Death among the Roses: a Melanie Hart Mystery (Melanie Hart Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (15 page)

I swallowed a sigh. I’d be a lot happier if that man were easily fooled.

L
arkin’s chair hadn’t cooled off before I was ringing up Eddy Branch. He worked as a hired hand for farmer Harold Phillips. I figured Harold was probably out in the fields at this hour. But that’s why answering machines were invented.

As I’d expected, I later listed to his canned voice telling me to leave a message.

“This is Melanie Hart. I’m trying to reach Candy Collins, and I’m not having any luck. Call me.”

I left my work number, my home number, and my cell phone number and crossed my fingers, my eyes, and my toes. If this dude had taken off with Candy, I probably didn’t have much chance of contacting him. But I had to try. Plus, I couldn’t believe Candy would have gone off and left behind a beloved daughter. I wondered who was watching the girl. Maybe, I should contact them. But first I’d have to learn just who that was.

That evening, still having heard nothing from Candy’s boyfriend, I updated Ginger on the importance of tracking Candy down.

“I’ll try Julie, again,” Ginger volunteered. “I’m sure she’ll know who’s watching the little girl.”

I’d always prided myself on my lengthy list of contacts. People willing to help me track down information were invaluable to me. I might not have as long a list as Larkin, but my contact sheet wasn’t too bad. But now I found Ginger reached an even a broader mix. I was impressed and hopeful that between the two of us, we might crack this case.

“So what’s new on Treadway?” Ginger asked.

“Nothing.”

“And what do we do what about that?”

Ginger was stumped. I did an internal fist pump.

“We could check out his lair.”

“What do you mean?”

“We could drive up to Chicago and canvass his neighbors.

“Why would we want to do that?”

“So we can ask them what kind of man they think he is. Maybe, with the use of a handy credit card on his locked door, I can even get inside his place.”

“You’re nuts. Do you know that?”

“No, I’m not. We can tell his neighbors that he’s applied for an insurance policy, and we’re checking into his background on behalf of the insurance company.”

“You have an overactive imagination.”

“Come on. I’m a journalist. No one is more realistic than I am.”

“What if his neighbors ask for credentials? What then, huh?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

“Worry is starting to work its way into my world when I’m around you.”

“Flattery will get you no place. Besides, do you have a better idea?”

I had to wait through many moments of silence while Ginger apparently considered her options. Finally, she asked, “When do you want to pursue this little trick?”

“This weekend. We know Treadway comes down here every Saturday to see Cordelia. So while he’s driving down, we can be driving up. Easy, huh?”

“What about Josh?”

“He has a report due Monday. He can’t make it down this weekend.”

So that Saturday morning, Ginger and I headed out of town before daybreak. As we set out, we both worked our way through a pair of breakfast sandwiches. Two steaming cups of coffee sat in the cup holders. Around us, the day was dark and dreary and chilly. Clouds hung low, promising to deliver a mean spring shower or two.

Ten minutes later, I flicked on my windshield wipers. The system I’d thought would bring us showers instead poured down a hearty deluge of rain. It poured across the highway, and I instantly slowed my speed. Then I cursed the fates, as tires from speeding trucks sloshed rainwater onto my windshield. Only the tender shoots of bean and corn plants in the farmers’ fields we passed looked happy about the downpour.

“I hope you brought an umbrella along this time,” Ginger groused from her seat beside me.

Our sandwiches had been consumed. Their wrappers had been collected by Ginger and stuffed into the drive-through bag they’d been delivered in. Coffees were nestled in their cup holders and had been more than half consumed.

“We can stop along the way and buy a couple of umbrellas if this rain doesn’t let up,” I said. That brought our conversation to a halt.

We continued to roll eastward over the flat Illinois countryside in silence. Our trip this weekend would cost us five hours of driving time. We planned to scope out Treadway’s neighborhood today and take up residence in a posh motel tonight. Our accommodation was located next door to one of Chicago’s most spectacular suburban shopping malls. We intended to hit the mall hard and heavy tomorrow. I acknowledge no law that says business can’t be mixed with a little shopping pleasure.

But for now Ginger and I barreled through the dark morning alongside endless numbers of cars and trucks and RVs.  I was anxious to reach our destination. I wanted to nail Treadway’s guilt or innocence  But I couldn’t help wondering where all these other drivers around us were headed?

About three hours into the trip, I took the off ramp and pointed my car toward a much advertised truck stop. A huge billboard had informed us of its existence about every mile for the last three miles. Our morning coffee had made its way through me, and I knew the restaurant also hosted a well-stocked store, which should count umbrellas among its offerings. I parked as close to the brightly lit emporium as I could. It’s glowing lights were a comfort on such a dark day. Then, hands held over our heads, Ginger and I made a mad dash for the place through the pounding rain.

“We wouldn’t need to be dodging rain drops now,” Ginger hissed, “if you’d remembered to bring the umbrellas.”

She hadn’t thought to include one either, I noted, although I didn’t share that thought with her.

The restaurant we landed in had strategically placed its store at the front of the building. This way diners had to walk through the shopping space to get to the food. It was a clever idea with T-shirts and candy bars and souvenirs all screaming from shelves and racks for attention. Parents with children in tow, I thought, would be lucky to reach the restaurant with enough money left in their pockets to buy food.

But Ginger and I ignored the goodies and dashed for the restroom instead. Then, upon our emergence, we bought one umbrella each. Afterward, we finished up our brief stop in front of the coffee bar, where I filled a to-go cup with regular coffee and added a packet of sweetener. Ginger skipped the do-it-yourself bar and ordered a latte from a young woman with short hair and long earrings. Finally, under the protective cover of our umbrellas, we strolled back to my car.

“This rain,” I said, after we were comfortably settled in our seats, “might be a break for us.” I reached out and slammed the door closed behind me.

“How so?”

“It may force Treadway’s neighbors to stay indoors. That would make it easier for us to find them at home and willing to talk.”

Well, home some of them were. But they're willingness to talk varied widely.

***

The suburb Treadway lived in was modern and full of obviously successful people. The brand names of the cars surrounding us as we wended our way through the beautifully landscaped suburb included Mercedes, Lexus, and Cadillac. Buckets of colorful posies hung from old-fashioned street lights. Lawns were a bright, chemical-induced green. Even the few poor unfortunate wet dogs I saw tagging along after their owners looked posh. Curbside appeal of the homes rolled past had to be at the upper end of the spectrum. At least, I thought, they cost way more than either Ginger or I could afford.

Map clutched in her hands, Ginger barked out directions, and finally she delivered us to Treadway’s workplace. I’d thought it might be interesting to see where some the nation’s best minds worked. I don’t think either of us were disappointed at having taken the side trip.

The lab turned out to be an architectural triumph sitting well back from the road on an expanse of grass adorned with a large lake, which sported nearly a dozen white swans. I was suitably impressed and slowed down so we could take a good look at the structure. White concrete. Black tinted windows. All right angles. The place looked like the kind of place where a space alien might feel right at home.

Ginger shook her head. “Maybe we should turn around go right back to Cloverton. If Treadway works in a place like this, he’s obviously legit.”

“Not a chance.” I floored the accelerator and caught up with fast-moving traffic around us. “We’re returning to where he lives and accosting his neighbors until we learn more about the guy. I mean he was there the weekend Gary died. What kind of man hangs around to watch his high-school crush get married?”

I turned left at the next intersection and soon had us back to Treadway’s apartment complex.

We parked in one of the complex’s visitor’s slot, and beneath the safety of our umbrellas Ginger and I hastened toward the building’s front door. The entrance wasn’t locked. No one had to buzz us inside. I thought it was rather trusting of the residents not to take further protect themselves from strangers.

“Their apartments are probably all wired with burglar alarms,” I suggested.

“You think?” Ginger snapped. “And you’re contemplating breaking into one of them?”

“Don’t fret. We’ll be fine.”

“Honestly Melanie, if you’ve ever had a harebrained idea, this one is it.”

“You’re standing here beside me, aren’t you?” I whispered tersely. “If I’d known you were going to be this much trouble, I would have left you at home.”

“Maybe I wish you had.”

Oh dear, I thought, this wasn’t a grand beginning.

We stood there quietly a minute, absorbing our surroundings. The lobby was done up in white marble with gold trim. A couple of green ferns spilled out of planters set on tall tables. The elevator door was brass. The space managed to deliver quite a first impression for its residents. One, I’m sure they paid dearly for.

Ginger pointed to the elevator. “Which floor does Treadway live on?”

“Fourth.”

“How do you know that?”

“I called his super yesterday.”

“You lied, I hope? I mean, you didn’t give him your name, right?”

“Right,” I said, without offering any further information.

“Geesh,” Ginger huffed, “some day, Melanie, you’re gonna take a step too far and get us hauled off to jail.”

“Nah. That will never happen. Besides you spent a night with police when Gossford dragged you off with him. And you survived it.”

“Please, don’t remind me. The less I think about him and his suspicions of me the better I feel.”

We climbed into the elevator and rode to the fourth floor in silence. It dumped us out into a narrow hall, tastefully wallpapered in hunter-green and warm-beige vertical stripes. Very elegant. Very masculine.

“Which apartment is his?” Ginger whispered.

A long line of doors for individual apartments stretched out down both sides of the hall. From what I could see there were more than ten apartments on each side of the hallway with one door at each end. I quickly estimated the math in my head and figured the management had to be raking a monumental profit from this affair.

“Apartment nine,” I whispered back.

Ginger took a giant step forward, apparently intending to set out for his place. I snagged her arm and pulled her back beside me. “We can’t break into his place,” I explained.

She cast me an evil eye. “Why not?”

“I didn’t expect this kind of set up. If I try the credit card trick here to open his door, any neighbor stepping into the hall will instantly spot us. And don’t you think I’d look a little suspicious trying to stuff a credit card into the door jamb.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Ginger complained. “Here I was hoping we could skip spending time chatting up neighbors. I mean if you came to my door asking about one of my friends, I’d slam the thing closed in your face.”

“Oh, go on. These folks aren’t friends. This is the city. They’re barely neighbors. Unless I miss my guess, they keep themselves to themselves. Besides, there are very few people who are as loyal to friends and neighbors as you are.”

“Is that some kind of an insult?”

“Come on, Ginger. Lighten up. You deal with people all day at your workplace. So do I. Trust me. We can get away with simple a scam like this all day long.”

Ignoring the doubtful look stamped on my friend’s features, I stepped forward, raised my hand, made a fist, and banged on the first door we came to. A young woman in sweats eased the apartment door open and stared back at me.

Probably somewhere in her middle twenties, she was tall and slender with a tan that spoke of hours lying out either at a beach or in a tanning bed. Her hair was streaked, her face well formed. And under the glare of the woman’s steely blue eyes, I felt tempted to check myself to see if I mightn’t have missed a spot of sausage when wiping my mouth after breakfast. She glance in Ginger’s direction. My friend took a step backwards. Ms Steely Eyes shifted her attention back to me.

“May I help you?” Ice coated each word she spoke, and she continued to stare down her long nose at us.

I straightened my purse strap on my shoulder. “Um… yes…. Ah, good morning. I’m Melanie Hart. This is Ms Black. We work for the Allied Insurance Company.”