Frank Belcher returned to his office with a file folder, which he came close to dropping when he saw Emory seated in front of his desk. “Excuse me, what are you doing in my office unannounced?”
Emory turned toward him, and Frank could see he was on a cell phone. “Thank you.” He hung up and pointed to Frank’s desk phone. “I just left you a voicemail announcing myself.” God, I think Jeff is rubbing off on me.
Frank scrunched his brows together and slapped the file to his desk. “I’m very busy today. I don’t have time—”
“How are you liking your new job?” Emory held his trump card as he tried to feel him out.
Frank descended into his chair. “Fine. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that Corey’s death has been pretty beneficial to you.”
The diminutive man scoffed at the notion. “A ten-percent raise and an even greater increase in responsibility hardly makes up for Corey no longer being here. I miss him.”
Emory placed the information Virginia had printed onto his desk. “I’m sure the $9,000 you deposited into your checking account three days before your former boss was murdered helps temper your nostalgia.”
Frank studied the papers and uttered, “I don’t understand.”
“Your current boss told us that the TVA is losing money, so I’m assuming this money isn’t a bonus. That leaves me with one question. What did you do to earn it?”
Frank became very still. “I swear, I didn’t know about this money. It has to be a mistake.”
“Go ahead, check your account.”
“I don’t have the password.”
“To your computer?”
Frank’s face reddened as he admitted, “To the bank account. My wife handles the finances.”
“Really?” Emory scooted back in his chair. “Okay. Where does your wife work?”
“Edmund’s. It’s a hardware store. One of those twenty-four-hour places. She works the early morning shift.”
“So not a job that would pay her a $9,000 bonus. Do you know where your wife would’ve received such a large sum?”
“Probably from… her brother.” Like a turtle emerging from its shell, Frank found his footing and went with it. “That’s what it is! No mystery. Her brother does really well, and he gives her money sometimes.”
This guy is full of crap, but I can’t prove it right now. “Very well.”
“Listen, I have an offsite meeting I have to get to.” Frank grabbed the file folder from his desk and placed it in his briefcase. “If you have any other questions, please call.”
Jeff waited until he spotted someone – who didn’t matter. Here comes someone now. He jumped out of his rental car and retrieved a cardboard box from the trunk. He hurried along the walkway to catch up with the older man approaching the door of the apartment building. “Could you hold the door for me?”
The man unlocked the secured door and held it open for him. “Are you moving in?”
“Thank you.” Great. Now I have to make small talk. I should’ve picked the lock myself. If only it had been dark and there weren’t so many eyes on this street. “Yes, I just moved here from Nashville.”
“How nice. Are you familiar with our fair city?” The man pushed the elevator call button.
“I’ve been here a few times.”
A chime announced the elevator’s arrival, and the two men stepped inside. “You have to try The Belfry. It’s a wonderful British restaurant. I know the Brits aren’t renowned for their culinary prowess, but trust me on this place. What floor?”
“Huh? Oh, eleventh.”
“Perfect! I’m am too.” He pushed the floor button.
Great!
The man extended a hand but dropped it when he realized Jeff wouldn’t be able to shake. “I’m Sherman, by the way.”
Jeff blurted out the first name to come to mind. “Blake.”
“Nice meeting you, Blake. So which apartment is it? I don’t recall one for rent.”
“I’m subleasing it.”
“Oh. Which one is it?”
“You know, I still haven’t memorized my address. I’ll know it when I see it.” The elevator doors opened into the middle of a hallway, and Jeff nodded to Sherman. “Go ahead. I don’t want to hold you up.”
“Don’t worry about me. You’re the one with the heavy load.” Sherman waved him toward the door.
Damn! Jeff stepped into the hallway and turned around to Sherman.
“Don’t you remember where your apartment is?”
“No, I do. I just wanted to say thanks for welcoming me.”
“No problem at all.”
Why is he not moving? “Where’s your apartment?”
Sherman pointed to his left. “I’m right down there. Apartment 1114.”
Jeff nodded in the opposite direction. “I’m down this way. I’ll see you around.”
The two men went their separate ways. Jeff passed a trash chute in the wall, and he looked to make sure Sherman was no longer in view before dumping the empty box inside. He checked the notes on his phone to find Frank Belcher’s apartment number. “Damn! Apartment 1112?”
Jeff walked back the other way until he found the apartment. Sure enough, it was right beside Sherman’s. From his coat he retrieved his lock-picking kit but waited to use it. I should make sure his wife isn’t home. He knocked, but no one answered. All clear.
The door to apartment 1114 opened. Spoke too soon!
Sherman poked his head out the door. “Sorry, it sounded like my door… Blake?”
Jeff stuffed the kit into his back pocket and pointed to him. “There you are! I thought you said you were in apartment 1112.”
“You were looking for me?”
“Yes. Yes, I was. Would you happen to have a lightbulb? My bathroom light is out, and I don’t have any supplies yet.”
“Of course. What kind do you need? Seventy-five?”
“No, a one-fifty.”
Sherman sucked in air. “Oh, I know I don’t have anything that high.”
“That’s okay then. Thanks anyway.” Jeff began to walk away.
“Sorry,” Sherman closed the door.
As soon as Sherman’s door closed, Jeff got to work on Frank Belcher’s lock, and within a few seconds, he was inside. “Ooh, it’s warm in here.” He was tempted to take off his coat but told himself it wouldn’t be wise. I won’t be here long.
The two-bedroom apartment was tacky but immaculate – every figurine equidistant from the other, every glass shelf dust-free and every gold-plated fixture polished to a garish sheen. From the entryway, he could see a sliding door leading to a balcony on the opposite end of the living room. Jeff forewent that room in favor of the nearest bedroom, which looked to be a combination guest bedroom/office. He wormed around the twin bed with the pink-rose comforter to the pressed-wood desk and searched the drawers but found nothing of interest. He slid open the closet door and found something curious.
Hanging in the closet were several maid uniforms, all the same size but varying in design. “This can’t be his wife’s. She’s as tall as I am and girthier. She couldn’t fit in these small outfits. They have a maid? Is she a live-in?” Jeff closed the closet door and wiped away the sweat accumulating on his forehead as he headed to the dresser. Sure enough, he found women’s underwear and lingerie in the top drawer. “Damn it! I better hurry. Who knows when she’ll be back.”
He headed into the master bedroom, where another sliding door led to the balcony. He had just peered into the closet when he heard keys jingling at the apartment door.
“Shit!” Jeff shouted under his breath. He darted for the sliding door, but as soon as he stepped onto the balcony, he came face-to-face with something that made him almost jump back inside. Two inches from his forehead hovered a shoebox-sized drone.