Dead Women Tell No Lies (8 page)

As he spoke, Buddy seemed to be watching and judging her every move or reaction. An uneasy quiver crawled across her back.

“How could you forget you’d met a murder victim and then happened to remember while driving past?” Impatience sharpened the detective’s voice.

Buddy shook his head. “Blame it on pre wedding nerves taking over my mind, and the fact I’m about to take the big step. I never dreamed a two minute conversation was earth shattering. Your sister and I only exchanged a few sentences before someone directed me downstairs to leave the clothes. I found out she wanted a job and was going to try out for a role.”

Rose mentally brought up the silhouette of her pursuer closing in as she raced for her apartment. Her would-be-attacker’s height matched Buddy’s. No, he didn’t, or did he? She stepped away for a better view, afraid of what she’d find.

“Is everything okay?” Lennox asked her.

His incredible eyes were narrowed in concern for her. She could drown in his attention. Wait, what was wrong with her? First she was seeing ghosts and attackers everywhere and now fantasizing about a man. Of course her sister would crash headlong into a flirtation with Lennox, and when Rose disapproved, Dahlia would shake her head and lecture her on lightening up, enjoying life. Look where enjoying life had gotten Dahlia. “I need to go inside.”

“I hope I haven’t upset you.” Buddy whipped out a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and perched them on his nose.

The pain in her jaw warned Rose she was gritting her teeth. “I have a lot to think about.”

“Did you ever speak to anyone at the station about meeting Dahlia Blue?” Lennox turned his pointed stare on his friend.

“Why should I?” He shrugged twice. “I’ve no idea what happened to her. Be real.”

“The fact you might help the police never crossed your mind.” Lennox’s face tightened.

“Dean reported to Detective Conroy that he rented to the victim when she was first reported missing.”

“Dean’s a model citizen. I’ll come to the station tomorrow and you can interrogate me.” He directed his gaze to Rose. “Miss Blue, if possible, enjoy your stay.” Buddy moved toward the street while talking and stopped. His shoulders sagged for a second before speaking. “Is your apartment working out?”

“You mean Dahlia’s apartment.” Why was he interested? She pivoted toward the three-stories. The building offered a shelter from the weather and a place to hide behind locked doors. Now, she took in the lower fake brick facade and the peeling, green window trim. The red vinyl covering the upper portion stood out against the other refurbished brick structures on the block.

Inside, the apartment’s high ceilings, the wide planked floors and the long windows were features that drew Rose. In fact, the temporary shelter reminded her of Gram’s house where she and Dahlia grew up after age seven. Their house had been old and needed work but a warm glow filled her when she recalled the rooms with Gram’s doilies, handmade curtains and the whistle of the tea kettle.

Today, she saw her sister’s rental as Lennox must view the place, easy to pry a window or door open in this aging structure.

“Is there another way in or out besides the front one?” she asked Buddy.

“The other exit is through the hall door near the stairs,” he said. “You end up in the empty Chinese Restaurant, but the door was always locked. I bet the key doesn’t exist any longer. No one will ever get rid of the fried rice odor.”

In the restaurant’s window, her reflection overlay the
For Rent
sign. As she watched, Buddy’s image merged and then wiped hers out.

Her heart pounded a double beat, and she retreated a few steps. She caught Lennox staring at her with a question on his face.

“I hope Dad gave you a deal on the rent, Rose. I mean not everyone wants to live in the apartment of a murder victim.”

Charming, a homicide in the building explained why Dean was eager to lease to her. Hold on. Dean, her landlord, the middle-aged man in the business suit, was Buddy’s dad? “You’re Dean Drown’s son?”

“You’re the only person in Ledgeview who didn’t know.” Buddy grinned. “Hey, Luke, did you ask my dad about his whereabouts for your investigation?”

“His statement is already filed.”

“Figures. Old dad gets an A plus.”

Rose held the image of Dean next to Buddy, searching for a resemblance. Mr. Drown was shorter and stockier than his son. He had an olive complexion Buddy didn’t share.

“Are you in real estate too?” Rose asked.

“Not really, I’m Dad’s gofer. He says he’s teaching me the business. I’m really in-training for a secretary slash handyman job.”

A white car beeped and pulled up to the curb. “Speak of the paternal devil.” Buddy frowned at the vehicle.

“The sidewalk is getting a little crowded,” Lennox observed as the older Drown parked.

“Your father’s spotted you. Your get away window just slammed shut.”

Stenciled across the white Cadillac’s sides were the words: Drown Real Estate. Dean Drown hopped out. Unlike his son, he was dressed in a gray suit and overcoat. His clothing could easily hide a muscular man. Had he hauled up her sister’s bureau by himself to the second floor from the basement where it was first stored after her sister’s death? Dean had suggested bringing it upstairs for Rose to go through.

Could he be her late night pursuer? She compared the two men and gave a mental shake of indecision. Everyone seemed to match the size and shape of her mystery hunter. She needed to get away and clear her mind. Suspects were everywhere.

“It appears we’re having a family reunion.” Buddy gave a hollow laugh.

“Hello, Rose,” Dean said, taking off his sunglasses. “Luke, it’s good to see you.”

“Dean, how’s your new building on Fifth Street filling up?” Lennox asked.

“I’ve a bite for one of the first floor suites. Hey, Bud, your mom just told me you’re coming to dinner next week. How’d she lure you over?”

“The meal’s not for me. Mom wants to celebrate the return of the infamous Luke Lennox. She should have told you.” Buddy fast shuffled toward his car.

Dean pivoted to follow his son’s movements. “She was busy and filled me in quick.”

An awkward silence hung in the air as Buddy opened his car door without acknowledging his father’s last statement. Buddy’s mouth was set in a mutinous, straight line. Finally he raised his head. “Bye, Rose. Luke, bring your wallet tonight.”

The engine roared to life, and Buddy zipped away.

Dean’s shoulders sagged as he watched the silver SUV disappear into the traffic. At about five-feet, eleven-inches tall, Dean was handsome in a rugged way. He had high cheekbones a model would envy along with a perfect square jaw. His only obvious physical defect was his thinning brown-hair cut long to blend in with his receding hairline.

He was still staring at the pinpoint of Buddy’s SUV. He flicked a glance at Rose “Adult children, who can understand them?”

His voice reminded her of a radio broadcaster with a deep, generic accent. “They’re always busy. You’re too young to know what I mean.” He straightened his shoulders and smiled, easing the moment. “I dropped by to let you know the locksmith changed the locks today. Here’s your new key.” He passed it to her.

“Thanks for your promptness.”

“Your safety is a priority. Let me know if you need anything.”

“As long as my main means of cooking‒the microwave‒functions, I’m happy,” Rose said.

“Luke, guess we’ll get together soon.” Dean glanced down the street where Buddy had vanished and then back at Rose. “I’ll drive over to my office. You have my number if you have any problems.” With bent head, Dean trudged toward his parked vehicle.

“Mr. Drown, wait. Are there any other ways to get inside besides the front entry and the connecting door in the hall? What about the side and rear entrances?”

He paused with his hand on the car’s handle. “The restaurant’s doors are always bolted. The fire code requires a fire escape, and yours is outside the living room window. You’ll find a release bar for the last flight of steps on the railing.”

She’d seen the rusty stairs and vowed never to set foot on the death trap, but Dahlia’s killer might sneak up.

“Anything else you wanted to know?”

She shook her head, forcing her immediate worry to the back of her mind. Dean climbed behind the wheel and drove off.

“Are you planning a fire drill?” Lennox asked.

“I’m making sure the place meets code. What’s up with the Drown men? They seem to barely tolerate each other. Their office must be a fun place to work.”

“Normal tensions between family members. Both Dean and Bud would go to bat for each other if one of them was in trouble.”

“You didn’t mention you were good friends with the entire family.”

“Drown’s Realty is known throughout the city. Good thing Dean showed up or you’d be locked out.”

“Your job would be to help me, right?”

“I’ll help now. Try the new key, Rose, and I’ll enter first.”

She inserted her key, and Lennox pushed the front door open. Inside, he circled the empty vestry. Pausing, he flipped on the overhead light in the dim hallway and walked to the edge of the floor beside the staircase.

She hesitated on the threshold with the cool air circling around her. “No slasher or masher is hiding inside. Satisfied?”

“My ex wife never thought so. Go ahead.”

He had an ex, she mulled as he dogged her heels up the stairs. At her door, he insisted on inspecting her apartment.

This is a good thing, she told herself, pacing in the upstairs hall. Not every woman has a detective to inspect her apartment.

“Clear,” he said reappearing.

“We’re on for tomorrow,” she reminded as he headed toward the stairs.

“No,
I’m
on for tomorrow. Lock up, Miss Blue.” He nodded to her and left.

She bolted the door and threw her purse and coat on the kitchen chair. Finally she breathed a sigh of relief. She listened to a phone message from Cassie that all was well at the boutique.

A pain of homesickness tugged at her when she shut off her phone. At least her friend sounded happy. She bet Cass would marry a man like her father and enjoy a life with husband and two point one kids. Cassie was unlike the Blue women who seemed to find love in all the wrong places. Cassie’s past boyfriends were regular upstanding members of the community. Although she had only brief relationships, they remained friendly toward each other. Dahlia’s breakups were always traumatic for all involved. She’d cried for days over her breakup with A.J. and sobbed about how much she once loved him. Then she disappeared two weeks later. If she and A.J. had stayed together, maybe Dahlia would be alive today.

Since Lennox announced his suspicions of her sister’s ex, Rose had begun to scrutinize and question every scene she could remember with him, seeking sinister motives. Where was he? Was he somewhere near Ledgeview?

She compared him to her pursuer. In his boots, A.J. would squeak by at five-foot-ten. The idea the man her sister had trusted and wanted to marry might have killed her set lose a panic. Rose closed her eyes, reining in the helpless feeling. Lennox could be wrong. She’d wait for him to produce proof of A.J.’s guilt. Then she could blame herself for giving her blessing to a killer.

From her suitcase in the corner, she pulled out her journal. In the galley kitchen, she sat and began to write the events of the day. After she finished, Rose massaged the tightened muscles in her neck. She tossed the diary into her suitcase, and zipped the top. She removed her butterfly necklace and tucked it away in the top bureau drawer closer to her reach.

Bed called to her. She yawned and dropped onto the couch, throwing the blanket over herself. She’d pull out the sofa sleeper in a few minutes, once she had some energy. A loud thud startled her. She stared into the darkness waiting for her vision to adjust. She must have fallen asleep. What was the noise? It sounded like somebody fell against her door.

“Who’s there?”

The hum from the electric clock was the only response.

She sat up. The blanket fell away, and she hugged her arms against her chest. The room had turned cold. What happened to the heat? She stood and snapped on the light. A draft of air swirled around her ankles. The clock read 11:55pm.

It was freezing. She followed the flow of air to the space beneath the bottom of the door and cracked it open. The overhead light illuminated an empty hallway. A frigid breeze flowed toward her. The main entryway must not be closed. She’d bet the farm on Facebook her neighbor was responsible. The guy was strange. He rode his bike through the city with an attached boom box blasting away day or night.

She ran across the hall and banged on the door. “Hello, hello, you left the door open.”

The silence from his apartment yanked on her nerves. Okay, she’d shut the entryway. She retreated to her kitchen and grabbed her gun. She remembered the motto she’d told Lennox. “Smart-on.”

Back in the hallway, the quiet hummed in her ears. She tightened her grip on the weapon and sprinted to the top of the stairs. Below, the main door stood wide open. She was right.

Sounds of a vehicle passing on the street drifted inside. She hesitated. An uneasy feeling tempted her to retreat. No, she could do this in two minutes, and she was armed. She hustled down, keeping the entryway as her finish line. Putting on a burst of speed, she reached the door, slammed and locked it. Done! Lennox had no reason to worry about her.