Double Fudge & Danger

by Erin Huss

  "Can me go swimming today?" Lilly asked.

  "It's I, and that's a wonderful idea." I smiled, happy to see her in a better mood.

  Very happy.

  I put her on the ground, and we strolled hand-in-hand down the walkway. My heart felt heavy, thinking about Violet, and about Stormy, frantically picking up the pieces in Violet's absence. I couldn't help but think about who would step in if I disappeared tomorrow. Would someone be able to sit at my desk and pick up where I left off? Would they know you had to jiggle the storage room lock to get it to open? That I let Sophia from Apartment 38 clean the laundry rooms for extra cash? Or that Mickey, my upstairs neighbor, walked around the community arguing with himself, mostly about government conspiracies? Would they know he was harmless? Would they know his path, so they didn't pass him when giving a tour to a prospective resident?

  No, I guess they wouldn't.

  I unlocked the lobby door, and my thoughts turned to Violet's daughter. Would she fly out to help with the investigation? If she…

  What in the world?

  Tires screeched against asphalt, and the familiar scent of burnt rubber filled the air. The gate rolled opened, and a brown Buick peeled out. As it passed, I checked the driver's side. The same man from earlier, the one with the wrinkled suit, sat at the wheel with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. I used my hand as a visor, hoping to make out his license plate, but he was gone too fast.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  —I'm a seven.

  The phone rang in my ear while I paced along the side of the pool, donning the new swimsuit I'd recently bought online. A black one-piece that was 10% nylon, 90% Spanx, and I 100% couldn't breathe in it. Hampton didn't answer, and I was connected to his voicemail. Frustrated, I hung up and called again. The pavement burnt the bottom of my feet, and I dipped them into the water and kept pacing.

  This time, he answered. "Detective Hampton."

  "I have a problem."

  "Hi, Cambria."

  "A guy is snooping around my community, and I just caught him racing out of the parking lot. I think he's connected to Violet's disappearance somehow." I plugged one ear to better hear over Lilly and Kevin, who were playing a game of Marco Polo in the shallow end. "Help me out."

  "Did you get a license plate?"

  "No, because he was speeding. Stay with me, Hampton." I stopped and dipped my feet into the pool then resumed pacing. "He's an older guy, gray hair, drives a brown Buick."

  "That narrows it down."

  "This is no time to get a sense of humor!" No time at all. "Right after Violet disappears, this strange man shows up and is lurking around the apartments. He's looking for residents but doesn't have their apartment numbers. Coincidence? Methinks not."

  "You're right. I'm sorry."

  "No time for apologies. Did you get my text?"

  "The picture of the dirty baseboard?"

  "Yes! What was found in the stairwell? Why isn't there a sign on Violet's door? Do you have any leads? Have you talked to the owners?" I stopped to dip my feet. "Did you check the elevator?"

  "I promise we're working on it. But have you entertained the idea that Violet left on her own free will?" he asked.

  No, I hadn't.

  Huh?

  But if she were determined to stay, enough to hire a lawyer when the Dashwoods tried to fire her, then why would she take off without her wallet or phone?

  "Nope," I decided. "There's no way. This has foul play written all over it. What's going on with my sketch? Do you know what I had to go through in order to get that done? Have you ever dealt with a tired three-year-old? Stormy hadn't even seen it yet."

  "Tell me you didn't take a picture of it with your phone and show her?"

  "Um…" I stopped pacing. That was exactly what happened. "What if I did?"

  "When I show someone a sketch, I want to be able to read their initial reaction. Now I don't have that."

  Good point.

  An excellent point.

  Note to self: stupid move, Cambria.

  I wasn't sure what to say, so I said nothing.

  Which answered his question.

  "Cambria."

  "Yes."

  "Please let me handle this investigation."

  "For what it's worth, I don't think Stormy had anything to do with Violet's disappearance. She seems harmless and somewhat incompetent. But in a charming way."

  "Incompetently charming. Got it. I'll make a note of that. As for your guy, next time you see him, take a picture or get his license plate. I'll send out a description. We have Cedar Creek under surveillance, so I wouldn't worry. OK."

  "Good. Also, I have another problem. One of my residents fell off the roof yesterday, and I think the police thought he…hello?"

  I looked down at my phone.

  Hampton hung up on me.

  Geez. I was losing even more confidence in his ability to find Violet. I tossed my phone onto a chair and took a seat on the second step in the pool. The water came up my waist, and I dropped my elbows on my knees.

  Kevin swam over. "What's up your a—"

  "Bleep!" I jerked my head toward Lilly, who stood at the side of the pool with her pink floaties on, summoning the courage required to jump in.

  "Fine. What's up your bleep?"

  "Violet."

  "That sounds uncomfortable."

  "Not funny."

  OK, it was a little funny.

  I wrapped my arms around my legs and pulled my knees to my chest. I should have shaved last night. "A suspicious guy is lurking around here. Chase is on a special assignment, and I'm worried he'll die. I'm concerned about Larry. We're closing in on twenty-four hours since Violet disappeared. My mom said I have a thankless job and I'd be a more well-rounded person if I had siblings, and now I think I should have another baby so Lilly doesn't grow up to be just like me."

  Kevin took a seat. "Who needs a sibling? I'm an only child and turned out fine."

  "You just got out of prison."

  "Because I had a drug problem, not because I killed anyone."

  "You were also arrested for public nudity."

  "You make a good point. Have another baby."

  "It's not that simple."

  "Sure it is. Have another baby with Chase or Tom." He shook his head. "How you have those two men to choose from is beyond me."

  "I don't have two to choose from, and, what's that supposed to mean?"

  We stopped to watch Lilly jump from the side of the pool. We clapped. We cheered. We gave her a thumbs-up. Then went back to chatting. "They're both tens," Kevin said. "I'd go with Tom. I like brunettes. Plus you don't want too many baby daddies."

  True.

  I had serious doubt Chase would be OK with Tom and I procreating again. I had serious doubt Chase would be OK procreating with me right now. We'd never talked about kids. Though he did adore Lilly. We'd never talked about marriage. Though he did treat me well.

  And I was pretty sure I loved him.

  So there was that.

  "What do you think I am?" I asked Kevin. "On the hotness scale?"

  Kevin studied me under intense scrutiny. "I'd say you're a seven."

  I sat up a little straighter. "That's not bad." Not bad at all.

  "If you did something with your hair, you'd be an eight."

  "I'll take that into consideration."

  "A tattoo might be hot."

  I bit the corner of my lip. "I have one."

  Kevin leaned back and stared as if he were seeing me for the first time. "Don't tell me you have a tramp stamp."

  I nodded. "It's a dolphin." When Amy and I first moved to Los Angeles, we'd decided to get matching tattoos to commemorate our voyage. Except she chickened out after she saw how painful mine was. Now I was stuck with Flipper forever.

  "I don't believe you."

  I checked to be sure no residents were watching. Not that I was ashamed of my dolphin (actually, I hated it), but it would take some creative maneuvering to show Kevin in my restricti
ve swimsuit. I lifted one butt cheek out of the water and shifted the bottom of my suit, giving myself a painful wedgie. I had no idea how Hampton walked around like that all day. "Do you see it?"

  "No. Hold still." Kevin pulled the back of my suit away from my skin and peered down. "I can almost see it. Sit up a little more."

  "What are you two doing?"

  Kevin and I looked up. Tom stood over us with his mirror lens aviators on, dressed in slacks and brown loafers. Kevin let go of my bathing suit, and it snapped against my skin. Ouch.

  "I was checking out her tat," Kevin said.

  "Aw, yes, the dolphin." Tom removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the top of his shirt. His right eye encircled in hues of blue and yellow. "I remember it well."

  I felt my cheeks flush and turned away. Tom and I were so drunk the night we made Lilly, I was surprised he remembered anything.

  "Daddy!" Lilly kicked to the steps and climbed out of the pool. "Daddy, watch what I can do." She plugged her nose and jumped in.

  We clapped. We cheered. We gave her a thumbs-up. Then went back to chatting.

  "Sorry, I didn't realize it was so late." I stepped out of the pool. "I'll get her stuff ready."

  "I like your bathing suit." Tom followed me to the chair. I could feel his gaze on my backside.

  "Oh, this old thing?" I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist.

  "I have these for you." Tom pulled two coupons for a car wash from his shirt pocket. "Tell them I sent you, and ask for Carlos."

  "I think my car is beyond a detailing, but thank you." Tom's clients typically paid for his lawyering abilities by way of bartering. He had a lifetime supply of burritos from Casa Grande Cafe but barely enough in his checking account to cover child support. It was hard to fault him for following his moral compass.

  "Did you talk to the boyfriend about New York yet?"

  It was, however, easy to fault him for trying to insert himself into my relationship with Chase. "No, because he's in Texas."

  "What's he doing in Texas?"

  "Working, if you must know."

  "I thought he was a detective for the LAPD."

  "He is."

  "Why would the LAPD send a detective to Texas?"

  I wavered. But if Chase said he had work to do in Texas, then he had work to do in Texas. He too had a moral compass. "Tom"—I drew out his name—"the only reason you want to come with me to New York is because you don't want me to go with anyone else. If I were going by myself, you'd have no problem."

  "I didn't say I had a problem. I just asked if you talked to Chase yet."

  Oh.

  "But if you want me to go, I'm happy to do so." He flashed his signature side smirk, and I took note of the lipstick stain on his collar. Ugh. I threw my hands up in the air and let out a grunt. The man was infuriating.

  Tom had four older brothers. Four! And he was just as screwed up as the rest of us only children.

  Which oddly made me feel better.

  I swiped Lilly's towel from the chair. "Time to go, sweetie."

  "Me want to stay here with you," she said. Which also made me feel better.

  "You're going to come with me, kiddo," Tom said. "We'll get dinner and play at McDonald's. Sound good?"

  "Yay!" Lilly kicked as hard as she could to the stairs and climbed out of the pool.

  There was no competing with McDonald's PlayPlace, unfortunately. "You'll be sure she wears socks in the structure and sanitize her hands when she gets out?"

  "Do I look like an amateur parent?"

  "The plastic tunnels on those play structures have three hundred eighty times more bacteria in them than a household toilet," I said. "I read it on WebMD."

  "Thanks for ruining play structures." Tom wrapped the towel around Lilly and scooped her up in his arms. "Did they find the apartment manager next door?"

  I took Lilly's sandals out of my bag and put them on her feet. "Not yet. It's been almost a full twenty-four hours."

  "Are you sure you're safe here?"

  Noooo. "Yes."

  "Can we talk more about New York?"

  "No." My cell buzzed from the chair. A number I didn't recognize flashed across the screen. "Hold on. Let me answer this." I sandwiched the phone between my shoulder and ear and continued to gather Lilly's stuff. "This is Cambria."

  "It's Stormy. Remember when you said to call you if I needed help managing this place?"

  I didn't remember saying those exact words but, "Sure. What's going on?"

  CHAPTER NINE

  —Pinterest makes me feel productive.

  "What did you do?" I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and took a seat at Stormy's desk.

  "I don't know!" Stormy fanned her red sweaty face. "I looked up YouTube like you said, and this message came up."

  Across the screen it said Your Computer Has Been Locked in big, bold, blocky print with the FBI symbol on the side. A phone number was displayed at the bottom of the message, warning a fine of two hundred dollars had to be paid within twenty-four hours or the computer would be wiped clean. It looked about as legit as the daily emails I got from the California Lotto office located in Kenya wanting to speak to me about my unclaimed winnings.

  "I've heard about this. It's a virus. Do you have malware protection on this computer?"

  Stormy stared at me.

  "This is a work computer," I said. "I'm sure you do."

  "I called the number at the bottom of the screen and gave them my credit card information, and it didn't work," she said.

  Oh geez. "What other information did you give them?"

  "My social security number, phone number, address, date of birth, and my mother's maiden name."

  That's not good. "If I were you, I'd call your credit card company and fight the charges and close that card. In the meantime, I think we can turn this off." I searched under the desk for the modem and held the power button until the screen turned black and the Windows logo returned.

  "Wow," Stormy said as if I'd just performed a magic trick.

  I checked my watch. "Why are you here so late?"

  "I typically work until seven."

  That's a bummer. "Give it a minute to power up, and then you should be able to continue."

  "That's the problem. I don't know how to continue." She sat on the desk and used a brochure advertising their luxury three-bedroom apartment homes as a fan. "I just spoke to the owners, and I panicked. That's when I tried to search the internet to see how to do my job like you said."

  "Why were you panicking?"

  "They need a vacancy report by Thursday."

  "They know about Violet, right? I'm sure they'll give you leeway, considering."

  "They know about Violet. Detective Hampton called them. They said they were sorry but they're in the process of doing an audit and really need the information."

  Audit?

  This felt like an important piece of information. I remembered what Patrick said about Dick Dashwood asking for tax and finance guy recommendations.

  "Then they said they were confident the building was in good hands," Stormy said. "Problem is, I don't know the first thing about managing this place."

  "What exactly do you do normally?"

  "I send out the monthly newsletter and organize community events. Last month we had a movie night. Before that, we had a carnival. I change the air fresheners every month. I take care of the kids' corner, and I stock the Wow Fridge."

  "What's a Wow Fridge?"

  A moment later I stood in front of a stainless-steel refrigerator with my mouth wide open. "Wow," was all I could say. Inside were rows of yellow Gatorade, water bottles with the Cedar Creek logo wrapped around them, sparkling lemonade, packages of fish crackers, candy, chips, and soda.

  "Every month I choose a theme," Stormy said proudly. "Since it's summer, I went with yellow."

  "Why do you put pantry items in the fridge?"

  "That's what makes it wow, and to fill it up. There's only so much cold yellow s
tuff you can buy."

  "And this is for residents?"

  "It's for everyone. Look." She opened the freezer, and inside were popsicles, ice cream, Drumsticks, and fudge sundaes.

  I'm in heaven.

  "Grab whatever you want."

  Don't mind if I do.

  I helped myself to a bag of Lays and an ice cream sandwich. Which shouldn't melt for awhile since it was still roughly five degrees inside the office.

  Back behind Stormy's desk, I unwrapped my sandwich. The computer was on with no fake FBI warnings. "I can help you with your report. We use the same software program you do."

  "How do you know what program we use?"

  "See that symbol down there?" I pointed to the big P on her desktop. "That stands for Panda. It's a management software." I pulled up her vacancy report. "There it is…oh wait."

  "What's wrong?"

  "This can't be accurate, because it lists Apartment 105 as vacant, and that's where Dolores lives. It must not be updated. Although…" I scrolled to the bottom of the page. The report showed apartments 306, 402, 610, 509, 508, 404, 903, 314, 407, 612, and 10l also as vacant, equaling twelve in total. "Violet said you had twelve vacancies when I spoke to her Monday." I clicked on Apartment 105, which, according to the report, showed the last resident had moved out in January. Six months for a vacancy is a long time. If Dolores had just received a rental increase, then she must have lived there at least a year. I searched for Dolores Rocklynn.

  Zero results found.

  "That's odd," I said more to myself than Stormy. I deleted Dolores Rocklynn and spelled it three different ways. All came up with zero results. I ripped a Post-it from the stack and wrote down Dolores Rocklynn Apartment 105. "Check through your hard copy files to see if you can find her."

  "We don't have hard copy files."

  "Why not?"

  "Violet said it wasn't necessary."

  Oh. Um… I blew out a breath. "Ask Antonio for help with vacancies. He turns them, so he should know."

  "What do you mean turn?"

  Geez. Stormy really didn't know anything about the business. "Turn" is basic industry lingo. "Prepare for rental after a move-out," I said.

  "Oh! I think we have an outside vendor turn the units, and Violet supervises."