by Erin Huss
The outside lobby doorbell rang three more times before I was able to answer. Stormy stood on the other side of the door, holding a vase filled with beautiful yellow flowers. "Sorry to bother you. I came to drop these off before I go home for the night." She shot her arms out, and a bit of water spilled onto the brick below. "It's for you. Peruvian Lilies represent friendship and devotion." She unleashed a grin, baring oversized teeth. "I googled that."
I took the flowers and inhaled their sweet scent. "So you got your icons back?"
"Mmmhmmm. I also showed an apartment and maybe even rented it." She sounded so proud of herself that I couldn't help but smile.
"Congratulations. I knew you could do it." Actually, that was a lie. I was almost positive she'd accidentally burn down the building. Not that I had room to judge when it came to burning down buildings.
"I wouldn't have been able to do it without you," she said.
True. "Have you heard any word on Violet?"
Her face paled. "Not one word from anyone! Heaven help her." She stopped to cross herself. "The police took her computer shortly after you left. Maybe they'll find something on there."
I thought about the tally marks and wondered what Hampton made of them.
"Then a group of men and women with gloves on, and blue jackets, and ugly man shoes, went through her desk, too," Stormy continued.
I felt a whoosh of panic, thinking of my fingerprints smudged all over her personal things.
Please, please don't let my snooping compromise evidence.
Stormy continued to talk while I worked through a slight panic attack. "Caused quite a frenzy around the community," she said. "I think residents are beginning to suspect that Violet isn't on vacation."
I wet my lips, feeling a bit lightheaded. "It might help for everyone to know the truth. A resident could have seen someone suspicious." Which reminded me of Clint Eastwood. "Can you come in for a minute? I want to show you something."
"Pfft!" Stormy waved her hand as if I were being ridiculous. "Honey, I have more than a minute. I have no life. Just you wait."
I let her in and offered her a seat on the comfy lobby couch while I fetched the drawing, but she followed me instead. "What a lovely office!" she said as we squeezed past my desk. "Goodness, and your apartment is so close. You've got the best commute in all of Los Angeles!" she said when I opened the door to my kitchen. "And would you look at that! Job comes with a man." She growled when she saw Kevin lying on my couch in nothing but holey shorts and ice cream dribbling down his chest. "Aren't you the hunky monkey?"
Kevin gave me a who-the-hell-is-this-woman look.
"Kevin, this is Stormy. Stormy, Kevin," I said.
Stormy placed her hand over her heart. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kevin. You got a hottie here." Stormy cocked a thumb in my direction. "You're a lucky man."
Kevin and I exchanged a look. Neither of us was in the mood to correct her, so I showed her the sketch. "Do you know who this is?"
She tapped her finger to her chin. "He looks familiar, but not like someone I've seen in person before, more like someone I've seen on the television."
"Like Clint Eastwood," I said.
She shook her head. "Not so much. Gosh, this man looks so familiar. Where have I seen him before? Is he a model?"
Model?
Model…
Model!
Crap!
I felt an almighty heave of horror.
Fox!
Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.
I'd been so consumed with Violet and helping Stormy with her job that I'd completely forgotten to do my own. I should have had Fox's application processed and a deposit collected yesterday. No doubt he'd already found an apartment in a neighboring building by now—one that was gluten-free.
Note to self: you're an idiot.
"You OK?" Stormy had a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm fine." My tone was harsher than I'd intended. It wasn't her fault that I'd dropped the ball. "I just remembered I have something I need to do right now," I said more sweetly this time, hoping she wouldn't think me rude.
Based on Stormy's expression: mission not accomplished.
"If I'm bothering you, then I should be leaving," she said, except she didn't move. Instead, she stood next to the kitchen table with a hand on each hip and her mouth set to a line.
Great, I'd offended Stormy.
"I'm not rushing you out," I tried to explain. "It was just that—"
"We were having sex!" Kevin said loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and I nearly fell over.
He's officially lost his mind.
I was about to adamantly protest, but the left side of Stormy's mouth twitched upward. "Excusez-moi. Let me leave you two alone." She fanned herself. I felt my face go red. "I don't want to ruin the mood."
I couldn't formulate a coherent sentence, so I said nothing and walked Stormy out.
She stopped at the door to give this lovely tidbit of advice: "Get it while you can, girl. When you get to be my age, men don't have the stamina to keep it up."
Gross.
Stormy stepped out into the hot night air. "Would you please let me know if they tell you anything about Violet?" I asked.
"Of course I will." She folded her arms. "And you let me know if you hear anything, too."
I leaned against the doorjamb. "Have you talked to the owners or her daughter?"
"No on the daughter. I sent the owners the vacancy report, but I haven't heard anything back." She chewed on her lip. "I hope I did it right. All I did was send them the list Antonio gave me."
"I'm curious why Violet would tell me you had twelve vacancies if you really had three." I was still stuck on this. "Also, why it showed twelve vacancies in Panda. That should be updated, especially if you don't keep hard copy records."
"Must have been a mistake." She shrugged. "Like I said, Violet had been struggling these past few weeks."
Good point.
Still.
I couldn't stop thinking about the discrepancy in vacancies. No matter how hard I tried. Even after I said good night to Stormy. Even after I sat beside Kevin on the couch. Even after we finished If Only and started another episode. No matter how hard I tried, the thought wormed its way back into my mind. Managers don't lie and say they have more vacancies than they really do. They just don't. Why would we? It made us look bad. Who wants to look bad in front of other managers? Not me.
Unless the lie benefitted her.
But how?
Why would carrying more vacancies benefit her? Patrick had mentioned the owners recently asked how long vacancies should sit. Which meant they were concerned. Which meant they had vacant units sitting. Three vacancies in a 255-unit place isn't terrible. It's great, actually. The list on Panda wasn't right, obviously, since it had listed Apartment 105…
I give up!
"Where are you going? It's almost ten," Kevin said.
I slipped on my shoes and threw Einstein up into a knot at the top of my head. "There's something fishy going on next door."
"Yeah, the manager's missing."
I rolled my eyes. "Beside that. There's a discrepancy in their vacancies and…" I could tell I'd already lost Kevin. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
"Not your monkey!" I heard him yell as I closed the door.
True. Not my monkey. Not my circus. And maybe the discrepancy in vacancies was an oversight. Or maybe it was a clue to Violet's disappearance.
Or maybe I should just stick to running my own circus.
Either way, I marched to Cedar Creek, typed in the code Dolores gave me, and pulled open the whimsical doors, climbed the stairs to the third floor, found Apartment 306—one of the apartments on the original Panda list—and knocked.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
—And by a little obsessive, I mean a lot.
No answer.
Which meant one of two things: no one was home, or the apartment was vacant, 105 was an oversight in the system, and I'd walked over there for
nothing.
Except…
I placed my ear against the door. Two people, presumably men, based on the deep tone of their voices, were having a conversation. About what? I couldn't tell. They were muffled through the expensive wood.
I raised my fist and gave the door three more taps using my knuckles. The mumbling stopped. Footsteps approached. The door opened enough for me to see a black sofa, white drapes, a rustic coffee table, and a slender man with oversized glasses and a cardigan on.
Guess it's not vacant.
"I know you!" The cardigan man pointed, and I turned around. No one was behind me, so he must have been talking to me, except I'd never seen this man before. "You work here," he said in a way that insinuated this was not a good thing.
"Uh…no."
"Yes you do." He cradled a large wineglass filled to the brim. "I saw you sitting at Violet's desk earlier. I have a bone to pick with you. Wait there." He disappeared, and for whatever reasons (curiosity, need to please, the inability to properly use my brain), I waited. He returned with a piece of a paper and shoved it into my hands. It was a rental increase notification dated the day before Violet disappeared. "I've lived here four months, and my rent is increasing already. That's unconstitutional!"
Not unconstitutional, just bad business.
I read through the notification more thoroughly. Per the increase, this man's name was Frank, and his rent was now two hundred and fifty dollars more a month, unless he was willing to sign a one-year lease—then his rent would stay the same. No wonder he was upset. "Were you offered a move-in special upon signing?" I asked, trying to understand why Violet would give such an ultimatum to a new resident.
"I was never offered a special. This is just bad business!" He slurped his wine.
Embossed on the top of the paper was the Star Management Inc. logo—five silver stars circled around an S. I could have sworn Patrick had said the owners of Cedar Creek didn't use a management company. He was obviously mistaken. Star Management handled thousands of residential and commercial properties all over the country. I'd run across their name many times while doing resident verification…
Crap!
Resident verification!
I'd completely forget about Fox's application—again!
Note to self: do your own job!
I gave the notification back to Frank. "I'm sorry, but I'm unable to help you."
Frank blinked his eyes slowly, exaggerating the movements. "Then why are you here?"
Good question.
One I didn't have an answer to—not a logical one anyway.
Frank slurped his wine and rolled his eyes so far back into his head I was fairly certain he saw brain. "This place is run by morons." He slammed the door shut.
So, turned out Apartment 306 was not vacant.
I had no idea how this was pertinent, and Violet was still gone. I'd accomplished absolutely nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.
Zero.
My phone buzzed from my back pocket, and I checked to see who it was. Heat rose to my cheeks when I saw Tom's name. I'd forgotten about the text he'd sent Amy. I'd forgotten how upset I was with him. Missing apartment managers with inaccurate vacancy reports has a way of hogging your attention.
I leaned against the wall and lowered down to my butt, debating if I should answer or not. Problem was, no matter how much I didn't want to talk to him (and I really didn't), he was still the father of my child. So I answered, "What is wrong with you?"
"That's a loaded question."
"Why did you tell Amy you were coming to New York instead of Chase? She needs to focus all her energy on dancing, not your inability to listen to me."
"I didn't say instead of Chase."
"So the three of us will go together? That sounds fun."
"It could be."
I strangled the phone with both hands. He was still talking when I hit End. Frustrated, I beat the back of my head against the wall. I did this for awhile, until Frank opened the door and poked his head out. "What is that tapping?" He looked down and rolled his eyes. "I'm surrounded by morons."
True.
So true.
He flung the door shut, and I stood up slowly and walked toward the stairwell exit. I stopped at the window at the end of the hall and peered out, heaving a sigh. My breath fogged the glass, and I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe it clean. From three stories up, I had a perfect view of my community. The underwater lights illuminated the pool. Mickey was making his rounds. Silvia was in her nightie, checking the mail, with Harold on her shoulder. The kitchen light was on in Daniella's apartment. She never did call me back about the Eastwood look-a-like. Not completely unlike her. She typically only spoke to me when she was upset—which was quite often.
Everything appeared so normal, and yet something felt so off.
The Cedar Creeks parking gate slid open, and a silver Honda with a bright Hollywood Pizza sign on the roof pulled into an open visitors' spot along the wall, right beside the reserved maintenance parking. The deliveryman stepped out of his car, fixed his pants, picked at his teeth, ran a hand through his hair, and locked his Honda over his shoulder, using a key fob.
My first thought: Hollywood Pizza delivers here!
My second thought: that deliveryman looks familiar.
Tall, slender, and a lot like Bob Saget.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
—Property management requires a surprisingly large amount of stalking.
Hampton answered on the third ring. "Yes, Cambria?" His words were laced with forced patience.
"I found Bob Saget." I practically flew down the stairs, going three at a time, holding tight to the railing as I neared the first floor. My foot slipped on a step, and I tumbled the rest of the way.
"What happened?" Now Hampton's voice was now laced with concern.
"Nothing. I'm fine." I stood and fell against the push bar to open the door. Adrenaline slammed against my chest as I searched the lobby. I hoped to make it down before the man had a chance to call for the elevator.
But I didn't see him.
With the phone still at my ear, I limped around, barely noticing the pain shooting down my leg. How that thing was still attached to my body was a miracle.
I rounded the corner and quickly retreated, plastering my back against the wall. "I found him," I whispered to Hampton and peeked my head around. The Bob Saget look-a-like stood at the Wow Fridge, taking in his choices.
"What's he doing?" Hampton asked in an equally hushed tone.
"He's grabbing a Gatorade and a bag of Lays from the fridge."
"Why are Lays in the fridge?"
"It's part of the wow factor."
The man ripped open his chips with his teeth and walked down the hallway. He didn't have a pizza or delivery bag on him, and his hat was shoved under his armpit. I watched as he passed the elevator. I watched as he passed the stairwell. I watched as he used the backside of his pants to wipe the grease off his hand. I watched as he knocked on an apartment door.
He waited and licked his fingertips clean one by one, until the door opened and he was granted entrance. I waited for the door to shut before I raised the phone to my ear and said, "He just entered Apartment 105. Dolores Rocklynn."
"I'll be right there."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
—Stalking can get boring.
I kept an eye on Apartment 105 from my post at the end of the hall. I lay on the floor with a bag of Fritos open on my lap and my phone in my hand, texting Kevin. Lilly was still asleep, and he was on his second pint of ice cream.
There was a time, not too long ago, when I'd never allow Kevin in my apartment, let alone near my child. That was back when he was high and naked and a generally unpleasant person. Kevin was now clean and clothed and mostly pleasant.
"People change for two reasons," my Grandma Ruthie used to say. "Either their eyes have been opened, or their hearts have been broken. If we refuse to see the change in people and forgive, then w
e're only denying ourselves."
I was glad I'd given Kevin a second chance. With Amy gone, he'd become my stand-in best friend.
Once again, Grandma Ruthie knew what she was talking about. I missed that woman. She was a walking inspirational quote. The kind you see on Pinterest with the tree in the background or an ocean wave. I wondered what she would say about Tom. If she'd think he was indeed capable of changing. Or what she'd think about my mother's declaration about Lilly needing a sibling…
Ugh.
I pushed the bag of chips aside. No longer hungry. The thought of screwing up Lilly kept me up at night. I could picture her in twenty years, lying on a chaise lounge with an arm draped over her eyes. A therapist sitting on a high-backed velvet chair, dubiously taking notes as Lilly goes on and on and on about life with her neurotic mother. Her childhood filled with tagging along on property tours and sitting in small offices, being forced to color all day while Mom worked.
Or…
I pictured her ending up just like me.
They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Heaven knew there were times I could hear my own mother coming out of my mouth.
Not that growing up to be just like me would be horrible. I was happy. Sure, my baby daddy had become a walking ulcer, but he was a wonderful father and I did have a level-headed boyfriend. I had a job that offered both a roof over our heads and somewhat financial security. Yes, I had been shot at, taken hostage, and arrested. I was also sitting on the floor of a fancy high-rise waiting for the police to show up.
Also, the top button of my jeans may or may not have been unbuttoned.
OK, so maybe my life wasn't all rainbows and butterflies, but I was content.
Super content.
I wanted better than contentment for my child, though. I wanted her to grow up to be more confident than me. More coordinated. More intelligent. I wanted her to graduate from college. I wanted her to own the building, not manage it. I wanted her to have a child with a man who loved her back. I wanted more for her, but I had no idea how to make sure that happened.