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I SAT OUTSIDE THE OCEAN Oaks condominium complex in Neptune Beach. There were five units in total, and I had no idea if Carla Weiss was the C. Weiss we were looking for.
As it turned out, Alex found her name in an old white pages she had laying around her house. I had no idea if Carla Weiss had any connection at all to Philip Wetzel or Darcy Car Rental. But it was worth a shot.
The buildings were older with stained white stucco siding. There wasn’t much in the way of landscaping aside from a few flowers planted along the front. For a place called Ocean Oaks, there were only two oaks that I noticed. I guessed they’d been cut down for the retail development across the way.
I looked at the address Alex had given me and walked up three flights of stairs of the garden-style apartment building. A UPS package sat on the ground outside the door of her unit, number three-oh-four. I moved it to the side with my foot and looked down at the name on the label. It was addressed to Carla Weiss.
I knocked on the door. Jimmy Cliff played loud from the other side as I glanced at the peep hole and wondered if anyone was watching me from the other side.
Nobody came to the door, so I knocked again. I used the steel door knocker, and the music was turned down.
I knocked again. “Hello? Anybody home?”
There was a click. A deadbolt popped and slid. The door opened, but only as far as the chain across the top would let it.
Soft, brown eyes popped out from behind the chain holding the door closed. The door was only open five or six inches, but enough for me to see she was dressed in a bikini with a kimono robe.
Her eyes stared at me. “Yes?” is all she said with her somewhat raspy voice.
I watched her, no more than a foot away from where she stood. “Are you Carla Weiss?”
She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowed. She turned and looked behind her before she answered, “Who are you?”
“Henry Walsh.” I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Are you Miss Carla Weiss?”
She still didn’t answer.
“Would you mind if I came inside?” I said.
She stared back at me for a moment. “My boyfriend’s sleeping. And I have no idea who you are.” She raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down. “Mr. Henry Walsh, I’m sorry but I don’t let strangers just walk in my place.”
“He can sleep right through Jimmy Cliff like that, huh? Must be a heavy sleeper.” I looked past her into the apartment. “Lucky.”
Her big brown eyes still on me, she gave me a nod with her chin. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” She turned and looked behind her. “You a cop?”
I shook my head and slid her my business card through the opening. She grabbed it with her long fingers. “Walsh Investigations? You’re a private investigator?”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions, assuming you are Carla Weiss.” I bent down and picked up the small box from the floor. I turned the label toward her. “This for you?”
She closed the door, slid the chain, and opened it again. She pushed the door open and walked away without a word.
I know the smell of pot pretty well and knew the odor floating in the air was just that. And it only intensified as I took a few more steps inside.
There was a square table pushed up against one side of the kitchen with only two chairs on either end of it. There was barely enough room for it, the small amount of space shared by a white refrigerator that seemed to make a lot of noise. The front of it was covered in magnets and pictures. A wooden rack next to the sink was full of dishes and took up half the space on the counter.
Carla—even though she’d yet to confirm at that point that was her name—walked into the adjacent room with a couch, a coffee table, and a small TV that sat on a metal stand across from the couch.
Straight ahead past the furniture was a sliding glass door that led to a balcony. The place wasn’t what I’d call high-end, by any means, but the view was worth a million. Nothing but a row of palm trees separated her condo from Neptune Beach.
There were a few plants and an ashtray on the four-foot wall dividing the kitchen from the room with the TV. Inside the ashtray was half a smoked joint. I could smell it in the air.
Carla walked toward the sliding glass door, the end of her kimono robe trailing behind her long, bare legs. She pulled on the handle and opened the door and looked back toward me over her shoulder. “It’s for medicinal purposes.”
I shrugged. “Not a problem. I hope it’s working for you.”
She said, “I don’t normally let strangers in my home. But you look a little normal.” She raised an eyebrow. “Not that I haven’t been steered wrong judging a man by his looks.”
She walked toward me, reached down and picked up a black, leather purse. She put it over her shoulder and crossed her arms as she stared back at me.
I nodded toward the 9mm in her purse. “You’re not going to need that right now.”
“So are you going to tell me why you’re here. I let a stranger in my place, I’d at least hope he’d have a little more to say.”
“The name C. Weiss was found on a document that’s of, uh...it’s of interest to me. I’m trying to find this person.” I looked past her toward the sliding glass door. “You’re the only person in the area with that last name and whose first initial is a C.”
She watched me for a moment, turned and took a seat on her couch. She placed her purse beside her and turned toward me. “Okay, well I guess you won’t be fooled if I told you my name wasn’t Carla?”
I stared back at her but didn’t even respond.
Carla said, “But you’d have to tell me what this document might be. I have no idea what you’re—”
“Have you ever rented a car from Darcy Car Rental?”
She leaned against the back of the couch and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse. She took one out, stuck it in her mouth and lit it. She closed her eyes as she took a deep drag. She had one arm folded across the front of her chest, the other up in the air with her two long fingers holding the cigarette up near her mouth. She took another drag, lifted her chin and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Darcy?”
“Darcy Car Rental. Your name—or someone with your last name and same first initial—was on an invoice for a car that was rented from there.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Why would I need to rent a car?”
“I don’t know if you’re playing games with me, Carla. But if you’re going to deny it was you—and I’m not promising I’ll believe you—then maybe you know someone else in the area who’d fit the bill?”
She stared up at me for a moment, leaned forward and crushed her cigarette out in the ashtray. She stood up from the couch, made her way out toward the balcony. and turned her head toward me. She gestured for me to follow.
I stepped outside behind her and pulled the door closed behind me.
Carla leaned over the railing, her back to me. Her robe and long blonde hair blew in the gentle, hot breeze. She turned toward me and pulled her kimono closed in front of her. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
“You sure about that? Because, I’ll be honest. The way you’re acting I’m not sure I’m buying any of this.”
She squinted and gave me half a smile. “I don’t know what to tell you. Other than it was nice having you.” She held out my card. “Okay if I hold onto this?”
I pulled open the screen door, stepped back inside and looked toward her through the doorway. “I’ll let myself out. Oh and tell your boyfriend I’m sorry if I woke him up.”
She narrowed her eyes and smiled. “If you must know, that is the one thing I lied about. I don’t have a boyfriend.”