Double Fudge & Danger

by Erin Huss

  Then I thought about Violet's daughter, who grew up in similar circumstances and was thriving. Which brought my mind back to Violet and the Bob Saget look-a-like hiding out in Apartment 105. I checked the time on my phone. Hampton was either diddle-daddling around or was on the other side of LA when he'd gotten my call. Either way, almost an hour had gone by since he'd said, "I'll be right there."

  I shifted to my side and stared at the whimsical doors, willing them to open, willing Hampton to walk in, willing him to hurry up!

  The doors opened. Except it wasn't Hampton. It was a thin man holding a Trader Joe's bag, talking on his phone. A woman slipped in behind him…

  Holy crap!

  It was the woman from the police station, the one who gave me judgy eyes. I'd recognize her anywhere. She had on the same leopard print leotard, her light hair the size of Canada, and a ferret on a leash.

  I tried not to stare, but, I mean, she was walking a ferret, and her leotard was about two sizes too small, revealing every little nook and cranny.

  She peeked into the office, cupping her hands against the glass, leaving two large smudge marks. She tried the door a few times, but it was locked. "Dammit," she muttered under her breath and pulled a cigarette from her cleavage.

  I loudly cleared my throat.

  The woman spun around. "Can I help you?"

  "You're not allowed to smoke in here."

  "Oh yeah?" She shoved the cigarette between her lips and pulled a lighter from her cleavage. I wondered what else she had in there. "Says who?"

  "California."

  "Yeah, well, don't you worry your pretty little head. My mom runs the joint, and I can smoke if I want."

  "Is your mom Stormy?" I asked.

  She lit the cigarette and puffed out a circle. "Nah. Violet Pumpkin. She's the manager and has been for a long while."

  "Wh-wh…hold on. Wait…wait. You're Violet's daughter?"

  "Yeah, what's it to you?"

  "B-b-but." Breathe, Cambria. "Did you just get here from Florida?"

  "Florida?" She took another drag and dropped her cigarette on the ground and put it out with the toe of her slip-on heels. "I came from Hollywood."

  "So you must have a sister that lives in Florida?" I asked, trying to understand.

  "No sister. Only child. Trust me. My mom couldn't handle more than one." She walked her ferret past me and toward the elevator.

  "Hold on." I stood, buttoned the top of my pants, and ran after her. "What college did you go to?"

  "Look, sweetie, I don't know who you are, but you're starting to get on my nerves." She slammed the Call button.

  The elevator doors parted, and I jumped in front of the woman, blocking her from entering. "What college did you attend?" I asked again.

  "Step aside, sweetie, before I remove you myself."

  I stood firm. This woman was an imposter, and I was not about to let her get away with it. "You are not Violet's daughter," I said as the doors closed behind me. "Her daughter lives in Florida, went to UCLA, has two kids, and a husband."

  The woman curled her lip. "What the hells are you talking about? My mother only had one kid. That's all she had time for, and I don't have no husband in Florida. I got a few ex-husbands in Arizona and one in Nevada, but not Florida. I don't do humidity. Ain't good for my hair."

  "You're lying," I said and squeezed my eyes shut, pretty sure this woman was about to deck me.

  When the blow didn't come, I peeked one eye open, but she was gone. No! I heard the stairwell door slam shut and started to chase after her, when someone grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back. And that someone was Hampton.

  Finally!

  "What took you so long?" I snapped, yanking my arm free.

  "Hello to you too."

  "Sorry. Hello. What took you so long?"

  "I was on the other side of town. Why are you chasing after Violet's daughter?"

  I threw up in my mouth a little. "That can't be her daughter. I saw that woman at the police station yesterday."

  "She was there to see me."

  "B-b-but, I talked to Violet on Monday. She told me about her daughter and grandkids. That's not the daughter Violet described!"

  "That is her daughter, and she has five kids, but they've never met Violet. They all live with their fathers."

  "Wh…wh…no. That can't be right. Violet said her daughter lived in Florida and has two kids, a good job, and was a normal member of society… Why are you shaking your head?"

  Hampton took a step closer. I could smell In-N-Out on his breath, which made me both angry and hungry. Did he stop for a burger when he should have been here questioning the guy in Apartment 105? "Between you and me," he started, "the two have a bit of a tumultuous relationship. They went ten years without speaking and only recently reconnected. The daughter moved out when she was seventeen and was on the streets for a few years, until she got clean. Now she lives in Hollywood and works at a bowling alley. We've found no record of another child. Just the one daughter, Hollow."

  Hollow?

  No wonder they had a strained relationship. I'd have issues with my mother too if she named me Hollow Pumpkin.

  "Why would Violet lie to me?" I asked, feeling a bit faint. "There was no reason to."

  "You're not the only one she lied to. Several people we interviewed told us the same story. Seemed Violet liked to tell tales."

  You could have knocked me over with a feather. "When you say the daughter was on the streets, do you mean…"

  Please say sleeping.

  "She was a prostitute."

  Of course she was! I threw my hands up in the air and made a small circle. My single thread of hope for Lilly had been snapped. More than snapped. It had been snapped, tossed in the fire, and charred into an unrecognizable pile of ash.

  First Violet lied about her daughter.

  Then she lied about the vacancies.

  But why?

  How did lying to me benefit her? It didn't make any sense.

  "If the two had such a terrible relationship, why is Hollow here right now?" I asked.

  "She told us that she would stop by to water the plants."

  I gave Hampton a look. "And you're buying that? Who's to say she had nothing to do with Violet's disappearance?"

  "We're verifying her alibi." He put a hand on the small of my back, willing me forward. "Right now let's concentrate on your Stairwell Guy. Come on."

  Right. Bob Saget. I'd almost forgotten.

  Hampton and I took the ten-foot journey to Apartment 105 in silence. Me still processing. Him adjusting his hair. Hampton knocked on the door, and Dolores answered. She had on bright pink legging with fish printed on them. "Can I help you?"

  "Sorry to bother you at this hour, ma'am," Hampton said. I stood behind him, still reeling from the daughter revelation. "Not sure if you remember me from the other night. My name is Detective Hampton." He held up his badge, and concern flashed across Dolores's face. "Do you have anyone else living here that fits this description?" He held up the sketch.

  Dolores squinted at the drawing. "He looks similar to my son, but he doesn't live here. He visits often." She turned around. "David!" The Hollywood Pizza deliveryman appeared from the kitchen, eating Chinese takeout from the carton with chopsticks.

  "What's wrong?" Up close, David looked more like Bob Saget's close relative. His hair was shorter. His arms were covered in sleeve tattoos, and he had the tiniest bit of chest hair peeking out over the top of his shirt.

  Hampton dove into questions, not skipping a beat. "Were you here the night Violet Pumpkin was discovered missing?"

  "Yeah. It was the same night we had a leak in my mom's bathroom."

  "Where were you when I was questioning your mother?" Hampton asked.

  "Yeah, no. Look, man." David put down the takeout and extended his arms, crossing his wrists. "If you're going to arrest me, just get it over with."

  "Stop that!" Dolores pushed his hands down. "He did nothing wrong. He was with me
all night."

  "Why would I arrest you?" Hampton asked, his face remaining stoic.

  "Yeah, no. Look, man, we tried to get a hold of Violet, and she wasn't answering. So I ran upstairs and kicked the door in, tried to turn off the water, saw her personal items on the counter, the toilet paper holder on the floor, and her closet torn apart. I called my mom, and she told me to get the hell out of there. That's the truth, and I'm sticking to it."

  I watched the exchange over Hampton's shoulder—my eyes bounced between the two men as they continued.

  Hampton: Why were you in the closet?

  David: I heard a noise in there, but when I walked in, no one was there.

  Hampton: Why did you run away if you had nothing to hide?

  David: Yeah, no. Man, I don't want to get involved. I still don't.

  Hampton: Did you know Violet Pumpkin?

  David: I did some business with her, but I didn't hurt her. Not my style.

  Hampton: What business?

  David: If you want to ask more questions, then I'm getting a lawyer.

  I had no idea what to make of David's demeanor. He stood there casually, like he and Hampton were chatting about the latest Dodgers game.

  Dolores interjected. "Violet was not a good person. We've lived here less than four months, and she's already given us a rental increase unless we sign a year lease."

  "Giving out rental increases doesn't make her a bad person," I said, and everyone snapped their heads in my direction, as if suddenly realizing I was there.

  I went back to my spot and clasped my hands together. Until a thought trotted into my head. "Was the window opened or closed?" I asked David.

  "What window?" Dolores asked.

  "The window in the closet." I looked at David. "You said you heard a noise. Was the window in the closet open or closed?"

  "Closed."

  Oh hell.

  If David was telling the truth, and I had no idea if he was—apparently I was a horrible judge of liars—then someone opened the window in the ten minutes between when David left and Antonio and I arrived.

  "I'm not answering another question without my lawyer present." David picked up his takeout and slurped a noodle.

  "Looks like we'll have to speak later." Hampton wrapped his hand around my bicep, forcing me forward.

  "What are you doing?" I asked. "Don't you want to question him more?"

  "Keep walking," he muttered.

  I looked over my shoulder. Dolores and I locked eyes, and she extended her middle finger then ran it across her neck.

  Um…yikes!

  Hampton yanked me through the lobby with more force than was warranted, mumbling something under his breath. "Let me go," I protested. "I can walk on my own."

  He waited until we passed through the whimsical doors before he released my arm, leaving three red spots from where his fingers were.

  "Using physical force is not necessary," I said.

  Hampton ran his hands down his face, still mumbling.

  "What is wrong?" I demanded.

  Hampton pointed to the building. "I should have never let you come to the door with me. I could have brought David down to the station and had you identify him in a lineup if needed." He exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut. "That was stupid of me, and I'm sorry."

  "You don't need to apologize, Hampton. I'm a big girl who can make stupid decisions all by myself. So you think David is the one who took Violet?"

  "I think David knows something. I think he looks familiar. I think there's a reason he didn't want to be questioned on Monday night. I think we're going to bring him down and have him questioned. I think you identifying him brought us one step closer to finding out what happened to Violet. I think Cruller is going to kill me when he finds out about this."

  "Does he need to know?" I asked.

  "You don't keep secrets from your partner."

  Sound advice.

  Made me think about the kiss Tom and I shared in my bathroom a few months back. I never did tell Chase. In my defense, I didn't consider us serious at the time.

  I had a sinking suspicion this was going to backfire on me.

  But I could only deal with one potential disaster at a time. "What are we going to do about David?"

  "I am going to call in for backup, and we're going to bring him down for questioning. You are going home."

  "H-home?" I stuttered. "Will you at least let me know if he's been arrested? I think his mom wants to kill me now."

  Hampton placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll keep you in the loop as much as I can." He smiled. I think it was the first time I'd seen his teeth.

  We were having a moment, Hampton and I. It was nice.

  Poor guy. He must be lonely, I thought, what with no wife and no dog to keep him company.

  The little light bulb in my head turned on.

  "Have you ever seen The Little Mermaid?" I asked.

  He dropped his hand. "Yes, why?"

  "What do you think of Ursula? Evil aside, she's hot. Right? Because I may have someone in mind for you if you're ready to date."

  "OK." He walked off.

  Perhaps OK was Hampton's version of goodbye?

  The whimsical door opened, and Hollow came out, holding a cardboard box piled high with succulents, and trinkets, and picture frames, and toilet paper. Her ferret was at her side—its little legs struggling to keep up. Hollow's face was hidden behind the box, but I could see the smoke and smell the nicotine as she passed by, her heels clanking on the ground, much like Lilly's dress-up shoes did.

  A red truck pulled up to the curb. A bone-thin man with no shirt on leaned over and pushed open the passenger-side door. "Hurry the hell up, woman. I got places to be."

  Hollow dropped the box into the back of the truck, picked up her ferret, and as soon as her leopard print butt landed on the seat, the truck took off, before the door had even closed.

  Oh hell.

  I need four Advil and a tub of ice cream.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  —You can tell if a prospective resident will be good or a royal pain in the butt just by looking at their social media profile pictures.

  It was midnight when I fell into bed and pulled a pillow over my head. Sleep was impossible. Whenever I closed my eyes, Violet's face appeared. I lay in a dark room, staring at the ceiling, hot and sweaty, the fan spinning on low, with Lilly kicking me in the kidney every three minutes.

  The timing of Violet's disappearance, the lie about her daughter, the rental increases, vacancy discrepancies, David, Dolores, Hampton's toupee—it all spun around and around and around in my mind like a washer stuck on the speed cycle.

  The first call from Dolores came at 8:15 PM.

  David would have exited Violet's apartment around 9:55 PM, which meant he entered around 9:45 PM. The window was closed. When I entered shortly after David exited, the window was open. I was stuck on this. Why would he open the window if he wasn't going to go out it? It didn't make sense. I believed someone went out the window between the time David left and Antonio and I arrived. Did that someone go out the window with Violet? Was it possible to escape through a window two stories up with a dead body and go unnoticed?

  Of course, David could be a liar.

  Like Violet.

  Which begged the question, was it Violet who went out the window? Was it easier to run away than deal with the lies she'd told?

  When the clock struck seven, my upstairs neighbor, Mickey, hurled himself out of bed and thumped across my ceiling, and I gave up. Regardless of what had happened with Violet, and David, and the window, and Dolores, I had a job to do. And I hadn't been doing it well. Taking care of my family had to be priority one.

  I took a shower and shaved my legs. Ate a hearty breakfast of Pop-Tarts and a banana— then Lilly and I headed to Burbank. We found a parking spot two blocks away this time, and the temp had dipped to a manageable range.

  Things were starting to look up.

  Of course, I still had to deal wit
h the aftermath of rental increases and the infractions I'd passed out on Tuesday.

  Lilly and I stood behind the mailboxes, and I peeked into the courtyard before I dared enter, hoping no one was waiting with pitchforks and flaming torches.

  Or worse, notices to vacate.

  "Oh my word." I brought my hand to my mouth, barely able compute what my eyes were seeing.

  Lilly tugged on my shirt. "What's wrong, Mommy?"

  "Everything is…done." No wet towels hung over the railing. No trash outside the door. No furniture on the walkway. No cardboard in the windows. It was…clean.

  I spun around in a slow circle, with my arms out, like Julie Andrews about to burst into song. Patrick was right. "An iron fist!"

  "Is that like Iron Man?"

  "Pretty much." I unlocked my office door and pushed it open "Your mom is basically a superhero—oh for the love!"

  The teenagers were at it again.

  I covered Lilly's eyes and quickly ushered her outside. The teens bolted out of my office and ran away, pulling on their clothes as they left.

  "What were them doing?" Lilly asked.

  "They were, uh, dancing."

  "Like a sexy man shimmy?"

  Heaven help me. I'm screwing up my child.

  "Mommy, why are you hitting yourself in the forehead like that?"

  "No reason…um…here's an idea." I dug around in my bag and pulled out a Tupperware container filled with rice and little farm animals—an idea I'd found on Pinterest.

  Lilly gave me a mom-has-finally-lost-her-mind look. "Do I eat this?"

  "No. It's a sensory activity. Dig around in the rice and find all the animals."

  Lilly stared at me like I'd just produced a container of poo. "Can me have your phone instead?"

  "It's I, and no." I unfolded a metal chair in the corner of my office and plopped Lilly down with her rice. "Have fun."

  I bleached the sperm-taminated area then got to work. I unfolded my own chair and unloaded my bag. Lilly had both hands in the rice container and pulled a little sheep out.

  I mentally gave myself a pat on the back.

  See, you're a good parent. Lilly will be just fine.

  I, however, would not be. Not if I didn't process the application for Fox, pronto. I scanned the paperwork using an app on my phone and emailed it to Patrick, praying he wouldn't notice the date on the bottom.