“Nothing.” She sounded disappointed.
I was experiencing a bit of a letdown myself. I hadn’t really expected that we’d find anything earth-shattering. The police hadlikely gone over the place with a fine-tooth comb, and it wasn’t likely that Freddie would have left a note or sign pointing us to his killer. Even so, it would have been nice to find something to suggest that he’d owed money to a bookie or had wronged someone so severely that they’d want him dead. Since no such clue presented itself, all I had to go on was the information that Bitty and Leona had shared that morning.
Although I nearly told Theo about the fact that the ladies had overheard Freddie arguing with Rosario, I stopped myself. If Theo knew about that, she’d no doubt want to break into Rosario’s apartment next. I, on the other hand, wanted to go home to my own unit. My nerves were shot after one round of breaking and entering. I didn’t think I could handle another in the same day.
Thankfully, Theo had given up on our current search too, so I peeked out into the hall. The coast was clear. We hurried out of Freddie’s apartment, closing the door quietly behind us, and stripped off our purple gloves before heading for the elevator.
“We need to find out if Freddie really did have a girlfriend,” Theo said as I pressed the button on the wall. “The murder could have been a crime of passion.”
“Aren’t you coming?” I asked when she didn’t follow me into the elevator.
“I’ve got an appointment to get to, and I’m supposed to meet my grandparents out front. We’ll reconvene later.”
Chapter
Sixteen
The answer to my internal question of what my next investigative steps should be came to me the following morning. Not because I had a light bulb moment, but because I received an email from Minnie Yang. She’d sent it out to all residents of the building, or at least to those of us who had email addresses, inviting us to a cocktail party that she and her partner, Yolanda Antonopoulos, would be hosting that evening as a sort of celebration of life for Freddie.
Although I had no affection for our building’s deceased superintendent, I didn’t need to be a detective to know that the gathering presented a golden opportunity for learning more about the dead man and what my neighbors thought of him. Of course, I hoped that the person responsible for killing Freddie didn’t live in the building, but there was also a chance that the other residents would know about shifty characters who’d been hanging around or any recent suspicious activity.
I texted Jemma to see if she wanted to come along—I’d already filled her in on my foolish promise to Mrs. Nagy—but she declined, preferring to spend her Saturday evening doing pretty much anything else. I couldn’t blame her. What did it say about my life that I was spending my Saturday evening hanging out at aparty for a sleazy dead guy? I didn’t want to ponder that question too deeply.
I wasn’t sure what to wear to a cocktail party held in honor of a murder victim, but after standing in front of my open closet for several minutes, I settled on a dark gray dress that I used to wear to work when I had an office job. I tied my hair back in a sleek twist, applied a bit of makeup, and slipped into a pair of black heels. All in all, I thought I looked appropriately somber, as well as professional and competent, good qualities for a private detective running her own agency. Not that I was a detective.
The elevator delivered me to the second floor, where the door to Minnie and Yolanda’s apartment stood open. I hadn’t quite known what to expect in terms of attendance. I didn’t think anyone in the building was close to Freddie, unless his mystery lady friend lived at the Mirage. In fact, I was pretty sure he’d never been popular with the residents. Trying to get him to fix things or simply to maintain the common areas was like trying to extract teeth from a cranky crocodile. So I was a little surprised when I entered Minnie and Yolanda’s apartment to find well over a dozen people already there.
Discreet speakers piped quiet jazz music into the high-ceilinged living room, and the kitchen peninsula had been turned into a temporary bar. Bodie stood behind the counter, pouring champagne for Leona and Agnes. Leona was leaning so far over the counter that she was practically sprawled on it, and the neckline of her sparkly purple dress was so revealing that a wardrobe malfunction seemed imminent. No doubt she was flirting with Bodie. He seemed to be taking it in stride, though. He probably had women of all ages throwing themselves at him regularly.
My gaze lingered on him as I admired his strong profile. Maybe he sensed my presence, because he looked my way, and our eyes locked. He sent me a private smile that made my heart flutter. Then Leona put a hand on his arm, and he dragged his attention away from me.
Still standing near the door, I scanned the room, noting that I recognized everyone in attendance. They all lived at the Mirage. Rosario stood with Yolanda and Carmen, apparently chatting about a large painting on the wall, which had Minnie’s signature in the bottom corner. I’d hardly ever spoken with Yolanda, but I’d chatted with Minnie on a few occasions and knew that she was a professional artist. The canvas that currently held the women’s attention was mostly covered in a bronze, textured paint, with what looked like the slim trunk of a birch tree running from top to bottom on an angle. A few black and silver brushstrokes broke up the bronze background, but otherwise there wasn’t much to it. Of course, I knew next to nothing about art, so maybe it was a complicated piece that took weeks to make. I really had no idea.
Leona had finally left the bar—and Bodie—to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Harris, who I figured must be Theo’s grandparents. Theo, however, wasn’t present. She was probably at home with her parents. After all, she didn’t live at the Deco Mirage. At least, that was my understanding. But I didn’t actually know much about Theo.
As Mr. and Mrs. Harris left Leona to speak with another Mirage resident, I took over the floor space they’d vacated.
“Hey, Leona,” I said as I fished the false eyelash out of my clutch. I’d transferred it from the tissue to a plastic baggie. “I found this in the building the other day and wondered if it might be yours?” I wasn’t about to say exactly where I’d picked it up.
Leona peered at the baggie and then waved a hand through the air dismissively, the many rings on her fingers glinting. “Darling, I don’t wear false eyelashes. I’m one hundred percent au naturel.”
It was a good thing I wasn’t drinking any champagne. I probably would have choked on it.
“Besides,” Leona continued, “there’s no point in returning it to its owner. Nobody wants to wear an eyelash that’s been lying about, touching who knows what.”
That I could agree with.
Nevertheless, I returned it to my clutch. I didn’t think Theowould be impressed if I tossed our only piece of evidence in the garbage. Not that Theo was the boss of me.
I snapped my clutch shut. “You know how you and Bitty overheard Freddie arguing with Rosario?”
“Of course I do, darling. My memory is as sharp as Esmeralda’s tongue.”
“Esmeralda?” I wondered if that was a Mirage resident I’d yet to meet.
“My character onPassion City.” Leona’s voice had taken on a slight edge, as if I’d insulted her.
“Right,” I said quickly. I’d never seen a single episode ofPassion City,but I didn’t think it wise to mention that. “But you really don’t know what they were arguing about?”
