Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery) (22 page)

“I want to set up another appointment with her thinking I
still live at The Marlin, but I don’t want to run into Dorothy in the process.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Henry snorted under his breath.

They reached the hotel entrance. Cassie stopped in the
loading zone in front.

Henry said, “Tell you what – you call this Margaret lady and
set something up for Saturday. Dorothy has a golf date Saturday morning so we’ll
both leave on one of the Friday flights. My room is paid through the end of the
month because she wants me to come back. I’ll get another key for you to use
Saturday, but she wants me to drive her to Austin tomorrow so I might not see
you again before then. We’ll have to meet for dinner tomorrow night so I can
give it to you.”

Cassie’s heart did a little inside twist – tomorrow night
was her date with the Detective.

Her expression told him she had a problem with his plan.

“That’ll be the only chance I have to see you before we
leave,” he reminded. “I want to help, but neither of us wants Dorothy to know
what we’re doing.”

It was after three o’clock by the time Cassie drove into her
covered parking space at the base of the stairs. She was in such a hurry to
make those phone calls she didn’t even collect the satchel. The car was locked;
the contents were safe.

Two of the phone numbers she needed were in the notebook in
the bedroom drawer. She carried the phone book into the bedroom to look up the non-emergency
number for the police department.

“Yes, I’m from the Baylin House organization that supervises
Mr. Brady Irwin who was picked up last night. Could I speak with someone who
can tell me his status?”

The officer put her on hold. A different voice, a woman this
time, came on the line and asked Cassie to repeat the name.

“Brady Irwin,” Cassie told her. “He called from the jail
last night, and the officer we spoke to said Brady was being held for
questioning. Mr. Irwin is a ward of the state under the supervision of the
Baylin House group home, and I’m trying--”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but my paperwork doesn’t show
anybody here named Brady Irwin.”

“But he called from there last night!”

“Definitely not in my paperwork this afternoon. Please come in
with ID if you need to ask anything else.”

“Yes, thanks, I understand.” Cassie hung up. If Brady wasn’t
in jail, maybe Bea had already made the arrangement with Strickland Legal
Services?

She called Baylin House, and got a busy signal. She called
Rob’s number at the PD; he wasn’t there, and no thanks, she didn’t want to
leave a message.

Rob’s home number gave his answering machine. Cassie left
the message that she really needed to talk to him before tomorrow morning so
would he please call tonight. She left the new cell phone number.

She took a deep, calming breath before she dialed the number
for Margaret Goodman Frank.

“Hola Mamma?” a young female voice said in a pleading tone;
very young, like early teen or even pre-teen.

Then a sound of juggling the phone between hands, angry
whispers in Spanish, and the girl whimpering before another voice, one Cassie
recognized, said, “Hello? This is the Frank residence.”

“Thank you, hello,” Cassie said. “This is Ms. Crowley, a
friend of Mrs. Frank. Is she available?”

“No, Mr. and Mrs. Frank are not at home. May I take a
message?”

Still out of town?

“No, thank you, I’ll just try again tomorrow. You do expect
them back this week?”

The woman had already hung up.

Cassie tried calling Baylin House once more; still got the
busy signal, might as well get the satchel out of the car and get some work
done.

Half way down the stairs Cassie saw the mail carrier’s
little white truck pull away. She walked across the parking lot to the bank of
mailboxes, not really expecting anything except junk mail, but accepting it is
her responsibility to clean the stuff out of the box regularly.

The small brass key fit into the lock on number C1301 and
opened its door. Inside were a few junk sales brochures and a greeting card
with ‘Cassandra Crowley’ printed on an automated mailing label. Probably an
invitation to a sales pitch at a local restaurant, she reasoned. Cassie shoved
the key ring into her pocket, dropped the junk mail into a trashcan next to the
mailboxes, and opened the envelope.

A square blank greeting card inside carried another machine-printed
label for its message. This one said, ‘
Stay out of what is not your concern
’.

Huh?

Cassie walked to the back end of the red Santa Fe to
retrieve the satchel, and stood under the parking cover, out of direct sunlight,
to read the message again.

It was definitely a warning from somebody, and definitely
addressed to Cassie!

She wished she hadn’t handled the envelope so carelessly –
fantasizing how anxious Rob will be when he bags it to preserve fingerprints. Oh,
girlfriend, you are having too much fun with your imagination and—

BA-BOOM! CLATTER-CLATTER-CLATTER-CLATTER!

What the . . .?

The noise came from upstairs in Cassie’s building, sounding deeper
than a fire cracker, and about as loud. The clattering noise was from small
pieces of something bouncing on the parking roof, and then to the asphalt parking
lot like hail stones.

It took only a few seconds for all the clattering to stop,
and about that long for Melanie Swaffar to come hopping out on her high heels through
the rear door of the Rental Office.

“What was that?” Melanie yelled.

Cassie stepped back from the parking cover to look up at the
building.

HOLY CRIPES! CASSIE’S KITCHEN WINDOW WAS GONE!

White smoke drifted through the opening.

“Smoke!” Cassie yelled back at Melanie. “Call 911!”

Melanie turned toward her office and Cassie raced up the
stairs yelling, “Fire! Fire!” at the top of her lungs. At the 3
^rd
floor landing she glanced through the broken window, grateful not to see flames,
and grateful the smoke was still white. The new printer was gone; so was the breakfast
counter it was sitting on. God, she hoped that meant whatever blew didn’t start
an actual fire, and hoped she hadn’t caused whatever it was by plugging in too
much on the same circuit.

She didn’t hang around to verify anything. She hopped down
the walkway and banged on the door of her neighbor, the only door that was not
already open, pleading with everyone she saw. “Please leave the building until
we can be sure what happened. Please just leave the building to be safe!”

On the middle floor two of the apartments were already
vacating, a third was empty according to the neighbor, and the rotund woman in
curlers who answered the door in the farthest unit was busy chasing her cat and
wouldn’t leave until she had him safely in the carrier. He panicked at the
sound of fire engines rolling down the street with full sirens blaring. Cassie
held the cage open while the woman shoved her feline in, then, after verifying
there was no more smoke and no flame visible, they both stepped into the
elevator and headed down.

Melanie had gotten everyone out on the ground floor, and now
they all stood in a muddling group next to the mailboxes, watching two CBFD firemen
in full equipment climb the stairs to Cassie’s door. At the top, one man stood
at the door while the other peered in through the window. After a cursory glance,
he nodded. The door opened and they went inside.

From the corner of her eye Cassie saw Melanie shoving her
way through the growing crowd that now included residents from other buildings.
She backed up closer to the mailboxes, knowing she could not avoid talking to the
Rental Agent, but hoping it didn’t have to be in front of the fifty-something
people watching Cassie’s apartment door.

When Mel spotted Cassie the expression on her face changed
to pure fury. She continued to weave forward, and Cassie took another step
backward to move around the far side of the mailbox rack before Melanie got to her.

Immediately she collided backward with someone she didn’t
know was there. His hands quickly went to her elbows, but the back of her head
knocked his chin and she heard him suck air as his teeth crashed together.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Cassie said, turning to apologize, and
then flamed with embarrassment because it was Detective Baxter holding onto her.
He was trying to keep them both from tumbling over, and she had literally
turned herself around inside his arms.

He grinned and moved one hand to rub his chin. “There’s an
old saying about force of impact when moving objects collide.”

“Honest to God, I am so sorry,” Cassie groaned, mortified
with humiliation.

But not so much that she didn’t enjoy the feel of his arms
around her. Nice! And he was still smiling when he squeezed her arm, holding her
for ballast. “Got your feet under you now?”

“Yes, thanks,” Cassie squeaked, tilting her head up to meet
his eyes.

He still didn’t let go of her, and she definitely didn’t
plan to extricate herself in any hurry. She found her voice and asked, “Did you
come with the Fire Department?”

“Right behind them as soon as I heard the address on the . .
.”

His voice trailed off without finishing the sentence. Suddenly
his expression changed; he let go of Cassie and took a deliberate step back
away from her.

Melanie Swaffar trilled Cassie’s name from only a few feet away.

“What in hell were you doing up there!” she roared. Then she
spotted the Detective. “Oh! Well, I see you’ve already been apprehended for
whatever it was. I’ll be serving an eviction notice as soon as I can get back
inside the office, so you’d better make it a priority to move your things elsewhere
before you leave here.”

To the Detective she said, “If you can’t allow her enough
time to gather her belongings, I’ll have our maintenance people bag whatever
was not destroyed and bring it to the police station.”

Detective Baxter didn’t flinch. “Are you saying you were
aware of something illegal taking place that warrants an eviction notice?”

“What? No! But this is the second time the police have--”

“The Police are here because an explosion was reported in
your building. We don’t know yet what caused it. Are you saying you do?”

“No, of course not!” Her tone was incredulous; her voice shaky.
For just a second Cassie wondered if Melanie Swaffar was about to cry.

Melanie drew in one of those big breaths that pushed her visible
cleavage against the rim of her low cut blouse, and shook her head. “We’ve
never had a problem with any of our tenants in the whole year Bayside View has
been open. Two visits by the Police for one tenant who has been here only a few
days is evidence enough for eviction. That’s our protection against being
accused of enabling whatever crime element might have come with her.”

Apparently it wouldn’t do any good to ask if Cassie could move
into another unit here.

She calculated her options. She needed to get the hell out
of here before Cordell Bay’s friendly sidewalks rolled up for the night, and The
Marlin was out with Dorothy and her brother staying there.

Rob shifted his weight, nodding to the Fire Captain walking
toward them with a radio at his ear. “Obviously Ms. Crowley has to move out of
that unit,” Rob said to the Rental Agent in his professionally observant tone. “It
is not in habitable condition.”

To Cassie he said, “Where is your car?”

“The red Santa Fe,” she told him, pointing to it. “I traded
in the other one.”

He glanced at the car sitting in her parking space. Cassie
caught the hint of a smile pulling at his eyes before he said, “Okay, let’s
hear what the Fire Captain says.”

The Captain in full gear and the Detective greeted each
other by titles. Then the Captain looked at Mel. “You’re the Rental Agent?”

“Yes, I’m Melanie Swaffar. What did you find in there,
Captain?” She glared accusingly at Cassie. Her tone said she was clearly put
out by the trouble, and hoped to enlist him in proving how much Cassie was at
fault. “Do I need to make living arrangements for the other residents of the
building?”

The Captain answered, “There’s no effect to the other units,
but your tenants will need to use the elevator until we’re finished here. I
want the staircase left open.”

Melanie stood with her mouth open. After a long beat the
Captain said, “If you’ll start letting the other tenants know they can go
inside, it will help to clear the area.”

She blinked a couple times and clamped her jaw, and finally strode
away.

To Cassie, the Captain said, “You’re the tenant in that
unit?”

“Yes, Cassandra Crowley.”

“You were already outside when this happened, Ms. Crowley? No
injuries?”

“No injuries. I was downstairs to check the . . . mail . . ”
Cassie raised her empty hand. Where was it? She didn’t remember putting it down.
She searched the ground around their feet. Nothing! She must have dropped it
near the car.

“Did you lose something?” the Captain asked.

Cassie raised her head. “I was standing under the carport
with mail in my hand when it happened. I must have dropped it over there.”

“Was it important?” Rob wanted to know.

“I didn’t think so at first, but I do now. It was a warning
note.”

“A warning for what?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t signed; just a warning to mind my
own business.”

Rob locked eyes with the Fire Captain. “What happened up
there?”

The Captain pointed to his red CBFD utility truck. “Maybe
Ms. Crowley could go sit in my truck while you and I take a look together.” To
Cassie he said, “We’ll walk you over so nobody will bother you.”

She understood he was making sure she did what he asked.

From inside the truck she watched the Captain and Rob walk
to the stairs and climb to the second floor landing. Then they disappeared
beyond the parking cover and she couldn’t see them anymore.

For another twenty minutes Cassie sat, and checked her
watch, which increasingly told her she was running out of time to find anything
but The Marlin open for an overnight stay. She watched the EMT crew leave with
the ambulance that had come in front of the fire truck, and watched the men who
came with the fire truck remove most of their gear and stow it, then make a
detailed check of their vehicle, and finally climb aboard.

Rob and the Fire Captain were still out of sight when the
big fire truck eased carefully around the parking lot and drove out of the
complex. Most of the residents had returned to their own apartments. Even
Melanie was safely inside the Rental Office -- filling out her eviction form, Cassie
was sure.

She checked her watch again and wished she had the cell
phone with her; she could have made some calls while she was killing time. It
was still in the satchel with the computer, and the satchel was still in the
back of the car . . . Cassie felt the front pocket of her jeans nervously and
was relieved to feel the small ring of keys. She just needed to stand up to get
to it.