Death at Lampier
Page 16
Chapter 16
Phil left the condo for town to get his new throw-away cell phone. He avoided Wal Mart and the busy phone stores and selected a Mailbox that sold prepaid phones. Using cash, he made his purchase, returned home and charged it. While the battery was coming up, he placed a call to Monique.
He waited for her answer before beginning, “I bought a prepaid. Here’s the new number. I’ll have it on all the time. Something weird happened after you left. That nosy bitch brought over a casserole and let drop that Lisa had given her documents to hang onto. She won’t give them to me. I need to know what’s in those papers.”
“What kind of papers?” Monique was playing with her hair while she talked.
“That’s the problem. I don’t know what kind of papers.”
“Did Lisa have a key to Frances’ condo? I’ll bet she did if they were such good friends. Look around see if you can find a key. Then wait until she’s gone and go over there and see if you can find the papers. But, listen, you have to be real careful not to disturb anything. Maybe I should do it. Women are better at searching than men.”
“I know how to toss a place and never leave a clue. I don’t need your help.” Phil snipped at his paramour.
“Call me back tomorrow and let me know what you find. Gotta go. Bye.” She was already moving into her next project and didn’t want to take time to deal with Phil at that moment.
Phil looked in the pantry closet where all the keys were hung. There were keys of every kind and size-car, house, office, storage shed, and keys that would never see a lock again. Most of them had labels. The few that didn’t were the ones he was interested in. Lisa labeled everything important or that might get confused with something else. The keys that were obvious-the Toyota, the Mercedes-didn’t need a label. The same was true for Frances’ condo, if it existed, because he did not find a label for Frances’ place. Three keys were without labels that could match up to the condo. Phil grabbed them and stuck them in his jacket pocket along with a flashlight to use in order to avoid turning on lights in the condo. He dumped the tuna casserole in the garbage, washed out the pan, dried it with a tea-towel and put it in a paper bag. He grabbed a bag of garbage to camouflage his actual intent.
Phil locked his door, walked down the sidewalk headed to the dumpster, watching all the condos around him to ascertain who was home and who wasn’t. Late afternoon, most people were at work. He had seen Frances leave dressed for work and figured he had at least two hours.
Phil dumped his bag of garbage and sauntered over to Frances’ sidewalk. He bent down to tie his shoe in order to take a good look around for any nosey nells. Seeing none, he proceeded up the walk to the front door. He pulled out all three keys, placing two in his left hand, he tried the first. No luck. He put that key in his pocket and tried the next. Again, it didn’t work. He put that one in his pocket and tried the third. It did not turn the lock. Frustration loomed. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled out the key ring Lisa usually carried that he had pulled off the pantry door, selected a key identical to his own front door, inserted it into the lock, held his breath and turned. The door opened inward. He heard Jackie barking out in the garden. He rushed over to the doggy door and slid the cover in place.
Phil began in the office and looked for anything with Lisa’s distinctive handwriting. He pulled open drawers, looked in file cabinets, searched the desk top--nothing. He moved into the downstairs bedroom. The only object that might hold papers was the dresser sitting against the far wall. Four drawers held nothing but spare linens.
The kitchen presented nothing more than the bedroom. Phil climbed the stairs. Systematically, he opened the hall linen closet, the dressers in each bedroom, the bathroom drawers, and cupboards-nothing. He stopped in the middle of the master bedroom and slowly turned in circles looking for a hiding place. The jewelry box contained nothing but jewelry as he pulled everything out and then put it all back. The night stand to the left of the bed held reading material and the right one held a .45 Long Colt. But no papers in Lisa’s hand writing.
Going downstairs to the kitchen door, he slipped into the garage. File cabinets covered one wall. All of the steel cabinets were locked. Boxes were stacked on the opposite wall labeled with Christmas decorations, china, summer clothes, and all were taped shut. He re-entered the kitchen, crossed to the pantry and looked for anything that might lead him in the right direction. Nothing caught his eye. He walked down the hall back to the office for one more quick look. The desk had the normal clutter, listings, outgoing mail, a stack of junk mail, business cards, and last year’s taxes. He moved the stacks and thumbed through the papers hoping to find the documents Frances mentioned. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Phil returned to the front door, examining the china cabinet on his way out. As he did so, he bumped a tiny silver pitcher knocking it over. In his haste, he did not see it fall on its side. He returned home disappointed and exasperated.