Once I picked my jaw up off the floor and headed back inside the apartment complex, I noticed something interesting in the lobby. A scraggly-haired male student checked his mail, which got me thinking about Jennifer’s mailbox for a second.
I headed back to Jennifer’s apartment where her father sat on the couch in the living room, getting teary looking at a framed photo of himself and his daughter. After comforting him as best as I could, he put the photo down on the coffee table in front of him and listened to my question.
From the get-go, I had not planned to show Mark the photo I had just taken of the redhead kissing Tyler, and after seeing how emotionally fragile Mark was, I knew it was best to keep the photo to myself. If I believed that Mark could give me the identity of the redhead, I would have felt differently, but I didn’t think he had any clue who she was. In addition, showing him the photo would only disturb him.
That’s why I decided to stick with my original set of questions. “Do you have a key to your daughter’s mailbox?”
He furrowed his brow. “No. The landlord only gave me a key to her apartment.”
I became deflated. “Oh.”
“If it’s important, I can ask the landlord for a mailbox key,” Mark replied.
“That would be great.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you think you’re going to find in there?”
He wasn’t going to like my answer, but I didn’t have anything to give him other than vagaries.
“I’m not quite sure. It may be nothing, but it doesn’t hurt to check,” I said.
“You’re right. It’s best to explore every possible avenue.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied.
***
I hated leaving Mark alone in that apartment when he was still so deep in mourning, but this case wasn’t going to solve itself, and he wasn’t paying me to hang around and comfort him. There was plenty of investigating left to do, so I set off to do it.
I barely made it out the door to Jennifer’s apartment when I saw her neighbor, Vanessa Young, exiting her apartment with a trash bag in her hand. Vanessa walked to the end of the hallway and threw the bag down the trash chute. As Vanessa took a few steps back towards her apartment, I approached her.
Vanessa looked spooked to see me. Then again, she was the kind of girl who seemed like she was afraid of her own shadow. The socially awkward nineteen-year-old was mousey and bookish, with long stringy brown hair, dorky glasses and thrift store geeky clothes. I didn’t know what she was majoring in, but I had a feeling that a degree in library science might be in her future.
I gave her a friendly smile as I greeted her. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replied.
We had both said the same thing to each other, but her response was noticeably lacking in enthusiasm. Unlike my discussion with Tyler before, I didn’t feel like Vanessa was trying to avoid me because she had something to hide. I just thought social awkwardness was in her DNA.
“Mind if I ask you some questions?” I said.
She didn’t seem like she was eager to say yes. Instead, she remained very guarded with me. “That depends. Who are you?”
I showed her my credentials. “My name is Melanie Cooper. I’m a private investigator.”
Vanessa’s eyes widened. “Investigator? What are you doing here?”
“I’m here about Jennifer Richardson.”
I saw a sadness in her eyes. “Right. It’s terrible what happened to her.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Not really.”
“But you were neighbors.”
“Don’t get me wrong, we were always friendly, saying hi and making small talk when we ran into each other, but that was about it. We just didn’t have any common friends or interests.”
“I get it,” I replied. “That being said, did she seem depressed or overly anxious to you?”
“Sometimes.”
That answer took me by surprise. I had become so used to hearing people tell me that Jennifer had given off no warning signs that I was becoming unaccustomed to hearing anything else.
I wanted to be sure I had heard that right. “Really?”
Vanessa nodded.
Finally, I was getting somewhere. I became wildly curious to see how much insight she could give me. “When? And about what?”
“For example, every time she got into a fight with her boyfriend,” Vanessa replied.
“Did she tell you this?”
Vanessa shook her head.
I was confused. “Then how did you know she was depressed or anxious about a fight?”
“Because I would hear them fighting through the walls.”
“Are you serious?”
Vanessa scoffed. “The brochure for this apartment complex brags about it having all kinds of amenities, but thick walls aren’t one of them.”
“Are you sure she was arguing with her boyfriend?”
“Oh, it was Tyler all right.”
“What were they arguing about?” I asked.
“All kinds of stuff,” Vanessa replied.
“Care to narrow it down for me?”
“I wish I could, but the walls here aren’t that thin.”
No, of course not. That would make things too easy. What would be the fun in that?
Vanessa continued. “I could hear their voices, but the specific words they said to each other were muffled.”
I gritted my teeth. “That’s a shame. I was hoping for a little more than that.”
“Why don’t you ask Tyler what they were fighting about?”
“I will.”
Vanessa wasn’t done surprising me quite yet. She issued a word of warning. “Be careful, though.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Why?”
She leaned in and whispered, “He’s a bad guy.”
I wasn’t quite sure why she had felt the need to say that in such hushed tones. She acted like she was worried that someone was over her shoulder watching her, yet we were completely alone in the hallway. Her behavior was curious enough, but it was the words that had come out of her mouth that sent a chill down my spine.
“What do you mean?”
“You heard me. Tyler is a bad guy.”
Vanessa wasn’t getting my drift.
I tried to make myself clear. “I meant, what rationale do you have for saying that?”
She squinted her eyes. “Some people just rub you the wrong way.”
I couldn’t argue with that. My conversation with Tyler hadn’t exactly left the best taste in my mouth. While I would have liked for her to have shared more information with me, either she didn’t have any or she had no plans to volunteer it.
Even so, I was determined to make some more headway. “When was the last time you heard Jennifer and Tyler arguing?”
It didn’t take her long to produce an answer. “Come to think of it, they had a big fight the night before she killed herself.”
Talk about burying the lead. Why had it taken her so long to reveal that to me? That being said, I couldn’t get down on her. She had given me more information to work with than anyone else had.
“Are you serious?” I replied.
Vanessa nodded. “Crazy, huh?”
“I’ll say.”
“Anyway, do you need anything else from me, or can I go back inside now?”
Vanessa looked antsy to get out of the hallway, but there was another question I wanted to ask her first.
“Just one sec.” I pulled out my phone and showed her the photo I had taken of the redhead in the car earlier.
“Do you recognize this woman?” I asked.
Her eyes opened wide. “That’s Tyler’s ex-girlfriend, Heather Bonner.”
It was curious what she had said. “Ex-girlfriend?”
“Yes.” Vanessa scrunched her nose. “Why do you have a photo of her on your phone?”
“Let me worry about that.” I gave Vanessa a look of
deep appreciation. “Thank you for your help.”
“No problem,” she replied.
Vanessa headed back into her apartment while I remained in the hallway and attempted to get some useful information out of Jennifer’s other neighbors. Unfortunately, after speaking with her neighbor across the hall and the girl who lived in the apartment diagonal to hers, I had no additional leads to show for it.
Not that I expected much. Since Jennifer’s unit was at the end of the hallway, she only shared a common wall with one other apartment—Vanessa’s. These other neighbors wouldn’t have been able to hear Jennifer and her boyfriend arguing through the walls anyway. Still, I thought it was worth a try talking to them.
After finishing up on Jennifer’s floor, I headed back to Tyler’s apartment again, but he was still out—no doubt with his ex-girlfriend. I wasn’t in the mood to wait around for him to come back. Especially not when I had another lead to follow up on.
Chapter Eight
A visit to the student health center was next on my list. The doctor who had prescribed the Miloxinex worked there. As I waited to speak with the doctor, I had the misfortune of sitting in the waiting room during the middle of cold and flu season. A symphony of sniffles and sneezing was taking place right in front of me, and I had a front row seat whether I wanted one or not. It was one of the rare times in my life when sitting next to a frat guy with a hangover was surprisingly the best seat in the house. After all, at least a hangover wasn’t contagious.
By the time the doctor came out to greet me, I was relieved beyond belief. That relief didn’t last long. Dr. Keith Richmond was a lot of things, but friendly wasn’t one of them. The paunchy fifty-six-year-old wore a lab coat that was one size too small while thinning patches of hair clung to the sides of his head for dear life. I didn’t spend much time lingering on his appearance. Not because there were more pressing matters at hand, but rather that Dr. Richmond had no interest in talking to me. That didn’t stop me from trying.
“Jennifer Richardson got a prescription from you for anxiety,” I started saying.
Dr. Richmond cut me off. “Let me just stop you right there.”
I was determined to get my point in. “I was just wondering if she told you what she was anxious about.”
The doctor shut me down. “I can’t tell you that.”
I kept pressing. “Because you won’t or because you don’t know?”
“Because I can’t.”
I pleaded my case. “Look, just trying to find out what happened to her.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t discuss patient details with you. It’s a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality,” Richmond said.
“I understand doctor-patient confidentiality—”
He interrupted me again. “Then you know I can’t discuss any details about my patient with you.”
“I’m not trying to get you to break any rules.”
“Good. In that case, you should understand that I have nothing else to say to you.”
I tried to make one last plea. “I’m really not trying to make trouble. Jennifer’s father just wants to find out the truth about what happened to his daughter, and I think you might be able to help with that.”
For the first time during the entire conversation, the doctor’s icy exterior thawed a little. Unfortunately, not as much as I wanted it too. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very sorry about Jennifer’s death, but my hands are tied here. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
I opened my mouth to make one last attempt to get information out of him, but the doctor wasn’t having it.
Richmond turned away from me and called out to his receptionist. “Mary Ellen, will you please show Ms. Cooper out?”
***
My first attempt to get information had been thwarted, but I had a plan. I waited outside the health center until I saw Mary Ellen, the receptionist, coming out with a brown lunch bag. I stopped her in the parking lot.
“Mary Ellen,” I said.
She whirled around, shocked. When she saw that it was me and not some crazy weirdo, she took a deep breath but still remained guarded with me. There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm in her voice.
“Yes?” Mary Ellen replied. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about Jennifer Richardson.”
She tried to shut me down. “The doctor already spoke to you about doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“He did.”
“So why are you bothering me?”
“You’re not a doctor,” I replied.
“I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“This will only take a minute.”
She shook her head. “The doctor doesn’t want me talking about patients.”
“Trust me, I don’t want to be doing this.”
It remained a black-and-white issue to her. “Then don’t.”
I tried to add some gray to the equation. “You have to admit, these are extraordinary circumstances. A woman is dead. She was your age with a bright future ahead of her. I just want to find out what happened to her.”
Playing to Mary Ellen’s emotions seemed to work at least a little. She didn’t exactly warm up to me, but she didn’t turn me away either. Seemed willing to hear me out.
“What do you want from me?” Mary Ellen asked.
“I think you might be able to help me find out the truth.”
She remained wary. “I don’t know what to tell you. I have no idea what happened to her.”
“Jennifer got a prescription for anxiety from the doctor. Do you know what she was anxious about?”
“I can’t say.”
“Do you know if she got a prescription for anything else?” I asked.
Mary Ellen began twitching as if she was uncomfortable in her own skin. She quickly looked over her shoulder like she was worried that someone was watching her.
“You seem to think that I know more than I do. I’m just a receptionist,” Mary Ellen insisted.
She was too on edge. No matter what I did, I couldn’t seem to get her to loosen up. I wasn’t getting anywhere. She was just too uncomfortable to reveal anything to me. That didn’t mean I was ready to give up on her entirely, but rather just for the moment. I reached into my purse and pulled out my business card.
“If you change your mind or think of something that might help me, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”
Mary Ellen reached out and took the card.
I gave her a deep stare. “I just want to find out what happened to Jennifer.”
Mary Ellen put the card in her purse, got into her car, and pulled away, leaving me in the dust.
Chapter Nine
Luckily, I wasn’t the type of person who was easily discouraged. The campus dining hall was the next place to get a visit from me, although, not because I was hungry. Then again, after seeing the variety of delicious food being served, my stomach seemed eager to have a bite to eat all of a sudden.
I couldn’t believe how far dining hall food had come in the decade and a half since I had gone to college. Back when I was an undergraduate, good food was a scarcity. Slop seemed to be on the menu every single day. During those dining hall days, I had no worries about gaining the dreaded “Freshman Fifteen.”
Of course, shortly after shunning my local dining hall, I soon discovered the magic of pizza delivery to my dorm room and found myself faced with a whole different set of problems. Yup, it was safe to say I ended up ordering pizza at midnight far more often during my four years of college than I am comfortable admitting. Oh, to have those carefree days of pepperoni and sausage again.
Before pizza-based nostalgia led my taste buds to make a decision that my waistline would come to regret, I pulled my head out of the clouds and focused on tracking down my next interview subject.
Scott Taggart was more than just the manager of the dining hall. He had also been Jennifer’s boss. She had only worked ten to fifteen hours a week at the dining hall, but perhaps she had shared some insigh
ts with him while she had been on the clock.
As Scott took me back to his office, I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to have indulged in a few too many high-calorie meals here at the dining hall and had a cherubic figure to show for it. The acne-riddled thirty-five-year-old had a round face, a thick mustache, and wore a white button-down shirt and brown khaki pants that were held up by a pair of suspenders.
Scott’s cramped office was back in the kitchen, inconveniently located within earshot of the industrial dishwasher that made frequent loud clanging and banging sounds. His office also happened to be next to the time clock, where a trio of kitchen employees gossiped about how drunk they had gotten last weekend and how plowed they were going to get this weekend.
As I sat down across from him, I couldn’t help but notice how many reminder notes Scott had on his desk. They all said things like “Keep positive” and “Teamwork makes the dream work.” Unlike some of the other people I had interviewed who seemed to have a multitude of other things on their minds, Scott gave me his undivided attention.
He looked more than happy to talk to me. As if speaking with me gave him a welcome diversion from his job. Unfortunately, even though he was the first person not to be evasive with me, he also happened to have the least amount of information to share with me.
“Was Jennifer having any problems with anyone at work?” I asked.
Scott shook his head. “No. Not at all. She got along with everyone, which, let me tell you, considering all the different personalities who work here, is amazing.”
“Did she ever seem depressed at work?”
“No. She was a model employee. Jennifer came in with a smile on her face and had a great attitude. I wish some of my other employees took that cue.”
“Any idea why she might have taken her life?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It beats me. She seemed to have a much better life than most people I know. I guess it just goes to show that you can’t always tell what’s going on in a person’s life.”
I gave him a knowing look. “I’m finding that out.”
Meredith Potts Fourteen Book Cozy Mystery Set Page 4