“How did you get so lucky?”
Vicki wore a tight, black Forever 21-style mini skirt and a shirt with buttons fastened so tight, they looked like they were about to burst.
“I’m not sure I follow,” I said.
“That hunky detective boy toy of yours, of course.”
“Ah, Nick. He’s great.”
“And then some,” she said. “He has the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen. And those dimples, oh my.”
She smacked the side of my shoulder. “Good for you.”
I let it slide.
“I wanted to ask you a few more questions,” I said.
She nodded.
“Did Charlotte keep copies of her files here at the office?” I said.
“Which files?”
“Client files and real estate transactions.”
She motioned to the pair of drawers between the two desks.
“We keep all client files for the current year in there. But nothing’s in there now.”
“Why?” I said.
“Charlotte bought new color-coded file folders about a month ago and took them home to switch them over. The old ones were worn out.”
I thought about it, but didn’t remember seeing colored folders when I looked through her house.
“What about the real estate transactions, HUDs?” I said.
“All other documents are kept downstairs in the office manager’s file cabinet. Her name is Wanda. I can call her if you like.”
She picked up the phone.
“You know what; I’ll talk to her on my way out,” I said.
Vicki nodded, putting the phone back on the receiver.
“What about her office computer?” I said, pointing to Charlotte’s empty desk. “Last time I met with you there was one on her desk. It’s gone now.”
“One of the other agents has it. It belonged to the agency, not Charlotte. She never used it much anyway. She always carried her laptop with her.”
“What about her clients? Any problems you know of?” I said.
“Isn’t your focus on that jerk of an ex?” she said. “I don’t see what our clients have to do with what happened to her.”
“It’s my job to explore all the angles,” I said.
She bounced her shoulders up and down. “I suppose. Most of what you want to know I already told that boyfriend of yours.”
“Did Charlotte ever mention Parker’s other women to you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” I said.
“Charlotte kept to herself. She wasn’t the type of person to share personal stuff often. Most of what we discussed was work-related, and to that end, our relationship was good.”
It didn’t seem like there was any point to going down a dead-end road any further.
“Thanks for seeing me again, I appreciate it,” I said.
* * * * *
When I reached the bottom of the stairs and tried the office door, it wouldn’t budge. A brownish name placard on the door read:
WANDA STATTENBERG
OFFICE MANAGER
I tried the door again with more force this time, and it opened. A woman sat inside at a desk. She had short, brittle hair and wore a knitted sweater with a mallard duck on the front. In her hand, she clutched a phone. She stared up at me like I had intruded on her space and then held up a finger to ensure my silence while she continued her phone conversation. I waited along with an array of a hundred or so troll dolls all lined up on a shelf in single-file formation.
Grownups and their toys.
After a three-minute wait, the woman placed the phone on the receiver and then shuffled some paperwork around before she focused in my direction.
“Yes?” she said.
“I’m looking into the death of Charlotte Halliwell and hoped I could get a copy of her files,” I said.
“And you are?”
I took a business card out of my wallet and presented it to her.
She opened the top drawer of her desk, scattered some items around, and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. She put them on and scrutinized the card like I was a drug smuggler attempting to cross the border.
“Well, Sloane Monroe, PI. Can I see the warrant?”
“Technically I’m not with the police. Charlotte’s sister hired me to investigate the circumstances around her death, and I hoped you could––”
“No warrant, no files. I know my rights.”
My usual charm had no impact on her. I tried a more direct approach.
“Could I just take a quick look at the files then?”
She flicked my card over to the side of her desk. “Sure. You bring a warrant, you get the files.”
“I can get the chief on the phone. I’m sure he would give you the go ahead.”
“Then do it,” she said.
I had no way of knowing whether the chief would support me or stall the process so he could take a look at the files first, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Not yet.