Fifteen minutes later we arrived at our destination. The Astor Apartments was a run-down, three-story brick building located on the very end of South Street. The street was a dead end, and the apartments were right next to a large expanse of woods that at one time had been the proposed site of a shopping center that had never materialized. The apartments had no parking lot, so the tenants had to fight for parking on the street on a first-come, first-served basis. Tonight it seemed as if every tenant in the building must be home, because both sides of the street were packed. I finally found a space on Morton Street, two blocks over, and it was a tight squeeze at that. A light wind kicked up as Hank and I made our way to the apartment building, Nick at our heels. We climbed the few steps to the front door and the first thing we saw was a large sign: Ring for entrance.

  “Really? In this neighborhood?” Hank said with a scowl.

  “Apparently the management looks out for its tenants,” I said dryly. I looked at the names above the bells and finally located one marked “Cutter” up at the top. I pressed the bell and we waited. A few minutes later the intercom gave a loud squawk, and a tinny voice asked, “Who’s there?”

  I leaned forward. “It’s Nora Charles, Jerry. Do you remember me? We met at the bike shop. I was looking at that pink bicycle?”

  There was a moment of silence and then, “Oh, yeah, I remember. So you’ve thought it over? Are you still interested?”

  “Actually, I wonder if I might come up. I have a few questions.”

  I could picture his dark brows drawing together in a frown. “Now? It’s getting kinda late, and I was getting ready for bed. I’ve got an early shift tomorrow. Can’t we do this at the shop?”

  “I know this is an imposition, but I have a rather busy day at Hot Bread myself tomorrow, and I wanted to get this matter squared away tonight, if possible,” I said in a wheedling tone.

  “I don’t know,” said Jerry. “I really need to get some sleep.”

  I glanced over at Hank, who mouthed, “Offer him money.” I turned back to the intercom and said, “I’d be very grateful, and I’ll certainly make this intrusion worth your while . . . say a fifty-dollar bonus?”

  A brief silence, and then: “Third floor. Apartment 301. But let’s make this quick, okay?”

  The buzzer sounded, and Hank shot me a triumphant look as we pushed through the front door. “Works every time,” he whispered.

  We trudged up the narrow staircase to the third floor. The hall was dark and dingy. There were lights overhead, but I noticed that most of them had burned out and hadn’t been replaced. We stood for a moment to get our bearings and suddenly the door at the end of the hall was jerked open. Jerry, attired in a ratty-looking bathrobe, stood framed in the doorway. “Over here,” he called. The pleasant smile on his face turned into a scowl as he noticed Hank. “I thought you were alone,” he said.

  “This is my friend Hank Prince,” I said. “He’s a cycle enthusiast too.”

  “Yeah?” He looked at Hank a bit suspiciously, then held out his hand. “Pleased ta meetcha,” he said.

  “Merow.”

  Jerry started as he glanced down and saw Nick sitting right by my feet. “You brought a cat along?” he asked. “And a black one, too. They’re usually bad luck.”

  Hank pushed past Jerry into the apartment, and Nick and I followed. As Jerry shut the door Hank remarked, “You’re right about one thing, Jerry. Nick is bad luck, especially for criminals.”

  A flush stole up the side of Jerry’s neck. “I’m no criminal,” he said gruffly. “I haven’t been in trouble for a long time.” He shot me an accusatory stare. “I told you I turned over a new leaf, remember?”

  “Yes, you did, and I believe you,” I assured him. “But we need to ask you a few questions about Jennifer Hinkle.”

  He stared down at his feet, avoiding my gaze, and mumbled, “Jennifer Hinkle? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m certain I saw you with her in the Poker Face a few nights ago.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You were spying on me?”

  I shook my head. “No, it was purely coincidental. I stopped in for a burger and a beer and noticed the two of you at a rear table. You see, I used to work with Jennifer, years ago. She’d come to Cruz and asked for my help with Mariah Blackthorne.”

  Jerry waved his hand in a careless gesture. “Yeah, she got hold of me too. Said that she was gonna write a book once she proved her innocence. Said that she was hot on the trail of who really killed the buzzard.”

  “Just how did Jennifer ask for your help, Jerry?” asked Hank.

  Jerry frowned. “I don’t know as I should say. She asked me to keep all this confidential, just between us. Why, I haven’t even told my mother.”

  Hank reached into his pocket, whipped out a fifty-dollar bill. He dangled it in front of Jerry. “We know that you picked up a key for Blackthorne shortly before his death,” he said.

  A look of fear came into his eyes. “How . . . how do you know that? Did Jenn tell you?”

  I stepped forward, put my face close to his. “We found the store receipt, which indicated that you picked up the key. You sold it to Jennifer, didn’t you?”

  Jerry’s eyes flashed and he stood up a bit straighter. “I didn’t sell nothing,” he whined. “She gave me some money for my trouble.”

  I looked him right in the eye. “Don’t lie, Jerry. I heard her tell you that she’d paid too much already.”

  He lowered his gaze and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So what if I made a few bucks? She was more than willing to pay.”

  “Well, for one thing, that key wasn’t your property to sell. Technically it would belong to Mrs. Blackthorne.”

  “Mrs. Blackthorne wouldn’t miss it. She never knew anything about it,” Jerry maintained, a trifle belligerently. “It was to a private strongbox he kept in his office safe. The week before he died he came to me and said, “Cutter—he always called me by my last name—Cutter, I need you to do an errand for me.” Then he gave me the name of the locksmith and told me to pick up the key and bring it to him, no questions asked. So that’s what I did. When I brought him the key, he gave me ten bucks. Ten! Can you imagine! The old cheapskate.” Jerry gave his head a derisive shake.

  I sighed. Apparently that old saying about leopards not being able to change their spots was true. “How did you get that key, Jerry?” I asked. “Was it the same key you picked up? Or did you have another made?”

  “I wouldn’t waste my money getting another key,” Jerry spat. “And I didn’t steal that one either. I found it. It was that day when I was looking at those jade figurines. The bottom of one of ’em was hollow and the key fell out. I recognized it right off, and I took it. I figured he’d look for it sometime and when he couldn’t find it, he’d want another made. He was anal that way about keys.” Jerry shook his head. “I figured he’d probably ask me to go get it, and when I did, I’d just keep the money he’d give me and give him that one back.”

  “Surely the locksmith would have called when no one came for the key,” I said.

  Jerry shrugged. “Blackthorne never took those calls. My mother would have taken it, and she’d have told me. Then I was gonna call and tell them Blackthorne found his other key. That guy was used to this happening. He’d have just saved the key until the next time.”

  Hank and I exchanged a glance and then Hank asked, “Getting back to Jennifer. Do you know what she planned to do with that key?”

  He frowned. “No idea. She didn’t say and I didn’t ask. To be honest, I didn’t want to know. She was in kind of a bragging mode that night. Said she was real close to proving that Mrs. Blackthorne had nothing to do with her husband’s murder. There was some detail, though, that had her pretty stumped. She said it came out of left field, and if she could just connect that up, she could blow the whole case wide open. I wished her luck. Heck, I was hoping she could do it. I always liked Mrs. Blackthorne.” He sighed. “Anyway, she got a text and it looked like whatever was in it didn’t make her too happy. I figured she wanted to be alone so I said goodbye and left. I haven’t heard from her since, not that I expected to.” He thrust his lower lip out. “Anything else you want to know?”

  “Actually, there is. Do you happen to know where the doctor kept that strongbox?” asked Hank.

  “Probably in his safe. It’s behind a painting of some boats on the wall in back of his desk.” He held up both hands. “Before you ask, no, I never tried to break into it. Not that I wasn’t tempted, mind you, but I’d never do that to my mother. He’d have made her life even more miserable. Anyway, I was walking past his office one day and the door was open a bit. I peeked in and saw him putting something in the safe.”

  “Did you tell Jennifer where the safe was located?”

  Once again, his gaze shifted down to study the tips of his shoes. “I told her he kept the box in the study, but I didn’t tell her the exact location.”

  I had a feeling that location was what Jennifer had refused to pay more money for. No doubt she’d intended to find it herself. I was more convinced than ever that Mariah hadn’t been dreaming that day, that Jennifer had been in her house hunting for the safe.

  Hank looked at me and nodded. It was clear to both of us that was all the information we were going to get out of Jerry. “Well, Jerry, you’ve been very helpful,” he said. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Jerry looked at me. “You’re not interested in that bike, are you?”

  I shook my head. “Not right now, anyway. But thanks. We appreciate your talking to us.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “You know, if you don’t believe me, you can ask Jennifer Hinkle. She’ll corroborate everything I just told you.”

  Nick let out a mournful yowl. Jerry looked at the cat. “What’s with him?”

  I bent down and scooped Nick into my arms. He squirmed a bit, then settled himself against my chest. “I think he’s trying to tell you that speaking to Jennifer would be rather difficult.”

  Jerry frowned. “Difficult? Why? Don’t tell me she left town.”

  “I guess you could say she did, in a manner of speaking,” Hank said. “She’s dead.”

  • • •

  Back out on the street, I set Nick down, then looked at Hank. “He’s definitely a shifty individual, and I have serious doubts about his being able to stay on the straight and narrow. That being said, I believed his story,” I said.

  Hank nodded. “I did too. I’m also convinced that Jennifer was Mariah’s mysterious intruder.”

  “I agree, but why was she in Mariah’s bedroom? Jerry told her the box was in Blackthorne’s study.”

  “Not sure. Maybe she couldn’t find it and thought Mariah might have moved it.”

  “Or,” I added thoughtfully, “maybe she was looking for something else.”

  “Like what?”

  I sighed. “I have no idea.”

  My cell buzzed. I whipped it out of my pocket and saw Ollie’s number. I hit the accept icon and the speaker button so Hank could hear. “Hey, Ollie. What’s up? Find anything interesting on Jenn’s computer?”

  Ollie sounded smug. “Actually, we did. Something about one of your prime suspects. Elle Gardner. I think you’ll find what’s here most enlightening.”

  Hank and I raised our eyebrows in unison. “Can’t you give us a hint?” I asked.

  “I could, but I’d rather not over the phone. How soon can you get back here?”

  “We’ll be there in ten.”

  • • •

  I did a brisk seventy all the way back to Hot Bread, cutting our arrival time to nine minutes. We burst into the shop through the rear door and I hurried right over to the table, where Ollie and Louis sat, hunched over Jennifer’s phone, a half-eaten bag of potato chips open between them. “Okay, spill,” I said. “What’s this enlightening information?”

  Ollie passed me the phone. “It seems that Mariah’s friend Elle had been serving on the board of the Cruz Historical Society. Following the trial, she took a leave of absence for seven months.”

  I’d grabbed a chip and now I nearly choked on it. “Seven months. Don’t tell me . . .”

  Ollie shook his head. “No. She didn’t disappear to have a baby. Jennifer obtained records that prove conclusively that Elle spent that time at Hope by the Sea.”

  I knew the name. It wasn’t a fancy resort, but rather a rehab center located in San Juan Capistrano that specialized in drug and alcohol rehabilitation. “So Elle had a problem?”

  “Apparently a large one. She was addicted to alcohol and painkillers. She registered under her mother’s maiden name of Thorpe, which is probably why nothing shows up in a search. And it also means—”

  “That she’s not the pregnant mistress.” I picked up another chip, popped it into my mouth. “That is kind of disappointing,” I said. “I rather liked Elle in the role of murderess.” I looked at Louis. “Cutter said that Jenn got a text that seemed to upset her that night I saw them in the Poker Face. Can you check her texts for the seventh? Around six?”

  Louis’s fingers flew over his keyboard, and a few minutes later he glanced up. “She got one from a Maverick107 at six oh-five. It says, ‘Photo under separate cover.’”

  I frowned. “Are there any photos in her mail account sent from a Maverick107?”

  Louis fiddled some more with the keyboard. At last he looked up. “If she got an email from that person, she must have downloaded the attachment and then deleted the email. I can comb through her trash file, but I took a quick look and there are over two thousand deleted emails.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Swell.”

  “If it’s there I can find it,” Louis said confidently, “but it’ll take some time.” He tapped at the keyboard again and then said, “I’ve got some free time tomorrow morning. I can do it then.”

  “Please,” I said. I looked at Ollie and Hank. “I just have this feeling we’re getting close, but the only thing is, I’m not sure just what it is we’re getting close to.”

  Nick had crawled underneath the table. Now I heard a scraping sound, and then some Scrabble tiles flew out. Ollie glanced down at the floor and smiled. “Looks as if little Nick has something to say.”

  When the tiles had stopped flying out, I bent down, picked them up, and laid them on the table. There was a J, an A, an E, an S, I, M and an N. I moved them around and then surveyed the word I’d made: jasmine. I looked at the cat. “What’s with the names, Nick? First Violet and now Jasmine. Those names are pretty but they have nothing to do with Mariah’s case.”

  Nick poked his head out from underneath the table. “Merow,” he said.

  “Little Nick isn’t always that obvious,” said Ollie. “Perhaps violet doesn’t refer to a person’s name, but to something else.”

  I gave Nick a stern look, and he ducked back underneath the table. “Such as?” I asked.

  “Well . . .” Ollie drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Violet’s a color, right? A purple shade?”

  “True,” I agreed. “It’s also a flower. But I can’t see a connection between that and Mariah.”

  “Violet and jasmine are both used in perfumes,” piped up Louis.

  Ollie looked at him. “And how do you know that?”

  “Because my sister works the cosmetics counter at Dillard’s,” Louis responded.

  I looked at Louis. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  He flushed. “I’ve got two of ’em, both older. Anyway, Daphne’s worked in cosmetics for years. I remember she bought some perfume for our mother one Christmas, and she went on and on about the notes of jasmine, musk and violet in it. I did smell it and it was pretty nice. You’d have never have guessed by the name. Insolence.”

  My head jerked up. “What did you say?”

  “You mean the name of the perfume? Insolence.”

  “Wait a second.” I went over, grabbed my tote bag and came back. I pulled out the slip of paper that Nick had found in Jenn’s apartment, pulled my laptop in front of me and started hitting the keyboard. A few minutes later I leaned back in my chair. I picked up the white slip of paper and held it aloft.

  “The words on this paper Nick found,” I said. “They’re names of perfumes. Insolence, Ethereal, Amaranth. What’s more, they’re all perfumes that have notes of violet and jasmine in them. Plus, Amaranth is also a plant noted for its fragrant purple flowers and is often used in perfumes.”

  Nick let out a loud yowl. Ollie looked at him and grinned. “Looks as if little Nick has struck again.”

  “Maybe so,” I said thoughtfully. I hadn’t known Jenn well, but I’d known her well enough to know she’d written those names down for a reason. I just had to figure out what that reason was.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “What is wrong, chérie? You look rather peaked.”

  Chantal shot me a concerned look. It was only a few minutes past eight a.m. and we’d been slammed from the moment I opened the door. Of course, the fact that it was Bargain Wednesday might have had something to do with it. All breakfast items served between eight and eleven a.m. were a dollar fifty, and all beverages were seventy-five cents. I’m proud to say that next to Fifty-Cent Friday, Bargain Wednesday was my most profitable day of the week.

  “Do I?” I remarked. I poured coffee into a mug, set it on a tray with sugar packets and creamers and a fried egg sandwich, and handed it to Otis Bentley. As he shuffled off to grab the last remaining table, I said, “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I keep running over everything that happened in my mind, trying to make some sense out of everything.”

  “You will, chérie,” Chantal said. “Where is your partner this morning?”

  Nick’s head popped out from underneath the table. “Merow.”

  “Not you, Nicky,” Chantal laughed. “I know where you are. I meant Nora’s other partner, Mr. Prince.”

  Nick shot Chantal a baleful look, then vanished under the table.

 

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