I stared at the building for a moment. Then I pulled out my cell phone, grabbed the phone book I kept under the front seat, and dialed Randall’s Bakery. I had to order the cake for my mother-in-law’s birthday anyway, so at least it was a valid excuse.
As I waited for someone to pick up, I wondered yet again how to go about gaining the confidence of Evan Maxted’s neighbors. Since it was safe to assume that his relatives had been notified of his death, I wasn’t comfortable introducing myself as a member of the family. And wouldn’t a friend call, rather than showing up unannounced on a Wednesday morning, when Maxted would probably be at work?
I was entertaining a scenario involving a confession of secret love children from a prior marriage when someone with an extremely heavy accent picked up the phone. As I described the cake I wanted for my mother-in-law’s birthday, I found myself wishing once again that I had taken Spanish instead of six years of French.
Fifteen minutes later, I hung up, reasonably confident that the woman on the other end of the line understood that the cake was for a birthday, not for a retirement party or a first Communion. And that I needed it today.
I cradled the phone for a few minutes, trying to think of someone else to call, but came up blank. Instead, I dug through my purse for quarters to feed the meter, crossed the street, dodging two BMWs, and headed toward the building’s glass double doors.
As I tripped up the granite stairs to the entrance, the nasty thought occurred to me that a building selling five-hundred-thousand-dollar apartments might include a doorman. I froze in midstep. How was I going to get past a doorman? I was having a hard enough time coming up with a story that would fool a neighbor, much less a snooty bouncer in a uniform.
I half-turned toward the minivan. Leave the investigating to the police, I told myself. You’re out of your league.
But the police didn’t know about Maxted’s connection to my husband.
I straightened my wrinkled polo shirt, climbed the last few steps, and pushed through the building’s front door.
Although a massive wooden desk sat to the left of the door, the red velvet chair behind it was empty. Whew. Either the developer hadn’t sold enough units to pay a doorman’s salary, or the desk was reserved for nighttime security.
The developer might have skimped on the doorman, but everything else in the lobby was top dollar. I looked at the dark paneled walls, the soaring ceiling, and a huge chandelier that looked as if it came from the set of Phantom of the Opera. And I wondered what it would be like to live in a building where the finishes didn’t include spilled apple juice and congealed chocolate milk, and where your neighbors talked about the latest Donna Karan collection at Saks Fifth Avenue rather than the sale on kids’ sweatpants at Target.
As my sneakers squeaked across the marble floor, the elevator disgorged a fashionably anorexic blonde and an equally fashionable Pomeranian on a rhinestone-studded leash. The designer duo clicked toward me on high-heeled shoes (the blonde) and pink painted toenails (the Pomeranian). The blonde tugged at the leash with a manicured hand as the dog yipped and scrabbled toward me on the slick floor, looking like a powder puff that had escaped from an expensive toiletry set. Although the temperature was in the nineties, the Pomeranian wore a pink cashmere sweater, and a satin bow nestled atop its fluffy styled head.
Even the dogs in this building wore designer clothes.
I smiled at the blonde, maneuvered around the yapping dog, which had now bared its polished teeth and started to growl, and stepped into the elevator. My stomach lurched as I pressed the button for the sixth floor. What was I doing here? I still had no idea how to approach the neighbors. Then, as the Pomeranian’s blow-dried tail disappeared behind walnut-paneled elevator doors, I had a flash of inspiration. All I needed was for one of the neighbors to have a key to Maxted’s apartment.
A moment later, the doors slid open to a long hallway that looked just like a hotel’s. The only difference was, there were only four doors.
It wasn’t hard to figure out which one belonged to Evan Maxted, since a piece of yellow crime scene tape dangled from the doorjamb. I loitered at the end of the hall for a moment, waiting for somebody to emerge from Maxted’s apartment. When nobody did, I crept up and put my ear to the door, half-expecting to hear Bunsen’s deep voice on the other side. There was nothing but the hum of an air conditioning system.
It was time to put my plan into action. I took a few deep cleansing breaths, just like they’d taught me at Lamaze class, and turned to face the door across the hall. It hadn’t helped then, it didn’t help much now, either. I straightened my shirt, squared my shoulders, and knocked.
Nobody answered.
There were only two doors left, and one of them had a pile of newspapers out front. I waited a minute before padding past the pile of papers toward the door at the end of the hallway. If no one answered, I told myself, I had done the best I could. I could go home.
I knocked, half-hoping that no one would answer.
Someone did.
A frail seventy-year-old woman in a green and gold turban peered out of the cracked doorway. I was taken aback; she was about as different from the chic waif in the lobby as was possible. “Are you a solicitor?” she asked in a gravelly voice. “Because soliciting isn’t allowed in this building.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” I said. I was trying to get into someone’s apartment under false pretenses, which was much worse, but decided not to share that. “I’m a friend of Evan’s. Evan Maxted, your neighbor down the hall?”
“Yes.”
I took a deep breath and went forward. “He was keeping my cat for a while, and I was supposed to swing by this morning and pick her up, but Evan’s not here, and I can’t reach him. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“A cat? I didn’t know he was keeping a cat.”
“Oh, yes. Snookums. He’s wonderful.”
“I thought you said it was a she.”
“I did?” I tossed off a brittle laugh. “Well, ever since we got him neutered, I get confused. Anyway, I’d really like to pick him up. Do you have any idea when Evan will be back?”
“I didn’t know he was keeping a cat.”
“It was just while I was out of town.”
“Well, I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, “but when I came out to get my paper this morning, there were policemen all over the place.”
I swallowed. “Really? Is Evan okay?” I knew otherwise, of course, but lying was like learning to ride a bike, I was discovering. Once you got rolling, it got a lot easier.
“I asked them about it, but they wouldn’t tell me what was going on. What did you say your name was again?”
My name? “Prudence,” I blurted, then cringed. It was my mother-in-law’s first name. Since I had just spelled it out six times for the woman at the bakery, it was the first thing that popped into my head.
“Prudence….” She looked at me questioningly, and I realized she was waiting for my last name.
I opened and closed my mouth a few times, unable to think of a single surname. The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Meadowes,” I choked out, cringing again. My brain had just coughed up my maiden name. Not exactly the cloak of anonymity I was going for. “And you are?”
“Me? I’m Willhelmina Bergdorfer, but everybody calls me Willie.” She adjusted her turban. “My, what a nice, old-fashioned name Prudence is. Not like all of those Brittanys and Tiffanys running around these days. And how did you know Evan?”
“Oh, we were in school together.”
“In school? Pardon my saying so, but you look quite a bit older than Evan.”
“Too much time in the sun, I guess.”
“Well, why don’t you come in while I see if I can find the key.”
The key! “Thank goodness you’ve got one. If something’s happened to Evan, I need to get in there. Snookums might not even have food.” I followed her into her apartment. The promotional materials were right; one wall was totally gl
ass, and offered a sweeping view of the Capitol building, with the U-T Tower in the background. The solid walls were festooned with what looked like African masks, and zebra skins were flung across the stained concrete floors. Unusual décor for a woman in her sixties. Not a tea cozy in sight.
“Why don’t you have a seat,” she said, “while I see if I can find that key. He gave it to me a few months ago, for emergencies, but I don’t remember what I did with it.”
“Thank you,” I said, perching on an armchair strewn with some kind of woven tribal fabric. “Your decorating sense is incredible. What wonderful things you have here.”
“You think so? Henry and I spent years and years in Africa. They’re just a few things I picked up along the way.” I eyed a mask that looked something like a cross between a saber-toothed tiger and a rabbit.
“I’m worried,” I said. “Are you sure the police didn’t say what had happened to Evan?”
“Not a word, I’m afraid. They were quite close about it all. Now, where did you say you went to school with Evan?”
I swallowed. “Oh, just a small college up North.”
“Really? I thought he was a big UT fan.”
“Oh, of course,” I stammered. “We used to tease him, call him Tex.” I laughed lightly. “It was such a long time ago. Seems like another lifetime. I always thought he was cute, though. Tell me, is he dating anyone?”
“Oh, so you’re single?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you wearing that wedding ring?”
The ring again. I sucked in a deep breath while I fumbled for an explanation. “The wedding ring?” I tried to laugh lightly, but it came out sounding like a sheep being strangled. “Oh, yes. I keep forgetting about that.” Willie’s sharp eyes examined my face. “Well, you see, the thing is, my husband and I are… are…”
She gave me a knowing look. “Separated?”
The air whooshed out of my lungs. “Exactly. That’s it. We’re separated.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Really, though, in this day and age, you shouldn’t be ashamed of it.” She’d misinterpreted my panicked bleat as shame. “What with all of these loose morals, it’s happening more and more. But shouldn’t you wait a bit before you start dating around? I mean, don’t you want to see if things will work out?
I blinked.
“When we were in Africa,” she continued, “my Henry fell for a chief’s daughter. They met at the Chibuku Neshamwari festival. Suddenly, he was coming home smelling like an incense pot every night. For a month or two there, I thought he’d abandon us and take up the native life, but he eventually came to his senses. They almost always do, you know. Once the wild sex wears off, they start to miss the domestic comforts, the familiarity.”
I was speechless, but it didn’t matter. Willie wasn’t done yet.
“Did you give him plenty of back rubs? I’ve found it always helps to have a nice cocktail waiting for them when they get home, and a hot dinner on the table. Henry once told me that the chief’s daughter made a mean groundnut stew, but didn’t know the first thing about pot roast. Turns out it was my pot roast that brought him around in the end. I’ll give you the recipe, if you’d like.” She shook her head. “Men may wander, but if you keep a nice hot meal on the table and their slippers waiting for them, they’ll almost always come back.”
I managed not to choke. Here was this prim-looking lady, talking about her husband’s sexual escapades with some kind of Zambian princess, and recommending I save my marriage by learning to make a good pot roast. Maybe she had a point though. Our life in the bedroom had never been earthshaking, but it had tapered off lately. I’d attributed it to having two kids under the age of six, but maybe there was more to it. Was I being a good wife to Blake? I’d stopped making his favorite dishes lately because most of them were heavy on cheese and beef. Had I gone too far in the other direction? What if I started cooking steaks again? Or met him at the door with slippers and a glass of wine?
I was on the verge of confiding my worries to this kind woman in a turban when I remembered that the marriage I had told her about was fictitious. I was here to find out about Evan Maxted, not look for marital advice. I sighed mournfully. “I’m afraid my marriage is beyond saving. He’s filing for divorce. I guess I just wear the ring because I’m not ready to let go yet.”
“Poor dear. Well, then, I suppose it is time to start looking for greener pastures. And Evan is a nice-looking young man, with a good job, too. You may be a bit older, but if you’re a good cook, that can make up for it. I don’t know if he’s dating anyone. He has a lot of men friends, like all young men do… I imagine they go out carousing together, and I’ve seen a lovely woman coming and going from time to time.”
“A woman?”
“Oh, yes. A beautiful blonde. She comes by some evenings, usually in a ball gown. Dressed to kill, you know. Funny, though, I never see them going out together. I saw her just last night, in fact.”
“Has anyone else been by recently?”
“Why?”
“Oh, I just thought maybe they’d know why the cops were there this morning. Maybe it would be someone I know.”
“Let me think. I’m here most of the time, and since my door is at the end of the hall, I can peek out the peephole and see what’s happening.” She blushed slightly. “Not that I’m nosy. I just worry about security. They promised us a doorman when we bought the place, but they keep giving notice. So I keep an eye on things, just in case.”
“I understand,” I said. “You can never take enough precautions.”
“Exactly.” She nodded, seeming relieved that I had bought her explanation. “Anyway, the police have been in and out all morning. I can’t think why. But other than that, Evan had two visitors recently. One was an attractive older woman. At least I think she was attractive. It was hard to tell with the hat and sunglasses. Very nice figure though, and the cutest little skirt and jacket—all mauve, done up with embroidery on the lapels. She stopped by Monday night, around seven, and stayed for a half hour. She didn’t look happy when she left, though. She jabbed at that elevator button as if she wanted to poke it right out of the wall.”
“And who was the other visitor?”
“A gentleman, in his fifties, I’d say. Quite good-looking, even though his hairline has receded. I hadn’t seen him before. He was here Sunday. We met in the hall when my my Henry was taking me out to dinner.
“Huh. Doesn’t ring a bell. What did he look like?”
“Oh, he was quite debonair.” She tilted her head to one side coquettishly. “Reminded me of Sinatra, in a way. A voice like melted butter.” She sighed. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to pass the time of day with me. Let me get that key.”
As she bustled away, I sat and stared at the masks on the wall. As she disappeared into the other end of the apartment unsettling thoughts began passing through my mind. I hadn’t heard anyone when I first checked on Maxted’s door, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone there. What if we burst into the room and Bunsen was there?
By the time Willie returned brandishing a silver key, my hands were clammy with sweat. “Ready?” she asked?
I gulped. “Sure.”
As I padded down the hallway in the older woman’s wake, I fought the urge to disappear into the elevator. I’d gotten this far, hadn’t I? And if someone were in the apartment, I would have heard it, wouldn’t I?
She was about to fit the key into the lock when Evan Maxted’s door swung open.
NINE
It wasn’t Bunsen.
It wasn’t a whole lot better, either.
The woman who opened the door was dressed in blue polyester, with a nice shiny gold badge to match. “Can I help you?” she asked in a clipped voice.
I opened and closed my mouth a few times. Fortunately, Willie jumped into the gap. “Yes. This is a friend of Evan’s. Prudence Meadowes. He was keeping her cat, but she can’t seem to get in touch with him.” Her delicate face squinched into a w
orried look under her turban. “We saw the crime scene tape, and now you’re here…is he all right?”
“I’m afraid Mr. Maxted passed away last night. This is a crime scene, ma’am.”
Although it wasn’t news to me, I widened my eyes and raised a hand to my mouth. “Oh, no!” I said. How did it happen? He was so young…”
“Oh, my goodness,” Willie said, drawing in her breath. “How awful!”
I blinked at the cop. “But if you’re here, does that mean… does that mean somebody killed him?”
The policewoman nodded curtly.
“Oh, dear. Such a tragedy. Such a young man…” Willie shook her head and adjusted her turban. “But what shall we do about Prudence’s cat?”
“She can get her cat.” The officer, whose name was Carmes, according to her name tag, turned her slate-hard eyes to me. “You say you’re a friend of Mr. Maxted’s?”
I nodded.
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Maxted?”
“I don’t know. This is all just such a shock, I can’t even think… When I dropped off my cat, I guess.”
“And when was that?”
How the hell was I supposed to know? So far, the cat-sitting plan wasn’t working out too well. “Um, two weeks ago, I guess.” I sniffled. “Poor Evan!”
“And were you out of town?”
“Yes. That’s right. Of course, if I had known this would happen, I never would have left.”
“Where were you?”
“Pardon me?”
“I asked where you went on your trip.”
I blinked. I’d heard her the first time. I just couldn’t think of an answer. “Paris,” I blurted.
Paris? What was I thinking?
Fortunately, this seemed exotic enough to satisfy her. “Your cat’s in there,” she said. “I’d go get it myself, but it almost bit me when I tried to contain it earlier. Besides, forensics has already been all over this place, so I guess it’s okay. Good thing you showed up, though. Animal Control is due here in a half-hour.”
Karen MacInerney - Margie Peterson 01 - Mother's Day Out Page 8