by Dana Dratch
“I just realized something,” Annie said, leaning forward in her wicker chair. “We have an election in two days. And all five candidates seem to be in the wind.”
CHAPTER 25
On the way to the stairwell with Lucy the next morning, I stopped in front of the elevators and reflexively poked the button.
Despite everything I knew, I still hoped.
Nada.
A few minutes later, as Lucy frolicked on the lawn in front of Oceanside, my purse rang.
I dug through it, rescued the phone from the bottom of my bag, and checked the number. Nick.
“OK, so what’s wrong with my house now?”
“Good morning to you, too,” my brother said.
“Sorry, it’s been a really weird couple of days. The elevators are kaput, so every trip out takes a little more planning.”
“What floor are you guys on, anyway?”
“Tenth.”
“Yowch! How’s Lucy taking it?” Nick asked.
“Like a champ. I don’t think she really liked the elevators anyway.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure she didn’t sabotage them, but I’m still willing to provide her with an alibi.”
“Good to know. So how are you holding up? And how’s the commute?”
“The townhouse is great. The commute’s no walk across the street, but it’s OK. Kind of like you and the elevators—a little more advance planning. The good thing is, I’m driving into Fordham in the morning when everyone else is trying to get out. And by the time I’m ready to head back, there’s virtually nobody on the road.”
“The beauty of the reverse commute,” I said.
“Exactly! Thanks for the pictures of Lucy, by the way.”
“Did I mention that she’s going be featured in the Tribune? They want a piece on dog-friendly travel to South Beach. With lots of photos.”
“I told you my baby’s a star,” Nick said. “So, how much of that moola do I see? You know, as her agent and all.”
“At this point, I haven’t seen any of it myself. And I’m kind of glad you called. We need to talk about the kitchen.”
“I know. You can’t afford it.”
I felt like a slug. Or maybe one of those little tiny mites that lived on a slug. I’d promised my brother a clean, safe, dry place to rest and rebuild his life after he moved back to town. And it turns out my house wasn’t any of those things.
“Look, I’m taking this payment from the sale of the emu farm and using it on the wiring and the other stuff here,” Nick said. “I’ll get the last installment in from the university in three months. And we can use that for the new appliances and the upgrades. Ian doesn’t mind if I bogart his kitchen a little longer. Heck, I think he’d keep me permanently, if he could.”
Nick’s first business venture was half an emu farm in the Arizona desert. When he discovered his slacker partner had used their tax payments for pot (and had actually started growing the stuff when that stash ran out), Nick destroyed the illegal crop, put in a few vegetables, and demonstrated the benefits of emu dung as a soil additive to prospective buyers. One of the universities bought the place as a green research station. They’d arranged to pay for it in three installments—and promised that the emus would have a good home for life.
“Nick, I can’t ask you to do that,” I said softly. “And I’m sure at some point, Ian is going to want his kitchen back.”
My issues with Ian Sterling aside, the guy had been very generous to Nick.
“Not according to Harkins. And I’m on Ian’s tour, too—the one he gives prospective clients and groups who are thinking of booking the inn. We have this routine where we time it so he brings them through the kitchen just as I’m putting something really good on the cooling racks. Then I let him talk me into giving everyone a big taste. And let me tell you, we are reeling them in.”
My brother, the shill.
“I never told you, but I had a part in the last murder mystery weekend, too,” he said proudly.
“Was it Baker Nick in the kitchen with a rolling pin?”
“Hey, you laugh, but those folks ate it up. Literally. We moved a ton of baked goods that weekend. And those people tipped.”
“Look, I can’t let you pay to fix my house,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m going to try for a second mortgage. I’ve only been in the place for a little over two years. But I made a healthy down payment and the house has probably increased in value, so I should have a little equity.”
What I didn’t tell him: I’d been considering the move already to buy a new car. But my ancient Chevy wagon could grow a little more ancient. And maybe I’d actually let Nick attack the sides with a can of Krylon. Like he’d been threatening to do for the past four months.
“It’s totally your call,” Nick said. “By the way, who’s your home inspector?”
“Why? Are you going to report him for malpractice or pay a late-night visit to his house with a few rolls of toilet paper?”
“I just want to see if there’s anything else he might have noticed that could make a difference,” my brother explained.
OK, something was up. But from a thousand miles away, I wasn’t going to quibble. Especially when he’d just offered to use his last bucks to fix my wonky house.
“His name’s Dan Jankowitz, and he’s in my address book. You know, that little blue book in the top drawer of the roll-top desk.”
“Right, Grandma, because it’s not online.”
“Hey, you’d better be nice to me if you want to see the latest batch of Lucy pics. Annie and I took her to a local Tex-Mex joint last night. And the owner let her wear his cowboy hat.”
“That’s my girl,” Nick said. “Charming in every culture.”
CHAPTER 26
An hour later, just as it was starting to get hot, I steered Lucy back toward Oceanside. I figured if Annie was still home, I’d fix all three of us a nice breakfast. Then I could grab the laptop and work poolside.
Green or not, it still beat the pool I had at home. Which is to say no pool at all. And at least at Oceanside, all the mold was outside.
Besides, on the eve of the election, the pool and restaurant deck were guaranteed to be Gossip Central. And I wanted to see if there had been any Leslie sightings.
But when we hit the lobby, there were a bunch of people clustered around the elevators. As I got closer, I could see a guy in a gray work shirt, blue pants, and heavy tan boots. He was leaning on the wall and speaking rapid-fire into a walkie-talkie. And the entire area around the two elevators had been cordoned off with Day-Glo orange cones and yellow emergency tape.
I recognized one friendly face.
“They’re fixing the elevators,” Ethel said excitedly.
“Did Leslie finally show up and call them?” I asked.
“No, Stan did,” she said, clearly tickled. “He remembered the name of the company that comes to service them. So he gave them a ring. Turns out, we have a maintenance plan. And here they are.”
Since elevators are inspected and pretty well-regulated, I’m guessing this was one corner even Leslie McQueen couldn’t cut.
Lucy sniffed around Ethel’s feet and looked up, puzzled.
“Well, hello, sweetie,” she said, reaching down to give the pup an encouraging scratch under the chin. “You just missed Mrs. Pickles. I dropped her off at the groomers. At this rate, she might get to ride home in a nice, shiny elevator.”
She looked over at me. “Won’t that be a lovely change?”
“Definitely,” I said. “So has anybody heard from Leslie? Or any of the other candidates?”
The election was tomorrow. If one of them didn’t pop up soon, this was going to be the first election ever that was cancelled due to lack of interest. From the candidates.
If that happened, I’m guessing Oceanside was going to be stuck with Leslie McQueen for either the next five and a half months, or until the story broke about her little financial “experiment.” Whichever came fi
rst.
“Not a peep,” Ethel said. “And the election is tomorrow. I mean, we all have our ballots and everything. But this is really very strange.”
I heard a burst of static and what sounded like mumbling from the walkie-talkie. Suddenly the repair tech stood up straight and adjusted the device. “Say that again, Phil,” he called into the squawk box. “I didn’t get that.”
Without any interference to mask it, Phil’s voice boomed across the lobby, echoing off the marble walls. “I said, I found out what shut off the cars. You need to call the cops, pronto. We got a body down here.”
CHAPTER 27
I don’t know who beat it to the scene quicker: the cops or the residents.
I ran upstairs to drop off Lucy and give Annie the news.
When we hustled back a few minutes later, the stairwells between the second floor and the garage were jammed with people. As the overflow spilled out into the elegant lobby, curious retirees mingled with harried business types and the more casually dressed work-from-home crowd, trading observations, speculation, and gossip. With coffee cups and excited chatter, it felt more like a cocktail party than a crime scene.
There was even a rumor that someone up on the pool deck was taking bets on the identity of the body. And with an entire slate of board candidates missing, it’s not like we had a shortage of possibilities.
But since Annie and I had already scoped out Leslie’s car—and knew she hadn’t been to work in days—I was pretty sure it was her.
“The real action’s down in the parking garage,” said a guy in a pink linen shirt and khakis with a stainless steel travel mug in his hand. “The cops have the whole place sealed off. No cars in or out.”
“How am I supposed to get to work?” asked a tall man in a blue suit with a leather briefcase.
“Cab,” said the man with the mug. “Everybody’s calling cabs, drivers, and ride shares. At this rate, they’re gonna be stacked up out front like pancakes.”
“Dammit, I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes,” briefcase snarled. “If I’m late, there goes my whole third quarter.”
Ethel was in the lobby near the door, chatting with Marilyn.
“Do they know who it is?” I asked.
Both shook their heads.
“They won’t even say if it’s a man or a woman,” Marilyn said.
“I’m going to head downstairs and see what I can find out,” I said.
“Want me to come with?” Annie asked.
“No, I’ll be right back. And you might pick up something interesting here,” I said meaningfully.
“Gotcha,” my sister said.
The sheer mass of people in the stairwell made the normally hot cement space feel stifling. I was glad I’d left Lucy in the cool apartment. I was also glad I’d had a shower this morning. I was going to need another one before the day was out.
Something caught my attention on the stairs above me. A flash of blond hair and a leopard-print miniskirt. Here, then gone. And, for some reason, familiar.
“Excuse me, excuse me, coming through, excuse me,” I repeated like a yoga mantra, as I inched my way through the throng down the last flight of stairs toward the garage.
When I got to the bottom I had to weave my way through the crowd.
The police had roped off everything beyond the landing in front of the stairs, which had now become a makeshift observation deck for the residents—and me.
Beyond the tape, the garage was a hive of well-organized activity. Police cars with flashing lights blocked every exit, throwing a bluish strobe onto the scene. One elevator door was open, but its car was gone. Crime techs swarmed the area with cameras and equipment.
“What happened?” I asked no one in particular.
“Somebody fell down the shaft,” a thirty-something brunette in a powder-blue business suit replied.
“Mother of all lawsuits,” said a blond guy in a T-shirt and swim trunks. Wearing flip-flops, he had a towel slung over his shoulder, and his hair was still damp. Since no one was using the green pool, I’m guessing he’d just come from the beach. “Man, if this building gets sued, that’ll mean a special assessment for sure.”
“Not if the elevator manufacturer is at fault,” said an older African-American man with a resonant voice, a well-tailored gray suit, and a smart black attaché case. I pegged him for a lawyer.
“Do they know who it is?” I asked, hoping to prime the pump.
“If they do, they haven’t said,” replied a twenty-something guy in jeans and a white T-shirt with a good view from the curb. “But I thought I heard one of the elevator repair guys refer to the victim as ‘she,’ so it’s probably a woman.”
Leslie McQueen.
Well, this was going to put a crimp in the election.
CHAPTER 28
Like a lot of residents of Oceanside—the ones who weren’t going to an office today—Annie and I migrated up to the main restaurant.
“Does anyone in this place have a job? Or are you all independently wealthy?” I asked as we crammed ourselves into a table for two in one corner.
“This is the modern workforce,” my sister said, smiling. “During the summer, a lot of people either take Friday off or work from home.”
When the waiter approached, we each ordered a large glass of orange juice.
“You want anything in that?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He shrugged. “After what happened downstairs, most of these folks are taking their morning sunshine with a little rum or vodka. Tequila’s also pretty popular.”
“Just juice on the rocks for me,” I said.
Annie nodded. “Same here.”
“OK, ladies. But just say the word if you change your minds.”
As he disappeared into the kitchen, I leaned closer so that Annie could hear me over the general thrum of background conversation.
“It has to be Leslie.”
“I don’t know of any other women missing from the building,” she said.
“Do you think there will still be an election tomorrow?”
“Well, I guess we could go ahead with it. There are four other candidates. But it all seems a little macabre now. The board could cancel it. Or postpone it.”
“Say they don’t cancel,” I said. “And one of the four new guys wins. What happens to your friend Dennis then?”
“You have an idea,” Annie stated.
“Well, you want to keep Dennis out of prison. And Dennis probably wants to keep Dennis out of prison. If he and Geoffrey the Eyeball cancel the election—or even just postpone it for a while—we could take a stab at finding the missing money. If we succeed, those two could pay the bills due on this place and then hire a new management company. No harm, no foul.”
“That’s a great idea, if it works,” my sister said. “The best part is that the people who invested their life savings in homes here won’t see the values plummet because of some scandal over condo mismanagement.”
We both looked over toward the bar, where Stan and Ernie were holding court at a table with Marilyn, Ethel, and several other neighbors.
The waiter returned, slid our juice glasses onto the table, shrugged, and vanished.
“Do you think we can really do that?” Annie asked. “Find the money, I mean?”
“No idea. But Dennis is motivated. And your friend Geoffrey’s supposed to be some kind of corporate accountant. So he should be able to help us. And both of them ought to be willing. I mean, if this mess comes out, they’re both in pretty hot water. I say it’s worth a shot.”
“We’d be bending the law a bit ourselves, though,” Annie said.
“Leslie broke the law. We’re just trying to glue it back together. And limit the collateral damage. We’d be finding stolen money and returning it to the rightful owners. Technically, that’s legal.”
“Why do I think Peter might have a slightly different read on that one?” she asked.
“You want to call him for a
second opinion?”
“Too afraid of what he’d say,” Annie said, shaking her head. “If I don’t ask, I can at least claim ignorance as a defense.”
“And you know what they say: Ignorance is bliss.”
We clinked glasses.
CHAPTER 29
“So what does Dennis do for a living?” I asked as we strolled down the sixth floor hallway. “Do you really think he might be home today?”
“He’s a corporate exec for a food company. And I hope he’s home, because if we’re going to make this work, we’ve got an election to cancel.”
“What do we say if Grace is home, too?”
“I have no idea,” Annie said. “I hope we don’t have to say anything. She’s my friend, and I don’t want to lie to her.”
“You also don’t want to stress her. And you don’t want her husband going to jail. We don’t have a lot of good options here.”
“One step at a time,” my sister said, knocking on the door.
Dennis opened it in the same clothes he’d been wearing last night. Except they were a little more wrinkled. And his eyes were bloodshot. He didn’t look happy to see us.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Is Grace home?” Annie inquired brightly.
“The elevator thing was getting to be too rough on her. She’s staying with her parents across town for a few days.”
He didn’t invite us in.
“Good news on that front,” I said. “They’re fixing the elevators now.”
“Fantastic. Is that what you came here to tell me?”
“Dennis, we need to come in for just a minute,” Annie said. “I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important.”
He stepped back, opened the door wider and ushered us inside. The once neat condo looked more like a dorm room during finals week. The dining room table was covered with files, paperwork, his laptop, a deflated bag of Cheetos, and an empty ice cream carton on its side with the spoon still in it.
He’d decorated the sofa with a blue blanket and two bed pillows. The TV was blaring. Dennis grabbed the remote from the couch and turned the sound off.