18: Gossipy Old Women

 

By the time I made it back to my apartment and was trying to find my keys in my purse, I wasn’t mad at Sonya for dragging me into a double date anymore. The movie was actually pretty good, and Puck behaved himself the entire night. I suspected Sonya had warned him I was in a terrible mood. It was the least she could do.

“What was Darren Mulley doing knocking on your apartment door a few hours ago?” Baxter asked, scaring me into dropping my keys.

Glancing over at him holding a basket of laundry while I stooped to pick up my keys, my lips twisted into a sneer. “Why do you care?”

“That man is a menace. He thinks any woman under the age of forty is just dying to jump into bed with him, and he won’t back off until they do.”

“Did you take a picture of him at my door?” I asked with false sweetness. “You could send that to Bernadette, too.”

Baxter dropped his laundry basket next to his door and strode over to me. I jammed my key in the lock, intent on getting away from him, but he was right next to me before I could make an escape. “I’m serious, Eliza. Don’t get involved with him.”

I glared at him and said, “I’m so glad you hold me in such high esteem. If you think I would ever let someone like Darren…” I shivered just thinking about it. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s coming to fix the oven. I told him I’d be out tonight, but I guess he didn’t believe me. I wouldn’t have even gone to him for help, but Mrs. Osgood was trying to be helpful and asked him to fix it for me and I couldn’t come up with enough excuses to get out of it.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I glared at him, daring him to offer up another piece of unwanted advice or criticism. “Are you happy now?”

“I was just offering a warning. Darren is the main reason Bernadette never got the oven fixed.”

“Your warning about Darren is completely unneeded. The oven, that one would have been helpful, but thanks anyway.”

I turned away and unlocked my door. I was halfway to peace and quiet when Baxter said, “I didn’t get home until right as your smoke detector stopped beeping.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. By the time I turned around, he had already picked up his laundry and was closing his apartment door behind him. Sighing, I pushed into my apartment, locked the door, and went to bed.

 

***

“Don’t hate me,” Sonya said as soon as I answered her call.

Dreading the rest of the conversation, I still had to ask. “Why would I hate you?”

“I can’t come over. Apartment one-twelve just had their water heater blow. The plumber I called walked me through getting the water shut off, but there’s already so much water, it’s seeping into the neighboring apartments. I can’t leave.”

“Of course I’m not mad. That is way more important,” I said. “Do you need help?”

“No, it’s okay. The residents are helping. Any more people in here and we’ll be tripping over each other. I have a plumber and water damage crew on their way already,” she said.

Honestly, it would have been a great way to get out of Darren fixing my oven, but I didn’t want to get in her way. “Okay, but let me know if you need something.”

“Thanks, Eliza. I better get going. Be careful around Darren,” she said. “I’ve gotten more than one complaint about him.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insisted.

After ending the call, I sat at my kitchen table pouting for a while before deciding to be a grown up. I spent the next hour scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom. Given that it was rarely used by my sister for more than microwaving meals and leftovers, it wasn’t nearly as big of a task as cleaning up at the end of the night at the diner usually was. I was putting away dishes when someone knocked. Looking at the clock, I frowned. He was half an hour early.

Might as well get it over with. I walked toward the door, putting up all my barriers. I hadn’t even attempted looking nice. After cleaning the kitchen, I was sure I looked even less appealing than before. Add in the scowl I was sporting, and I hoped it would be enough to send a strong message. I pulled open the door and sighed.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sonya called and said you might need some backup, though why she didn’t call this boyfriend you keep saying you don’t have, I’ve got no idea,” Baxter said.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. Sonya only said that to Darren so he wouldn’t get any ideas.” I frowned, squaring my shoulders as I stared at him. “How’d you know about that anyway? You weren’t at dinner last night.”

“No, but Sonya’s grandmother was and she’s the worst gossip in this building. Told me all about your conversation from last night while I was trying to get my mail in peace this morning.” He gestured for me to move out of the way, and stepped around me when I budged half an inch. He settled himself on my couch as if he owned the place.

“She thought your interest in Ms. Sinclair was endearing. So nice that you’d want to know about the history of this place and the people who lived here.” He rolled his eyes. “Talking to her about your little investigation probably isn’t wise if you don’t want your interest getting back to whoever’s been ghosting through this place killing people and breaking into apartments.”

I cringed at the implications. I hadn’t considered she might tell someone. There weren’t many people I could talk to about what might have happened back then. She was pretty much it, and I’d been desperate for something I could use. I could only hope that if whoever wanted what Ms. Sinclair had been hiding heard about my questions, they’d take it as a sign I was trying to do what they’d asked.

Rubbing my forehead, I dropped onto the couch as well. Ms. Sinclair’s apartment was close to being emptied out. We hadn’t found a single thing that told us what was causing so much trouble or why anyone wanted it. The new tenants would move in on Saturday. Whoever grabbed me from the club would be back then, expecting me to hand over the key to this fifty-year-old mystery. I feared the secret had died with the most hated woman in the building, and I was going to pay for her mistakes.

“Who is Donny Marsh?” Baxter asked, no hint of anything other than curiosity in his voice, for once.

I looked up, not sure what would have spawned the question, and caught sight of all my research scattered on the coffee table. I really didn’t want to talk to Baxter. I didn’t know if he was being honest when he said he hadn’t been home the day before to hear my alarm going off. But, as much as he infuriated me, he’d come to my aid too many times to think he’d really stand by and let me burn up in my apartment if he thought it was a possibility.

Giving up on figuring it out, I reached for the loose piece of paper I’d been scratching notes on the day before. Biggest among all the questions was Donny’s name with a big question mark written next to it. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s connected to all the clippings we found in Ms. Sinclair’s apartment, but I don’t know how. He vanished in his early twenties, about the same time Ms. Sinclair moved into the building, before she argued with Bobby Porter about whatever it is the killer wants back.”

Baxter’s brows raised in surprise. “You’ve figured all that out?”

“It’s hardly anything at all,” I argued. “Pieces of the puzzle, but no clue what the final image is supposed to be. I can’t make sense of it all.”

“What have you been able to find out about Donny?”

I looked over at him, studying his expression. Was he really interested? Maybe he was just humoring me. Aside from suggesting the missing Mouser was still in the building somewhere, he hadn’t shown even an ounce of interest in figuring out what was going on. He’d practically sprinted away from the discussion yesterday when Sonya asked him if he wanted to help. Now he was interested? Baxter was as big of a puzzle as Ms. Sinclair’s murder.

“Very little,” I said. “We found Census records of him as a child and young adult, and then nothing. I’ve tried internet searches and gotten nothing. I tried military service records, too, and didn’t find anything. It may not be late enough since they only release info sixty-two years after discharge, and whatever happened to tie all these people together was about fifty years ago, judging by what Mrs. Osgood said.”

“What about police records?” Baxter asked.

I looked over at him in surprise. “Can regular people look at police records? I thought those would be classified or something.”

“You’re not going to get access to active investigations, but you can request to review past cases.” He frowned. “It can take a while, though. Requests have to be submitted in writing.”

The hope I’d felt a few seconds ago crumbled. “I don’t have that long.”

“No,” he said, “you don’t.” Looking over at me, his expression grew serious. “I have a friend who owes me a favor. Maybe he can look into this Donny guy and see if anything comes up. If something really did happen to him, there should be a police report about it. Do you have more info than just his name?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. I shuffled through my notes and papers to find where I’d written down all his personal information. I shoved it at Baxter. “Will this be enough?”

He scanned the information and nodded. “If there’s anything to find, this should be plenty.”

I wanted to thank him, but I didn’t know how to. It felt foreign, even though he’d helped me probably more than anyone else in this city since moving here. Baxter helping me usually inspired some kind of fight, and I hesitated saying anything for fear of setting one off again.

Another round of knocking made me jump. This time I was sure it was Darren, and my pulse jumped as well. I tried to remind myself that Baxter was here to keep an eye on him, but I never knew what Baxter was going to do in any given situation. Standing, I curled my fingers into fists and squeezed them before shaking out the nerves collected in my hands. When I opened the door, I was calm enough to put up a good front.

“Darren.”

“Eliza,” he drawled.

I looked down at the rectangular heating element in one hand and the tool box in the other. I’d worried he’d try to drag this out and show up to “look around” first. Glad he hadn’t tried something like that, I pulled the door open wider. I could tell the moment Baxter sitting on my couch came into his view. His expression soured for a moment before morphing back into what he probably thought was a sexy smile.

“Show me the way,” he said.

Yeah, like I was going to walk in front of him and let him stare at my ass. Not going to happen. Pointing at the kitchen, I said, “Right there.” I waited until he walked past me before heading back to the couch, my eye on him the entire time.

Darren opened the oven door and dug around in his toolbox. “What’s your blonde boyfriend think about you hanging out with Baxter, here?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Baxter’s helping me with something. My boyfriend isn’t threatened by that.” I thought I sounded like an idiot, but I was willing to let everyone in the building believe Puck and I were an item if it kept this letch away from me. Wait. How did he know Puck was blonde? Had he been watching for him to show up? I shivered at the thought. If I didn’t die in the next week, I was going to have to do something about this sicko.

“Helping you, huh?” Darren said. He reached around the oven and unplugged it. “You sure seem to need an awful lot of help.”

He had no idea.

“Just fix the oven,” Baxter grumbled. “We don’t need to play twenty questions while you work. We’re in the middle of something.”

Darren’s falsely apologetic expression made me roll my eyes. He laughed. “Help with what, exactly?”

Baxter looked up from the notes he was reading and met Darren’s slippery gaze with his hard-edged one. “Filing a sexual harassment suit.”

Blinking in surprise, Darren didn’t seem to know whether Baxter was joking or threatening him. He hesitated a moment before saying, “I thought you help illegals find loopholes to stay in the country.”

Anger set Baxter’s jaw and tightened his grip. “I’m an immigration lawyer, you jackass. I help people apply for citizenship, litigate deportation proceedings, or request asylum, but I’m more than capable of helping a young woman go after someone for unwanted sexual advances, as well.”

“I was just asking,” Darren said. Another second or two trying to stand up to Baxter’s glare, and he gave in. His mouth shut and the only noises he made were involved in removing the broken heating element.

I was glad he was looking away when my shoulders slumped in relief. The last thing I wanted was to show Darren how much he intimidated me.

“Tell me what else you’ve found,” Baxter said in a low voice Darren wouldn’t overhear.

We spent the next half hour going over everything Sonya and I had learned. He gave me a disapproving look when I told him about Jake breaking into Lucas’s phone to go through his texts and emails, but he got over his affront when I showed him the message about Ms. Sinclair thinking someone was trying to kill her. It all still seemed like a mess by the time I finished explaining, but Baxter took it all in with thoughtful patience.

“What did the Marsh’s do for a living?” he asked. “The parents, not the children.”

Unable to remember off the top of my head, I dug back through my notes to find the sheets I’d printed from the Census reports. Reading the old script was a challenge. It took me a few minutes to find the right answer box and read the looping letters. When I finally figured it out, I sat back against the couch in surprise. “They were jewelers.”

“Not the same shop Ms. Sinclair worked at, though, right?”

“No, it wasn’t. She worked at a shop in the neighborhood where she grew up in Battery Park, a few blocks away. It’s still there, actually. I looked it up online, and the grandson runs it now.” I looked at the address of the Marsh’s jewelry store. “This was in SoHo, on Canal Street.”

I quickly typed the address into a search and was disappointed when it popped up as a bodega. “It’s gone.”

Baxter leaned forward, then copied the address down on the corner of the paper I’d given him with Donny’s information on it. “I’ll see if my friend can look into this address, too. Maybe the business closing has something to do with Donny’s disappearance.”

I nodded, relieved to feel like there might actually be some answers to be had.

“Are any of Donny’s siblings still alive?” Baxter asked.

“His youngest brother, but he lives in West Virginia now. I tried calling, but it was a rest home and they said he wasn’t able to speak anymore because of a stroke.”

“What about one of the grandchildren?”

I had the names of Donny’s nieces and nephews from the Census records, but I hadn’t had a chance to look any of them up yet. Without answering Baxter’s question, I started typing in names and cross checking results with the information I already had. Neither of Janet’s children lived in the area. Martin’s only child had passed away a few years ago. The youngest sibling, Colton, had four children. The oldest lived in Northern California, one was in Ohio, one in Texas, and the youngest…still lived right here in Manhattan, in the East Village.

“Start with her,” Baxter said, “Margaret Lenox.”

“What do you think the chances are she’ll know anything?” I asked.

Baxter shrugged. “If your uncle vanished one day out of the blue, wouldn’t that be something you’d want to know about?”

“What if it’s a family secret?”

“Family secrets tend to rise to the surface no matter how deep of a hole you dig to hide them,” Baxter said. “She’ll know something. Even if it’s not much, it will give us something to look into.”

Us? Did Baxter intend on continuing to help me, or was he only saying that because Darren was still puttering around inside the oven?

Before we could discuss a possible next step, Darren pulled his head out from inside the oven and stood. I watched as he plugged the power cord back in and flipped on the heating element. I may have flinched a little. Not only was Darren not licensed for this, I half expected him to screw it up so he could come back and fix it again. When the element began to glow a faint orange, he gestured at it grandly.

“Good as new,” he said, clearly expecting applause or a grateful kiss on the mouth. He got neither.

“Thanks. Looks great,” I said. I gestured at his tools still strewn around the kitchen. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I have some homework for my cooking classes I need to do in here.”

“I could stay and help with that, too, if you wanted,” he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

Sighing, I ignored him and walked back over to the couch. Baxter shook his head in disgust. At least we were on the same page on this one. When Darren moved to turn off the oven, I told him to leave it, that I needed the oven on for my imaginary homework. He shrugged and set about collecting his tools. It took way longer than necessary, and I just about shoved him out the door when he finally had everything in hand. As soon as I shut the door, Baxter moved to stand.

“I guess I should let you get to your homework,” he said.

I snorted. “I totally made that up.”

He gestured at the oven. “Why did you have him leave it on then?”

“Last time it didn’t start smoking until it had been on for about twenty minutes,” I explained. “I want to make sure it really works, but I did not want him sticking around that long.”

“Ah,” Baxter said. “Still, you’d probably prefer an empty apartment.”

His hand was on the armrest, ready to push himself to standing, but he hesitated and I found I wasn’t ready to be left alone quite yet. “Actually, would you mind staying? The oven might still explode, and I need to call Margaret. Maybe you could…wait?”

The muscles of his shoulders stayed bunched, then relaxed as he sat back down. “Sure.”

I eyed the oven warily as I sat next to Baxter. It seemed innocent enough, but you could never quite tell. Putting the oven and the unwanted repairman out of my mind, I looked at the notepad where I’d written down Margaret’s number. I wasn’t entirely sure what to say to her, but I picked up my cell phone and started dialing.

She picked up after three rings. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Margaret Lenox?”

“Yes, this is Maggie,” she said happily.

“Your dad is Colton Marsh, right?”

She was a little slower to reply. “Yes.” She paused, then continued. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Eliza Carlisle. I know this will sound weird, but I wanted to ask you about your uncle Donny, about his disappearance.” I held my breath, begging her to hear me out and not hang up.

“Why?” she asked slowly. “Why would you want to know about a fifty-year-old disappearance? Are you a journalist?”

“No, I’m a culinary student.” Why did I tell her that? Shaking my head, I tried again. “That doesn’t have anything to do with anything. I’m calling because one of my neighbor’s was murdered recently, and I know this is going to sound weird, too, but I think it’s connected to your uncle’s disappearance.”

There was a long, long moment of silence. My hands were shaking as I waited for her to say something. “Look,” she said, “I have to take my daughter to the airport in a few minutes. Is there another time we can talk? Maybe meet somewhere?”

Caught off guard by her offer, I stumbled over a response. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to hold you up. Meeting would be great. Maybe…I work nights all week, but I guess…do you know where Saul’s Diner is? You could come after the dinner rush and we could talk then.”

“Saul’s Diner,” she said, sounding uncertain. “Text me the address. My evenings are booked until Wednesday, but I could meet you then. Will that work?”

“Yes, that would be great,” I said, even though I would have crawled to the East Village if it meant I could have spoken with her earlier.

She hurriedly gave me her cell number before saying, “Great, I’ll see you then. I really have to run now.”

“Of course, thank you.”

She ended the call and I fell back against the couch completely spent. It took more effort than it should have to text her the diner’s address and the best time for her to show up. I thought I might just sit there for the rest of the day. I’d almost forgotten Baxter was sitting next to me until he spoke.

“I can be there on Wednesday if you’re worried about meeting her alone.”

I looked over at him, surprised, but not shocked. It was getting harder and harder to be shocked by him. I wasn’t worried about meeting with this woman. She didn’t seem to be hiding anything. In fact, there was a tone of eagerness in her voice to share what she knew. Maybe it was knowing someone cared about what had happened to her uncle when the rest of the world seemed to have forgotten him. Of all the decisions I’d made since moving here that might be deemed questionable, this was the least risky. That wasn’t the answer I gave Baxter.

“I’d really appreciate that. Thanks, Baxter.” He shrugged, like it didn’t matter one way or another. I suspected it might have been curiosity more than concern that prompted the offer, but I was going to take it, either way. I didn’t ask him to come purely for protection. He was smart, and saw things I didn’t. If I wanted to survive the week, I needed his quick mind in my corner.

Standing, I turned to look at Baxter. “Since my oven is no longer trying to kill me, would you like some lunch?”

“More burnt chicken?” he asked, the corner of his mouth teasing at a smile.

Gotta love gossipy old women. “Toasted pastrami and Swiss,” I said.

Baxter stood, but he didn’t look directly at me. “You really don’t need to.”

“I want to,” I said. “As a thank you for today, and all the other times, and because I feel like being nice.”

“To me?” Baxter asked.

I widened my eyes purposely. “Shocking, right?” I smiled, and this time he returned it.

“Sure, I guess.” He moved hesitantly toward the kitchen as if he were afraid of invading my space. “Do you need any help?”

Normally, I would have said no—not just to him, but to anyone—but the truth was, when he wasn’t yelling at me about one thing or another, I actually kind of liked having him around. “The Swiss cheese is in the fridge.”

He nodded and stepped in that direction. He grabbed out the package of deli cheese and the pastrami sitting on the top shelf. He set them on the counter and started unwrapping the packages without me asking. It was strangely comfortable to share the space with him.