MURDER ON A DESIGNER DIET (10 page)

“Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you,” Penelope said. “Your name is Sinay, right? I'm Penelope.”

Sinay looked up at her timidly, pulling her wet sleeve away from her skin. “What happened to you?” she finally asked in a soft voice.

“I was in an accident,” Penelope said. “I got hit by a car this morning.”

Sinay's eyes moved slowly over the bruise on Penelope's forehead and the gash through her eyebrow. She reached up as if to touch Penelope's face but caught herself, snatching her hand back to her side.

“It's okay,” Penelope said, smiling. She held out her splinted wrist to show the girl. “I have a sprained wrist too.”

Sinay looked at the splint with interest and finally into Penelope's eyes. “Yes.”

Penelope paused for a moment. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I work here.”

Sinay had an accent, but she hadn't spoken enough for Penelope to place it.

“Where are you from?” Penelope asked.

Sinay looked down at her scuffed sneakers. “Venezuela.”

“Wow,” Penelope said. “When did your family come here?”

Sinay kept her eyes trained on her shoes. She shook her head, stifling a cry with her hand.

“Hey,” Penelope said, putting her hand lightly on the girl's arm. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so nosy.”

Sinay wiped her cheeks and looked up at Penelope. “I've been here three years,” she said, just above a whisper. “My parents died when I was little. I'm going to be a model.”

“Sinay,” Joyce called from the doorway.

Sinay looked over her shoulder. “Yes, Miss Joyce.”

“What's the matter?” Joyce said when she saw Sinay was upset. She came over and took Sinay in her arms, hugging her close to her bony chest. Giving Penelope a disapproving glance over Sinay's shoulder, she pulled the girl away and held her at arm's length. “Sinay, it's not nothing. Tell me.”

“I was just thinking about home again,” she said quietly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joyce said, hugging Sinay again. “Tell you what. Why don't you go upstairs and rest for a while? Then we'll have a nice dinner.”

Sinay smiled gratefully before heading up the back stairway to the upper floor.

After she'd gone, Joyce said, “Were you looking for something?”

Penelope held up her water bottle. “Yes, I found it.”

“We're going to be a little while longer. You might be more comfortable out front in the reception area.” Joyce stood and stared at Penelope until she made a move towards the hallway.

“Actually, do you have any crackers? I'm feeling a little woozy,” Penelope said, glancing at the wooden pantry door next to the refrigerator. There was a latch over the door with a little gold lock hanging from it.

“I'm sure we don't,” Joyce said, motioning towards the hallway once again. Penelope reluctantly left the kitchen. Joyce pulled open the refrigerator and grabbed a container of half and half and the sugar bowl from the counter before following Penelope.

As she passed the conference room, Penelope felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. She glanced over her shoulder. “I'm going outside to get some air. Let Arlena know, please.”

Joyce nodded sharply before slipping inside the conference room door.

Chapter 22

  

The sun was setting and Penelope felt the air taking on a chill as she stood on the front stoop outside MUI. She held Joyce's business card by the edges, having plucked it from the holder on the reception desk on her way out. She pulled her phone up to her ear. “Denise, hey. Did you find anything out?”

Officer Gomez sighed on the other end of the line. “I talked to my partner back at the precinct. They've got Max under arrest for Christian's murder, picked him up off an anonymous tip.”

“Somebody called and turned Max in? I'm telling you Max couldn't have murdered Christian. Someone is setting him up.”

“So you say,” Officer Gomez said. “But things don't look good for him right now. What we've got is him fleeing the scene of a crime, with the victim's blood on his clothes. That's strong evidence.”

“Did you find Christian's gun?”

“Not yet.”

“Then there is still more to find out. Max shouldn't have fled the scene, but what if he was scared for his life? To me, that's more likely.” Penelope's stomach did a slow turn and sweat broke out on her forehead. Her knees buckled and she sat down on the steps.

“Well, luckily for him, we've got a justice system in place where he can defend himself against the charges. With his money he should be able to get a good attorney.”

Penelope closed her eyes and fought the urge to get sick on the sidewalk. When she opened them again, she leaned her head against the railing, comforted by the cool metal against her forehead.

“Are you there?” Officer Gomez asked.

Penelope took a deep breath before responding. “Yes. Just not feeling the greatest.”

“That's understandable. Are you resting?”

“No, we're at Christian's place. Arlena is inside the agency talking with Joyce Alves.”

“She is?” Officer Gomez said, a note of excitement in her voice. “What are they talking about?”

Penelope lowered her voice and glanced behind her to make sure no one was approaching the door. “Arlena's acting like she's hiring models for a private show, but we're really trying to poke around to find out more about Christian.”

Officer Gomez snorted. “You two are playing detective, huh? I told you to be careful.”

“Well, we're not getting anywhere, except actually hiring some models.” Penelope watched an older woman turn the corner and head towards her on the sidewalk, pushing a metal cart full of shopping bags.

“I gotta go respond to a call. You should go home and get into bed,” Officer Gomez said.

“Can I call you again if I need to?” Penelope asked.

“Like I can stop you?”

“Wait, one more thing.” Penelope's thoughts were fuzzy at the edges from the pain pill, but she had a sudden moment of clarity. “What was the name of the neighbor? The one who complains about the parties here?” Penelope watched the old woman stop at the neighboring brownstone and haul her cart up the stoop, one step at a time.

“Mrs. Sotheby. Just across the courtyard,” Officer Gomez said. Penelope could hear her car's siren and voices talking back and forth on her radio before she abruptly ended the call.

Penelope pulled herself up with the help of the railing. She was relieved to find the pain in her side and head had lessened to a dull throb. Her nausea had passed as well, but had been replaced with a nagging hunger deep in her belly. She remembered too late Nurse Kurtz telling her she should eat something before taking her pain medication.

She looked to the right and saw the bodega was open. There were wooden crates filled with fresh fruit by the front door, and she could probably get a sandwich inside. Penelope looked back and saw Christian's neighbor had finally gotten her shopping cart to the top of the stoop and was digging around in her brown leather purse for her keys. Penelope walked over to her.

“Excuse me,” Penelope said to the woman's back. She wore two homemade looking cardigan sweaters, one shade of pink apart, and a tartan plaid skirt.

The woman's shoulders stiffened and she hurried to get her key into the lock. She didn't turn around or respond.

“Mrs. Sotheby? Hi, I'm Penelope.”

Mrs. Sotheby turned around slowly, her expression wary.

“I'm sorry to bother you.” Penelope paused, making a quick decision to tell a white lie. “I'm working with the police to find out more about what happened here last night.” Penelope glanced at the courtyard and back at Mrs. Sotheby. “I know you witnessed all the commotion. I saw you through the window.”

Mrs. Sotheby cleared her throat. “I saw you too. You were under arrest, I believe.”

Penelope smiled. “Yes, I was. That was a misunderstanding, as you can see.” She held up her hands to show they were currently free of handcuffs.

“What happened to you? Were you hurt in the fall?” Mrs. Sotheby said, looking at Penelope's splinted wrist.

“No, I was in an accident this morning.”

Mrs. Sotheby sighed. “What do you want with me?”

“Right,” Penelope said, encouraged. “I was hoping you could answer some questions about what you saw.”

Mrs. Sotheby hesitated, then said, “Okay, come on up. I was wondering when you all would get around to questioning the neighbors. These other ones,” she glanced at the large apartment building across the street, disapproval on her face, “they never get involved. All those windows are fused shut. They could be living anywhere, no concern at all for the neighborhood.”

Penelope looked at the large modern building and made a sympathetic face before climbing the stoop and following Mrs. Sotheby inside. She helped get her shopping cart over the door jam, then parked it at the bottom of the stairs once they were inside. Mrs. Sotheby fussed with her sweaters, unbuttoning the top and then the one underneath as she led Penelope inside.

“Do you live here alone?” Penelope asked, eyeing the walls of the living room. It was neat and tidy, but almost every spot was taken up by a piece of artwork or an antique mirror. Over the fireplace was a yellowing wedding picture in an oval frame, the glass bowed out to give it a fishbowl effect. A handsome young couple stared at something to the right of the camera, the man's hand resting gently on his bride's shoulder. She held a small bouquet of white flowers and smiled sweetly, happiness radiating from her face.

“Yes,” Mrs. Sotheby said, glancing at the wedding picture. “My husband passed away over forty years ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Penelope said.

“Thank you.” She pointed to an antique settee with red brocaded material stretched across the backrest. Penelope moved a needlepoint pillow out of the way and took a seat. A white cat jumped up on the cushion next to her, purring loudly. “Can I get you anything? You look a little green around the gills, if you don't mind me saying so.”

“I'd love some water,” Penelope said gratefully.

“Okay, I'll be right back.”

Penelope watched her go down the hallway and realized Mrs. Sotheby's house had the same layout as the brownstone next door. Except this one hadn't been broken up into apartments. Penelope looked again at the walls and saw a grouping of sabres hung in the corner, their sheaths ornately engraved and colorful tassels hanging from them. Several oil paintings hung around the room, in various styles from many different eras. Penelope pulled her phone from her purse and sent Arlena a quick text that she was next door, talking with the neighbor. Noticing she had no new calls or texts from Joey, she sighed, then slipped her phone back into her purse.

Mrs. Sotheby came back a few minutes later holding a silver tray with a matching tea service. She'd included a selection of crackers and cookies and placed it on the table in front of Penelope. “I took a chance. I hope you like tea. You look like you could use a bit more than water right now, dear.”

“Thank you,” Penelope said, accepting a cup of tea. Mrs. Sotheby plopped a sugar cube into Penelope's cup. After it dissolved, Penelope took a sip and was immediately grateful. She couldn't remember tasting a better cup of tea in a very long time. She began to relax, the pain in her head and side ebbing away even more.

“Now, what would you like to ask me about?” Mrs. Sotheby asked, easing back in her chair, holding a matching cup. The cat jumped down from the settee and up into her lap, pawing her skirt and purring loudly.

“Who do you remember seeing next door last night? Besides me and Joey, and the man who pushed me.”

“Hmm. I'd have to check my notes but no one out of the ordinary,” Mrs. Sotheby said. “Just the usual.”

“The usual?” Penelope asked.

“Yes, the young man who lives there and his friends. They always come home late, shouting or playing music, as if no one else could possibly hear them.”

“Mrs. Sotheby, did you know that Christian was killed?”

Mrs. Sotheby looked momentarily stricken, and placed a hand over her heart. “I know, it's terrible. I didn't think he was the best neighbor in the world…but still, I was very sorry to hear he'd been killed.”

Penelope placed her teacup on the table and took a sugar cookie. “Was he related to Joyce? The director of the agency?”

Mrs. Sotheby shrugged. “They must be, don't you think? They had the same last name, at least.”

“When I spoke with her, she said he was her tenant and employee, didn't act like he meant much to her at all,” Penelope said.

“Well, I don't know about that. But I know his name was Alves. He told me so on the street one day, and I came home and wrote it down in my file.”

“Your file?” Penelope placed a half-eaten cookie on her saucer.

Mrs. Sotheby smiled. “Yes, I keep a file on everything that goes on over there. I have a lot of notes. I keep a notebook on all the buildings on the street. The police told me I couldn't keep calling them without any proof of wrongdoing, so now I keep a record of things that I see.”

Penelope stared at her, her mouth hanging open. After a few seconds she said, “Where is this file, Mrs. Sotheby?”

“It's upstairs in my office. Would you like to see it?”

  

Penelope looked out the window of Mrs. Sotheby's office and down at the courtyard between the buildings. She had a clear view of the side door of Christian's, nothing obstructing it except a few strands of twinkly lights. Daylight was fading, but she could see the broken window pane on the door had been covered with plywood.

Mrs. Sotheby had an antique rolltop desk with various cubby holes for bills and other paperwork. Built-in bookcases lined the room in the same dark wood, filled with detective novels and books for the amateur investigator.

Penelope noticed an antique set of Arthur Conan Doyle's novels on one of the shelves. It took her a minute to realize it, but there wasn't a computer anywhere in the office, just a series of ledgers lined up in a row on the desk.

“Here it is,” Mrs. Sotheby said, pulling out a thick leather book. “This is volume three on that place. I've been keeping records on the comings and goings over there for over a year.” She placed the book on the desk and opened it, flipping to the most recently written pages. “Here are my notes from last night.”

Penelope scanned the entry, trying to make sense of her shorthand. “What does TDM mean?”

“Tall dark-haired man,” Mrs. Sotheby said.

Penelope pulled out her phone, tapping on her picture file. Forgetting for a minute she had a new phone and hadn't backed up her files yet, she scrolled over to the Google app and typed in Max's name, pulling up the first image of his face. “Is this the man you saw?”

Mrs. Sotheby pulled her glasses down her nose. “Yes, I believe that's him.”

Penelope looked back down at the ledger. “It says here he arrived at eleven forty-five with a SBF…short blond female?”

Mrs. Sotheby nodded. “Yes, tiny little thing. I was on my way to bed, but they were laughing and being rowdy, so I made a note.”

“Were they with anyone else?” Penelope asked.

“No, just Christian.” Mrs. Sotheby began leafing through the ledger, paging back in time. “I'd seen that tall man before. I wrote it down here somewhere.”

“And then you went to bed? Did you hear the gunshots?”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Sotheby said, placing her hand over her heart. “I called the police to report it, but they just drove by, didn't even get out of the car to check on the house. Then I saw you and…” She glanced down at her notes.

“Joey, Detective Baglioni.”

“I guess. I saw you two poking around. Then I called Officer Gomez directly. Told her everything I'd seen and heard.”

“Did you recognize the man who ran past me? The one who shoved me into the courtyard?”

“No, I couldn't see his face with that hood pulled up. And he ran away so quickly,” Mrs. Sotheby said with regret.

“Wait, did you see Max and the blond girl leave after you heard the gunshots?”

“No, I didn't. I went downstairs to use the phone in the kitchen after I heard those terrible sounds. My hands were shaking so bad, I had to get one of my heart pills from the drawer.”

Penelope deflated a bit, realizing Mrs. Sotheby wasn't a surveillance team, just a curious older neighbor who had partial notes and recollections of what might have happened. “Are there any other exits from the building apart from that door right there and the front door?”

“Well, there's the storm doors down to the basement, but they're always padlocked from the outside. I suppose someone could climb down from one the windows on the other side of the house without me seeing them.”

Penelope sat down in the desk chair and stared at the ledger in front of her. “Would you mind if I took some notes?”

“Sure, there are a few pens in the drawer,” Mrs. Sotheby said, pointing to a row of wooden drawers by Penelope's leg. She moved to the window and glanced down at the courtyard. “It's been quiet over there since last night. Not much to report.”