by Erin Huss
It was still baffling that they had no idea what had just happened.
"Yes," I finally said to Patrick.
"And your emergency…" said Trevor, giving me the once-over. "You all good? 'Cause your face looks a little…big."
"I'm fine now, thank you." I forced a smile.
"Well then, folks"—Trevor clapped his hands, and I jumped—"I think I've seen just about everything. Looks great." He held up his fist.
Am I supposed to fist bump him? This man was a walking conundrum with a bun. I couldn't figure him out.
I hit his fist with mine.
"Nice," he said. "I better be off so I don't hit traffic."
Patrick held the door open for everyone.
"Come on, Cambria," he said, his voice unyielding.
"Um." Chase told me not to move, but OK.
We walked Trevor to his Prius parked at the curb. "Cambria, it's been a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He kissed me on each cheek. "I like this one," he said to Patrick as if I weren't there. "She's quick, and the place has never looked better. And you." He made little pistols with his fingers and aimed them at Mr. Nguyen. "You are the essence of the salt of life. Am I right, Patrick? Or am I right?"
"Sure."
"Make this man a maintenance supervisor," he declared.
"We'll look into it," Patrick said.
Mr. Nguyen blushed.
"Now I must be off," said Trevor for the tenth time.
"I'll see you tomorrow in Long Beach." Patrick held his hand out, and Trevor swatted it away.
"None of that. Come here." Trevor pulled Patrick in for a hug.
I'd never seen anyone look more uncomfortable in all my life. Patrick, not Trevor. Trevor had the face of a man who'd just found a toilet after holding his pee for ten hours.
As Trevor drove off in his silent car, the three of us stood at the curb and waved goodbye with smiles plastered to our faces.
Once out of sight, Patrick snapped his head around so fast I thought it was going to fall off. "What happened today? You're lucky your aura is so salty, or whatever the hell Trevor says, and you're even luckier Mr. Nguyen took over for you. I understand you were in a car accident, but you should have told me this morning instead of disappearing like that. And I don't understand why you're all wet."
Before I could respond, a parade of police cars came flying around the corner—both marked and unmarked. News vans from every station I'd ever heard of, and some I hadn't, pulled up behind them.
"We have a slight problem," I told Patrick. "Jessica Wilders, the actress. Well, it looks like Shanna Roberts from Apartment 15 may have had something to do with the murders."
Patrick stared at me as if I were speaking a different language then asked, "Didn't we do a background check on her?"
"Yes, we did, and her record was clear. Unfortunately, background checks don't include 'yet-to-be-carried-out premeditated murders.'"
Mrs. Nguyen ran out with Munch in her arms to see what the fuss was about. "What is happening?"
Patrick looked as if he were waking from a daydream. "Why do you have a dog?" he said to Mrs. Nguyen.
"It's not a dog. It's a monster with legs. Here." Mrs. Nguyen shoved Munch into my chest. "This dog has the countenance of my great aunt Ly."
"He belonged to Shanna," I explained to Patrick.
Patrick blinked and shook his head. "Wait one moment. You're saying Shanna Roberts in Apartment 15 is the one who killed that actress with the gap teeth? The one who's all over the news?"
"That's the one," I said.
"She was too skinny," added Mrs. Nguyen.
A police officer pulled crime scene tape across the carports, and a group of paparazzi congregated behind the trees with their cameras covering their faces.
"Cam!" Tom pushed through the crowd and nearly knocked a reporter to the ground. "Cam!" He had one arm up and was waving. "Cam!"
"Mom, we got a dog?" Lilly cheered.
"No. No dog." I handed Munch to Mr. Nguyen. Who gave him to Mrs. Nguyen. Who gave him to Patrick.
"Cam, what happened?" Tom put Lilly on the ground and hugged me. I buried my head into his chest and inhaled him. Who needs essential oil when you have a Tom? "You're not going to believe this," he said. "But someone did drain my oil and replace it with water and loosen my power steering pump valve. You were right. It wasn't an accident."
I readjusted the towel around my shoulders. "Can you say that again?"
"You were right…" His smiled faded, and he had a look around. "Why are there so many cameras here?
"It's a long story."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
See also: Adult Daycare Provider
The com-uuu-nity was alive with the sound of police activity. Yellow tape blocked Shanna's door. Yellow tape blocked Spencer and Amy's apartment. Residents were talking to reporters. Paparazzi were climbing the fence. Police people in uniform, and detectives with gloves and bags in their hands, walked around. CSI. FBI. TMZ. Everyone was there. Police were in the storage unit. Police were in the office. Police were in my apartment. K-9 units sniffed out the property. It was mayhem.
Mayhem, I tell you!
Patrick, Tom, and I all stood in the second breezeway looking out at the chaos. Lilly was with Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen in their apartment with Munch. Amy and Spencer were still at the Ritz. Her agent told her to stay away from the scene and let the cops search her apartment to be sure no other evidence had been planted in there.
Amy was in the middle of a seaweed wrap to help her cope with stress. There wasn't enough seaweed in the Pacific Ocean to help me with mine.
I hoped Amy's close connection to the crime wouldn't backfire. But looking around at the police coming to and from her apartment, and the army of paparazzi circled around the property, I wasn't so sure the narrative to this story would sway in her favor.
The three of us walked to the third courtyard. Sophie from Apartment 38 was on the upper walkway, taking video of the police in Amy's apartment.
Great.
We took a seat at the picnic table. I crossed my arms on the tabletop to make a pillow for my aching head. I closed my eyes and let wind hit my face. I'd yet to change my clothes, but Tom had given me his sweatshirt, so at least I was warm…er.
We sat in silence until I was hit in the head by a shoe. I looked up at the second-story walkway. Alexis from Apartment 23 was throwing Trent's clothes over the railing.
"What are you doing?" Patrick yelled up to her.
"My husband is a pig." She hurled six hangers filled with dress shirts over. "He's a two-timing pig!"
Patrick turned back around. "I'm not touching that."
Throwing clothes into the courtyard had to violate at least one of the many house rules. Littering? Keeping common areas clean? Not acting like a lunatic in public? Though that wasn't a rule. But it should be an addendum.
Sophie now had her phone pointed at Alexis. "He's a pig!" She hurled his Xbox over the edge.
Tom ducked out of the way.
Yeah, OK. I guess I should deal with this.
Tom worked to save the Xbox by picking up the loose pieces scattered around the grass. Patrick remained mum. I was able to stop Alexis before she threw the television over.
"Please don't discard your personal property in the courtyard," I told her.
Alexis's eyes swam with tears, and her face turned red. "You knew, didn't you!" she screamed at me.
I held my hands up. "I don't get involved with my tenants' personal lives unless it affects the safety of others," I said. Thank goodness for that.
Alexis frowned, and she looked at the thirty-inch plasma in her arms. "Can I throw this in the dumpster?"
"If you don't want it anymore, and it fits, then you're more than welcome to."
She flipped her hair and marched down the stairs. I heard the crash of the television meeting the dumpster. Outwardly I cringed. Inwardly I laughed. Not that it was my place to say anything but—served him right.
I
went back to my spot at the picnic tables. "Is she moving?" Patrick asked.
"I suspect he is."
"Maybe you could rent him one of your vacant apartments?" Tom suggested with a wink, obviously kidding.
There was enough drama around here without inviting exes to live next to each other.
"I like the way you think, Tom," Patrick said. "Except, I do have a bone to pick with you. Kevin. Why didn't he do rehab?"
"That was against my recommendation. So Kevin ended our professional relationship via email last month."
"You never told me that," I said.
"Attorney-client relationship. I couldn't." Tom shrugged. "Why? What's going on with him?"
There was a loud clump…clump…clump…and we all turned to the back stairwell. Kevin dragged a large painting down the stairs. It was Van Gogh smoking a joint in front of a Starry Night. Kevin stopped to wipe his brow with the backside of his hand and then dragged it to the dumpsters. He returned a moment later with the television and a pair of Nike shoes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
See also: Press Secretary
Munch chased his butt until he ran into the wall. In another life he must have had a tail. I wiped my nose with a plush bath towel. Kleenex wasn't cutting it. My lungs no longer hurt, both eyes were open, and I was told my face didn't resemble a tomato anymore. It appeared I was far more allergic to the tabby cat than Munch. Good thing, because he was rubbing his body up against every surface in my apartment.
I carefully lowered into a chair at my kitchen table and cracked open a Cherry Coke. "Can you hand me the vanilla?" I asked Tom.
He dug into the reusable grocery bag and pulled out a pint of Ben & Jerry's vanilla ice cream. I plopped a scoop into my cup and poured the Cherry Coke on top. It was almost magical how ice cream could cure most everything—except my back, and my ribs, and my sternum, and my shoulder, and every muscle in my entire body.
Aside from that, I felt better.
Tom had bought everyone else dinner from the Mexican restaurant around the corner. A Ma-and-Pa place called Mexican Food Restaurant (why mince words?). It was the type of hole-in-the-wall establishment only locals dared try. The abundance of homeless men, women, and prostitutes meandering the sidewalks scared the tourists away. Mexican Food Restaurant had the most authentic Mexican food in the area. Granted, I'd never been to Mexico. Tom had. He said it was authentic. So I went with it.
Lilly ate her taco, and Tom had a burrito the size of my head.
"What'd you order again, Kevin?" Tom asked.
"I got the chicken quesadilla and beef tamale." Kevin had come over to…I wasn't sure why he came over. But he was there, on the other side of my table, eating a quesadilla.
Mexican Food Restaurant had better quesadilla-making skills than I did.
"Today was fun. My favorite part was the pretty yellow tape." Lilly picked the lettuce off her plate and put it on the table. "And I love mine's new puppy!"
I scooped the lettuce into her taco. According to Tom, authentic tacos didn't have lettuce, but I had requested she have at least one vegetable on her plate. Lettuce was Tom's idea of a vegetable.
"It's my," I told her. "And like I said, we can't keep him. This is his temporary home." Until I heard from Chase or Hampton what to do with Munch, I let him stay in my apartment. Which was fine. He was cute, and breathing is overrated.
"What's temporary mean?" Lilly asked.
"It means not permanent," Tom said.
"What's not permanent mean?"
"It means the dog belongs to someone else," Kevin said.
"Oooohhh." Lilly took a bite and gave Munch a piece of lettuce.
He chewed on it for a while then spit it out on my shoe.
I took a sip of my Cherry Coke float, leaned back in the chair, and looked out the window. After five hours of pure chaos, the community had calmed. Only a few paparazzi remained, and the police tape had been removed from the office, storage unit, and Amy's apartment. Hampton and a female detective I'd never met before had interviewed me for over an hour. I gave them a play-by-play of how I came to find Shanna's notebook and box of letters. Hampton said if he didn't know me, he wouldn't have believed me.
Not sure if that was a jab or a compliment. I took it as the latter.
The power was back on, cell service had been restored, and all was right in Southern California again. I heard the hashtag #cellmagedon was trending on Twitter during the hour that service was down. The wind had slowed enough for a helicopter to report from above, and the rhythm of the blades beating in the air had become our new ambiance. I was scared to turn on the news. I was scared to go outside. Daily C-Leb Mag had called the office six times asking for a statement.
What was I supposed to say?
We now have three one-bedroom apartment homes available. Defense attorney included in rent.
Honestly. I was beginning to wonder if this place was cursed. Or maybe it was me?
What I knew for sure was that I'd never touch an urn again. Not that I believed in all that…that much.
There was a knock on the front door, and Chase let himself inside. He paused in the middle of the living room when he saw Tom, Kevin, Lilly, and me gathered around the table, eating our authentic food.
"Did you see my new temporary puppy?" Lilly asked Chase.
"I sure did." Chase took a knee and scratched Munch on the head. He excitedly beat his stub on the carpet—the dog, not Chase.
Tom took a bite of his burrito, and Kevin leaned over. "Don't worry. You've got a solid fourteen pounds on the cop," he whispered. "You could take him."
Tom frowned down at his midriff and put the burrito back on the plate.
I mentally slapped my forehead.
"Are you hungry?" Kevin asked Chase.
"You can have mine's green stuff." Lilly held up a string of lettuce between her thumb and forefinger and made a face.
"I'm good, but thank you for the kind offer." Chase winked at her, and she blinked both eyes back. It was their thing. And it was adorable.
"You need to eat it, Lilly," I said as firmly as I could muster. "All of it." It was the only nutritional element to her dinner. Over the last twenty-four hours she'd had a horrible diet—donuts, Slurpee, quesadilla, and who knew what Tom had fed her when they were out. My guess was McDonald's. I was feeling like a crap parent. Not to mention we had, once again, been harboring a dangerous criminal in the apartment building. This was becoming a semiannual thing. I was overcome with parental guilt. And her eating the lettuce would make me feel better.
I looked to Tom for backup. He nodded. I nodded back.
"Give it here, Lil." Tom took the taco, pulled all but three pieces of lettuce out, and handed it back to her.
She stared up at her daddy like he was Superman.
Note to self: work on nodding communication with Tom.
I swigged the last of my Cherry Coke float and poured another.
"Cambria, can I talk to you privately?" Chase asked. He was still petting Munch.
Munch had rolled to his back, giving Chase access to his stomach. His little eyes were rolled back into his head, and his tongue wagged. The dog, not Chase.
I slowly got up from my seat, followed Chase outside, and stood under the upstairs walkway to hide from the helicopter hovering above us. He closed the door and hugged me. I wrapped my arms around him and dug my face into his chest. I was happy my nasal septum was no longer clogged, because Chase smelled good. He had a sexy man scent. A musky mixture of salty skin with a hint of soap. It was intoxicating.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I peered up at him. "It's not your fault."
"I should have kept a closer eye on this place." Chase cupped my face with both hands. "Why does it feel like trouble always finds you?"
"I'm beginning to think I'm cursed."
He gave a half-hearted laugh, as if I'd told a joke, but I was serious. "How about I take the dog so you can breathe better," he said.
"How about
you take the urn and put it back at Jessica's house."
"Done. And I'll take the dog too."
I sniffled. "What will you do with him?"
"He'll go to a shelter to be watched temporarily until Shanna is released or charged."
I blinked back the allergy tears. "She isn't charged yet?"
"As of right now, she's looking at possible charges of brandishing a weapon."
"A letter opener," I corrected.
"Anything is a weapon if you turn it into one."
"Fair enough. What about the stuff found in her closet?"
"CSI is taking a look at it now," he said.
"Do you know if she's the one who tried to break into my apartment?" I asked.
"We haven't interviewed her yet. We're waiting for her attorney to arrive." Chase wiped away the tear running down my cheek. "Let me get the dog away from you."
I grabbed hold of his forearm. "No. Leave Munch. He's been through a lot of stress today. You can take the cat."
"What's Munch?"
"The dog. I named him Munch."
"I think his name is Rover."
I rolled my eyes. "Unoriginal. Munch is better."
"Isn't that the name of the detective you like on Chicago PD?"
"Law & Order SVU. Detective John Munch. But you can call him Munch."
Chase let out a laugh and kissed me. "You keep Munch for now, and I'll talk to my supervisor about what to do with him. Why don't you get some rest and…" He scratched the back of his head. "How long is he going to stay here?"
"Kevin?" I played coy. "I'm not sure. Why?"
Chase tilted his head. "You know who I'm talking about. I realize he's going to be around. I'm just curious for how long, that's all."
"I don't know. His car is totaled, so I'll have to take him home, I'm sure."
Chase's brows snapped together. "What happened?"
"Tom and I were in a car accident last night. Someone, aka Shanna, drained his oil and replaced it with water. We rolled down the 101 Freeway and landed near a makeshift tent city near the Vine Street exit."
Chase appeared completely baffled. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? Are you hurt?"