Caught Redhanded. Gayle Roper

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      Remembering William’s edict that I never touch anything at a crime scene—and it didn’t take many brains to figure that with the condo’s resident dead and the front door unaccountably open, this was probably a crime scene—I didn’t touch the knob in case the cops needed to check it for prints or something.

      I supposed it was possible that Martha had hurried out this morning to go on her run without shutting and locking her door, but I doubted it. Even I, Merry the Forgetful, remembered to lock my front door. Not the car necessarily, but definitely the front door.

      If Ken was still home, maybe she wouldn’t have locked up, but she’d have at least closed the door. I became certain of that as air-conditioned air swirled out of the opening to cool my face. No one was foolish enough to leave a door open with the air-conditioning on at this time of year. I pulled out my cell to call William.

      “Martha’s not here,” said a voice behind me. “She’s at work down at the supermarket. You’d think people would realize that at ten-thirty on a Tuesday morning.”

      I spun and found myself facing a stooped woman with the black hair of a bad home dye-job. Her blue eyes were bright in her wrinkled face and I guessed she was eighty if she was a day. As she gestured toward the house with her chin, her wattles swung gently.

      “I guess you’ve got a key?” She gestured at the open door. “The others had one, too. They said Martha was going to meet them here, but they didn’t wait for her very long. When they left, they went out by the back door, sort of sneakylike if you ask me.”

      They? “Who went out the back? Ken?” Maybe he didn’t want to see anyone in his grief. Or if he was guilty, maybe he was grabbing his stuff and getting out while the getting was good. Maybe he thought I was the police.

      She nodded her head vigorously and her hair moved not one millimeter. “Ken was first. Then the new boyfriend.”

      “The new boyfriend?” What new boyfriend? I couldn’t believe I was learning something Jolene had missed. “Ken’s no longer Martha’s boyfriend?”

      The woman bent and twisted a dying flower from one of Martha’s geraniums. She straightened slowly, vertebra by vertebra. “Not for a couple of months. Good riddance, I say. Hated his motorcycle.” She curled her lip. “Loud, smelly thing.”

      I smiled. “Motorcycles can certainly be loud.”

      “Not the bike. Him.” She gave a sniff. “He was loud and smelly. Never could figure out why she let him stay with her.”

      I decided I liked Martha’s neighbor. “So this is Martha’s condo, not Ken’s?”

      “Oh, yes. Before he came, she lived here alone. Then after he moved out, she lived here alone. The new boyfriend doesn’t live with her.”

      “Who’s the new boyfriend?”

      “Don’t know his name. Tall, but then everyone looks tall to me. Very handsome, at least what I can see of him. He always comes late and I don’t see as well as I used to at night or even at twilight. He always wears a cap with some logo on it. I looked at it through my binoculars once.” She made a face. “Oops. You didn’t hear that, now, did you, dear?”

      I laughed. “I didn’t hear a thing. Did you figure out what the logo was?”

      “It was a bird.”

      “A bird? Like he was wearing an Eagles cap? Was it dark green and white?”

      She thought for a minute. “It could have been dark green. It was certainly dark in color. But the bird didn’t look like any eagle I ever saw, but then, what do I know of logos? One thing I will say for the guy, though—he is always very polite. Nods to me whenever he comes. Makes Ken look like a Neanderthal. He never paid any attention to me.” She pointed proudly to the baby-blue unit next door. “I live right there.”

      “Very nice,” I said as I looked at the big pot of yellow daisies and blue lobelia on her doorstep. I could see the lace curtains covering her front windows were parted a couple of inches in the center. The better to use those binoculars?

      She frowned thoughtfully. “Though come to think of it, I never saw the new one come in the daytime before today. You’d think he’d know Martha’s at work.”

      I looked at the woman, who obviously didn’t yet know about Martha’s death. I decided not to tell her. I’d been through enough emotional drama and I had no desire to face more. Besides, she might be more open and spontaneous this way, telling me things I wanted to know. I stuck out my hand. “I’m Merry Kramer.”

      “I’m Doris Wilson, dear. Nice to meet you.” She smiled happily as she took my hand. Her gnarled fingers gripped more strongly than I expected.

      “Was Martha a good neighbor?” I asked, then kicked myself for using the past tense. I peered at Mrs. Wilson. Maybe she wouldn’t catch it.

      “Was? Oh dear. Are you telling me she’s moving? When Ken left, I thought she might move to get away from the memories, you know? Then she didn’t and I thought she was going to stay.” Mrs. Wilson sighed. “The nice ones always leave. Sergeant Major Wilson was in the army for many, many years and the nice ones always got reassigned just when we got to know and enjoy them. Or we got reassigned. Are you a real estate lady come to check over the place?”

      “No, no, not at all,” I hastened to assure her. “I was just asking a question.”

      Mrs. Wilson absently twisted her wedding ring around her finger. “She’s a very nice person. Smokes like a lot of foolish young people, but she’s nice. She never hesitates to come over if I need help with something like climbing on the step stool to get a special dish off a high shelf. Oh my.” She looked distressed. “If Martha moves, I would be very sad.”

      A faint ringing sounded and Mrs. Wilson went on point like a bird dog taking the scent. Her nose actually quivered. “That’s my phone.” She turned eagerly toward her unit. “Nice to meet you, uh—” She gave up trying to recall my name. “I’m sorry Martha’s not home.”

      As soon as her white door closed behind her, I elbowed Martha’s door all the way open. In spite of Mrs. Wilson’s assurances that “they” went out the back door, I called, “Hello? Hello? I’m coming in.”

      And I did, pushing the door not quite shut behind me so I could make a quick exit if I needed to. I paused in the hall, listening. The house had that empty feel to it and I decided it was quite safe to look around a bit.

      I could just imagine Curt’s reaction if he’d been here. “Merry, what are you doing? This isn’t your house. You can’t just walk in.”

      Then there was Mac’s way of seeing things. I knew he’d say, “Good initiative, Kramer. I’m proud of you. What’d you find?”

      As to William, I didn’t think he’d see my walk-through as breaking and entering. I wouldn’t touch anything and I certainly wouldn’t take anything.

      All in all, I felt good to go.

      Martha’s living room looked like it came from an IKEA catalogue, all blond wood and bright cushions. Several inexpensive but attractive framed posters of colorful gardens hung on two of the walls; a flat-screen TV hung on a third over a long entertainment СКАЧАТЬ