Rock 'n' Roll is Undead (Veronica Mason (13 page)

I pushed through the door and shut it behind me. I didn't lock it because if one of my neighbors had gone out and forgotten their key, there would be hell to pay. They’d pound on the door so loudly they’d wake the whole neighborhood. The last thing I wanted was to be disturbed, so I decided the best thing was to leave it open.

I adjusted the shoulder strap of my purse and set off on my journey up three flights of stairs. Stained a deep mahogany with intricate carvings on the handles, the staircase was steep and wound around all the way to the top. Almost every step creaked when I placed my foot on it. At the top of the stairs, there was a skylight with stained glass. It brightened the area; otherwise, it would have been even spookier. I reached the top and turned to the right, making my way down the narrow hallway. The hardwood floor creaked as well. I figured Mrs. Stevens heard every step I made. Lucky for her, I was on the road a lot. And when I was home, I was out at night most of the time and slept during the day. Well, what little sleep I got. Ever since the dreams started two months ago, I was lucky if I got three or four hours a night. Visions of dark figures, blood, and screaming filled my sleep.

I pulled out the key and slipped it into the lock. The door creaked on its hinges and pushed open without me twisting the lock or the knob. My heart sped up. I was sure I'd closed and locked the door behind me that morning. Had the landlord been there without telling me first? He'd been known to do that in the past. I pushed the door a little, just enough to poke my head in. The place was in shambles. My sofa was turned on its side and books thrown about the room. Plants toppled over and dirt all over the floor. Even the blinds had been ripped from the windows. And that was just the living room. My stomach dropped. I hated to see what the rest of the apartment looked like.

When I looked at the overturned sofa again, I noticed it. It was too big not to notice. Propped up beside the sofa was an upright bass, just like Johnny's. The one that had disappeared from the scene.

Chapter 24

A lump formed in my throat. I wanted to scream, but no one would hear me. No one except whoever was responsible for this mess. Was the person still in my apartment? I paused and held my breath. No noise. Maybe they were waiting for me. If I made a sound, would they hear and run out from their hiding spot after me? Should I call the police? Yes, I definitely needed to call the police. The bass gave me the heebie-jeebies. Propped next to the sofa, it looked as if it were staring at me. Laughing at me and taunting me. Was it Johnny's? Why was it there? My mind raced with thoughts and questions I had no answers to. I pulled the phone from my purse and dialed nine-one-one.

I whispered into the phone when the operator answered. “Someone has broken into my home.”

“I can't hear you ma'am. Can you speak louder?”

If I spoke louder, the intruder may know I was there. Weren't they supposed to know things like that?

“Do you need fire, ambulance, or police?” She asked, finally catching on.

“The police,” I said, praying my voice was loud enough for her to hear, but not for the intruder.

“What's your address?”

Damn cell phones. Why couldn't they have my location when I called?

“I'm at three forty-six East Davidson. Apartment three. It's unlocked.”

“They're on their way.”

I hung up the phone without thinking that maybe I should have kept her on the line. What if I needed her again? I hoped that wasn't the case. No sound had come from my apartment while I’d placed the call. Just the steady tick-tock of my old grandfather clock.

I poked my head back through the open door. With my foot, I pushed it open wider. I cringed when it made the creaking noise. Couldn't Mr. Smith oil the hinges? I stepped forward with one foot, then the other, forcing myself to enter. When I was just inside the door, I peered around, but didn't see any movement. I didn't know whether to check the kitchen to my right first or turn to my left and check out the bedroom.

I moved to the left. A perfect hiding place would be the bedroom closet. I’d check there first. My heels clicked against the hardwood as I eased across the floor. Too loud. I paused and slipped off my shoes. It’d be easier to run without them if someone attacked me, anyway. I set the shoes next to the wall, then continued on my trek. It wasn't a big space to cover, but with my heart pounding, the distance seemed endless.

When I made it to the bedroom, I covered my gasp with my hand. The mattress was half off the bed. Drawers pulled out, and their contents dumped onto the floor. I hated that they'd touched my underwear; the idea made my skin crawl. A picture of my parents was shattered and lying on the floor. Where the hell were the police? Any other time they’d be here. When I forgot to add coins to the parking meter, they were there.

Apparently, whoever did this had an issue with my window treatments, because every window was uncovered. Knowing anyone could look in the window and see me made it even creepier than it already was. I focused my attention on the closed closet door. What was taking them so long? As Frank would say, too many doughnut runs. I eased over to the wall and aligned my body next to it. You couldn't have fit a quarter between my body and the wall I was so close.

This was a job for the police, but for some reason, I decided to be brave and have a go at it. I inched along the wall until I made it to the closet door. Taking in a deep breath, I placed my hand on the knob. I decided to silently count to three and then open. If anyone jumped out, I could turn and run for the main door. Now that I thought of it, I should have grabbed a knife from the kitchen or something before coming in here to confront a crazy person. Obviously, I hadn't been thinking clearly.

One. Two. Three. I yanked on the door and my heart pumped like mad. In front of me, my clothes still hung on the hangers and my shoes were still on the racks on the floor. Why hadn't the person dumped the contents of the closet out like they did the drawers? Perhaps they wanted me to think they were hiding there when really they were hiding somewhere else. Like, oh, I don’t know, perhaps under the bed? Just like the boogey man.

Since I had a bed that was set higher off the floor than normal, there was a lot of space under there—plenty of space for a killer. I eased over and squatted to the ground. With a shaky hand, I grabbed the skirt from the bed and lifted. I squinted at the darkness and scanned the area, but the only things under there were storage containers for my winter clothes. I stood and looked around. The shower, I thought. The person could be hiding behind the shower curtain. When I’d pull back the curtain, they'd attack me with a knife or something. I shivered at the thought.

Inching across the floor, I made my way to the bathroom. I stepped into the small room, my bare feet cold against the tile. If anyone jumped out at me, it would be hard to get away quickly in the small space. I took a couple steps away from the door and leaned as far as I could toward the curtain. Taking in another deep breath, I moved my hand closer. My hand shook worse than my mother’s Chihuahua on a cold day. I grabbed tight and yanked the curtain back.

Nothing.

I let out a deep breath. If I didn't calm down soon, I'd probably pass out. The intruder wouldn't have to knock me out; I'd do a fine job of that on my own. Until I had answers, I needed to take deep breaths and relax. I stepped back out from the bathroom and moved into the living room. Sirens rang out as I made my way toward the kitchen. Thank goodness they'd finally showed up. I hurried out into the foyer and back down the long staircase. The police entered as soon as I reached the bottom of the staircase. I clutched my chest. They didn't rush in like in the movies, though. No guns drawn, tasers, or shields. They seemed quite calm actually. A lot calmer than me. My insides were turned upside down, I felt like my apartment looked.

“Did you call the police?” The lanky officer asked.

I nodded. “Yes. Someone broke into my apartment, I'm not sure if they’re still in there or not.” I pointed. “I’m on the third floor.”

“You stay here. We'll check it out.”

Fine by me. The policemen made the hike toward my apartment and I found a spot in the corner. I rubbed my temples, then it hit me. Were my neighbors okay? Had the intruder been to their apartments as well? As I stood there fidgeting and pacing the tiny foyer, wondering about them, Mr. Cooper walked through the door. White tufts of hair flipped the opposite way of where I assumed he wanted them, and his shiny bald head gleamed under the light. He scuffled over. Standing next to me, with his back hunched over, we were the same height. His wrinkles deepened as he scrunched his face and peered at me through his minuscule wire bifocals. If in fact they hadn’t been visited by the thugs too, I’d hoped to hide this little hiccup from my nosy, er, concerned neighbors. They wouldn't be happy.

I didn’t know if anyone had broken into their apartments, but the fact that I now had a bass in my living room that hadn't been there before, led me to believe their places were safe. They, however, wouldn’t feel safe.

I knew when I moved in they didn't like the idea of someone young and in a band living here. If they knew about the vampires, witches and werewolves, well, I didn’t know what they would have done. Lucky for me, the landlord loved money and just saw dollar signs. As long as I paid my rent, he didn't care. My neighbors figured I'd throw wild parties and have shady characters coming and going at all hours. That couldn't be further from the truth—I didn’t throw wild parties. Now the shady characters…yeah, maybe that wasn’t so far from the truth. This latest development wouldn't sit well with them and I knew it.

“What the hell is going on here?” He asked in his gravelly voice.

“Someone broke into my apartment, Mr. Cooper.” I let out another deep breath.

His eyes grew wide. “Those sons of bitches better not have touched any of my things. My stamp collection had better still be there.”

I worried about him having a heart attack at this point. His face was red and blotchy—blotchier than usual. Maybe I shouldn't have told him. But how else would I have explained the police cars. He dropped his grocery bag and unlocked his apartment. I leaned over for a view as he opened the door. Just as I suspected, nothing out of place. Well, except for the usual beer cans littered about.

As I stood there watching Mr. Cooper move through his apartment, mumbling something about a son of bitch, a car pulling up in front of the building caught my attention. An unmarked police car. I recognized it right away. It was Detective Walker.

Chapter 25

What was he doing here? They must have contacted him about the bass—talk about not wasting any time. If the old coot, I mean, Mr. Cooper saw the fangs on the detective, I’d be out of my apartment before I could say O Negative.

“Good afternoon, Veronica,” he said as he walked up the stone path to the front porch. “We meet again. You sure do know how to stay in trouble. It follows you lately, huh?”

I stepped out onto the porch. “Hello.” I bit my tongue to keep from saying something I’d regret—no easy task.

“Have a bit of a problem with your apartment?”

“Yes, you could say that, but you already know.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind sharing? I’d like to hear what happened from you.” He rubbed his head and let out a breath.

“It's trashed. Someone broke in and turned everything upside down. The police are up there now.” I motioned with my head. “They even pulled the window blinds off the windows. Overturned furniture, broken pictures.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it. I wasn't sure if the person was still in there or not. I looked around a little, but….”

“Stay right here. I'll be back.” Yeah, yeah, I knew the drill.

I watched as he made his way up the staircase. They'd get their exercise today trafficking up those steps. After a minute of standing there, I noticed Mr. Cooper coming back toward his door. I didn't want to talk with him anymore about what had happened, so I hurried up the stairs toward my place. Obviously if anyone had been in there I'd know by now. Detective Walker and the police had told me to stay put, but since when did I do what anyone told me to, anyway?

Once I reached the top of the stairs, I heard Detective Walker talking with the officers. I couldn't make out exactly what was being said, but it probably wasn’t good. As I walked across the foyer, the conversation stopped. Damn squeaky floor. The detective poked his head through the cracked door.

“Is it safe? I asked.

“I told you to stay put.”

I shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Come on over here. I’d like to ask you some questions.” He frowned, increasing the lines around his eyes.

My stomach took a dive. I didn't like the tone of his voice. It reminded me of my teenage years when my dad's voice took on the same tone when he knew I'd done something wrong, but was trying to catch me in a lie before admitting that he knew what I'd done. I moved over to the doorway. One officer was on his radio and the other had moved into the bedroom.

“Did you know there were flyers scattered throughout the apartment?” He held up one of the hot pink pieces of paper I’d handed out for tomorrow night’s performance.

My face had been scratched out.

“There are at least a dozen of these scattered around. All of them have your face marked out. Didn’t you notice? Kind of hard not to notice.”

I swallowed. “I didn't notice them, no.”

“We're sending forensics over to fingerprint and look for evidence. Do you have any idea who would do something like this? Who are your enemies, Ms. Mason?”

“I have no idea. I don’t have any enemies.”

“Everyone has enemies, Ms. Mason.”

“I don’t. Do you think it's linked to Johnny's murder?”

“I wouldn't speculate on that just yet. It's too soon to say what the motivation is.”

I looked at the bass beside the sofa. “Um, that's not mine.” I pointed. If he didn’t know about the bass, then why was he here?

“What's not yours?”