I pulled into a parking space and turned to Barbara. “Kyle said that both the phone message on our tape and the one that Lydia supposedly made to Trevor originated from the payphone bank in the aquarium, so I guess we should go in and have a look.”
Barb nodded. “Let’s make a stop on the way. I want an Orange Julius.”
The shopping crowd was sparse and we were able to get our drinks without waiting. Within ten minutes we were standing with our backs to a tank containing a variety of jellyfish, staring at a bank of pay phones. Kyle hadn’t said just which one it was, but I guessed that it didn’t make any difference—it wasn’t like I was here to take fingerprints or anything.
Barb glanced over her shoulder at the jellies and shuddered. “They make me nervous. Dorian and I went to Australia a few years ago and I narrowly missed getting stung by a box jelly. One of the sea wasps. We were out on the shore by ourselves, and if Dorian hadn’t spotted it and stopped me, I probably would have died.”
“You never told me you’ve been to Australia. What else have we missed dishing about?” I asked, wandering over to read the information on the plaque next to the tank. Chironex fleckeri, better known as the sea wasp, had an impressive defense mechanism. Since the creature was rather delicate, its defense acted as a pretty good offense, too.
Actually quite beautiful, it looked like a wispy, bell-shaped lampshade with long flowing streamers. One of the creatures could kill an adult human within minutes, and some of the larger jellies had enough venom to take down a dozen or more people. The poison caused respiratory failure, circulatory collapse, and a nasty shock to the heart unless antivenin was delivered right away. Delightful. I planned on surfing Australia someday. Before I went, I’d be sure to come study these babies a little more closely so I knew what to look out for.
I glanced back at Barbara. “We won’t be dipping our hands in the tank, that’s for sure. I’m surprised they allow such dangerous creatures here.”
She shrugged. “No more dangerous than having a rattler or a fer-de-lance in a reptile house, I guess. The tanks are well sealed and there’s no real chance anybody could get in there unless they break the glass. I’d imagine it would take a sledgehammer, because the glass looks tempered to withstand a lot of pressure. But all the same, they give me the creeps.” She sucked on her straw. “Well, now that we’re here, what do we do?”
Good question. What were we looking for? I realized as I looked around that I had no clue as to what I expected to find. I walked over to the bank of pay phones and eyed them critically. One had an out-of-order sign on it and the date was from last week, so it was obviously out of the running. The other three were all prime suspects. I noticed a woman pushing a cleaning cart toward the back of the aquarium.
“Excuse me!”
She turned. “Yeah? What do you want?”
As I walked over to her, I cringed, but managed to keep my composure. She was a short, rail-thin woman who had to be a rabid chain smoker. Her teeth were yellowed and the wrinkles around her mouth were deep set and premature. The scent of smoke rose from her hair in a stale cloud, gagging me. Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m wondering if I might talk to whoever works the evening shift? Specifically, last Monday night.”
She gave me a one-shouldered shrug. “That would be Andy. You one of his bimbos? You look a little old for him.”
A little old? I did not look my age and I knew it. I shoved aside the comment, focusing on why we were here. “No, I’m not. I’m… I’m helping the Winchester Law Firm. We’re investigating a murder. I want to talk to whoever was on duty that night.”
With her hands on her hips, she snorted. “Won’t do you no good. Andy already told the cops everything he saw—which wasn’t much, considering he was in the break room when he should have been out here on duty. If you’re looking to talk to him, you might as well call him at home because the boss let him go this morning. Lazy little slob.” A trickle of spittle flew out of her mouth.
I ignored her churlishness. “Thank you. Do you happen to know where he lives?” Just as I’d figured, she wasn’t up on the notion of confidentiality. She sighed and poked around in the desk. Apparently they hadn’t bothered to hire someone to fill in for good old Andy yet. After a moment, she came up with a notebook and wrote down a number and an address on a Post-It note for me.
“Here you go. Say, if there’s any reward involved, do I get a share of it for making sure you can get in touch with him? My name’s Zelda Donovan, by the way. That’s D-on-o-v-a-n.”
I took a deep breath, then immediately wished I hadn’t. Not only did she reek of smoke, but of rum as well. I wasn’t sure how she managed to keep her job coming to work like that, but it was a pretty good bet that she’d be following dear ol’ Andy out the door pretty soon, unless she was related to the owner.
“I’m sorry, we can’t discuss matters like that when the case is still open.” It seemed a logical answer and she accepted it, nodding like she was in the loop. I thanked her again and Barbara and I hurried out of the aquarium.
I glanced at the paper in my hand. Andy Andrews. Oh boy. With that name, he was probably teased unmercifully during school.
“He lives… hmm… he lives right across the street. Let’s go.”
As we were headed out of the aquarium, I saw a rack of brochures on the wall and snagged one. Stanton Scuba & Snorkeling Services. So Bran really did run a diving business. I tucked it away in my purse, thinking that maybe I could use a good brushing up on my underwater skills.
THE ADDRESS THAT Zelda had given us led us directly across the street to a five-story apartment building that looked like it had seen better days. Old and weatherworn, the building appeared to house some of the poorer residents of town. The walls were faded gray stone, and the double doors leading into the building creaked when we pushed through into the lobby. We passed a long row of mailboxes on either side, until we came to the elevator at the end of the hall.
I glanced at the slip of paper again. “He lives in apartment 522A. You want to take the stairs?”
Barbara looked at me like I was nuts. “Why should I take the stairs when transportation awaits?” She pointed to the elevator and, with a grin, I shrugged and hit the button. We stepped into the empty, noisy unit and pushed the button for the fifth floor. The elevator coughed and chugged. For a moment I was worried that it was going to break down with us inside, but then it gave a loud clunk and the doors opened.
“That thing sounds worse than Zelda’s lungs did,” I said, stepping out into the hallway. Barbara followed me. We were standing in a long hall that was covered in worn sage green shag carpeting. The walls were the color of the filling in Mint Oreos, and windows at opposite ends of the hall overlooked Delacorte Plaza on one side, and on the other, a park of some sort behind the apartment building. There were a few paintings, mostly motel art, scattered along the cracking walls which looked like they hadn’t been given a paint job in several years at least. The air was chilly and I shivered, glad that I wasn’t living here.
Apartment 522A was at end of the hall. I stood at the door with Barbara behind me, wondering just what I was going to say. Finding no doorbell, I knocked firmly on the door. No answer. I knocked again. Nothing. With a sigh, I turned to Barbara.
“Nada. He’s probably out looking for work. I’m going to leave a message and my number.” I hunted in my purse for a notepad and pen, scribbled my name and number along with a request that he call me when he got the chance, then slid the paper under the door.
“I guess that’s all I can do about him for now. Let’s get the hell out of here, this place gives me the creeps.”
Barb nodded and we raced out of the building. I glanced back and thought I saw someone watching us from one of the windows, but it was probably my imagination and I shook it off as we headed for my car.
Chapter 10
I DROPPED BARB back at the bakery, stopped at Wendy’s for a burger and shake, and headed home.
It was eleven-thirty and I’d promised Sarah that I’d be there by noon to help out. As I pulled into the driveway the clouds were waging war with the sunlight, but rain was still a few hours away. I hurried into the house, pulled on a pair of black jeans and a forest green tee, then headed out to the gardens.
Moss Rose Cottage sat at the front of the thirty acres. In the backyard a fence divided the gardens from the lawn. I passed through the trellis onto the trail that led past the gazebo, to the acreage where we grew our flowers. As I headed toward the lilac grove, I could hear Sarah cursing. I rounded the curve in the path and saw that she was on her knees, stabbing at the dirt. A blackberry had taken root beneath one of the trees. Her voice rose as she struggled to dislodge it.
“Out, damned root! Out!”
Blackberry roots delved deep, plunging far below the soil to take hold and spread out, cropping up yards away as new shoots. “Hey, Sarah, having some trouble with MacBlackberry? I hope you haven’t seen the ghost of those morning glories we weeded out last month.”
She jerked around, blushing. “Hey there, Persia. These things are so stubborn. Honestly, they’re such tenacious plants.”
“Well, let me help. I’m yours for the afternoon.” I slid on a pair of leather gloves and fell in beside her.
She stretched, leaning back. Sarah had a farmwoman’s body—sturdy, not too tall, not too short, child-bearing hips. She was tanned from the constant wind and sun but her eyes twinkled bright blue, and she had an infectious good humor that seemed to affect everyone who came into contact with her.
With a glance in my direction, she said, “Can you dig over there while I take this side? I don’t think it’s created suckers yet, but by the size of this thing, it won’t be long. Once it takes hold, it will be almost impossible to eradicate without using an herbicide.”
We worked steadily until we came to the root. The blackberry was firmly entrenched, but we managed to yank most of it out and dug a few more trowels of dirt for good measure, hoping to get all the root hairs. Once we were finished, we sat back and stared at the gaping hole.
“People could take lessons from them,” she said. “Blackberries never give up. They go after what they want and they usually get it.” She wiped her forehead, leaving a streak of dirt behind. “Kind of like my llamas. Those critters are a trial in patience, I’ll tell you that. But I guess they’re worth it.”
At first, I had thought Sarah was some spacey new-age hippie wannabe, but I’d soon discovered that she was practical, grounded, yet deeply spiritual in a way that defied categorization. Her work was a prayer, and everything she did was done with deliberation and a sense of sacred duty.
“Persia, can I ask you a question?” She pushed herself off the ground and produced a couple of buckets from the little motorized cart my aunt had bought for the gardeners to save wear and tear on the back muscles while carting their gear around.
“Sure, what is it?” I accepted one of the buckets and a pair of shears as she set up the stepladders by one of the trees. We ascended and began clipping the flower stems from one of the lilac trees. The flowerets were at the perfect stage for drying for sachets and potpourri, and we’d have to work fast over the next few days in order to preserve the blooms at the optimum stage.
“What’s going on with Trevor? You don’t really think he killed that girl, do you? I work with him every day and I can tell you, he’s not a murderer.” She set down her clippers and leaned against her ladder, frowning.
I sucked on my lip. “You know, Sarah, I don’t think he did, either. Neither does Aunt Florence and that’s why she hired her lawyer to look out for Trev. But the truth is that evidence points to him being guilty and isn’t easy to overlook. The chief’s just doing his job.” I paused, and it occurred to me that Sarah had said a mouthful when she’d said they worked together every day. Maybe she knew something we didn’t. Maybe he’d mentioned something to her that could be helpful. “Have the police questioned you yet?”
She shook her head. “No, nobody’s said anything to me about it except you and your aunt. And my boys are devastated. Trevor sometimes comes over and helps out around my house. I give him a little extra cash, and the boys think he’s super cool.”
I stared at the tree limb that stretched out in front of me. The tree—or bush, as lilacs were properly called—stood a good eight feet tall. My aunt had asked Trev and Sarah to keep the bottoms of the shrubs clear of foliage, and the grove looked like so many purple puffs. Heavy, drooping flowers scented the air with an intoxicating wash of perfume. Almost overpowered, I found myself getting swept under by the fragrance. With a shake of my head I snapped out of it and selected another stem to clip, dropping it gently in the bucket.
“Sarah, did Trevor ever talk about Lydia to you? Did he ever say anything about his relationship with her?”
Sarah scrunched up her nose. “You know, now that I think about it, he did. A little over a month ago, before they broke up. He said she was the most gorgeous girl he’d ever laid eyes on and that he couldn’t believe she was actually going out with him. He seemed totally obsessed by the fact that she’d agreed to date him, so much so that I was a little worried. It seemed like she didn’t matter as a person.” She leaned against the ladder, squinting as a ray of sunshine broke through the overcast skies and illuminated the grove.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s hard to say. Almost… like she was a symbol of something to him. Maybe success? Anyway, I tried to warn him to be careful, that looks can be deceiving, but he wouldn’t listen.”
I wasn’t surprised. It was clear to me that Trevor had conveniently overlooked the girl’s personality, like so many young men in the thrall of their hormones. He’d seen her as a prize, and whether the prize was bitter or tainted wasn’t relevant—all that mattered was that he won.
“What did he say when you warned him?” My guess was that he’d shrugged her off politely and ignored her advice.
She hoisted herself up another rung on the ladder. “That was the strangest thing. He said that he didn’t have to worry. He said that he was sure she loved him, even if she wasn’t good about showing it. I mentioned the trip to New York, because she’d won the contest and I knew she was supposed to leave soon, but he said ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control.’ ”
“What did he mean by that?” A tingle in the back of my neck told me that whatever Trev had planned had back-fired, but I shrugged it away. Right now, any information we could use would be helpful.
Sarah screwed up her face. “That’s what’s so odd, and out of character.”
Uh oh. “Odd? Odd as in how?”
She sighed, shaking her head. “Persia, he told me that she wasn’t going to go. He was absolutely convinced that he could persuade her to stay, that they were meant to be together. I pressured him a little. He finally said, ‘Well, if she was going to get married and have a baby, that would stop her from going, wouldn’t it?’ Then he took off for the house and that was the last time the subject came up. A week later Lydia dumped him and he clammed up. Now she’s dead. Do you think I ought to tell the police what I just told you?”
I groaned. Kyle would want to know, that was for sure. As far as I was concerned, it was just one more nail in Trevor’s coffin. The stupid kid! What if he’d tried to persuade her to have a baby? Or what if he sabotaged his birth control? But surely she’d been on the pill? She’d been too smart of a girl to leave her protection up to the man.
Whatever went down between them, Lydia had walked out on him. Even I was beginning to believe that her rejection had hurt his ego so bad that he sought revenge, and that wasn’t a good thing. If I didn’t believe him, how could Kyle? I didn’t want to think badly of Trevor, but the way things were headed, he’d be in that cell a long, long time.
“What should I do?” Sarah asked again.
I sighed. She had to tell Kyle, but this could sink Trevor for good and, as it was, the poor kid was alr
eady treading water.
“I don’t know, Sarah. I just don’t know. Let me talk to Winthrop and my aunt.” I went back to my lilacs, wishing fervently that I’d kept my mouth shut and not asked so many questions.
When I wandered back to the house around five, I found my aunt on the floor, her briefcase dumped out in front of her, with Buttercup wandering over the stacks of paperwork. Buttercup was a classic silver tabby with beautiful emerald eyes whose personality fit that of her namesake from The Powerpuff Girls—in other words: hiss first and ask questions later. Auntie was already in a mood and I dreaded adding to it, but I’d decided that Sarah had to tell Kyle what she knew.
“What’s going on? It looks like a whirlwind hit your briefcase.”
She glanced up at me, her face a study in “I-am-peeved.” “The judge will be arraigning Trevor on Monday for Lydia’s murder. Winthrop is trying to stall for more time but Kyle’s pushing hard. I think that Charles Wang is getting to him. I’m looking for my address book so I can call a few of my friends and ask them to put the pressure on Chas to back off a little.”
As worried as I was about Trevor, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Wang family. I knelt down beside her and laid one hand on her arm. “Auntie,” I said softly, “you can’t blame him. His daughter’s been murdered. She may have been a first-class bitch to everybody else but the fact remains that she’s dead, and she was his little girl. Do you really think you’d do any different?”
A pained expression crossed her face as she tossed the file back on the stack and rubbed the bridge of her temples. “Child, sometimes I wish you weren’t so fair-minded, but you’re right.”
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