Leftovers (5 page)

I stood there, waiting for the men to say something, but neither did. It was a very long few seconds waiting for someone to speak. I was afraid to say something, fearing that I’d give away what I’d learned from the woman’s phone. I knew that sometimes my mouth runs away with me, and I was certain that I’d be forced to erase the phone numbers from my arm and hand before leaving, if the two men knew I had them.

I continued to scrub the prep area, while Land watched me. We worked together too much for him not to suspect anything, but I was hoping that he would think I planned a trip to the Zoz house. I was hoping that he’d let it go that I had one sneaky thing I planned to do and not two of them.

Detective Danvers finally left with a comment that he’d be back to talk more. I assumed that the statement was directed toward Land, but if he suspected that I’d be doing some more snooping, it could have applied to me as well.

The door had barely shut when Land asked, “What exactly are you up to? You’re acting guilty as hell.”

I shrugged and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Land didn’t say a word. He just walked up to the sink, dumped in some of the prep materials, and then began spraying water on my arms.

“What are you doing?” I shouted. I pulled my hands out of the sink and began to wave them about to dry them as fast as possible.

“What is up your sleeve? You never wear gloves during clean up. You don’t seem to mind that your fingers get all dried out—until today, when suddenly you’re overwhelmed with the desire to take care of your hands. I don’t buy it.” I pulled the gloves up my arms further so that he couldn’t see anything. However, I knew that this was only a temporary solution, since I couldn’t stay like this all day.

Land leaned up against the counter and gave me a smile. “I can wait all day. Can you?”

I thought of the things I wanted to do and sighed. “No, I can’t.” I pulled off the gloves one at a time, starting with the glove that covered nothing. The other glove came off next. I was afraid to see what the water had done to the numbers.

The water that Land had sprayed on me had begun to fade the numbers. I could read one number completely, but the other two were partially obscured. Land took out a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled down:

829-4444

385-8

101-6

He tore off the first sheet of paper and copied them again. He handed one sheet to me, and folded the other sheet and put it into his pocket. So much for my plans of keeping this to myself.

“What?” I started to say, but Land cut me off.

“I’m not going to tell you not to look into this. I know that won’t do any good, but I will keep track of all the clues you have. If something happens to you, then I should be able to trace your path and find out the most likely suspects. You don’t even have to tell me where you got this. This came off the dead woman’s phone. I saw you turn the bag over to Danvers, and I figured that you’d gotten some sort of information for yourself from the purse before you decided to be so concerned. But really—writing important things on your arm?” He shrugged to show that he would have done better.

I grumbled about his desire to know what I was doing, but it made sense. You always needed a backup. “Am I that predictable that you can figure out what I am going to do?”

He pondered the question for a minute. That meant the answer was “yes,” but he was trying to come up with a nicer way to say that. “There are certain threads that people think to follow in an investigation. So I’d follow those. It’s not that you’re predictable, but you’ll probably follow the most likely path to get to a destination.” He looked so pleased with his answer that I felt like I should congratulate him.

“Well, if you must know, I’m going to stop by Mariel’s house to see if I can find out why she didn’t show up today. Then I might call that number,” I added, since I was sure that he already knew that I’d tried to protect it in order to use it.

Land cleared his throat. “The police won’t be at the house, so you should be okay there. I doubt that they’ll be watching her place until they figure out how to get a warrant. That could be a while. But with the phone numbers, call from somewhere that they can’t trace it back to you.” He sighed. “It’s times like this that I miss payphones. Anonymity can be very helpful at times.”

“The local mall still has a few,” I suggested, since I’d actually had enough money with the last paycheck to go shopping. “I could use the payphones there. Do you really think it’s that dangerous?”

He nodded. “Best idea. I have a suspicion that these people are willing to stop at nothing to get what they want—and I don’t know what they are after yet. You’re going to need to be careful.”

“And you know all this—how?” I asked, curious as to Land’s former life that he never spoke of. I suddenly thought that there was some military background I was unaware of.

“Some other time. Now’s not good.” He turned and finished what he was cleaning. I stood there, watching him, but he didn’t turn back around.

Obviously there was more to Land that had met my eye, but now I saw an efficient, perhaps militaristic person. I’d only looked at him for what he could do for the business and not as a complete person. I was doubly interested as to why he would have worked for my aunt. Being a chef seemed like a letdown after knowing how to deal with snipers.

However, I knew that I would get nowhere by trying to quiz him on his past. I’d tried a few times before, and he’d shared nothing.

It was only a short drive to Mariel Mills’ house. It was not a part of the upper crust suburbs where her sister had lived. Mariel lived in an old row house that was just outside the downtown limits. These houses had been built in the previous century by people who were tired of downtown living. Those people had moved again to the suburbs, and this neighborhood had gone downhill until the last twenty years when people interested in gentrification had begun to move in.

Land was right. I didn’t see a single patrol car in the area, and certainly none sitting directly in front of the Mills house. I stayed in the old Buick for a few minutes, trying to figure out a plan of attack. First, I had to try the doorbell. There would be absolutely no excuse for me to break into the home if she was already there and alive. Plus it would be hard to explain to Mariel why I hadn’t bothered to knock.

Then I needed an excuse to go around to the back of the house. From the rear of the house, I could see if I could find a way into Mariel’s home without being seen. It was not easy, but I knew that I had to do something. I strongly suspected that Mariel was either dead or dying, and I wanted to know that I had done my best to save her. I felt like I had gotten her into this situation by calling her and pushing her to talk about her sister and the family. If I could, it was my responsibility to get her out of this situation.

I grabbed a manila envelope that had held some junk mail offers, and stuffed a few pieces of other junk mail in it. I had no plan to leave the papers there. I was taking Land’s admonishment to not be identified to heart. No one paid attention to sales people, especially door-to-door sales people. I would only use the papers as a cover, taking them with me as I went.

I walked to the front door. Someone had told me that no one notices people who act like they know what they are doing. So I tried to project a confident persona, but after seeing a woman shot down in the city today, I felt anything but confident. I felt like someone was about two steps behind me and gaining fast. I fought the urge to scan the trees for hidden gunmen.

I rapped on the door several times, but no one came to the door. I looked for a doorbell, but there was none. I waited, knocked again, acting as if I was surprised that she wasn’t home. I waited again, and then took my packet of papers clearly in my hands and walked around the side of the house.

There was a small latched fence, and I opened the latch without problems and walked into the backyard. The fence wasn’t high enough to mask what I was doing from the neighbors. So I took the few steps up to the backdoor and knocked again. There was a doorbell here, and I rang it. I could hear the sound echo through the house, so I knew that it worked and someone should hear it if they were home—and alive.

I shifted the papers from one hand to the other, and when I did, they fell to the ground. I leaned down to get them. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that one of the basement windows leaned inward.

I walked down to the ground level to get a better look at the window. Since I was pretending to be self-confident, I didn’t have the time to dither as to whether to do this or not. I sat down on the ground and slid my body through the window in a single gymnast-like movement.

I found myself in the basement, a plain concrete and beams sort of place. The laundry facilities were next to the window, and I looked around, but I couldn’t see anything that would tell me about the woman of the house. Millions of homes had similar set-ups all around the country.

I slowly walked toward the stairs leading upward. I was concerned about ferocious dogs and being locked in the basement. The first was not a huge concern, because I’d knocked and rung the doorbell enough to try a St. Bernard’s patience. So I doubted that a dog would appear now, growling and barking. Any pet that slow, I could outrun.

The other was a bigger fear, as then I’d have to try to make my way back out of the window. I hadn’t seen any form of ladder in the basement, so I’d have to wrangle boxes or something to stand on in order to comfortably reach the window. All of that action would give the neighbors time to decide that something was wrong with my approach and call the police. While they’d be appreciative to know what I found here, I knew that their gratitude would not extend to giving me a pass on committing B&E. So my best hope was to get upstairs and find out what was going on.

I took the stairs slowly. While I had called out a few times since I’d been in the house, the thought of someone waiting at the top of the stairs and hearing my ascent made me walk quietly. I gently turned the knob and pushed the door.

There was no one greeting me at the landing. I let out the air I’d been holding in my lungs and relaxed. I seemed to be alone. I did a quick survey from room to room. The first floor held what would have been the parlor in an earlier age and the kitchen. The room was bright and polished, far different than it would have been when the house was built.

I took the stairs quickly, knowing that any of the neighbors might wonder about me and call the police at any time. I didn’t want to have to explain myself to the police.

On the second floor were the bedrooms. I found the master bedroom—and more than I anticipated. A woman’s body lay on the floor. I did a quick check. Taking her pulse, I could tell that she was still alive and breathing, which was good. There was some blood on the side of her head, so it was apparent that someone had rendered her unconscious and then gone to meet me, presumably the unknown woman. I didn’t know the woman’s motives, but as long as Mariel was alive, there was a chance I could find out those answers.

I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I explained the situation, saying that I’d come into the house through a window after hearing a woman’s moan. It seemed plausible if not true. No one could conclusively deny it, not even Mariel.

They promised to send someone out immediately. I walked back down to the first floor and unlocked the front door. I stood on the porch until the first responders arrived. I pointed them to the bedroom and told them what I’d found. They nodded and headed off with a gurney and medical bags.

I had barely turned around when another car pulled up. Even though I didn’t recognize the car, I knew the driver well. Detective Jax Danvers, who was looking rather peeved, stopped the car in front of the house and got out.

“What are you doing here?” he asked without any introduction. “I told you that we couldn’t get a warrant.”

“I thought I heard someone moaning upstairs so I got in and found a woman knocked unconscious. It’s a good thing that I got here when I did. There was a lot of blood, and I don’t know how bad off she is.” I tried to present myself as a girl scout helping others, though I knew he wouldn’t buy it. I was content that he couldn’t prove I was lying.

Danvers rolled his eyes. I was pretty sure that the gesture was not a professional one. “I’ll just bet that’s how it went down.”

I shrugged. “I heard a moan and investigated. But now that the door is open, and it looks like a crime was committed, you can look around, right?” I thought that he would at least be pleased with the ability to learn why Mariel hadn’t shown up.

He laughed. “Yes, I can look around. You can go home and make hot dogs.” He gave me a little push to the stairs leading down to the sidewalk as he entered the house.

I didn’t like Danvers’ response, but I had little else to do except for following his command. I wasn’t going to get a look at the crime scene; that much was clear. So I had no plans for the rest of the day. I wasn’t sure how badly Mariel was hurt, but I figured that the police would want to get a statement from her before they allowed me to talk to her as well. So they’d have a better grasp of what was going on.

I thought about just leaving things now. My wish had been for the police to investigate the murder of Linda Zoz, and now it was likely they would. Her sister had been rendered unconscious on her way to meet with me to discuss Linda. Another woman who came to meet me at the food truck had been shot by a sniper. That should be enough to get the police interested. Linda’s death would not be swept under the rug as part of another investigation.

However, I had my doubts. Danvers had already made it clear that the woman’s shooting could not be conclusively linked to Mariel’s disappearance. As a result, they might assume that all three events were separate incidents. It would just be an awful week for Mariel in their eyes.

So just to be on the safe side, I headed to the mall, selected one of the few remaining public phones, and dialed the only full number left on my arm.

A voice answered. The man was cold and distant. It was not a voice I’d like to hear in a dark alley. “What do you want?” he asked, wasting no time on pleasantries.

“She’s dead,” I said, spitting out the only thing I could think of on short notice. “Hit today.”

The man laughed. “Don’t call me to tell me that. I saw it on TV already. I told you to only call during emergencies.” He hung up, and I stood there with the receiver in my hand.

I cursed myself that I didn’t think of a better opening line. It had been effective, but the phone call had been over almost before it began. The man knew what I was talking about and didn’t need me to tell him. I had no idea how I could have kept him on the line, but I wished I’d come up with something better.

So what was I left with? A dead woman on the square, a concussed woman on the floor of her home and a man who already knew that the first woman was dead. Great clues for a murder mystery, I thought, but it doesn’t make any kind of pattern for me. It definitely spelled out that Linda’s murder was not committed as part of the trial that had just ended. This was something entirely different, and I feared it was only just beginning.