by Carly Winter
“I thought you were going there to talk to him,” I said. “Not badger him.”
“Sometimes the only way you can get to these guys is to show dominance. And that's probably one reason women aren't in the FBI. It's hard to show dominance when you're physically small.”
The declaration didn't sit well with me, but I nodded in agreement anyway. Could a woman be dominant over a man? I'd seen some flight attendants put a man back in his seat with nothing but a glare. Women had other ways to appear commanding without physical size.
“Care to share a cab with me?” he asked. “I'd like to also chat with Mrs. Wilson, Charles' neighbor.”
“Thank you, yes,” I said. Special Agent Bill Hart had lost some of his luster, but if he was paying for the ride, I'd take it.
He attempted to hail a cab a few times while I leaned against the building, but none stopped. Coming from Dallas, he'd probably have better luck getting a horse's attention.
Leaving my crutches up against the wall, I walked over to the street with surprisingly little pain. In the second lane, I noted a cab about a half-block away. As soon as the cars closest to us drove by, I stepped into the street and whistled, then pointed at the driver. He quickly moved over to the sidewalk and stopped for us.
When I turned to Bill, he chuckled and shook his head. “You continue to impress me, Patty.”
He hurried over and grabbed my crutches and we entered the vehicle. Once on the road, I stared out at the city passing by and thought about our interview with Wayne.
I now regretted my offer to help Bill by introducing him to the people in Charles’ world. He was being a rude brute, and I wouldn’t allow him to treat others that way.
“I'll introduce you to my neighbor, but I would appreciate it if you were a little more polite to her than you were with Wayne,” I said, not meeting his gaze. “She's a very sweet widow who won't tolerate being intimidated like that.”
“You think I intimidated Wayne?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, turning to him. “I'm sure it's a requirement with certain subjects in your line of work, but it wasn't necessary with him.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I work with people,” I replied. “I can tell after a very short period of time what tone I need to take with someone. Wayne may have been afraid of you at first and tried to run, but if you hadn't been so pushy to begin with, I think we could have avoided the confrontation.”
Bill stared at me a long while, then said, “You realize I'm a trained FBI agent, right? I was simply following the protocol I deemed fit to use on a drug dealer.”
“I know exactly who you are. And your training is fine and dandy, Bill. I'm just saying I do believe things would have gone much smoother if you'd have been a little nicer. And I'm asking that you be pleasant to Mrs. Wilson. Frankly, after what I just witnessed, I’m hesitant to introduce you. I don’t want your training and protocol to ruin my friendship with her.”
Turning back toward the window, I hoped he realized I wasn't requesting a behavior change. I demanded it. Mrs. Wilson deserved better.
“I’ll be on my best behavior with her, Patty.”
As I knocked on Mrs. Wilson's door, I glanced over at Bill again. “Please remember to be polite. She's an elderly woman. Show some respect.”
He rolled his eyes as she answered.
“Patty!” she said. “What an unexpected surprise! Who’s this fine-looking fellow?”
“This is Special Agent Bill Hart of the FBI,” I said. “He's looking into Charles' murder.”
“It's lovely to meet you, ma'am,” he said with a grin, taking her slender palm in his as his Texas accent suddenly became more pronounced. The heavier it became, the less intimidating he was, and I wondered why. Perhaps people linked a thick accent with friendliness? “I just need to ask you a few questions and I was hoping it would be a good time for you.”
“Of course. Come in. Always happy to help law enforcement.” Once we were seated in her tidy living room, she offered us tea.
“I'd love some,” Bill said. “Thank you so much.”
My goodness. Wasn't he pouring on the charm, now thicker than maple syrup.
“You told me you hate tea,” I murmured.
“I do, but you said I had to be polite. She offered, so I took her up on it.”
I sighed. Mrs. Wilson brought over a white porcelain tray lined with pink flowers and a matching tea pot and cups. “Sugar and cream?” she asked as she poured.
Bill glanced over at me and I realized he had no idea which combination would make the golden water more palatable.
“Both for me,” I said, giving him a slight nod.
“Same here,” he said.
As Bill settled back into the cushions, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He sipped the brew and hid a scowl, but then smiled. “It's delicious, Mrs. Wilson. Thank you.”
“What can I do for you two?” she asked.
“Bill is looking into Charles' murder for the police,” I said. “He just wanted to ask you a couple of questions and requested that I accompany him.”
“Oh, of course,” she replied, her gaze firmly on Bill. “Such a shame. What can I tell you about it?”
“I've read your statement, so there's no need to tell me everything again. I just have a few follow-up questions.”
Mrs. Wilson sipped her tea, staring over her cup expectantly.
“I was wondering if you saw Charles' friend, Wayne, around that day.”
“Yes. He was here early in the day... I can't remember what time. Probably before noon, though, if my memory serves me correctly.”
“And did you see him later in the afternoon?”
“I believe so, but I can't be certain. Patty said he stopped by the day after and she spoke to him.”
As I picked up my cup, I tried to hide my surprise of finding an inconsistency in Wayne's story. He'd told Bill he'd never come back that afternoon, only the next day. My gaze slid over to Bill. Had he caught it as well?
The smile never left his lips and he sat forward as if everything Mrs. Wilson said was important and he had become enthralled with listening to her. He gave her the audience she seemed to want.
While working, I'd used similar tactics with chatty customers. A smile and nod even while tuned out did wonders to placate people, and I felt that's exactly what Bill was doing to Mrs. Wilson.
“Do you remember what Wayne was wearing when you saw him the day of the murder?”
She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips as she set down her teacup. “I can't be certain, but maybe jeans and a patterned sweater. That sounds about right.”
Bill tipped back his cup and drank it in one long swallow, then set it down. “Thank you for your time, ma'am. It's been greatly appreciated.”
We stood and the three of us moved toward the door. I now used the crutches as a means of support, but also placed my full weight on my bad foot.
“Thank you again for speaking with me, ma'am,” Bill said. “It's been wonderful meeting you.”
We walked down the hallway in silence to my apartment. Ringo greeted us when I unlocked the door. As Bill shut the panel, I turned to him excitedly. “Did you catch it? The inconsistency?”
He nodded. “I did. Wayne said he wasn't here twice that day, but that sweet old lady says she thinks he was.”
I slowly walked over to the couch without my crutches and sat down. “Why did you ask what he was wearing?”
“Because if I can get another witness in this building who says he saw Wayne here that afternoon wearing that awful sweater, I'm one step closer to nailing him.”
Chapter 12
That evening, I stared at the television but didn't track what Lassie was up to. My mind swirled around Charles' murder, considering all the suspects and trying to figure out who'd killed him.
For some reason, the thought of Wayne being the killer still didn't sit right with me, but I couldn't peg as to why. Perhaps it was simply hi
s demeanor. However, if the evidence, such as someone else seeing him in the apartment building late in the day of the murder, proved to be true, then he'd been caught in a lie and I would have to admit my hunch had been wrong.
There were still others on the suspect list that had been provided during police interviews who Bill needed to speak to. I didn't know if he'd ask me to accompany him, but I hoped he did. I found the work fascinating and I liked the idea of assisting him in solving the case.
When I thought I heard drawers closing in Charles' apartment, I stood and turned off the television to listen better. Our unit may not be situated so that we could hear Charles' screams at night, but we could certainly detect movement in the living room.
Yes. Someone was definitely in Charles' place.
I grabbed my crutch and stepped out into the hallway to find Mrs. Wilson staring at the half-open door.
“Did you hear someone in there?” I whispered.
She nodded. “Should we call the police?”
I'd had the same thought, but what if they didn't arrive in time to find out who it was? We'd miss out on this important clue!
“I say we go inside,” I murmured.
Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “Are you crazy or brave?”
“Is there a difference?”
“Good point, dear. I do think we should call the police beforehand, though. Just so we know they're on the way.”
“Okay. I'll wait here and make sure they don't slip out while you call.”
I waited at the ready, my crutch over my shoulder like a baseball bat. My heart thundered and beads of sweat dampened my forehead. Crazy or brave? What a great question. I felt a little bit of both.
A moment later, Mrs. Wilson returned and I fully pushed the door open, realizing I should have called Bill as well. He'd want to be aware of this new development. Perhaps a stranger had simply broken into the apartment and this was all a big coincidence, or maybe it was the murderer. My hands trembled in fear at the thought.
As we stepped inside, I saw a figure going through the desk drawers in the living room carrying a flashlight to light their path. Tall and thin, I couldn't discern if it was a man or a woman, but I tightened my grip on my crutch.
Mrs. Wilson flipped on the lights and with a gasp, the intruder turned to us. A blonde woman who I guessed was Charles' wife glared at us—her hand over her heart, her gaze filled with cold hatred.
“Claudia?” Mrs. Wilson said. “What are you doing here?”
Clammy Claudia because of her frigid scowl.
“I'm looking for something.”
“What would that be, dear?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
Claudia lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don't think that's any of your business.”
“You don't live here any longer,” Mrs. Wilson said softly. “So, being Charles' neighbor, I have to say that it is my business.”
The two women stared each other down for a moment as I lowered my crutch and propped it under my arm. Claudia turned and opened another drawer as if we weren't standing mere feet away, watching her.
“What are you looking for?” Mrs. Wilson asked again. “Are you aware Charles is dead?”
“Yes. As his wife, I was informed.”
“You left him, though,” Mrs. Wilson said. “You may have been married on paper, but not in the eyes of God.”
Claudia spun around and place her fists on her thin hips. “He wouldn't sign the papers!” she yelled. “I begged, pleaded and threatened him, and the lazy jerk still wouldn't sign!”
Threatened?! Had she followed through? Perhaps with a knife to the stomach?
“Well, the police took the divorce papers, if that's what you're looking for,” I said.
Claudia's shoulders sagged, but then she narrowed her frigid blue gaze on me. “Who are you?”
“Charles' other neighbor. My name's Patty. We moved in after… after you left.”
She studied me from head to toe, her mouth turned in disgust. “Were you the girlfriend?”
“Um... no. Just the neighbor. Charles used to babysit my cat while I was away.”
Claudia rolled her eyes and leaned against the desk. “Away where?”
“I'm a stewardess, so I'm gone quite a bit.”
“Figures,” she muttered with snort.
“Excuse me?” I said, unsure what part of the conversation she was referring to.
“I couldn't get that man to change his clothes, let alone babysit anything or get a job. You, the pretty stew, moves in next door and he's bending over backwards to accommodate your stupid cat.”
Not the way I saw it, but Clammy Claudia seemed to have a large chip on her shoulder where Charles was concerned. “He said my cat helped him with... his issues. It was actually a win-win situation for all of us.”
“All of us?”
“Yes. Ringo, our cat, doesn't like to be left alone.”
“That man’s issues ran too deep for a cat to fix. Unless, of course, the cat poops marijuana.”
I smiled sweetly, but Clammy Claudia sat firmly on my last nerve. “I can assure you that doesn't happen.”
“Why don't you two nosey neighbors go back to your own places and leave me alone?” Claudia said. “I've got enough problems without you both staring at me.”
“We called the police, dear,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I wish you would have let me know you were coming over.”
Claudia crossed the room in a flash and stared down at Mrs. Wilson, wagging her finger in the older woman's face. “Call them right now and tell them not to come!”
I expected Mrs. Wilson to wilt under the hatred directed at her, but instead, she pursed her lips and shook her head. “You're trespassing, Claudia. This isn't your home any longer.”
“He's my husband,” she hissed.
Mrs. Wilson crossed her arms over her chest. “Was. He was your husband. We'll let the police decide on whether you belong here or not.”
Clammy Claudia's cheeks turned absolutely crimson as she glared at the small woman. “Are you threatening to hold me here until the police arrive?”
“I hadn't given it much thought,” Mrs. Wilson replied. “But I guess expecting you to do the right thing—stay and talk to the police—would be assuming too much of you.”
Even I winced at the blatant cut.
“Why do you hate me so much?” Claudia asked.
“I don't, dear. What I hate is the way you treated Charles.”
“My marriage to him isn't any of your business.”
“Except you made it my business when you trashed your apartment. I should have called the police on you that day.”
Claudia rolled her eyes. “I'm leaving.”
“Why?” Mrs. Wilson asked. “Are you afraid you'll be arrested for trespassing? I thought you had every right to be in your dead husband's apartment.”
I arched an eyebrow at Mrs. Wilson. My dear neighbor seemed to be egging on our intruder, but for what reason, I couldn't fathom. Was it out of sheer dislike, or was there more to it?
Mrs. Wilson smiled. “Tell me what you were looking for, Claudia, and I'll consider letting you walk out of here.”
Sirens wailed in the distance.
“The will,” Claudia said through gritted teeth. “I wanted to be certain any estate was coming to me instead of the stupid girlfriend.”
“Ah, I see,” Mrs. Wilson said, stepping aside and clearing the path for Claudia to run.
“Do you know where it is?” Claudia asked.
Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “I would never go through Charles' things. I have more respect for the dead than that.”
Another cut. Dang. She was brutal.
“You disgust me,” Claudia said. After throwing me a quick glare, she left.
“The feeling is mutual,” Mrs. Wilson muttered under her breath.
We stood in silence for a few seconds as the sirens drew closer. “What do we do now?” I asked.
“You can go back to your apartment and I'l
l wait for the police if you like.” She strode over to the kitchen table and picked up a few pages of Charles’ manuscript. “Such a shame. It looks as if he was writing a book.”
“That’s what I thought when I found the body. Maybe a memoir or something.”
“Yes. One that will never be read.” She ran her hand over the top of the typewriter.
“Sadly, no,” I said. “I’m going to leave, but you were right about Claudia. She is a shrew.”
Mrs. Wilson chuckled. “Yes. And it appears time has made her disposition even uglier.”
Just as I closed the door to my apartment, I heard footsteps and men talking in the stairwell. Leaning my head against the door, I listened as Mrs. Wilson told the cops that Claudia had been caught in the apartment and she didn't know if the woman should be allowed in because she didn't live there. “It seems to be quite the gray area to me,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I wasn't sure what to do.”
I hobbled over to the telephone, picked up the business card Bill had given me and dialed the hotel number he'd written on the back.
“Bill Hart, please,” I said to the friendly hotel front desk clerk.
“Mr. Hart has left the hotel, ma’am, and asked us to take messages from anyone who calls. Can I take your name and number for him?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I gave my information then pulled the phone with me as I sat on the couch, hoping he wouldn’t be too long. Not that I really had anywhere to go or anything to do.
I jumped when the phone shrilled through the silence. “Hello?”
“Hi, Patty. I received a note to call you.”
Bill.
“I thought you may want to know that Mrs. Wilson and I just caught Charles' wife going through his things inside his apartment.”
“What was she looking for? Did she say?”
“After a while, she admitted she was looking for his will.”
“Interesting. Did she say anything else?”
“Not really,” I replied, turning the cord around my finger as Ringo jumped onto the cushions and began rubbing his head against my arm. “She was angry she'd been caught though.”