Simply Being Belle (13 page)

She abruptly urged
the swing to slow.  Dare came around the front and helped her ease to a stop as
he grabbed hold of the chains on either side of her.  “That was fun,” she said,
smiling up at him.  “You really ought to try it.”

He didn’t
immediately release his hold, his hands on either side of her.  Belle met his
gaze.  He was so close she could see the blue depths of his irises, and was
mesmerized as they appeared to darken.  The sparkle of humor she’d seen a
second or two before was replaced by something different, something not readily
unidentifiable.  Curiosity?  Desire?  She couldn’t be sure.

When he shifted
his hand and it came to rest on hers, she felt a charge, like an electric
shock, course through her system.  She watched him uncertainly, chewing her
lower lip.  He leaned even closer, his full, masculine lips forming a smile and
hovering inches from her face. 

Belle suddenly
felt as if she were on a precipice.  Meeting his lips in a kiss might very well
take her to dizzying heights, but … might also send her toppling over a cliff. 
She realized she wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel his warm lips against her
own, but… they were on the clock!  She pulled back abruptly, breaking the spell. 

Dare watched her
briefly, his eyes narrowed speculatively.  Suddenly, he pulled back and straightened
to his full height.  “Swings aren’t really my thing.  I’m more a slide kind of
a guy,” he told her as he took her elbow and guided her off the swing and back
to the pathway.  “Let’s take a walk.”

She nodded and stared
straight ahead, but watched him out of the corner of her eye whenever the
opportunity presented itself.  Had they really nearly kissed?  And during work
hours?  What had he been thinking?  What had she been thinking?

Belle forced
thoughts of the near-kiss from her mind.  She attempted to focus on her
surroundings.  She glanced curiously at the complex.  It appeared it was two stories
high, and she saw the first floor units boasted crisp back lawns encased in
white picket fences.  Many of the tiny lawns reflected a definite pride of
ownership, since most were adorned with flowering plants of every type and
color.  She looked upward and saw the second story units boasted balconies,
which were also crisply painted and well-cared for.

“What do you see?”
Dare asked her, catching her gaze.

She swallowed.  “Well,
I see an upscale apartment complex, with tenants who clearly care about their
homes.”

He nodded with apparent
satisfaction.  “We should go.”

“Where are we
going now?” she asked curiously.

“You’ll see.”

Soon they were
back in his car and driving to a second apartment complex.  When they pulled
into the parking lot, she noted this complex resembled the other, and was just
as well-kept.  There were perhaps fewer units here, but she spied a pool at
this location, whereas the other didn’t have one. 

The couple spent a
few moments walking around.  “What do you think?” Dare asked her.

“It’s nice,” she
told him.  “Are you thinking of moving in?  And if so, we really shouldn’t be
apartment shopping during work hours.” 

“I’m not looking
for an apartment, Belle,” he said with a rueful glance in her direction. 
“Okay, then, let’s go.”

Back in the car, she
turned toward him.  “Dare, exactly what are we doing?”

“Sit tight.  I’ll
explain very soon.”  They drove off again.

She relaxed in the
seat, but suddenly sat upright when she spied the apartment complex Rosaria
Rodriguez currently resided in.  Called Elm Place, it was a massive monstrosity
in Belle’s view, reminding her of a hospital or institution.

When he pulled
into the parking lot that bordered the u-shaped, boxy structures, she sighed
heavily.  “It’s just plain ugly,” she observed, and he nodded in agreement. 

“Indeed, this
place is nothing like the two complexes we just came from.  Let’s get out and
have a look,” he suggested.

Belle didn’t
particularly want to stroll the grounds.  There simply wasn’t much to look at. 
The building had been painted an institutional grey, and she suspected Biggs
must have secured a deal on the ugly paint to have selected such a depressing
color.

“Belle, do you
recall Rosaria’s apartment number?” Dare inquired.

“Seven,” she told
him.  “She’s on the first floor, east entrance.”

He nodded and once
again gently took her elbow.  He led her toward Rosaria’s apartment.  In order
to get to her place, they entered a dark, tunnel like interior hallway.  They
found her apartment four doors down and on the right.

“Are we stopping
by?” Belle asked curiously.

He nodded.  “Yes.”

She followed him
to the door.  He knocked, glancing around with a scowl on his face as he waited
for Rosaria to answer.  He snared Belle’s gaze.  “It’s so dark and oppressive
in this hallway.”

She nodded.  “The
airs feels thick with moisture.  I’d guess there’s mold somewhere nearby.” 

When Rosaria
opened the door, her cheerful countenance was a stark contrast to their grim faces. 
The woman grinned widely when she saw them.

“Hello, hello! 
Come in,” she called cheerfully, stepping aside to allow them in.

 Immediately Belle
saw the interior of the unit was as unattractive as the exterior.  Clearly
Rosaria had attempted to enliven the space with color, but there was little she
could do to spruce up the walls, which were as grey as the exterior walls. 
Tenants weren’t allowed to paint, so they were stuck with the color.  She
suspected the commercial-type grey flooring material throughout the space had
to have been purchased based on cost considerations rather than for aesthetics. 

“How are you,
Rosaria?” Belle asked.  “It’s wonderful to see you.”

“It’s so nice to
see you both, as well,” she said, smiling widely.  She turned to Dare.  “How
are you, Mr. Jamison?”

“I’m doing well. 
Belle and I thought we’d stop by to see how you’re doing.  Is everything going
all right?  Have you finally spoken to Mr. Biggs?”

“I’m doing very
well,” she told them, beaming.  “And yes, Mr. Biggs has visited me finally, and
things are looking much better for my family and me.”

Belle shot Dare a
quizzical glance, and then turned back to Rosaria.  “What do you mean,
Rosaria?”

“I will be moving
soon,” she declared with a wide smile.  “Mr. Biggs has found me a wonderful new
apartment.  Such a nice man,” she added.

Belle turned to
Dare briefly, a confused expression on her face.  She shook her head. 
“Rosaria, you’re moving?”

“We all are,” she
said happily, clasping her hand together.  “Mr. Biggs has found all the tenants
better places to live, and at the same rent we are paying here.  I will be
moving not this weekend but the next.  Mr. Biggs says we can no longer live
here on account of the pipes and because the weather will turn cold in a few
short months.  Such a nice man,” she reiterated.  “Oh, of course we must drop
the lawsuit against him.  Such a sweet man…” she mused.

Dare raked a hand
through his hair, watching her curiously.  “Rosaria, when did you last speak to
Mr. Biggs?”

“Early yesterday,
when he brought the water by.”

“What water?” he
asked, shooting Belle a bewildered glance.

“Come,” she instructed,
and they followed her to a small broom closet in the hallway just off the
kitchen.  She opened the door and they saw several cases of drinking water.  “See,
we have water to drink—all of us—until Mr. Biggs brings the moving trucks in a
week.”

Belle caught
Dare’s gaze, shaking her head in confusion.  What exactly was happening here? 

“Rosaria,” he
said.  “Do you happen to have a number where we can reach Mr. Biggs?”

“Sure, sure,” she
told them.  She hurried to her refrigerator and slid her hand along the top. 
“Here it is,” she said, passing Dare a business card.  “Will you write the
number down?” she asked him.  “I must keep the card.  Mr. Biggs said if I need
anything, I am to call him.”

He copied the
number and passed the card back to Rosaria.  “It’s been good seeing you,” he
said.  “But we should be going.  We’ll be in touch.”

“Yes.  Good.  We
will talk soon,” she said with a cheerful grin.  “You both must come see me at
my new apartment.”

They stepped into
the hallway and Rosaria closed the door behind them.  “What was that all
about?” Dare wondered aloud. 

Belle shook her
head.  “I don’t have a clue.”

“Oh, we do have
clues,” he said somewhat mysteriously as they began walking down the long
hallway and outside to the parking lot.  He paused and turned to her.  “We
definitely have clues…”

“What do you
mean?” she asked, coming to a stop.

“Belle, tell me
your impressions of the two apartment complexes we visited before coming to
this one.”

She glanced around
her, simultaneously reaching a hand up to smooth her hair.  A slight breeze
blew, and she turned her face to it briefly, before turning back to him.  “Uh,
well, the first two were upscale, well-kept.  The grounds were lovely.  Clearly
the tenants take pride in their homes.”

He nodded.  “There
are several more just like those in neighborhoods throughout town,” he informed.

“Really?”

He nodded and
snared her gaze.  He suddenly looked deadly serious, and something about the
intense look in his eyes caused a slight flutter in her chest.  “It happens the
complexes are not upscale, but in reality, are low income housing units. 
They’re some of the nicest I’ve ever seen,” he added.

Belle nodded.  She
had to agree.

“Jacob Biggs built
them,” Dare said succinctly.

She gasped.

“And this complex,
Belle,” he prompted. “what are your impressions of this one?”

She felt a sick,
sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she turned to study the massive
structure. 

“Go on,” he urged. 
“What are you thinking?”

She swallowed over
a lump in her throat.  “The complex is hideous—an obvious attempt to squeeze as
many low income families into one tight, depressive space as possible.”  She
sighed loudly and he nodded, encouraging her to continue.  “Fortunately, as
yet, this place isn’t anywhere near capacity.  I, uh, suspect the people who
have actually moved in did so because there simply wasn’t anyplace else for
them.”

“What do you
see
,
Belle?”

She sighed.  “I
see a complex nothing like the others Jacob Biggs built.  And … I suspect there
may be a logical explanation for that, and … I suspect that had I done a bit
more digging, I’d have figured it out.  He didn’t build this one, did he?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then who?  And if
not him, why is he taking on the responsibility of finding Rosaria and the
other tenants new homes?”

“I don’t know. 
But we’re going to find out.”  He watched her intently for several long seconds. 
“We should go.”

Back in his car,
Belle watched him.  She noted his mouth was compressed in a hard line, and his
eyes narrowed, as if he were deep in thought.    

“Dare, can I see
that slip of paper you wrote Biggs’ phone number on?” she asked.

He pulled it from
his pocket and passed it to her.  She studied the number, noting Dare had also
written down Biggs’ address.  She didn’t recognize either, and since she had a
veritable photographic memory for numbers, knew for certain these had not been
the phone number and address she had on file for Biggs.

She sighed
loudly.  “I should have dug deeper.” And then it hit her that Dare had managed
a face-to-face meeting with Biggs within days of arriving on the job, when all
communication she’d had with the man had been through phone messages and
correspondence.  Biggs had systematically rejected every attempt she’d made to meet
with him, citing scheduling conflicts each time—or rather,
someone
had
rejected her attempts. 

Belle remembered
Biggs had told Dare he’d never been contacted by her, or Rosaria.  “I should
have searched for an alternative phone number and address,” she mused aloud. 
“How could I have missed it?”

Dare glanced at
her briefly.  “If Biggs, or whoever, hadn’t actually responded to your
inquiries, you would have.  Since you did get responses via the phone and
correspondence, what reason did you have to seek a different number or
address?” he said reasonably.

“I just … should
have.”  She sat quietly for a moment, racking her brain.  “Maybe I do need a
vacation,” she said finally.  “Maybe I really do.”     

Dare steered his
car alongside the curb in front of Belle’s house and parked.  He turned to
her.  “Would you stop beating yourself up?  We don’t know what is going on at
this point.  We certainly don’t know you made any mistakes with the case, if
that’s what you’re thinking.  And, if you did,” he was quick to add, “you are
only human, after all.  We’ll sort it out,” he said cheerfully.

Belle turned to
him with agonized eyes.  “I don’t … make mistakes.”

He chuckled, and
then smoothed a hand through his hair before turning to study her for several
long seconds.  He finally extended a hand to her.  “Wow!  It’s good to meet
you, Miss Perfection.  No mistakes?  I’ve never met anyone else on earth like
you.”

“Well, that’s probably
true,” she said with a disgusted snort.  “I don’t mean to suggest I’m perfect,
it’s just…”

“What?” he
prompted with a chuckle.

“On the job, I’m
usually pretty thorough.”

He nodded, smiling
into her eyes.  “I’ve seen your files, and I have to agree, you are
painstakingly thorough.”    

She shifted
uncomfortably.  “Why would Biggs accept responsibility for something he apparently
didn’t…?”