Footsteps in the Dark
Page 62
Like the men and women who oversaw the scene the night Jeff was killed, these officers were polite, efficient, and gave nothing away. They might have been on call that night for all I knew. Then, as now, I was blindsided by what happened.
They said they’d send the meat sample to the lab. I held back any questions about its connection to Jeff’s murder because Rick was right. At best, no one would believe me, and at worst…
Given Rick’s derision, I was better off not sharing without some kind of concrete evidence that what happened to Pepper was related to Jeff’s murder.
Maybe I was crazy.
Maybe I did have too much time on my hands.
When I left, Dr. Jones showed me Pepper’s cage. She’d been given IV fluids and meds. Dr. Jones said she’d keep watch. That was all I could ask for. I’d done the right thing. I held on to that on the way home.
“Is it true, Lonnie? The poisoner got Pepper?” Stephani stopped me on the third-floor landing. She had Lulu with her, preening in her sparkly collar. I guessed they’d just come from a morning walk.
“Yeah.” I wasn’t surprised to find her waiting for me after the texts I’d sent, but I was feeling a little too grim to pull my punches with perky Stephani and her dog. “She found the poisoned meat on my balcony, so make sure everyone knows that’s a possibility.”
“My God.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “I already made up flyers. Want to help me put them out?”
I looked longingly at my door. The new bed inside seemed to be calling my name.
“Sure.” Despite my exhaustion, I pocketed my keys and followed her.
We started on the first floor, wedging flyers in the doorjamb of each apartment. Outside 1C, Dave was on a stepladder, changing a lightbulb in the sconce on the wall.
“Is it true?” he asked, turning. “Someone threw food on your balcony?”
“Poisoned meat.” I nodded. “Are there any security cameras?”
“Sure, but we checked and didn’t see a thing.”
“We?” I asked.
“Rick and me. He stopped by first thing this morning. Told me about your…Pepper.” So Rick was trying to get to the bottom of things, even if I’d blown him off. That made me feel worse.
“You want to see?” Dave offered. “I suppose we could have missed something.”
“Rick wouldn’t miss anything.”
“Naw,” he agreed. “He’s a sharp one.”
“Where are the cameras exactly?”
Dave took me and Stephani around to point them out. There were several different ways of getting that meat onto my balcony without being seen, but you had to know where the cameras were to do it. Someone deliberately avoided them.
“You ever see anyone wandering around here,” I asked Dave, “checking the place out? People you don’t know?”
“All the time.” When I frowned at his words, he added, “The tenants all have guests, you know? People park out front or in back, then walk around looking for the closest entrance. Some take the elevator, some take the stairs. Some folks around here look lost for a living, practically. I notice you always take the stairs these days.”
I was surprised he’d paid attention. “I’m trying to get back my wind.”
“Good for you.” He nodded. “The cameras, they’re mostly to prevent theft. They keep people from breaking into the apartments on the ground floor. They cover the cars in the tenant parking spaces. I’m not sure any cameras are aimed at the side of the building, much less the third-floor balconies. You kind of expect the height to protect people up there.”
“And the dogs,” I mused.
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Even if folks could get up there, nobody could get past a dog like Chancho.”
“What about Pepper?”
He shook his head sadly. “She’s no watchdog. Except with me. She rolls over if you look at her sideways. Pepper’s not the sharpest tool, you know?”
“She’s smarter than everyone thinks.” I bristled as if he was impugning my future Afghan hound. “It’s a shame she can’t talk, because if she could, I’d have the police off my back.”
“Right?” We took a shortcut through the utility room, back to the first floor. “I saw that on Columbo once. Dog barks at the killer.”
“There’s an Agatha Christie like that too,” said Stephani. “Poirot takes in this fluffy white dog—”
“Gotta love fiction. Dogs don’t solve crime in real life. People do. And we have a chance to prevent one here.” I held up my batch of flyers and started up the stairs. “Come on, Miss Marple. We’ve got flyers to deploy, and then I have to rest my little gray cells.”
“See you later, Dave,” Stephani said as he got back up his stepladder. “You’re going to keep a sharp eye out, aren’t you? With Jeff murdered and now the dog poisoner targeting our building? Be alert, yeah?”
“Don’t you worry, Stephani.” Dave took a cloth out and wiped a last spiderweb from the sconce. “I talked to the owners about hiring a private security guard. They’ve agreed it’s best, at least for the foreseeable future. He’ll be starting rounds tonight. Be smart, and don’t let Lulu eat anything you’re not sure about. Warn the other tenants, though I’m sure it was an isolated incident.”
“Thanks, Dave!” She blew him a kiss.
He blushed furiously. “If I knew that’s all it would take to get a kiss from a pretty girl…”
“You’d get one from me too,” I said, “but I doubt it would have the same impact. I’ll bake you some cookies later. Thanks for looking out for us.”
He snorted. “Cookies are good too.”
I followed Stephani up to the second floor, and we continued leaving flyers, all the way up to the sixth. We didn’t bother putting a flyer on Caleb’s door.
I missed Caleb. The laundry room just wasn’t the same without him.
When we got to the last apartment, Stephani said, “I’ve got the makings for martinis. Come over at lunchtime and help me drink them?”
“I can’t, babe. If I don’t get some rest, I’ll fall over.” I was dead on my feet.
“Oh, honey. I am so selfish sometimes.”
“Are not,” I corrected. “I have awesome neighbors.”
“Carla and I will be at my place all evening. We’re going to drink, watch movies, and eat junk food. Come if you like.”
“You had me at junk food.” I unlocked my deadbolt, kissed her cheek, and let myself into my place. “Let me catch some z’s, and I’ll take you up on it.”
“Bye for now.” There went that chipper little wave again. I wanted to live in a world where people were that nice—that smiley—all the time.
Of course if I did, they’d probably vote me into the first live volcano. I am not known for my cheerful disposition.
After closing the door behind me, I hung my jacket up in the coat closet, got myself a sparkling water, and twisted off the cap. Finally, I could let my guard down.
I took a look around and stilled, nerves prickling with unease.
Everything seemed fine. Everything was exactly as I’d left it the night before.
So what, exactly, was bothering me? Something was off with my place. Oh.
Things were too quiet.
I’d grown used to the sound of Pepper’s doggy nails skidding across the kitchen tiles. To the sound of her tags jingling against the D-ring in her collar. I was accustomed to listening for destructive chewing. Now my apartment was so quiet, it unnerved me a little.
Pepper, Pepper, Pepper. She was a mess, but there I was, staring at her water bowl, heartsick, wondering if I’d ever need to fill it again.
Someone knocked. For a moment, I stood next to the counter, legitimately too tired to move another step. Whoever it was didn’t give up, knocking a second time.
I hoped it was Rick. Not because I knew what to say to him, but a knock like that resounded with authority, and I didn’t want it to be anyone else.
It took me longer to answer than I’d have liked. My body
was simply slow, moving through space as if the air had suddenly turned into mashed potatoes. When I opened the door, I found Rick leaning against the doorframe.
“You heard?” I sagged against the frame on the inside.
“I saw.” He waved the flyer. “I’m so sorry.”
“Keep Chancho inside until they catch the guy?”
“He knows better than to eat something if I don’t give the command.”
I closed my eyes. “Of course he does.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m tired.” I said the words louder than I meant to. “I keep getting interrupted before I can—”
“Come with me.” He let himself in, closed my door, and locked it behind him. Then he caught my hand and pulled me toward my bedroom.
“Er…no offense, but—”
“You need sleep. And I want to try out your new bed. Let’s go.”
In seconds, warm hands were lifting my shirt over my head. When it hit the floor, he pushed me down into the softness of my hybrid mattress and knelt to remove my shoes.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone undressed me. The tug on my shoelaces as he loosened my trainers, the cold air hitting my feet when he pulled off my socks. Those were sensations I associated more with my mother than any lovers I’d ever had.
“Normally, I like to participate when I undress. I’m funny like that.”
“Nah, I got you. You look too tired to think.” He didn’t stop until he had me down to my jock. “Well, would you look at that. Thong—th-th-th-thong, thong. Somebody’s a freak.”
“I find them comfortable.” If he kept up with those delightful, teasing touches, he was gonna feel my piercing in three, two, one…
“Dios.” He gasped. “S’that what I think it is?”
“Depends what you think it is.”
He smoothed his fingers over the fabric but stopped short of removing my underwear. “You think you know a guy.”
“Rick, look.” I changed the subject deliberately. “About earlier.”
He stopped to meet my gaze. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
Irritated by that, I said, “I did, though, actually. I’m just sorry it hurt your feelings.”
He blinked at me, surprised, I had no doubt. “You want me to get lost?”
“I really want to sleep.” That sounded pretty pitiful to my ears. “I can’t argue with you. Don’t want to—”
“Shh.” He shoved me over and dug the covers out from under me. “Just relax, Lonnie. I’m not here for that. Go. To. Sleep.”
“Jesus. Okay, already.” I was so tired, I barely felt him climb into bed behind me. And I pretended I didn’t reach for his hand and wrap his arm around me.
“I know you won’t believe this.” He tucked his nose right into my nape. Tickled the hairs there with each breath. “But I’m not the enemy.”
The arm around me belonged to Rick Garcia. Neighbor. Friend. Smiler of wry smiles and bearer of brown eyes warm enough to melt me like butter. But he was also a neighbor. Didn’t I need to keep him at arm’s length? Maybe I didn’t want to do that anymore.
I wanted to believe he cared about me, but I still had all those rules in my head. Inscribed on my heart.
In defiance, I let myself fall asleep before I could think about all the reasons I should make him leave.
I doubted I could come up with any, anyway.
Chapter Twelve
It was dark outside when I woke to the aroma of seared meat, garlic, and fried potatoes. A kind of weakness had wormed its way deep into my bones, making even sitting up a prospect I had to consider before trying it.
“I’ll tell him. Thank you.” Rick came into the bedroom with a glass of red wine in one hand and my phone in the other. He ended the call. “That was Dr. Jones. Looks like Pepper’s out of the woods for now. They want to keep an eye on her for another couple of days. I told them you’d call when you have your feet under you again.”
“Thanks.” I sighed with relief. Fell back against the pillows. He held out the wine, and I took a chance on it. I had to take some kind of pain reliever for my head, which had a whole symphony’s worth of kettledrums beating inside it, but I didn’t suppose a little wine would hurt.
He turned on the light, and I grimaced.
“Have you talked to your doctor about anemia?” he asked out of the blue. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as pale as you are right now.”
“I’m not anemic.”
“Still,” he argued. “It couldn’t hurt to take some B vitamins or something, right? Are you taking vitamins at all?”
“I don’t need vitamins. I eat food.” But that wasn’t entirely true. I hadn’t been eating. Not like I did when I worked.
“Well, I made supper, so come out and eat, will you?”
“All right.” Apparently, we’d settled into bickering like old men. “Keep your hair on.”
He suppressed a smile while I sipped. Nice wine, since it was one of mine. I guessed it was the 2011 Malbec from Argentina. I put on a T-shirt and followed him into the kitchen. Checking the wine label, I discovered I’d been right about the vintage. I didn’t give up the glass when he held his hand out.
“Get your own.”
He got another glass and poured.
Matter-of-factly competent in the kitchen, he plated up a couple of hanger steaks and some potatoes and put them on the table with a spinach salad and bread.
“Someone’s been busy.”
“I figured if you can play detective, I can play chef.”
“All right.” I growled the words. In the cold light of reason, it did seem far-fetched to assume I could solve any crime at all, much less whatever was going on at the Fillmore Arms. “I was overwrought.”
“And you don’t trust the cops to get things right.”
“You’re half right.”
He glanced up, fork halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Mama Boudreaux didn’t raise her boy to trust the cops at all.”
He chuckled at that. “And you love your mother very much.”
“I do,” I muttered.
“I love mine too.” He nodded. “After dinner, want to walk Chancho with me?”
“You think it’s safe?”
“Who’s gonna mess with me and Chancho?”
For the first time that day, I relaxed. “Not me.”
***
We finished our food and did the dishes together. Then we picked up Chancho and let him lead us around to his favorite spots. Rick was right. While Chancho probably liked marking every tree and fireplug and bush as much as the next dog, he never left Rick’s side. Never pulled on the leash. Never barked at other dogs.
The attention he gave to Rick’s every move was remarkable. Every part of him obeyed, from his rigid, swiveling ears to his big, softly padding feet.
A light breeze ruffled his dark fur as we walked. Chancho really was an amazing animal.
In the abundance of moonlight, he walked in Rick’s shadow, slinking along close by his side. His ears perked up at every sound. He showed awareness of every animal, suspicion of each car that passed. He was perfectly, exquisitely trained. Exactly how I’d pictured my Afghan hound.
On the way back, I faced the very real possibility Pepper wasn’t trained at all. “You think Pepper could heel like Chancho does?”
“Sure.” He shot an amused glance my way. “If whoever adopts her is super consistent and works with her every single day.”
“Yeah…” I pictured some drill-sergeant type putting her through her paces. Carrot-and-sticking her until she shivered with confusion. I jammed my hands into my pockets. “I guess.”
“You want that for her, don’t you?” he asked. “A forever home? Discipline. Maybe a job, even? We need to help her find that, don’t you think?”
“A job? What do you suppose she could do? Write puff pieces for the LA Times?”
“Stop.” He cuffed my arm lightly. “Dogs like job
s. Chancho protects my place. He runs with me, so I stay fit. He’s my companion. That’s his job. He takes it very seriously.”
Whether it was the homey dishwashing, or the moonlight, or the lack of sleep, I gave my rules a hard pass. “You know, if he needs a little break every now and again, I’d consider applying for the job, on a temp basis.” I bit my lip. “If you’ve got an opening you’re looking to fill.”
Rick stopped walking so abruptly, Chancho glanced up at him in dismay. “Did you really just say that?”
“I’m afraid I did.” My cheeks caught fire, but of course I couldn’t take the words back. “It was weird, huh?”
He coughed into his hand. “You’re a riot, Lonnie.”
God. Why didn’t the ground just open up and swallow me? Opening to fill? Jesus. Last night I pushed him away like he had lice, and tonight I flirted like some idiot. Make up your mind already. One glass of wine, and I green-lighted him. No wonder he laughed it off.
The sight of one of our warning posters reminded me that Stephani invited me for drinks. “Hey, um, Stephani invited me to come by and get my swerve on. She’s making martinis tonight. You want to come?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at her door and then at mine. “Okay. Just let me put Chancho to bed.”
“Aww.” I wanted to clutch my heart the way Caleb did. “You’re such a good dog dad.”
He cupped my face and brought me in for a kiss. “The cold put roses on your cheeks.”
I whispered, “Or something did.”
“Either way. I like seeing some color there for a change.”
He took Chancho inside his place. I let go of the breath I’d been holding.
Talk about mixed signals. I’d startled him there on the street with my unmaidenly ways. He acted interested in me. He’d cooked for me twice, and I—of all people—knew food was how serious wooers woo.
But I was the one with rules. He was uncertain. No wonder he’d evaded.
I shouldn’t have made a move in the first place. But when had common sense ever stopped me?
Chapter Thirteen
“It’s the boys. Come in, come in.” Stephani let us inside her apartment with hugs and air-kissing.