by Anna Drake
But for now Ginger and I barreled through the dark morning alongside endless numbers of cars and trucks and RVs. I was anxious to reach our destination. I wanted to nail Treadway’s guilt or innocence But I couldn’t help wondering where all these other drivers around us were headed?
About three hours into the trip, I took the off ramp and pointed my car toward a much advertised truck stop. A huge billboard had informed us of its existence about every mile for the last three miles. Our morning coffee had made its way through me, and I knew the restaurant also hosted a well-stocked store, which should count umbrellas among its offerings. I parked as close to the brightly lit emporium as I could. It’s glowing lights were a comfort on such a dark day. Then, hands held over our heads, Ginger and I made a mad dash for the place through the pounding rain.
“We wouldn’t need to be dodging rain drops now,” Ginger hissed, “if you’d remembered to bring the umbrellas.”
She hadn’t thought to include one either, I noted, although I didn’t share that thought with her.
The restaurant we landed in had strategically placed its store at the front of the building. This way diners had to walk through the shopping space to get to the food. It was a clever idea with T-shirts and candy bars and souvenirs all screaming from shelves and racks for attention. Parents with children in tow, I thought, would be lucky to reach the restaurant with enough money left in their pockets to buy food.
But Ginger and I ignored the goodies and dashed for the restroom instead. Then, upon our emergence, we bought one umbrella each. Afterward, we finished up our brief stop in front of the coffee bar, where I filled a to-go cup with regular coffee and added a packet of sweetener. Ginger skipped the do-it-yourself bar and ordered a latte from a young woman with short hair and long earrings. Finally, under the protective cover of our umbrellas, we strolled back to my car.
“This rain,” I said, after we were comfortably settled in our seats, “might be a break for us.” I reached out and slammed the door closed behind me.
“How so?”
“It may force Treadway’s neighbors to stay indoors. That would make it easier for us to find them at home and willing to talk.”
Well, home some of them were. But they're willingness to talk varied widely.
***
The suburb Treadway lived in was modern and full of obviously successful people. The brand names of the cars surrounding us as we wended our way through the beautifully landscaped suburb included Mercedes, Lexus, and Cadillac. Buckets of colorful posies hung from old-fashioned street lights. Lawns were a bright, chemical-induced green. Even the few poor unfortunate wet dogs I saw tagging along after their owners looked posh. Curbside appeal of the homes rolled past had to be at the upper end of the spectrum. At least, I thought, they cost way more than either Ginger or I could afford.
Map clutched in her hands, Ginger barked out directions, and finally she delivered us to Treadway’s workplace. I’d thought it might be interesting to see where some the nation’s best minds worked. I don’t think either of us were disappointed at having taken the side trip.
The lab turned out to be an architectural triumph sitting well back from the road on an expanse of grass adorned with a large lake, which sported nearly a dozen white swans. I was suitably impressed and slowed down so we could take a good look at the structure. White concrete. Black tinted windows. All right angles. The place looked like the kind of place where a space alien might feel right at home.
Ginger shook her head. “Maybe we should turn around go right back to Cloverton. If Treadway works in a place like this, he’s obviously legit.”
“Not a chance.” I floored the accelerator and caught up with fast-moving traffic around us. “We’re returning to where he lives and accosting his neighbors until we learn more about the guy. I mean he was there the weekend Gary died. What kind of man hangs around to watch his high-school crush get married?”
I turned left at the next intersection and soon had us back to Treadway’s apartment complex.
We parked in one of the complex’s visitor’s slot, and beneath the safety of our umbrellas Ginger and I hastened toward the building’s front door. The entrance wasn’t locked. No one had to buzz us inside. I thought it was rather trusting of the residents not to take further protect themselves from strangers.
“Their apartments are probably all wired with burglar alarms,” I suggested.
“You think?” Ginger snapped. “And you’re contemplating breaking into one of them?”
“Don’t fret. We’ll be fine.”
“Honestly Melanie, if you’ve ever had a harebrained idea, this one is it.”
“You’re standing here beside me, aren’t you?” I whispered tersely. “If I’d known you were going to be this much trouble, I would have left you at home.”
“Maybe I wish you had.”
Oh dear, I thought, this wasn’t a grand beginning.
We stood there quietly a minute, absorbing our surroundings. The lobby was done up in white marble with gold trim. A couple of green ferns spilled out of planters set on tall tables. The elevator door was brass. The space managed to deliver quite a first impression for its residents. One, I’m sure they paid dearly for.
Ginger pointed to the elevator. “Which floor does Treadway live on?”
“Fourth.”
“How do you know that?”
“I called his super yesterday.”
“You lied, I hope? I mean, you didn’t give him your name, right?”
“Right,” I said, without offering any further information.
“Geesh,” Ginger huffed, “some day, Melanie, you’re gonna take a step too far and get us hauled off to jail.”
“Nah. That will never happen. Besides you spent a night with police when Gossford dragged you off with him. And you survived it.”
“Please, don’t remind me. The less I think about him and his suspicions of me the better I feel.”
We climbed into the elevator and rode to the fourth floor in silence. It dumped us out into a narrow hall, tastefully wallpapered in hunter-green and warm-beige vertical stripes. Very elegant. Very masculine.
“Which apartment is his?” Ginger whispered.
A long line of doors for individual apartments stretched out down both sides of the hall. From what I could see there were more than ten apartments on each side of the hallway with one door at each end. I quickly estimated the math in my head and figured the management had to be raking a monumental profit from this affair.
“Apartment nine,” I whispered back.
Ginger took a giant step forward, apparently intending to set out for his place. I snagged her arm and pulled her back beside me. “We can’t break into his place,” I explained.
She cast me an evil eye. “Why not?”
“I didn’t expect this kind of set up. If I try the credit card trick here to open his door, any neighbor stepping into the hall will instantly spot us. And don’t you think I’d look a little suspicious trying to stuff a credit card into the door jamb.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” Ginger complained. “Here I was hoping we could skip spending time chatting up neighbors. I mean if you came to my door asking about one of my friends, I’d slam the thing closed in your face.”
“Oh, go on. These folks aren’t friends. This is the city. They’re barely neighbors. Unless I miss my guess, they keep themselves to themselves. Besides, there are very few people who are as loyal to friends and neighbors as you are.”
“Is that some kind of an insult?”
“Come on, Ginger. Lighten up. You deal with people all day at your workplace. So do I. Trust me. We can get away with simple a scam like this all day long.”
Ignoring the doubtful look stamped on my friend’s features, I stepped forward, raised my hand, made a fist, and banged on the first door we came to. A young woman in sweats eased the apartment door open and stared back at me.
Probably somewhere in her middle twenties, she was tall a
nd slender with a tan that spoke of hours lying out either at a beach or in a tanning bed. Her hair was streaked, her face well formed. And under the glare of the woman’s steely blue eyes, I felt tempted to check myself to see if I mightn’t have missed a spot of sausage when wiping my mouth after breakfast. She glance in Ginger’s direction. My friend took a step backwards. Ms Steely Eyes shifted her attention back to me.
“May I help you?” Ice coated each word she spoke, and she continued to stare down her long nose at us.
I straightened my purse strap on my shoulder. “Um… yes…. Ah, good morning. I’m Melanie Hart. This is Ms Black. We work for the Allied Insurance Company.”
“Is that right?” she shot back. “Well, I’m with Gibbons Insurance, and I’ve never heard of your company.”
“Ah… we’re a small outfit, little more than a start up… really.” I forked over a business card listing my name. I’d had them printed up yesterday. A last-minute decision. The things had cost me some cash, but I thought they might lend us credibility.
The woman accepted the card, lowered her gaze, and studied it closely. I prayed the printing ink on the thing had dried since I’d had it done up yesterday.
“Again,” she said, glancing back up at me, “what do you want?”
“Don Treadway has applied for a policy with our firm. We’re here today to see if you could answer a few questions for us?”
“Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I don’t give out information on any of my neighbors. Besides, I don’t have any to share. I keep myself almost entirely to myself.”
What a news flash, I thought. Given this woman’s sour personality I was surprised she’d so much as opened her door for us.
“Thank you, for your honesty,” I said, plastering a smile on my face. “It was kind of you to give us what time you have. We appreciate it.”
Without softening her attitude in the least, the young woman slammed the door closed in our faces.
“Yikes,” Ginger exclaimed. “I’d almost rather face Gossford than stand at attention in front of her.”
“Come on,” I said. “Maybe the next apartment will house friendlier folk.”
“Sometimes, I really resent your optimism. Can you honestly think of any reason we shouldn’t fold up our bags and for the motel now?”
“We’ve driven for five, long hours and have a reservation at a motel for the night. it would be madness to go home now.”
Ginger made some comment under her breath which I couldn’t quite catch. And I did not ask her to repeat it. But she grudgingly trudged down the hall with me to the next door, upon which I pounded out a summons which went unanswered. I repeated my effort. Again, no one responded.
“Okay,” I said, stepping back from the door. “We’ll just move along to the next one.” I knocked, and we listened. I heard someone stir within the apartment. I glanced at Ginger and nodded, confident my faith in human nature was about to be redeemed.
The door swung open. A young girl, maybe somewhere around age ten, gazed up at us. She had a round face, glasses, and pigtails, and was dressed in pink shorts with a yellow T-shirt. She looked innocent, curious, and darling.
I gave her my most motherly smile. “May we speak with one of your parents?”
She smiled back up at me. “I’m sorry. But they’re not home.”
Huh. Didn’t her parents know there were ax murderers out in the real world? Or had they sent their daughter to the door to duck us? Either way, they should be hauled off to jail for letting this sweet thing answer a knock from a total stranger.
“Do you know a man who lives on your floor by the name of Don Treadway?”
“Sure. He’s usually coming out of his apartment when I leave for school. Lots of times I ride the elevator with him.”
“And what about your parents think of him? Do you know?”
“I know they tell him hello if they see him.”
“Will your parents be back soon?”
“I don’t think so. They went to see Aunt Molly. They could be gone for quite awhile.”
I pressed my lips tightly together. I was half ticked at myself for dragging such telling information out of girl. I knew I wouldn’t use it to harm her, but I also knew there were those in this world who might.
“So what can you tell me about Mr. Treadway. Do you like him?”
“Hey partner,” Ginger hissed in my ear, “is there no level you won’t stoop to?”
“The fellow’s okay,” the little girl said, ignoring my partner’s antics. “I don’t know if my parents like him though.”
“Really?”
Had I struck pay dirt? I bent over to put myself more on the girl’s level, “Do you know why your parents might not care for him?”
“Not really. You see they never talk about him. Sometimes, with the other neighbors, they have a lot to say about them. But not Mr. Treadway.”
“Right,” I said, straightening while Ginger sent me an I-told-you-so smirk. “Well, thank you for your help.”
I wanted to tell the girl not to open the door to any more strangers, but thought I might frighten her for no reason. Maybe bad things never really did happen here. What did I know?
The girl gave me a brief wave and closed the door. I breathed easier when I heard the sound of a chain sliding into place. And I found myself hoping the little creature was a fast learner. Maybe, I’d frightened her into being more cautious in the future.
A little later, after banging on three more doors without any response, I wondered if everyone who lived here weren’t out running around in the day’s heavy rainfall? But at my next knock an elderly man swung wide his door. Dressed in a plaid-flannel bathrobe, he stared at me with a face consisting of red-rimmed brown eyes and an over-sized chin full of gray stubble. Studying him, I had an uncomfortable feeling that he was in return absorbing every detail about me.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
So much for being of good cheer.
I smiled sweetly. “Information on one of your neighbors,” I said.
“Which one?”
“Don Treadway.”
“Him,” he harrumphed. “He’s not home. Never is on a weekend.”
I thought of Treadway’s serious pursuit of Cordelia each week in Cloverton since Gary’s death. Mr. Bathrobe apparently knew his stuff when it came to my target. “That’s interesting,” I responded. “Do you know how long Treadway’s been making these little weekend jaunts?”
“That would depend on who wants to know.”
I introduced myself and Ginger. “We’re with Allied Insurance.” I gave him the song and dance about checking on Treadway’s application and handed him my business card.
He accepted the little cream-colored object and slid it into a pocket of his old robe. “Would you care to come in?”
I stood there mute for a moment, wondering what he was hiding beneath his ratty old bathrobe. Then. I reminded myself that there were two of us and only one of him. I smiled. No matter what this man’s intentions were, I realized that Ginger and I could overpower the man in two seconds flat. And I’d just taken a step toward the doorway when I heard the elevator door ding open behind us.
The elderly man’s gaze slid to the end of the hall.
“Officer?” he said, waving a thickly veined hand at whomever was exiting the elevator. “Can I help you.”
“Yes,” a male voice answered. “I’m responding to a nuisance complaint about two women who are apparently bothering folks in this hallway.” Ginger and I turned to study this intruder, only to find he wore a navy-blue uniform, a bright, shiny police badge, and an ominously large gun.
My knees turned to water. “Officer,” I mumbled.
He leveled his gaze at Ginger and me. “Would you two mind following me to the police station, please?”
“Are we under arrest?” I managed to squeeze out with what little air remained in my lungs.
“I just need to talk to you. That’s all, ma’am,” he ex
plained. “As I’m sure you know, there’s no soliciting allowed inside of this building.”
Oh, swell.
FIFTEEN
“Told you so,” Ginger snapped about an hour later as we wended our way down a small corridor toward the police station exit. We’d been told we were free to go. But it’d been a narrow thing. Worse yet, our freedom had required intervention on our behalf by Alan Larkin, who’d vouched for us.
I knew Larkin would never let me live this one down. But his was the only name I dared give the officer to prove we weren’t escaped cons – or worse. I only hope he hadn’t pretended he had our names logged in his little black book. It would be just like my dear snitch.
Now, I took my frustrations out on my partner in crime as she trudged along beside me. “Would you please get a grip?” I said. “We’re not in a jail cell. What more do you want?”
“Some lunch would be nice.”
Given what we’d been through, I couldn’t believe Ginger was hungry. This paragon of dietary self-control wanted to wolf down food? I sighed. Watching her eat might beat listening to her whine. “What are you in the mood for?” I asked.
“A public hanging. Preferably with you as the featured event.”
“Other than that? What would your choice of food be?”
“Mexican would be good.”
I gave Ginger an internal salute. The nearest Mexican restaurant close to home was forty miles to the east. Of course, Dad couldn’t eat spicy food, so Mexican dishes at home were not a done thing.
Knowing that cops took food seriously, I asked the desk sergeant on the way out the door of the station for the name of their best local Mexican restaurant.