Who Glares Wins (Lexi Graves Mysteries) (15 page)

"I hope you don't mind meeting me here," I said as we ducked under the porch, out of the drizzling rain.

"No, it's no problem. I figured you'd want to look at Marissa's place. We keep each other's
spare
keys." I followed Elisabeth as she unlocked the front door upstairs. "I've been over since she..." Elisabeth's face
crumpled and she swallowed hard
. "Since she disappeared. She wouldn't want her plants to suffer
even if she...
."

"She didn't ask her neighbors?"
I
interjected
.

Elisabeth shook her head. "She didn't know them all that well. Besides, we're best friends. It wasn't a big deal. She cat
-
sat for me when I was visiting some college friends last year."

"Tell me about the residents of this block." I didn't want to make Elisabeth feel awkward by taking notes
;
so instead
,
I concentrated on
listening to
what she told me.

“
I know all the apartments are occupied. I think there's a couple across the hall
from Marissa
. Downstairs is an elderly woman. I don't know about the other downstai
rs apartment. Upstairs are
a couple of single guys. Marissa said one of them was cute. He helped her move in and they had coffee once
,
but nothing happened." Elisabeth used a second key to unlock the door to Marissa's apartment and we stepped in.

I could imagine Marissa moving into a new place and being pleased to find a cute, single guy
.
I could imagine Elisabeth
and her sitting
on the small blue I
KEA
sofa
,
gossiping and giggling about him. The scenario was a pastiche of Lily and
me
, except we rarely saw our upstairs neighbor and I had no idea if he w
ere
cute. Or even a he.

"I'm going to take a look around," I told Elisabeth. "Do you want to water the plants while we're here?"

The apartment was small, and it could easily be classified as a starter apartment, or a retirement place, both typical of
the area
. It comprised one large living room that held the sofa and an armchair, and a couple of stools that were pushed under the lip of the breakfast bar that divided the room from the tiny kitchen. There were framed pictures on the wall, s
everal
of which
were
postcards that looked like
they came
from a museum gift shop or a fancy stationery shop, plus a picture of Elisabeth and Marissa, smiling and waving to the camera. In the background, boats sailed past on the lake.

"That was taken a
t my parents' place at Lake Pearce
a couple of years ago," said Elisabeth, coming to stand next to me, a pink plastic jug of water in her hand. "It was a gorgeous day. We went sailing. That one is a montage of the homes Marissa lived in when she was
in
foster
care
."

I peered closer to look at the frame Elisabeth pointed out.
The montage
was neatly divided into twelve squares, each showing a different front door, or a porch, or the whole house from a distance. Some
places
were nicer than the others, some larger, some smaller. "Does she keep in touch with any of the foster families?" I
asked. I
could understand one picture, maybe even of a family, but the
montage
seemed a little odd.

"No, she was never close
to
any of them. She just liked that picture. I think it was a photography project in high school. Marissa said it reminded her of how far she'd come." Elisabeth indicated the jug. "I better water."

Marissa had a lot of plants. I counted six in the living room, one a five
-
foot
-
tall tree in a large woven basket. It gave the imp
ression that we were in a green
house. I ducked my head into the kitchen and counted several small tubs of greenery lining the small windowsill. Each had a little white stick bearing
the name of
a
n
herb poking out of the soil.

It made sense to start my investigation in the kitchen
,
seeing as it was small
and would take the least amount of time
. I poked through the cabinets, careful not to be too loud
,
but I didn't find anything interesting. Matching plates and bowls. Four mugs and four wine glasses, the cheap kind
,
which
were
suitable for red or white.
I knew that because I had them too.
Clearly
,
Marissa didn't expect a lot of company. There wasn't room for a dishwasher or a washing machine
,
but there was a small microwave that I opened and closed because you never knew where people hid stuff.

"What kind of electronics does Marissa have?" I asked, as Elisabeth passed by me for a refill from the faucet.

"Um... TV, DVD player," Elisabeth replied, her eyes flitting around the room. "No phone
,
because she has her cell. Oh, a laptop. It's pink."

"Girly."

"She just liked
, likes,
colorful. Color makes her happy." The small apartment was certainly colorful, but tastefully so. The pillows
atop the blue sofa were
a m
ix of striped and floral prints
,
and a
chevron
-
printed rug defined the space that made up the TV
-viewing
area. The blinds at the windows were plain
wood,
and Marissa had hung fairy lights around the window frames. A white bookcase held a bunch of books and a variety of trinkets. I poked through that too, then opened the drawers of the TV cabinet. No laptop.

Moving into the bedroom, I took in a double bed
,
neatly made up with a modern floral bedspread. I looked under her bed
,
and rifled through her closet
to check
for loose floorboards.

"Can you tell me if any clothes are missing?" I asked, sticking my head out into the living room.

Elisabeth and I stood side-by-side staring into Marissa's closet.
"I don't know. Maybe.
Her leather jacket isn't there," said Elisabeth after a few quiet minutes. "But I'm not sure about the rest. She never wore the jacket to work because it was kinda casual. That reminds me!"

"Of?"

"I told you she wasn't working
,
but I was wrong. Marissa got
hired by
a temp agency. She wasn't thrilled about it
,
but at least
,
she could make her rent and they were pretty okay with her going to interviews. They told her they could even help her find something permanent."

"Do you know where they placed her?"

"Sorry, I don't remember
;
but I do know where the agency is. It's Berwick's on Jefferson."

"I know the one." I shut the closet doors and moved into the bathroom. There was a shallow bathtub with a shower mounted on the wall
. T
he pla
stic curtain was a riot of colo
rs. I checked the medicine cabinet and the sink. Toothbrush, check.

"I've seen everything for now," I said. "Does the super know Marissa is gone?"

"No
,
and I know she's paid up for another month. If she comes back, there won't be a problem. If she doesn't..." Elisabeth didn't need to finish her sentence. If she didn't come back inside a month, she probably wasn't coming back. If she came back outside a month, she would be homeless.

"I have a couple more questions," I said. "First, how do you know someone was in here?"

"I came by when Marissa missed our lunch date
,
then didn't answer her cell. That's when I knew she was missing and reported it.
When I came by,
things were... I don't know. Something felt out of place. A book
was
moved on her coffee table. There was some soil on the floor next to the big planter
;
a drawer wasn’t quite closed in the kitchen
. I
know
someone went through here."

"Good enough for me. Does Marissa have a passport?"

"No."

"Have you spoken to her other friends?"

"Yeah. They think it's weird too. Marissa is really reliable."

"Did the police speak to them?"

Elisabeth cocked her head to one side. "I don't think so."

"Do your friends know you've spoken to me
?
"

This time
,
Elisabeth nodded. "We all got together Saturday and I told them I spoke to you. They thought it was a good idea."

"I'm going to pay them a visit," I told her, "but I'd appreciate it if you didn't say I was coming by."

"Sure. How come?"

"I don't want it to be formal," I said smoothly and Elisabeth just nodded. What I
really
meant was, I didn't want them to think too much about Marissa, more than they already were, because the brain can do funny things. It can get bogged down in conjecture and miss important bits. It also gave people
more
time to make up lies and get their stories straight. I didn't know if this would happen here
,
but I
couldn’t
rule it out
.

Elisabeth locked up behind us after making sure all lights were off. "What happens next?" she asked me as we walked down the stairs.

"I'll look into her temp agency," I said. "And I'll make some more
i
nquiries."

Elisabeth didn't look too impressed.

"Listen, it takes time," I said, gently. "I'll be in touch soon and let you know how I'm getting on."

"Okay," she nodded. "I'm sorry today wasn't much help."

"It was plenty of help," I said, and this time
,
I wasn't trying to be reassuring.

As I left Elisabeth to walk to her own car, and crossed the street to mine, I already knew several things. One: Marissa didn't have a lot
, and no roots,
so what she did have would mean a lot to her. Two: She didn't have a passport
,
so she couldn't have gone out the country. Three: No one took a planned trip without a
t least packing her toothbrush
,
s
o either she had gone somewhere unwillingly
,
or
she left
in a hurry. Four: Her laptop was missing. Five: Someone had been in her place.

Something weird was definitely going on.

Chapter Seven

Back at Ranch
o
Graves, I put my socked feet on my coffee table, picked up my wine glass and la
y
the file across my knees. Grabbing
my cell phone
,
I hit
“
speed dial
”
and waited for Solomon to answer his cell phone. He did so on the first ring, almost as if he knew I would call this very moment.
It was spooky.

"Lexi?"

"Mmm
-
hmm," I gurgled
, swallowing
my wine.

"Are you drowning?"

"No. Drinking. I have a status report for the hotel." I waited
,
but Solomon didn't speak so I took the hint and got on with it. "Not a lot to report. Killjoy seems a nice guy for a boss. His employees don't have anything really nasty to say about him, just the usual gripes that he's fastidious, hates poor time
-
keepers and expects everyone to give one hundred percent. So, nothing unusual about bosses there. I haven't spoken to everyone yet
,
but nothing stands out
in the way of
someone really hat
ing
him
,
so if there's a personal vendetta angle, I'm not seeing it."

"Okay."

"I checked the insurance and crime reports and everything tallies there. It's all small stuff
:
electronics, jewelry, cash
,
as we know
,
so it might be worth checking out local pawnshops or fences. You must know some dodgy dudes." I took another sip of wine and grimaced. That
di
dn't come out the way I
intended
.

"I don't personally know anyone who sells stolen goods, if that's what you're asking."

"I was, and pity. Anyone in the office?"

"I'll ask."

"Thanks. I checked the theft records against vacation time and I can rule out two employees
,
but that's it."

"Good thinking."

I gave myself a high
-
five, which, by the way,
wa
s awkward
and made doubly so by forgetting the glass in my hand. Red wine sloshed down my top and stuck to my skin
as I winced.
"Again, thank you. So far
,
I don't see anything
that suggests
targeting the hotel or the group either. No letters, no
phoned
-
in demands, no graffiti,” I said, as I struggled out of the top, managing to get my head stuck under the material as the top twisted around my arms.

“Why are you making those strange
,
squeaking noises?” asked Solomon in a calm voice.

“I’m not!”

“Do you need a minute?”

“No! Carry on!” I levered the glass through the armhole and set it down on the coffee table,
as I slid
to the floor
in a heap
. The phone remained pressed against my ear at all times, like a true professional.

"
Okay,” said a dubious sounding Solomon. “
Your conclusion so far?"

"I got nothin'."

"Keep trying. I'll let you know if anything turns up with the stolen property."

"Thanks. Appreciated."
When Solomon didn’t hang up, I waited.

"Just out of interest, what did you tell your cop family ab
out taking a job with the hotel?
"

"My mother thinks it's a nice, honorable job where I
will
have the chance to work
up
the corporate ladder."

"I meant
,
could they blow your cover?"

"No. They think work is slow with you and I'm doing this to tide me over. Besides, no one from my family has any need to go to the hotel."

"And Maddox?"

"Thinks temping is less dangerous
tha
n
PI work
."

Solomon laughed
,
"He clearly forgot Green Hand Insurance. Check in with me in a day or two." Solomon clicked off and I tossed the phone onto the sofa, trying to stifle a laugh
as I worked my way out of the top
. Green Hand Insurance was
my last temping assignment—ever,
or so
I’d hoped—and
where I met Maddox
when
he posed as my boss. In reality
,
he was working an undercover fraud case, the culmination of which
were
the bullet scars we now shared.

With
my
stained top soaking in the kitchen sink and a fresh t-shirt
donned
,
I finished writing up my notes, locked the file in my desk
,
and switched on the television, ready to enjoy my night in alone.

Maddox ha
d
n't called,
although
I called him once,
and
left a message
,
but
didn't want to
seem
all needy. Lily was out working. But it was okay. I wasn't afraid of my own company
,
plus,
I didn't have to share the wine or the remote control.
I was a woman in control of the next two hours of my destiny.
Besides
, I had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a long day and a good night's sleep would
probably
be useful.

Just as I was getting ready for bed, my door buzzer
sounded
. I answered it, and Serena announced herself
,
so I
pressed the button to let
her in
.

"I'm not staying," she said, as she stepped
onto the landing and thrust a large
envelope at me. "I have to get back. Mom is watching Victoria and I need to get her home. This is the stuff you asked me for."

"Thanks. I'll read
it
through."

Serena's file was pretty thin. I sat in bed and opened the envelope, pulling out photocopies of the last six months of Ted's bank statements and credit card bills. At the top of one set of credit card bills, she'd slipped a piece of notepaper under the paper clip holding the sheaf together. It read:
he doesn't think I know about this
credit card
. I sighed. Men always underestimated their wives. To me, the thought of underestimating Serena was ridiculous
,
but then
,
I had known her all my life. She was easily the smartest person in our family when it came to brains,
however,
she didn't
excel
when it came to street smarts.

I went through the credit card statement
s
, putting a pencil mark next to each suspicious
-
looking item. Some of them could be innocuous, of course, but I still marked them off
.
T
hen
I
made a short list of every restaurant Ted
visited
, along with purchases from jewelry stores, one
expensive
chocolate shop
,
and
cringe
, a charge to a lingerie shop that I knew Serena liked because she had given me a gift card there for my last birthday. It wasn't
ordinary undergarments
;
they sold swish, sexy stuff
,
and Serena had
penciled
next to the charge
:
not for me
.

“Oh, yuck, Ted, yuck,” I sighed as I shuffled the papers together and inserted them into a card folder. I
put
it
on my nightstand and fell
a
sleep, dreaming about spies that were having more fun than
I
.

Day two ran along the same lines as day one. I spoke to more employees, but by the
afternoon
,
winsome was wearing out
,
and I'd only just completed reading the second half of my files. My head swam with names.
I left the minute my watch showed five thirty and
left
to put in a couple hours on my other pro
bono case
:
Ted the
S
cumbag.

One thing that stood out
o
n his credit card bills was a charge to a French restaurant every Tuesday evening. That would be
my starting point
.
If
I w
ere
quick, I could make it there in time to see if Ted showed
up
.

Just
minutes before six p.m
.,
I found a parking
space a few spaces down from Chez Victoire
restaurant
.
I
pulled in, just as Ted walked into the restaurant, his hand firmly
glued to
the small of the woman's back. She giggled, her hand flying to her mouth
. Her
long
,
blonde hair
swayed as she walked
,
and for a moment
,
I hated her. Not as much as Serena was going to hate her, but plenty
enough
. They were lost from view for a few minutes
,
then I saw them follow a waiter as he guided them to a booth. Ted wasn't stupid enough to take a window table where anyone could see him. However, I had a great view of the booth from my diagonal point of view as they sat side-by-side.

I pulled my camera off the floor, and pointed it at them, adjusting the lens and firing off a bunch of shots. I couldn't see what was going on
under
the table, but I did get a shot of Ted stroking the woman's cheek, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear
, looking every bit like he was on a date
.
I could
also
see their body posture:
relaxed, shoulders turned into each other
as they leaned
closer to
continue their conversation
. Through the lens
,
I could see Ted wasn't wearing his wedding ring and I wondered if the woman he was with knew, or if he was
just
spinning her a line. Maybe he
told her he was
single, or separated
,
or getting a divorce. Maybe he told her his wife didn't understand him the way
she
did, or that he was hurt and lonely. I wondered how women still fell for that crap
,
or if the blonde really didn’t care
.

The longer I watched
,
the more my heart sank. It was true I
never liked
Ted. He was annoying and patronizing, but Serena picked him, not
I
. And
although
she could be a pain in the butt, I didn't relish the moment I
had to tell
her that her husband, and
the
father of her child, really
was
a slimy, cheating bastard.

I stayed with them all through dinner, my own stomach grumbling, firing off shot after shot of them nuzzling and kissing. I had plenty of evidence that he was cheating
,
but I needed more to consolidate what I saw, so it couldn't be passed off as one
,
sing
ular,
momentary lack of
judgment
. Plus
,
I still didn't know who the woman was.
If Serena wanted ammunition, I resolved to get it.

They left right after their shared
dessert, feeding each other from the same spoon—barf!—and
climbed into Ted's Mercedes, the twin to Serena's
car
. I waited until they pulled out, let
ting
a couple cars slide by, then
eased into the light traffic and
followed them.

The woman lived in West Montgomery, not far from me.
Parking further down the street, I
fired off a few more shots of them canoodling in Ted's car before the woman got out and walked to the building. Both Ted and I watched as she tapped numbers into a digital reader on the door
,
then pulled it open, making sure it shut behind her.