Fortune Cookie (Culinary Mystery) (38 page)

“And her?” Sadie asked, pointing to Min’s picture.

Shasta shifted her eyes to Min’s photo. “I don’t know who that girl is.”

“Other tenants said they saw her in the afternoons sometimes—around four o’clock, maybe?”

“I have a
very
busy social calendar, I’m afraid, and I’m simply not here much.”

Other than this morning, Shasta seemed to have been here plenty in the last three days. “Well, thank you,” Sadie said, easing into the meatier portion of the interview. “You’ve lived here ten years, is that right?”

Shasta nodded. “And seven months.”

“And you’ve been waiting for Wendy’s apartment that whole time?”

Shasta rolled her eyes. “If someone had told me in the beginning that I would wait this long, I’m sure I’d have found somewhere else. I always felt she was on the verge of leaving, so I stayed.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Sadie said.

Shasta nodded. Annie whimpered, and Shasta scooped her up, settling the dog in her arms and stroking the pink afro on her head.

“I bet the construction has been frustrating for you,” Sadie said while putting the pictures back in her purse.

“Oh, you have no idea!” Shasta said with more animation than she’d showed up until now. “Mario and his friends have no respect, and I’ve told him as much. They work late into the night—all that banging and stomping had me calling the vet about some antianxiety medication for poor Annie.” She kissed the dog’s head. “But at least they’re almost done. My painters are coming first thing Monday, you know.”

“Wonderful,” Sadie said. She secured her purse closed and then looked directly at Shasta. “It must have been nice not having anyone above you for a little while.”

“Oh, it was,” Shasta said, smiling contentedly. “Made me that much more eager to get on the top floor. Two bedrooms
and
no one above me. Priceless, really.”

She hadn’t yet caught on to the nuances of Sadie’s questions. “So,” Sadie said in an attempt to casually segue, “at what point did you notice that you
weren’t
hearing any footsteps above you?”

Shasta’s hand on Annie slowed slightly and her gaze, which had been nonchalant until now, was suddenly pointed. When she spoke, however, her tone hadn’t changed. “I didn’t think anything of it,” she said easily.

“Really?” Sadie asked. “The other tenants I’ve talked to have commented on the squeaky floors. Wendy’s floor doesn’t squeak?”

“Oh, it squeaked,” Shasta said, her look still too intense for the languid tone of voice.

“Then you must have noticed when it wasn’t squeaking. Wendy didn’t go out much, right?”

Shasta watched her carefully, calculatingly, as she continued to pet her dog. After what seemed like far too long, she finally answered the question. “Mario told me Wendy had gone out of town, so of course I didn’t think anything was out of order.”

“Mario?” How had she and Pete never thought to talk to Mario? There was no way that information could have been in Shasta’s statement to the police—someone would have jumped all over it. Which meant Shasta was throwing him under the bus.

“Yes,” Shasta said, raising her eyebrows. “He’d come to fix a broken outlet and mentioned she was out of town when I commented on how quiet things had been up there.”

By now Sadie had a hundred more questions to ask, and yet wisdom prevailed and she didn’t ask a single one. Things were too precarious in light of this new information. Lin Yang was being interviewed, Stephen Pilings was being tracked down, and the police were on the scent for Rodger too. But even without asking questions, a possibility was laying itself out in Sadie’s mind.

What if, after a few weeks of unusual silence, Shasta went upstairs on her own to find out what was going on with Wendy. What if she found Wendy in the tub, but rather than report it herself—how gauche and bohemian would
that
be?—chose to call Ji instead so that it would be someone else’s problem. It was a weak motivation, but she
was
in line for the apartment and she’d had conflicts with Wendy in the past, or . . . maybe she was the killer.

But that didn’t explain why Mario had told her that Wendy was on vacation. Unless Shasta was lying about that.

Sadie kept her polite smile in place while thinking of what to do next. The police could figure out the missing bits and pieces; Sadie had learned what she’d come for. She reached into her purse and grabbed her phone.

“I’m afraid I’ve got a call,” she said, then held the phone to her ear. “Hi . . . Yeah, I’m just leaving. Hold on.” She moved the phone away from her mouth. “I’ve got to go, Shasta. It was great talking to you.”

“Likewise,” Shasta said, still petting her dog, still looking at Sadie too sharply.

Sadie put the phone back to her ear, turned toward the elevator, and continued her pretend conversation until Shasta shut the door to her apartment.

“Bye,” she said to the nonexistent caller and lowered her phone from her ear. She wished she were at the police station right now. She wanted to read Shasta’s official statement, and she wanted to know if
anyone
had thought to talk to the maintenance man who had access to every room in every building of Stephen Pilings’s properties.

Sadie started texting Pete as she walked toward the elevator. It was hard to condense her thoughts to an appropriate text message, and she deleted her first attempt and started a second one. The pulleys of the elevator began to creak when she was still a few feet from the elevator.

The car, which had been on the second floor, began descending to the main floor. Sadie frowned at the delay it was going to cause her in regard to getting to the police station, but she still had this text to send anyway. Whether Shasta was in league with Stephen and Rodger or acting on her own behalf, Sadie had no way of knowing, but she believed that Shasta had known Wendy was dead and called Lin Yang.

Sadie pushed the down button, then glanced down the open elevator shaft, curious to see who had beat her to it. She couldn’t see much through the cables and grates. She finished the text, tapped her foot impatiently—for all its charm, the elevator was on the slow side—and then saw the stairs. Duh. She was three steps down when the elevator clunked into place below. The person who entered spoke, and Sadie halted mid-step, with one foot in the air. It was a man’s voice. And he was angry and . . . sounded familiar.

“Would I be here if I didn’t know better than to call his phone?”

Sadie was sure she’d heard that voice before, though not that tone. No one answered the man’s angry question, which led her to believe he was on the phone. She leaned closer to the shaft, eager to hear something else or catch a glimpse of his face, but she heard the elevator door lock into place instead and then the elevator began moving, drowning out his voice.

She waited a split second before she ran back up the stairs to the second floor, crossed in front of the elevator and started on the next flight. She paused long enough to see if the elevator stopped on the second floor, but it kept going. She took the stairs more slowly now, trying to stay just barely ahead of the elevator. When it got closer to her position, she heard the voice again.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten who had this brilliant idea in the first place, Steve.”

Sadie gasped as recognition of the voice dawned: Rodger Penrose! She ran up the rest of the steps as fast as she could, afraid he might see her. What was he doing here? And he was talking to Stephen Pilings on the phone? Holy cow!

She reached the third floor and found herself facing a serious decision. It had been a while since Sadie had purposely put herself in a questionable situation to learn new information. Pete would want her to leave but . . . the door to Wendy’s apartment stood slightly ajar and the sound of Mario’s music came from inside. Mario was the only person on this floor that Rodger could be here to talk to. Mario had become very important in the last two minutes.

Sadie looked behind her. The top of the elevator was nearly flush with the third floor; there was no time for second-guessing. She entered Wendy’s apartment and closed the door behind her. She looked around to make sure Mario was still in the bathroom. She walked quickly on the balls of her feet into the dark office—thank goodness she’d taken the time to close the blinds last night. She stood behind the door that was open just enough for her to look through the two-inch gap between the door and the jamb and still remain hidden in the shadows. She reached into her pocket for her phone, quickly turned off the sound, and texted Pete.

Rodger’s coming to Wendy’s apartment and I’m listening. I think Mario’s involved.

Chapter 35

Mario!”

Despite knowing she was well-hidden, Sadie pulled back at the sound of Rodger’s voice and pressed the phone against her thigh. A second later Rodger came into view, stopping just past the kitchen counter. He was wearing a white shirt and tie today, with slacks and shiny shoes—every part the white-collar executive.

“Mario!” he called again.

The Latin music stopped. Rodger turned toward the bedroom door. His back was to Sadie, but she assumed Mario had come out to meet him since he stopped before going into the room. She could hear the lilting accent of Mario’s voice, but couldn’t make out any words. She leaned a bit closer, but then Rodger turned around, facing her. She pulled back as he paced toward her, gripping his hair in his fingers and swearing over and over. She held her breath, then let it out slowly when he turned and stomped back toward Mario, who said something Sadie couldn’t hear over Rodger’s ranting.

“No, everything is not okay,” Rodger yelled. “The police want another interview with Stephen—at the police department.”

Mario came further into the room. He wore a tool belt around his waist and had his arms crossed over his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. “The police know nothing,” he said with confidence, his voice not as thickly accented as it had been the day Pete and Sadie had met him for the first time.

Sadie’s stomach fluttered at the confirmation that Mario
was
in on this.

“Then why are they questioning him again?” Rodger swore a few more times.

Sadie’s phone hadn’t vibrated to indicate Pete responding to her text, and she felt her anxiety building with the idea that she was alone in a dangerous situation. This was not a good time for him to not be reading his text messages.

Mario said something she couldn’t hear, and Rodger whipped back around and yelled in response, causing Sadie to startle slightly behind the door.

“What do you mean, she’s a cop?”

“No, no, no,” Mario said as though Rodger’s rage was trite and juvenile. He stepped around Rodger and leaned against the kitchen counter, one ankle crossed over the other. “The sister’s boyfriend is a
retired
cop. They been trying to figure things out all week.”

The red of Rodger’s face darkened and his eyes bulged. “What! Why didn’t you tell us this?”

“I told Mr. Pilings of the things they talked about. He said it was ‘under control.’” Mario cocked his head to the side. “He says that a lot.” His tone had lost its playful spark.

“You know I’ve done everything I can to help your situation,” Rodger said, his agitation humbled slightly. “I made sure the paperwork was finally filed, I paid up the attorney fees; I really went to bat for you, Mario.”

“But my family is still not here,” Mario said, an edge to his words. “I have waited for months. I have done everything Mr. Pilings has asked of me, and they are still not here.” One arm shot out toward the bathroom. “Even after this, my family is not here, and once again he is saying that everything is under control when he does not know this is so.”

Rodger glowered at the other man. “If you’d taken the body out immediately like we agreed to and staged it as a disappearance, none of this would have happened. She didn’t have anyone who was going to come looking for her, and we could have—”

Mario cut him off with a humorless laugh. “
Everyone
has come looking for her.”

“Because of that fire,” Rodger said, his own tone rising. “Like I said, if you’d stuck to the plan then—”

“Then my family would still be waiting. I told Mr. Pilings that I would remove the body as soon as I had proof that my family’s papers were complete.”

Rodger shook his head and turned toward the window. “Things don’t happen that fast, Mario. The red tape involved in immigration right now is insane.”

“But he did nothing until he was the one in danger, did he?”

Rodger seemed to give up the argument. He took a breath and let it out, an expression of sympathy softening his face and his tone. “Steve said he’d talked to you in the beginning about what would happen if the police got too close to him. That’s why I’m here—to put that plan in motion. I’m sorry.”

Mario’s face hardened even more. “After all of this I am to go back to Mexico?” There was a growl to his words, a low-level thunder that emphasized what he thought of the idea. Mario’s chest swelled as his rage increased, the veins in his neck bulging. “I have fixed Mr. Pilings’s buildings, I have played his games with the promise that he would bring my family to me, and now I have killed for him! He is the reason for all of this!” He spread his hands wide, like an umpire calling a runner “safe,” but he lost none of his fervor.