by Ellen Butler
“Ma’am, I think we’ve got it from here. You can’t be of any further help. You should return to your apartment,” he said in a sharp, abrupt tone.
Mrs. Thundermuffin rose to her full height of five feet one inch. “Well, I never—”
“The paramedic is right, ma’am.” The officer cut off whatever tirade Mrs. Thundermuffin was about to rain over him. “Thank you for all your help. We can handle it from here.”
Mrs. Thundermuffin glared at each of us in turn. I pressed a finger to my temple, just wanting it to all go away, but said nothing to contradict the two professionals.
“Well, then. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” She stepped around the paramedic and swept down the hall, her kimono magnificently floating behind her in an exit worthy of the Broadway stage.
“Now what?” I asked the pair.
“Ma’am, you can return to your apartment too,” the cop had the temerity to tell me, and the paramedic echoed his sentiments.
My lips thinned and I scowled at them, with eyes half-shut. “I would love to, Sherlock. Just as soon as you move Lard Lad out of my way.” I pointed at the joker in front of my door.
They weren’t expecting that. The paramedic looked down, shaking his head.
The cop rubbed his jaw. “I see.”
“Um-hm. Just so,” I said snidely, my patience wearing thin.
The cop leaned down toward the man and said in a cajoling manner, “C’mon, big guy, let’s go back to your place.”
“No, no, no. Dragon. Big green dragon.” He stuck his thumb in his mouth.
“It’s okay. I’ve slain the dragon. He’s not there anymore.” The cop crouched down and put a hand on the guy’s shoulder. He gave him a small shake.
“NO! NO! IT’S FIRE. I FEEL THE DRAGON’S FIRE. IT’S ON MY ARM.” The mostly naked man slapped at the place where the officer touched him.
The cop shuffled backward. “When is that medication supposed to kick in?”
The paramedic shrugged. “Depends. Everyone’s different. He’s a big guy. It might not work at all.”
“Can’t you give him something else? Knock him out? Or put him on a stretcher and wheel him out?” the officer asked.
“Not if he’s going to behave like that when you touch him. You’re just going to have to wait.”
“How long will that take?” I piped in.
“I can’t give him anything more for another hour.”
My jaw dropped “Another hour! You—you can’t just leave him here at my doorstep.”
The officer scrutinized the man, who was back to rocking in fetal position. “I’m sorry, ma’am, you’ll have to be patient.”
Frustrated, I snapped, “Are effing you kidding me?”
“If the medication I gave him kicks in, he may be ready to move sooner. Perhaps you can go to a neighbor’s apartment to wait,” the paramedic suggested as he helped the bubble girl to her feet. The bleeding had stopped, but her nose and mouth were a mess of dried blood.
I ground my teeth and glowered down at dragon boy. “None of you can do anything?”
No one bothered to answer my question.
I had no interest in commiserating with Mrs. Thundermuffin, though I’m sure she would have welcomed me. My neighbor at the end of the hall, Jasper—who I was surprised hadn’t come out already—housed a small farm of reptiles in his condo. He was a nice enough guy, but I couldn’t get past the snakes, so he was O-U-T, out. My neighbor across the way was a traveling salesman for a tech company and rarely home during the week. I had a spare key to his apartment, but it was inside my own, and frankly, I didn’t want to go to a neighbor’s. It was close to midnight, and I had work tomorrow. Damnit! I’d had it with this day. Between Sadira, Jillian, the Ara mess, and now this! All I wanted to do was get into my condo. I wanted to crawl into my own bed.
Is that too much to ask?
An impulse came over me. I’ll admit, the following actions contained very little thought.
“DRAGON! RUN! DRAGON AT YOUR FEET! RUN!” I shouted at the acid-tripping mess, then grabbed a hairy foot with both hands. “DRAGON’S GOING TO EAT YOUR TOES! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!”
He snatched his foot away, scrambled up, and proceeded to strip off his underwear, screaming, “HOT! IT’S TOO HOT!” Freeing his junk, he left his underwear in a white puddle at my doorstep and shoved the cop aside, then streaked down the hall, ricocheting off the walls as he scurried past his girlfriend and around the corner. “DRAGON! IT’S AFTER ME! DRAGON!”
I heard the door to the stairwell slam, and the last echoing calls of “DRAGON!” disappeared as he escaped from the imaginary fiery devil. The entire episode happened so quickly nobody had time to react. Except for the girlfriend, who was back to her seaweed impression, we all stood in stunned silence.
“Sonuvabitch,” the officer mumbled.
“You better go get him,” the paramedic advised.
The officer did not look keen on that suggestion.
“Whelp, problem solved.” I dusted my hands together. “As you suggested, I’ll return to my apartment now.” Both men stared at me with equal parts hatred and admiration as I keyed into my home and stepped gingerly over the underwear. “Nighty-night, y’all.” I slammed the door, flipped my deadbolt, and drove the slide bolt into the floor. Punching in the code, I silenced the beeping alarm system and staggered to my bedroom, shedding purse and shoes along the way.
I would probably regret my actions by morning, I thought, flopping face first onto my downy comforter. Then again, maybe not.
Chapter Eleven
Thursday morning dawned much too early, but I slapped at the alarm with a sense of relief and stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. Sadira’s little side job turned out to be a nothing-burger, and Ara made it home safely, a little wiser but none the worse for wear. It also meant I could call Mike with a clear conscience. Running half an hour late, a to-go cup of java in one hand, keys in the other, and computer bag slung over my shoulder, I opened the door.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I’d assumed the cop or paramedic would have disposed of the underwear in front of my door. They probably left it on purpose. Neither one of them had been impressed by my efforts to remove my neighbor. This is my punishment.
Leaving my work things in the foyer, I returned with a broom. Using the long handle, I scooped up the tighty-whities and trotted down the hall to the garbage chute. The underwear hung off the end of the stick like a white flag of surrender. To my relief, I met no one on the way that I might have to explain it to.
As I rode the elevator down, it stopped on the second floor, and guess who got on—dragon boy, dressed in a suit and tie, his eyes bloodshot, and his face drawn. He gave me a nod of acknowledgment, took the back corner, then faced the closing doors. I waited until we arrived on the ground floor, and as the elevator doors slid open, I turned and said, “Hey, seen any dragons lately?”
His eyes bugged, mouth dropped open, and his face turned a deep shade of scarlet. The elevator doors closed with him still on it, my peals of laughter still ringing in his ears.
I phoned Mike from the car. Unsurprisingly, the call went straight to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. I’ve thought about our last discussion, and I . . . may have overreacted. I know you always have my best interests at heart and understand why you did what you did. How about apologies all around, and . . . and give me a call, you know, whenever. And . . . um . . . well, I guess that’s it. Talk soon.” I’d practiced that little speech in the shower. It went better in my head, but I could live with it.
The morning was busy with internal meetings. A luncheon fundraiser in Crystal City took me out of the office for the afternoon. I left the office, wishing I’d roped one of my colleagues, like Rodrigo, into joining me. Fifteen minutes into the event, ennui and regret crept across my weary shoulders. None of the elected officials or staff members I’d expected to see had shown up, including the congressman who was the guest of honor. As a matter of fact, the entire event was thi
n of people. Our host made an announcement that a House vote had been delayed and the honorable representative would be arriving shortly. The little plump man in pinstripes and bowtie announced lunch would be served and invited us to check the seating chart to find our table.
Somehow, I got stuck next to a gentleman hereto unknown to me. About twenty minutes into the meal, I wished it would’ve remained that way. Normally, I enjoyed meeting new people. Not this time. On top of the fact that he hadn’t stopped speaking since I sat down—talking with a full mouth, occasionally spitting food as he went—he also had the beastly habit of dropping names. You know the type—a person who throws around politician’s and Hollywood names as if they were best buds and regularly vacationed on the Riviera together. Perhaps they were. I had my doubts. The four other people at the table were quietly talking amongst themselves. I envied them. A lady in a brown suit seated across the table shot me a pitying look. Clearly, everyone was on to this blowhard, but none willing to come to my rescue, lest they become the next victim of his jabbering.
I searched my mind, trying to hit upon a tactful escape that didn’t make me look as boorish as my companion. He’d already ignored one of my dampening responses to his blathering. “And you know David, of course.”
“David who?” I foolishly took the bait, giving myself a mental head slap as soon as the words left my mouth.
“David Geffen.”
My brows rose. “The film producer?”
“Yes.”
Of course, I didn’t know David effing Geffen, but I saw my chance. “I’m afraid David and I had a falling out. We don’t speak anymore,” I said deprecatingly, and returned my attention to the salmon in front of me. I expected consternation, or at least a pause in the yammering.
Neither happened.
He chuckled. “Well, that’s David for you. A man like that didn’t get to his position without making some enemies.”
I delivered him a withering glance through half-closed lids, which he seemed impervious to, because he carried on with his nonsensical story.
The tones of Grease chimed out of my handbag and I grabbed my phone like a lifeline. “I’m sorry, I must take this.” Scooping up my purse, I exited the room. “Hey, Jilly. What’s up?”
“Do you have time to meet me at Sadira’s apartment?”
“What? Now?” My watch read half past one.
“Uh-huh.”
I waffled. There was no way I’d return to the table to be yammered at, but I still held out hope the illusive congressman would show. “I’m at a fundraiser. Why?”
“I—I think there’s something you should see.”
“Are you there now?”
She hesitated. “Uh-huh.”
“Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“I . . . uh . . . called in sick today.”
Little alarm bells clanged in my head. “Jillian, are you okay? If something is wrong, say the word coffee.”
“Everything is fine. I’m here alone,” she assured me.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m . . . working on a hypothesis. Can you get away after the fundraiser?”
I checked my calendar. “I could get away by two.”
“Okay.”
“Text me Sadira’s address again.”
“Done. See you soon.”
Chapter Twelve
JILLIAN
Jillian answered the imperious knocking at Sadira’s door. “Good. You’re here.”
They hugged. Karina, dressed in a chic black pencil skirt and blouse, her long chestnut hair pulled back into a French twist, made Jillian feel a bit shabby in her jeans and green George Mason University T-shirt. However, in a moment clothing would be the least of her concerns. For the past half hour, Jillian had been having second thoughts about inviting her sister over. It was too late now, so with a tone of trepidation, Jillian said, “You’d better follow me.”
Karina sucked wind as she entered the kitchen. “Jilly! What have you done?!”
A swath of credit card bills and bank statements lay across the long counter. Jillian blanched, wringing her hands. “I needed to pick up some more cat food. A-and I picked up Sadira’s mail while I was here.”
“Jillian Sarah Cardinal! What were you thinking! Opening another person’s mail is a federal offense!” Karina exclaimed, flapping her hands in dismay.
“Relax. I didn’t open her mail. It’s over there.” Jillian pointed to a small stack on the coffee table.
“If you didn’t open it, where did this come from?”
“Uh . . . the desk drawer.”
Karina’s gaze speared her sister.
Jillian put up her palms. “Rina, just listen before you freak out on me.”
Karina crossed her arms and her mouth settled into a grim frown. “Go on.”
“Things aren’t adding up.” Jillian paced away, rubbing her hands together. “The diamonds. Sadira lying to me. Driving that young girl to the party last night.” Karina opened her mouth to interrupt, but Jillian hurried on with her explanation. “Just listen, that courier job. And what happened earlier today. Everything is—I don’t know—hinky.”
“Wait. What happened today?”
Jillian rubbed her forehead. “I guess I should start from the beginning.”
“That’s usually the best place to start,” Karina drawled. “You can begin by telling me why you skipped out on work this morning.”
“It was Ara. I had this—this bad feeling about her. You did too.” She pointed. “Oh, you can give me that blank lawyer stare, but I saw it.”
Karina sighed. “Well, you can rest easy. I ended up taking Ara home last night.” She went on to explain the unexpected rescue of Ara at the High 7.
When she finished, Jillian was momentarily stymied. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she could form a response. “Huh. Well, I guess it’s a good thing you gave Ara your number.”
“You see, the courier job must be legitimate.”
“Yes . . . well, that’s . . . certainly a relief, but there are other things that don’t add up.”
“And those things led to this?” Karina indicated the paperwork.
“Hear me out.”
Karina put her hands on her hips. “I’m listening.”
Jillian’s handwringing resumed. “First, Sadira lying to me just hasn’t been sitting right.”
“I can understand that.”
“And . . . and . . . I began to think what else did she lie about. Maybe she did steal the diamonds. She had the means, but what’s the motive?”
Karina’s brows rose. “Did you find a motive among her bills?”
“Not what I was expecting to find. But I did find something strange.”
“Go on.”
“Look here, these are her credit card bills.” Jillian picked up a sheaf of papers. “She’s got a gas credit card, and a VISA. The gas one is normal. Regular fill-ups. Nothing unusual.”
“And the VISA?” Karina didn’t touch the papers Jillian held toward her.
“From what I can tell, she puts her groceries on here, drugstore purchases, and stuff—you know, average day-to-day stuff.” Jillian put the bills down.
“Okay. . . .”
“And she pays it off every month. She’s carrying no debt.”
“I would imagine that’s a good thing,” Karina stated.
Jillian opened her mouth, then closed it and swallowed. “You know what, it’s best if I show you, follow me.” She led her sister through Sadira’s bedroom into the large closet. “What do you see?”
Karina shrugged with palms up. “A bunch of clothes?”
“Exactly.” Jillian turned in a circle with her arms out. “This closet is full of designer clothes.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“In the six months of credit card bills that I reviewed, there’s not a single charge to a department or designer store, nor any online retailers that would sell this sort of clothing.”
Karina finge
red a silk dress. “Did you miss a credit card bill? Perhaps she’s got a department store card, like Neiman Marcus or Bloomingdale’s.”
Jillian’s cheeks burned. “I searched high and low but didn’t find one. Everything is filed in an orderly fashion in her desk drawer.”
“Maybe the police took them for the DA’s case.”
“Wouldn’t they just gain access to the electronic files?”
Karina frowned thoughtfully before responding, “Maybe, yes. You’re probably right. Maybe she has a PayPal or Venmo account.”
“Which brings me to the bank statements,” Jillian explained as she exited the closet, returning to the kitchen. “Look—” She picked up a statement at the end of the row. “—this is her regular deposit from the school. Mine has the same signifier. And these smaller ones I’m thinking are from the jewelry store. And here you see the outgoing bills, her credit card payments, cable, mortgage and HOA dues. I see no car payment. And there’s no PayPal account. And you see here and here—random cash deposits of between $200 and $900.”
“Yes. I see that. What I don’t see is regular ATM withdrawals. Everyone needs cash occasionally. Or did Sadira strictly run on credit or debit cards?”
“Aha. You see it too. Anytime I went out with her for drinks or something, Sadira was always flush with cash. Yet, you can see right here, she deposited her jewelry store money.” Jillian shook the paper in front of her sister’s face.
Karina pushed the bank statement away from her nose. “Maybe she didn’t deposit all of it. Maybe she’d keep out a few hundred for incidentals.”
“Maybe, but what is also missing here?”
Karina took the statement and studied it. After a few moments her brows crunched together. “How does she receive money for her courier business? I don’t see any deposits from an electronic account.”
“I found nothing.”
“Nothing?” Karina handed the bank statement back to Jillian. “It’s probably an app on her phone. Maybe she does have PayPal or is paid in bitcoin or another electronic currency, and that’s how she pays for her designer habit.”
Jillian deflated a little, dropping the paper on top of the others. “I hadn’t thought of that.”