, but Lucas’s voice was sharp.
“Don’t touch a thing! The table probably went over in the struggle.”
“Oh.” Jennifer gulped. She stared at the room as though she didn’t know where to start.
“When you came to see Bobbie, which door did you usually use?”
“The back door.”
“Then carefully walk to the back door—this way, around the edge of the room.” Lucas waited until she was standing at the closed door, then said, “All right. Turn around and look at the room again. See anything that doesn’t belong? Anything out of place? Take your time. People tend to remember only the most obvious details. I expect better from you.”
Jennifer took a long breath and began to study the room from left to right. Nothing different. Nothing. But something bothered her, and her glance swept back and up. “Some of the pictures are gone,” she said.
Edging the room again, she went to the wall by the front door. The framed snapshots were like a bunch of grapes with a few juicy ones plucked from the middle. “Yes,” she said. “There was a picture here, and here, and over here. See—where the wall is a lighter color.”
“Who was in the pictures?” Lucas was beside her.
Jennifer shrugged. “I have no idea. Mrs. Trax, of course, but I don’t know who else. I guess these must be a collection of snapshots of her with her friends. This looks like a picnic at the beach. And here’s one taken in a nightclub.” She poked at one of them in the top row.
“Husband? Boyfriends?”
“Maybe. I guess. Bobbie might know. I’ve never paid much attention to the pictures, because I didn’t know any of the people in them.”
Lucas was writing in his black-covered notebook. “Okay,” he said. “That was a good start. Anything else?”
She studied the room again, and this time she shook her head.
Lucas had opened a drawer of the table against the wall.
“I thought you said we couldn’t touch anything,” she told him; then she saw the pencil he had used to hook the plastic drawer pull. He didn’t answer. He used the end of the pencil to poke through some of the papers in the drawer.
“How did the killer get in?” Jennifer asked.
“There was no sign of forced entry,” he said. “Both doors were locked.”
“What about the window with the broken lock?”
Lucas stood and looked at her sharply. “What window?”
Jennifer pointed to the window behind the sofa, the window opening to the backyard. “The window doesn’t lock. The catch has always been broken. Bobbie sometimes used to slide it up and climb through when she forgot her key.”
“Did anyone besides Bobbie know about the broken catch?”
“I guess. Her brothers must have known.”
He was already at the window, bending, stooping, staring.
“Are you looking for fingerprints?”
“The window hasn’t been dusted for prints,” he said. “I’ll get someone to do that.”
“Will they let you know what they find?”
“We’re not playing a game,” he said. “We’re not seeing who are the winners or the losers. We’re all working for one thing—to gather as many facts as we can to help solve this case.”
“Well, in detective shows on TV—”
“Forget what you’ve seen on television. It has nothing to do with life.”
“Could we turn on a light?” Jennifer asked. “It’s getting dim in here.”
“We’re almost through.” He was bent nearly double, one hand pressing against the small of his back, as he studied the upholstery directly under the window.
Jennifer glanced down at the open drawer of the desk, at the jumble of letters and papers it contained. There were grocery receipts, old shopping lists, one of Bobbie’s report cards, but a paper sticking out of the pile near the front of the drawer drew her attention. The scrawly handwriting looked vaguely familiar. It wasn’t Bobbie’s or Stella’s. Why did she feel as though she ought to be able to identify it? The few words she could read made no sense. They came at the end of what seemed to be a short mailer about a sale at Dillard’s Department Store. It wasn’t signed. She picked up the paper and folded it in half, shoving it in the back hip pocket of her jeans. She wasn’t supposed to touch anything, but there was something about this paper she had to remember. She’d bring it back later, and in the meantime it couldn’t be important to anyone.
Jennifer jumped guiltily as Lucas suddenly appeared beside her, his mouth close to her ear. “Keep looking in the drawer,” he said.
“What—?”
“Don’t look up. Look—in—the—drawer. We’ve got a visitor outside. Someone’s watching us from the yard beyond the back window.”
10
There is no way the girl can connect us. I’m careful. Very careful. I know how to protect myself. And I know what to do with people who become dangerous to me.
Careful, careful, little girl.
I’m keeping track of you.
11
Lucas stood slowly, cautiously, wincing a little. Jennifer could see that although he seemed to be interested in what she was doing, he was gazing through the corners of his eyes at the window and whatever was beyond it. She wondered how he could be so calm. She wanted to panic and scream and run from the house, but fear shuddered through her body and she couldn’t move.
“Jennifer, suppose you see what you can find in the kitchen.” Lucas spoke in a normal tone.
“The k-kitchen?”
The firmness in his voice was a support that stiffened her back and propelled her legs into the cramped little kitchen. She didn’t turn on the light. There was enough light coming into the room from the living room. She wanted to do as Lucas had told her, but instead she collapsed into the nearest chair, clinging to its wooden rungs as though in some way they could protect her. Jennifer tucked her feet up as a large cockroach scuttled across the floor and under the refrigerator. She glanced across the room to the telephone that balanced on top of the counter, as though it could automatically summon help. Maybe she’d have to call for help!
Lucas was a blur streaking across the room. The back door slammed, and someone screeched. Jennifer couldn’t stand the suspense. She ran to the door, opened it, and peered into the darkness.
Limping toward her, into the patch of yellow light
that patterned the grass, came Lucas. He was gripping the arm of a woman whose face was screwed into puckers of fear, propelling her against her will into the rectangle of light. Jennifer recognized her. She was one of Bobbie’s neighbors, the one who had been interviewed on television.
“She lives next door,” Jennifer said. “It’s Mrs. Aciddo.”
“I—I saw the light on,” Mrs. Aciddo said. Lucas had let go of her arm, and she rubbed it, staring at him. The corners of her mouth turned down even more deeply. “You had no call to grab me. I got rights. Who are you? You’re not even a policeman, huh?”
“We’re investigating Mrs. Trax’s murder,” Lucas said.
Mrs. Aciddo stopped rubbing her arm and pointed at Jennifer. “You and that girl? Don’t tell me that. She’s a kid, that’s all. She’s got no business here.”
“She’s my partner.”
Jennifer stood a little taller and sucked in her breath. That sounded good. It sounded right. “Mrs. Aciddo,” she said, “we’re trying to help Bobbie.”
“Why? Anybody who kills someone deserves what they get.”
“But Bobbie didn’t kill her mother.”
“I’m the one heard the fight.” She tilted her head and looked coy. “You see me on the TV? They interviewed me. On Newseye. They showed it the next morning, too. I got to see it.”
Jennifer nodded. “I saw the morning rerun. You said you heard Bobbie and her mother fighting.”
“That’s right. I heard it, and the girl ran off.”
“But couldn’t someone else have come to the house afterward?”
“I didn’t see no one come.”
“Were you looking?”
Mrs. Aciddo’s lower lip jutted out. “You tellin’ me I don’t know what I seen or heard?”
Lucas stepped forward. “Mrs. Aciddo, we’re sure your testimony will hold up with the police and the court. We’re just asking if there could be something else that was missed, like someone else coming to the house—maybe after you went to bed?”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I didn’t go to bed for a while after that. I was watching the TV.”
“Someone could have come to the Trax house while you were watching television.”
She shrugged. “Huh. I guess.”
“Or afterward, while you were asleep?”
“I don’t watch everythin’ that goes on around here! I’m not a nosy neighbor!”
Lucas nodded. “I’m sorry. You seem to have a good eye for details. I thought you could help.”
Her eyes became little slits as she studied him. “What do you mean, help?”
“There are some questions I’d like to ask you. Like, has either Elton or Darryl Krambo been here in the last few days?”
“Oh, I can tell you that,” she said. She gave a heave of her chest, tucking back her chin, until she reminded Jennifer of the pigeons that strutted along Sherrill Park. “Elton never came around. Stella would have told me if he did, and there’s been no sign of him since—since she was murdered. But that Darryl, he’s been here. Oh, yes. Came to my house last week, rang my doorbell, and wanted to borrow some money.”
“From you?” Jennifer gasped.
She was sorry immediately, because Mrs. Aciddo scowled. “Why not me? I’ve got a little money to use when I want. Everybody knows I’m not poor.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jennifer said. “I just meant that people usually borrow money from family members, not neighbors.”
“Darryl would borrow money wherever he could get it. That kind needs money bad.”
“That kind?” Lucas prompted.
“That kind on drugs,” she said. “Stella wouldn’t give him money for drugs. Even one night when he needed somethin’ so bad he was sweatin’ and shakin’ and makin’ a big fuss, she wouldn’t give him money. She didn’t like him messin’ with drugs. She got on him hard for that.”
“Did you see him Tuesday?”
“No.” She looked disappointed. “Tuesday he could have been here, I guess. I was busy gettin’ ready to go shoppin’ with Stella. It was her day off at the beauty parlor.”
Something made Jennifer feel uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure what had nudged her, but she asked, “What beauty parlor?”
Mrs. Aciddo suddenly turned to Lucas. “I can’t stand out here all night. If you’re not the police, you can’t make me.”
“That’s right,” he said. “You can go home.”
She took a couple of steps, and Jennifer came down the wooden steps after her. “Please tell me, Mrs. Aciddo. Where did Mrs. Trax work?”
“How should I know?”
“You were her neighbor, her friend. You went shopping with her. She must have told you where she worked. Is there some reason you don’t want to tell us?”
Mrs. Aciddo’s short fat legs moved quickly, and Jennifer hurried to keep up. “ ’Course not. I told you everything you wanted to know. Right?” She paused and mumbled, “Maybe Stella worked someplace on Chaparral, I guess.”
“LaSalon?”
“Maybe. I’m not supposed to know everything about her. Now, go away and leave me alone. I’m missing my good TV shows, thanks to you and that man who is not a policeman.”
Jennifer returned to the back steps and followed Lucas into the house. When he had closed the door, she said, “I remembered something. It may not mean a thing, but it’s—well—peculiar.”
He turned to listen, so she added, “That guy who talked to me about Bobbie at school, the one whose name I didn’t get—” She stopped, embarrassed again, but Lucas merely nodded, so she said, “He told me something about his mother going to Stella to get her hair done when she used to work at LaSalon.”
“Used to work?”
“Yes, and Mrs. Aciddo acted so strangely when I asked her where Mrs. Trax worked. Why would she lie?”
“Make a note,” he said. “That’s one of the things you can find out.”
Jennifer had already pulled a small notebook and pen from the pocket of her jeans. “I’ll go to LaSalon tomorrow,” she said. “But—”
“What’s your question?”
“I don’t understand how Mrs. Trax’s job means anything at all in how or why she was murdered, and I don’t understand why Mrs. Aciddo should lie about where Mrs. Trax worked.”
“That’s what detecting is all about,” Lucas said. “Lots of questions, lots of answers. They start fitting together like pieces in a puzzle.”
“It’s frustrating.” Jennifer sighed. “I’d like it better if we could just find the murderer right away.”
“Like in the movies where you’d open a door and there he’d stand, with a gun pointed at you?”
“You are so aggravating!” Jennifer said. “I didn’t mean that at all. I—I don’t know what I mean.”
“Then suppose we get back to work. Want to check the bedrooms?”
“Not really,” Jennifer said. “But I will.” Reluctantly she entered the hall that connected the two small bedrooms. The door from the living room was near the door to Bobbie’s room. The bathroom door was in the middle of the hallway. Jennifer decided to start with Bobbie’s room and work her way down the hall.
The bulb was missing from the naked fixture in the hall, but it didn’t matter. She flipped on the light in Bobbie’s room. The room looked as it always had. The headboard of the bed, the chest of drawers, and the small desk and wooden chair had long ago been painted white. Now they were as yellowed and chipped as old piano keys. The corners of the worn, faded rose corduroy bedspread were neatly tucked in place, but the room was bare of mementos. With the exception of Bobbie’s notebook and textbooks on the desk, there was nothing to show who lived in this room. Jennifer shuddered. The room always looked the same, but the sorrow of it had never reached her before. Why did Bobbie keep her room so bare?
Jennifer shook her head. Now she was behaving like Lucas with his endless questions. She went down the hallway to the bathroom, stepped inside and thought what a contrast it was to B
obbie’s clean room. The cracked mirrored door to the medicine cabinet hung open on one hinge. Bottles were strewn on the ledge and the sink. A couple of towels lay on the floor, and there was a sour smell, as though someone had been sick.
Jennifer, trying not to gag, quickly stepped back into the hall. Yuck! What a mess! Shouldn’t someone come into this house and clean it up?
Although the door to Bobbie’s bedroom had been open, the door to Stella’s room was closed. With trembling fingers Jennifer slowly turned the knob. She had no right to pry into the privacy of the woman who had lived here. After all, Stella had been her best friend’s mother. Although Jennifer had often been in this house, she had never been in Stella’s bedroom. It was a personal place, a—
She groped for the light switch, since the thin light that filtered from the living room wasn’t strong enough to do more than create shadows. But her hand froze, and she barely managed to clutch the doorframe to steady herself as a shape detached itself from behind the bed, rising with a groan.
Jennifer screamed as it lunged toward her and collapsed in a sour, ragged heap at her feet.
Lucas appeared, roughly elbowing her aside and muttering, “Be quiet!” as he bent over the body.
“I thought—It looked like a monster. I mean, coming out of the dark like that—”
“Call an ambulance,” he said. “Do you know how?”
“Well, of course I do!”
“Then move it!”
She quickly did as she was told, muttering to herself because he was treating her as he would a child. She stomped back to the bedroom and snapped, “I called your ambulance.”
“Good,” he said. “Do you know who this is?”
Lucas had rolled the man on his back. His eyelids were closed, one of them centering a deep purple bruise. His breath shuddered through swollen lips, and clumps of vomit had matted and dried on his unshaven chin.
“It’s Darryl Krambo,” she said. “He must have been in a fight.”
Lucas grabbed the edge of the mattress and heaved himself to his feet. “Stay with him,” he said. “I’ve got a phone call to make.”
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