by Carly Winter
“What a good idea,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I’ll go in with you, if you don’t mind. Do you girls have a key?”
“Yes,” I replied, holding it up.
“Okay, good. I was going to give you mine if you needed it.”
We filed into the apartment. I had expected a blast of cold, stale air as I’d experienced before when I entered with Bill, but none came. Had someone recently been in there?
“Our key is right here,” Donna said, pointing at the key rack hanging over the toaster oven in the kitchen. She held it up and I noted it had been labeled with a tag containing our names written in Charles’ neat handwriting.
“Let’s take that back,” I replied.
“Can you? Would that be considered part of a crime scene or something?” Beth asked.
“No, it’s no longer a crime scene,” Mrs. Wilson said. “The police released it. There’ve been plenty of people rummaging around in here.”
I recalled we’d found Claudia with a flashlight and she’d been very upset that we’d discovered her. “Have you seen someone else?” I asked.
“Karen was here earlier,” Mrs. Wilson said.
“Did you speak to her?” Beth asked.
“Just a quick hello to see how she was.”
“Do you think she would have broken into your place?” Beth asked.
“I don’t see why,” I replied. “I’ve never had any problem with her. Have you, Donna?”
She shook her head.
“I did mention to Karen that you were helping with the investigation,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Also that the FBI had been here.”
Beth and I exchanged glances. “If I’m remembering all the players correctly, Karen is the girlfriend, right?” she asked.
I nodded and had an idea of where her thought processes were leading. “Are you saying if Karen was the killer, and Mrs. Wilson told her that I was involved in the investigation, that she went into our apartment and… cleaned it?”
“She could be leaving some sort of message,” Beth replied. “Just letting you know that she can get to you.”
“Oh, my. That’s a scary thought, but you could be right,” Mrs. Wilson said.
Donna held up the key again. “Well, we have our key back, so she’s not getting in again.”
“Let’s go pay Karen a visit,” Beth said. “Have a little chat with her.”
I realized she was completely caught up in the moment and loving the drama and potential danger.
“You girls go about your business,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I’m going downstairs to eavesdrop on everyone and talk with Mr. Killian for a bit.”
As she hurried down the hallway then bound down the stairs, I turned back to Beth and Donna.
“I can only hope I have her energy when I’m her age,” Donna said.
“She’s impressive,” Beth agreed. “But let’s get back to Karen. Are we in agreement that we need to pay her a visit?”
“And say what?” Donna asked. “Ask her if she broke into our apartment?”
Beth shook her head. “No. Just ask about Charles, their relationship, and let her know that we know she was at his place. If she’s not the one who broke in, she won’t think anything of it. If she’s guilty, then she’ll realize we suspect her and take it as a warning.”
“If she did kill Charles, I don’t want to upset her and have her come after us with a knife,” I said. “It could be dangerous.”
“There are three of us,” Beth said. “She’s not going to try anything.”
“Maybe not at that minute, but it’s possible that she could try something later,” I countered. “Maybe we should call the police.”
Beth narrowed her gaze on me and shook her head. “No. We aren’t calling a bunch of men to swoop in and save the day. We are women, who are more than capable of handling ourselves against another woman.”
“Well, I personally love it when a man swoops in,” Donna said.
“Patty, we discussed this,” Beth grumbled, ignoring Donna.
It was then I realized I had two polar opposite people standing in front of me. One who wanted nothing more than to be married and taken care of, and the other, an unapologetic feminist who wanted nothing to do with the traditional trappings of a woman’s life. Then there was me, the one who wanted it all. Marriage and kids at some point in the future, and an important career now that didn’t involve shlepping drinks and inhaling copious amounts of cigarette smoke.
“You’re right,” I said. “We’ll go see her tomorrow.”
“For now, let’s break open a bottle of wine,” Donna said. “It’s happy hour somewhere, right?”
“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Beth agreed.
Later that night, Beth snored softly on the couch while Donna and I dressed for bed.
“Do you think you’ll be ready to head back to work soon, Patty?” she asked, slipping her nightgown over her head.
“I think so. My ankle is sore, but I can definitely get around on it.”
Donna slipped into bed and fluffed up her pillow while I perched on the edge of the mattress and lathered lotion on my hands and arms. Ringo settled in between Donna’s legs, purring loudly.
“I wonder what Karen’s going to say tomorrow,” Donna asked. “What do you think?”
“I have no idea, but it should be interesting, especially if she admits breaking into our apartment.”
As I lay down on my own pillow, it made a strange crinkling sound.
“What’s that?” Donna asked.
Rising from the bed, I pulled away the pillow to find a piece of paper neatly folded beneath it.
Both of us stared at it a moment, then Donna picked it up.
“What does it say?” I asked as she unfolded it.
She gasped, then she glanced up at me, her face now pale and her gaze wide with fright. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered, handing it to me.
I took it and read the typed sentence. My hand began to tremble and I met Donna’s gaze, then read it again.
Be careful. You don’t want to get too close, or you could be next.
Chapter 16
The next morning, my fear had waned, but the anger that had replaced it caused me to slam a couple cupboards, waking the other girls. Fine with me. Beth would be flying out in a few hours, and I wanted her to accompany Donna and me to meet Karen. After coffee, I slipped on my gray culottes, a pink sweater and my pink Mary Jane's. Donna opted for a multi-colored mini-dress and knee-high white boots, looking like she’d just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Beth wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
“I want to make one quick stop before we go,” I said, grabbing Charles' key.
“What for?” Donna asked.
“To check something in Charles' apartment.”
We filed out of our own home and into his. At some point, someone would have to clean out the apartment and the super, Mr. Killian, would rent it out. Tears pricked my eyes at the thought of never seeing Charles again, but hopefully, someone as great would move in.
I hurried into the kitchen and sat down at the table. After gathering the stack of papers making up Charles' book into a neat pile, I looked over at the typewriter.
“Beth, can you please turn on that light?” I asked.
When the bulb above the table illuminated the space, I was able to study the ribbon. Looking at it from different angles, I thought I made out the imprint of a few letters, or was I only wishing?
Beth picked up the papers and began to rifle through them as I gently pulled on the typewriter ribbon to get a better look.
“You know, I think I just found his will,” Beth muttered. “Well, his version of it.”
“What does it say?” Donna asked.
“He says he wants everything to go to... oh, my gosh!”
“What?” Beth and I said in unison.
“He wanted all his things sold and the proceeds to go to his girlfriend, Karen.”
“What's so surprising about that?” Donna a
sked.
“Well, he had a wife.” Beth said.
“And he never signed the divorce papers,” I said. “He never wanted his marriage to Claudia to end. It doesn't make any sense.”
“But this whole thing is weird,” Beth said. “He started writing a book, then switched to the will, then back to a book again.”
“That is strange,” Donna said. “It's like he lacked concentration or something.”
“Yes.”
I turned my attention back to the ribbon, threading a piece of paper into the machine and hit a few keys. As the letters appeared on the blank page, the ink disappeared from the ribbon.
“What are you doing, Patty?” Donna asked.
Ignoring her, I pulled the cartridge from the typewriter and brought it over to the kitchen sink where the light was brighter.
After gently pulling on the ribbon, I held it up to the sunlight and squinted. Yes, I could read what had been typed, and as the letters became words, and the words became sentences, I ground my jaw. The urge to throw the cartridge across the room overwhelmed me, but instead, I set it down on the counter and turned to my friends.
“Whoever typed that note to us did so on this typewriter,” I said. “I can read the ribbon.”
“What note?” Beth asked. “What am I missing?”
“Last night when we went to bed, we found a threatening note under the pillow,” Donna said.
“It told us to be careful, not get too close, or we could be next,” I said.
Beth's eyes widened. “And you can tell that it was written on that typewriter?”
I nodded and crossed my arms over my chest. “Karen had to be the one to type it. She was here. She had access to the apartment to get our keys. Perhaps Charles didn't write the will, but she did.”
“You said Claudia was in here as well, though,” Beth countered. “And what about his friend, Wayne? This apartment has been accessed by a lot of people.”
“But the letter wasn't there until last night,” I replied. “And why would any of them write a will that says Karen gets all his money? It doesn't make any sense.”
“Maybe multiple people have used the typewriter,” Donna offered. “Who is to say that only one person typed up the will and the letter?”
She had a point.
“Besides,” Donna continued. “That letter could have been under the pillow for days. No one ever sleeps on that side of the bed, Patty.”
Another valid argument. We both always slept on the left side of the mattress.
“Let's go talk to Karen and hear what she has to say,” Beth said. “That letter is scary, but we don't know who wrote it or when they placed it under the pillow.”
Donna had recalled Karen mentioning she had an apartment a few miles away in the Sunset District and we were able to verify the exact address in Charles' address book. We debated whether to tell her we were coming but decided against it. Regardless of whether she was involved in Charles' murder or not, she wouldn't appreciate the intrusion. I certainly wouldn't if I was in her shoes.
After the cab ride, we stood in front of the building. My stomach flip-flopped and suddenly my initial anger at the letter fled. In its place, I had a case of the nervous jitters. Confronting a potential murderer with my friends seemed far more dangerous than meeting one with an FBI agent.
“We shouldn't approach her like this,” I said. “I don't want to accuse her of something she didn't do. If she did kill Charles, she'll feel threatened.”
“I agree,” Donna said.
Beth rolled her eyes. “Would you two stop? We're just going to have a little chat with her, not accuse her of writing the letter or murdering her boyfriend.”
“Don't forget she could have typed up that will and left it for someone to find,” I said, glancing up at the unattractive building that had seen better days. “I hate to say it, but this looks like a horrible place to live.”
“Maybe they just haven't kept up the outside,” Donna said, chewing her nail. “The inside could be really nice.”
Beth and I exchanged glances, and I could see she doubted the statement as well. “Let's go in,” I said with a sigh.
I'd been correct—the owners of the apartments hadn't taken care of any area of the building. Cracked, greenish linoleum greeted us in the lobby. Graffiti covered one of the gray walls.
“This place should be condemned,” Donna whispered. “Can you imagine being a woman living alone here? My word, I'd be terrified!”
The elevator had a ripped and yellowing out of order sign hanging from it, indicating it hadn't worked in quite a long time. Thankfully, Karen lived on the first floor. My ankle wasn't having any issues when I walked, but I didn't want to discover if the stairs would set my healing process back. My armpits still ached from the stupid crutches.
Beth knocked on Karen's door.
“Who is it?” she called from the other side.
“I wouldn't answer my door if I lived here, either,” Donna whispered.
“It's Charles' neighbors,” I called. “Donna and Patty. Remember us?”
The door slowly opened and the petite woman with mousy brown hair and eyes stared at us with uncertainty. “What are you doing here?”
“I'm Beth. It's lovely to meet you Karen,” she said as she pushed past the woman without an invitation.
Donna and I filed in. I gave Karen a weak smile which I hope conveyed I was truly sorry for the intrusion.
“We came to talk to you about Charles,” I said as she closed the door. “I hope that's okay.”
“I... I guess so.”
“Can we sit?” Beth asked.
Karen nodded and Donna wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “I'm really sorry about your loss, hon. Charles was a good fellow.”
“Thanks. Why are you here?”
Sitting on the pea-green sofa, I glanced around the studio apartment. The walls had been painted an eye-searing sunshine yellow, and I realized Karen didn't have a window to bring in any natural light. The unmade bed sat a few feet to my right with a table and lamp acting as illumination for both areas. Directly across from me stood the kitchen sink and short refrigerator, as well as a clothing rod that held hangers filled with dresses and pants. Her shoes were neatly lined up directly underneath. I assumed the curtain to the left of the sink led to the restroom area. And I had thought the apartment I shared with Donna was tiny. Overall, I found the place quite depressing and it became apparent Karen definitely had motive. If her living conditions were any indication, she was barely getting by.
“As I mentioned, we wanted to talk to you about Charles,” Beth said. “Have the police been around asking you about his death?”
“No. They called and said they would stop by, but they never did.”
My head snapped to her attention. “The police never came?”
Karen shrugged. “Not that I have much to add to the investigation. Charles was here one day and gone the next.”
“Were you two in love?” Donna asked.
“I thought we were,” Karen said. “But then I found the divorce papers he never signed last week while I was straightening up his place. They had fallen behind the dresser.”
“How did that make you feel?” I asked. “It must have been hard knowing your boyfriend was someone else's husband.”
“Oh, I was furious,” Karen said. “Raging mad. I felt betrayed and used.”
“Did he give you an explanation as to why he never divorced his wife?” I asked.
“He said that he'd forgotten about it,” she replied, shrugging.
“Forgotten about his divorce?” Donna asked incredulously. “That's ridiculous. No one forgets about a divorce.”
I had to disagree with Donna. Marriage may be at the forefront of her mind at all times, but it wasn't that way with everyone. Charles might have put his split with Claudia behind him and forgotten about the unsigned papers, especially if he was more focused on his mental state, or high from smoking his marijuana.
; “Did you believe him?” Beth asked.
Karen sighed and rubbed her temples for a moment before speaking. “I loved Charles very much,” she said. “I can't tell you if I truly believed him or if I wanted to believe him. Do you know what I mean?”
Donna nodded and reached over to grab Karen's hand. “I do. Sometimes we want things to be true, so we overlook what's directly in front of us that would force us to see the lie we're living.”
I stared at my friend, surprised by her honesty. She spoke from the heart, from her own knowledge and mistakes.
“That's exactly right,” Karen said. “I couldn't have said it better myself.
“How did you two meet?” Donna asked. “Was it a random thing, or something really romantic?”
Karen’s eyes welled once again as she shrugged. “We met at the grocery store, if you can believe that. We were both looking at the lettuce. He asked me the best way to tell if the lettuce was fresh, or if it had been around for a while. The conversation came easy, and the next thing I knew, I was saying yes to a dinner date.”
“That’s definitely romantic,” Donna said, sighing. “That’s why I’m always on the lookout for my husband. I could meet him on the plane, or in the produce section. We just don’t know when we’re going to find the one for us, do we?”
Glancing over at Beth, I noticed her gaze had narrowed and doubt shone from her eyes. She wasn't buying Karen's and Donna's epiphany, and frankly, I wasn’t either. What was so romantic about lettuce?
Beth cleared her throat. “I find it odd the police haven't been here.”
Frankly, I did as well. Why hadn't they bothered to interview the girlfriend? She had as much motive as Claudia, and glancing around her sad apartment, perhaps even more so. Was it because they were so focused on the killer being a man?
Yes, Karen was small in stature and quiet in demeanor, but that didn't mean she couldn't kill, especially in a fit of rage. She'd fully admitted finding the divorce papers had greatly upset her.
“I don't have an answer to you on why they've never come, but I do need to get to work,” she said. “I wish you would've called.”
“Where do you work?” Beth asked.