Chasing Shadows (11 page)

“Well, not much. I think I'll stop over and see if the crazy landlady happens to know when she'll be back. Just little things like that.”

This time Greg didn't seem the least bit concerned that I was going back to the apartment building alone. Why would he? As far as he was concerned, the whole matter was resolved, Nadine was safe and sound, and I'd been worrying for nothing all along.

I left the gas bar a few moments later, forcing myself to saunter along in the most casual way until I was out of Greg's sight. Then I started speed walking so I'd get to the apartment building as quickly as possible.

Guilt was really starting to do a number on me by the time I reached the apartment building and stepped inside the gloomy hallway. No matter how much I tried to tell myself that I hadn't
actually
lied to Greg, I knew I had.

What I'd told him about the police was true enough — to a point — but the rest of it was an out-and-out lie. I wasn't at the apartment to ask the landlady when Nadine was coming back — I was there to continue looking into her disappearance.

I pushed those thoughts aside for the moment and headed to one of the two apartments where no one had answered on my last trip. This time the door opened almost immediately and I found myself facing a burly giant of a man. He stood around six feet four and had long hair, a full beard, and the most massive hands I've
ever seen. His shoulders seemed to span the full width of the doorway and muscles bulged out on his arms, stretching the fabric of his T-shirt sleeves.

“Yeah?” His voice was deep and sounded a lot like an animal growl.

“I, uh …” I tried to speak, but my words seemed to get stuck in my throat.

“You sellin' cookies or sump'n?” he asked. At the same time, he reached behind him, his hand dipping into a pocket and coming out with a worn black wallet.

That act seemed to give me back my courage. I figured if he was the sort who buys cookies and stuff from kids then he probably wasn't as scary as he looked.

“No, I'm not selling anything,” I said quickly. I suppose I should have been insulted that he thought I was a little kid out selling Girl Guide cookies, but I was too relieved to think about that just then.

“Actually, I'm looking for a friend of mine. Nadine Gardiner. She lives in this building.”

“Well, she don't live here,” he said, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. “Must be one of the other apartments. Here, it's just me and Echo, the talking parakeet that don't actually talk, though I paid for a bird that kin talk. Got ripped off, I guess, though I s'pose I could take him back. He came with a guarantee but you know how it is. Dumb things look at you with their heads cocked to one side a few times and you feel like they're attached to
you. Truth is, only thing a bird cares about is did you buy the kind of seed they like.”

A thought flashed through my head about Mr. Stanley's nervous cat, Ernie, and I almost laughed imagining how frightened he'd be if he knew there was a bird living just down the hall from him! Poor Ernie would probably spend his days hiding under the bed.

“No, no,” I hastened to explain, “my friend lives upstairs. But she's been missing, or, at least I haven't been able to find her, for about a week now.”

“Missing?” He frowned. “Don't her folks know where she is?”

“She lives alone,” I said. Then I went over it all real quick — what had happened. It seemed odd, talking so casually to this enormous guy who, quite frankly, looked kind of dangerous.

“So, she's older'n you?” he asked.

“Yes. We work together, at the new restaurant, The Steak Place.”

“I know the place,” he nodded. “I go in there for takeout pretty regular since I work nearby a few nights a week and I like to get a feed before the place closes. My own shift doesn't end until a bit later, and I get pretty hungry.” He patted his ample girth as if to prove it. “Anyway, I'm off track here. Did you say you called the police?”

“Yes.” I nodded and filled him in on what they'd found.

“Hungh,” he grunted. “Could be just like they said, or it could be another way altogether.”

“That's why I'm asking people in the building if they heard or saw anything.”

“Wish I could help you,” he said, “but it just happens that I been away now for, oh, must be two weeks I s'pose. Just got back to town day before yesterday, picked up Echo, and came home. So, I wasn't around when your friend went missing.”

“And you haven't happened to notice a young woman — or anyone else — carrying a suitcase in the hallway, since you got back?”

“'Fraid not. Sorry.”

“Well, thanks very much for your time,” I said. I paused, a little hesitant about the idea of offering this guy my phone number, though he'd been nice enough. He solved the quandary for me though.

“Hang on and I'll get you my card,” he said, “'case you have any more questions or whatever. If you want, you can leave your number too. I'll be more'n happy to call if I remember anything, or if I see your friend.”

It surprised me to hear that he had a business card. It sort of lent him a bit more respectability than his appearance and manner of speaking had. And he
had
seemed genuine in his desire to help, even though he
didn't know anything. I decided to go ahead and give him my name and number.

I jotted them down on a sheet in the little coiled memo book I'd started carrying around after the last time I'd been there and had to use an old receipt. Not at all sure if I was doing the right thing, I tore out the page and passed it to him when he returned with a business card. I glanced at the name on it.

“Well, thanks again, Mr. Elliot.”

“Anytime,” he said, thrusting out his hand, “and call me Neil.”

I shook his hand, slipped his card into my pocket, and went on to the next apartment.

I knocked twice and waited for a few minutes before giving up on anyone being home there again today. I was still standing there, wondering if the apartment was even rented, when a voice behind me made me jump so high it's a wonder I didn't bang my head on the ceiling.

“You won't find anyone there, missy.”

I whirled around to find myself facing the landlady. She was in fine form, wearing a brightly flowered housecoat and fluffy pink slippers. Her grey hair looked as though it hadn't seen a comb in several days.

I had to swallow hard and take a couple of deep breaths before my heart stopped pounding from the fright she'd given me. How she managed to walk so silently on these creaky old floors was beyond me, but I
sure hadn't heard her coming. Maybe she knew exactly where to step, or maybe her frail little body didn't put enough pressure on the boards to make them creak.

“Is this apartment empty then?” I asked when I could speak again.

“Been empty for months,” she nodded. “I don't like to see anyone take it either, haunted as it is.”

“Haunted?” I echoed.

“Haunted something terrible,” she said, her head bobbing up and down again. “You don't want to go in there, believe me.”

“What makes you think it's haunted?” I asked.

“Oh, I hear the sounds, the groans and screams,” she whispered, leaning forward so that her face was almost touching mine. “They think I don't know they're in there, but I know all right.”

“
When
did you hear these screams?” I asked, a chill of fear running through me.

“When, you say? When? I'll tell you when. First thing nearly every morning. They're in there all right, screeching and moaning, only when the police went to look, they couldn't find anything. But they're there all right. They're there.”

As I realized that she hadn't heard anything related to Nadine's disappearance, I felt incredibly stupid for having listened to her craziness in the first place. It seemed a bit unlikely that there'd be a single unit in the
whole place rented if there was daily screaming and moaning in one of the apartments. Obviously, it was another of her nutty imaginings.

“Well,” I said, humouring her, “it's good that there's no tenant in there then.”

“Say, you're the same one that was here before,” she said. “For the girl upstairs.”

“Yes, I am,” I said. “In fact, I was wondering if you might have seen her in the last few days.”

“I told you,” she said, keeping her voice low, “to ask Millie about that.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot to talk to Millie,” I said brightly. “I'll get right on that, then.” As embarrassing as it is to admit this, I'd already asked around to see if anyone knew someone named Millie, just in case there was some clue there. Of course, I'd come up blank.

She nodded, as though we were co-conspirators. Then she slid noiselessly back down the hallway and into her own apartment, closing the door just as silently.

I considered going back around to the other apartments to ask if anyone had seen Nadine taking suitcases out since I'd talked to them yesterday, but it was getting a bit late and Mom and Dad would be worried about me if I didn't soon get home.

I can always check on that tomorrow
, I thought. To be perfectly honest, I was starting to doubt myself. I wasn't one hundred percent sure that the door hadn't been
closed tight when I'd been there yesterday, so I couldn't be certain whoever took Nadine's things had done it in the last twenty-four hours. When I'd been there yesterday, it had looked the same as I'd left it, but since I hadn't actually gone inside, I couldn't be absolutely sure.

The only thing I was really sure about was that I seemed to be getting nowhere in my search for Nadine.

Anagging conscience isn't something you can get away from, and mine was bothering me something terrible by the time I got home that night.

It might have been because I hadn't found out anything new on my trip to the apartment building, which meant I'd lied to Greg for absolutely nothing. I could well imagine how he was going to react when I told him the truth, and I wasn't looking forward to it one bit, let me tell you.

Well, there was no sense worrying about it in advance. I checked in with my folks then grabbed a banana, some peach yogourt, and a glass of milk and went up to my room. Once I'd had my snack, I took out my notebook and jotted down what I'd done that evening, though it made a sad-looking entry indeed.

I didn't suppose it would hurt to look over the other notes I'd been keeping since Nadine disappeared, so I flipped through the book and reread everything I had. Some of it seemed to make little sense, and other things looked like potential clues, but they didn't necessarily fit with one another.

It was all very frustrating.

I booted my computer then, thinking to do some kind of research that might be helpful, but when I went online, all I could do was sit there and stare at the search engine. I'd have liked to get some suggestions that might help my investigation, but I had no idea where to start. Besides, my stomach was all tied up in knots.

I checked my email then and found a message from Greg. It was a sweet, funny little note that only served to make me feel even worse. I sent him an answer in case he checked his mail when he got home that night, then went back to staring blankly at the monitor, waiting for inspiration to strike me.

After a few fruitless moments passed, I suddenly thought of the business card that Neil Elliot had given me. Curious as to what kind of work he did, I pulled it out of my pocket and examined it.

The print under his name was small and dark, tiny raised bumps in the centre of the card. It said simply: “Professional Services.” That didn't tell me a thing about what he did.

I shrugged, stuck it in my desk drawer, and went back to looking at the monitor. After a few moments I reached over, meaning to shut the system off. That's when an idea came to me, though I have to admit it was one of the lamest ideas I've ever had.

I tapped a few keys, typing in the words “Julie Andrews movies,” and then pressed enter. Seconds later the search engine brought back eighty-seven hits. I scrolled through them, selected one that seemed to offer a complete list of all the movies the British actress had ever made, and clicked on it.

I'd seen Julie Andrews in
The Princess Diaries
a few years before and knew she'd starred in
Mary Poppins
and
The Sound of Music
, but I'd never seen them and that was all I'd ever heard of her acting in. I was surprised to see a fairly long list of movie titles. I guess if the nutty landlady spends her days watching movies that Ms. Andrews is in, well, it's nice that she has a variety.

“This is not going to help me find Nadine, that's for sure,” I said to myself, feeling ridiculous. Still, I couldn't think of anything else to do. Since the landlady is apparently obsessed with this actress, most of her remarks seem to be related to one of Julie Andrews's movies. To understand any potential clues in what she'd said, I'd need to go to the reference point, namely, whichever movie she was talking about at the time.

As unlikely as it seemed, I decided that if there was
any
chance that something she'd said could even point me toward a clue, it was worth a shot. The first thing I'd have to do would be to find out if any of the movies happened to be about a haunted apartment. That was what she'd been raving about tonight anyway.

The task looked like it would take a while, considering that I'd have to check out the synopsis of each film. Even then, it might need further research before I'd get the details I was looking for, and at that point the most likely scenario was that it would turn out to mean absolutely nothing.

I sighed and scanned down through the list. Maybe there'd be a movie called
The Haunted Apartment
or
Moaning in Apartment D
or something like that, something that would tell me exactly where to look before I spent hours wasting my time.