All Natural Murder (8 page)

Ashlee waved her hand. “Good luck. Half the time, that guy’s too stoned to make a sentence.”

“Great, I can’t wait to talk to him.” I stepped out of the car, then leaned back in. “Guess it’d help if I knew which apartment.”

“Follow the stink of ganja.”

“Ashlee.”

“Twenty-seven. It’s the second building back.”

I slammed the door shut and stepped onto the walkway, following it along the side of the closest building. The complex had eight or ten buildings, as far as I could tell, each two stories tall with four apartments per building. Once I got around to the back of the first building, I could see that each apartment had a small patio or balcony. Someone had draped a large beach towel over the nearest railing. Below it, planters hung above a patio.

I moved to the next building and checked the numbers on the side. Number twenty-seven was the ground-floor apartment on the right. A hibachi grill was visible through the fence slats, along with a couple of cheap lawn chairs. I went up the walk and under the stairs, where I stopped and stared at the door. Was I an idiot for going into the apartment alone? Did Stump kill Bobby Joe?

Even if he did, surely he wouldn’t kill me with the sun still shining and neighbors so close. I knocked on the door.

Music pulsed through the thin wood. As I raised my hand to knock louder, the door flew open. The smell of pot hit me full force, and I staggered back, coughing.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” the guy who opened the door asked. I could only assume this was Bobby Joe’s half-baked roommate. He wore denim shorts and a T-shirt that had a picture of a lawn on it and said, “I Love Grass.” His feet were bare, but I just knew he had a pair of flip-flops lurking nearby. His brown hair hung well past his collar, a scruffy beard covered his chin, and as he spoke, I could see bits of food in his teeth.

As I fanned the air in front of my face, another guy slipped around the first. He glanced at me on his way by, his intense gray eyes the color of thick ice, and I was momentarily mesmerized.

“Later, dude,” he called over his shoulder as he headed down the walk.

I cleared my throat a couple of times, trying to rid myself of smoke. “I’m Ashlee’s sister,” I said to the guy who had answered the door. “I stopped by for some stuff she left here.”

“Right on, dude. I’m Stump. Come on in.”

And here I’d thought Ashlee might be lying about his name.

He stepped back to allow me to enter, but I paused. What if Detective Palmer stopped by for some of Bobby Joe’s personal effects? Would I end up in jail for being in an apartment where someone was smoking pot, even if I wasn’t?

Stump seemed to understand my hesitation. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve got a medical marijuana card. It’s all good.”

Well, in that case. I moved past him into the apartment, taking shallow breaths to limit how much pot I inhaled. I wasn’t sure if someone could get high from secondhand smoke, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.

Stump closed the door, crossed the tiny living room, and twisted a knob on the stereo. The volume of the music dropped a few decibels. He settled on a threadbare plaid couch he’d probably retrieved from a Dumpster and stared at the giant-screen TV eight feet from his face.

I waited for a moment, but he didn’t move.

“So, um, any idea where Ashlee’s stuff might be?” I asked.

Stump blinked a couple of times. “What? Oh, right. Probably Bobby Joe’s room, if the fuzz didn’t take everything already.” He gestured vaguely to a short hallway on the other side of the living room, where I could see three doors.

I tried the closest one and found myself in a bathroom, illuminated by a night light. The shower curtain showed streaks of something, and the toilet bowl looked suspiciously dark. I shut the door before I felt the need to call my doctor for antibiotics.

I tried the next room, flicking on the light. Every wall was covered with posters of monster trucks, each with names like Black Stallion and Eradicator. I stepped inside, shut the door, and allowed myself to breathe a little deeper. The bed was unmade, jeans and T-shirts were strewn across the floor, and a half-eaten slice of pizza was growing mold in an open box.

I felt a wave of sadness as I surveyed the remains of Bobby Joe’s life. No one had bothered to come in and clean up. Did he have any family? Anyone close by? I hadn’t even asked Ashlee if a service was planned.

The only other furniture in the room besides the bed was a beat-up desk. I sorted through a handful of papers on the scratched surface. Each was a pencil drawing of a monster truck, some doing wheelies, some upside down, and one doing some corkscrew maneuver that defied gravity. Notes were scribbled at the bottom of each page. Bobby Joe had been quite the artist.

I shoved those papers to the side and uncovered an assortment of receipts, movie-ticket stubs, and loose change. The desk seemed to be his dumping ground when he emptied his pockets at the end of the day. I poked among the papers and found an ATM receipt from two days before Bobby Joe’s death. He’d withdrawn a hundred dollars, leaving an account balance of two hundred and seventy-six dollars. Not exactly rolling in dough, unless he had a secret offshore account somewhere. Based on the sparse furnishings, that seemed unlikely. I opened the desk drawers but didn’t find anything worth noting. And there was no sign of Ashlee’s iPod.

My phone rang, and recognizing Ashlee’s ring tone, I pulled it out of my pocket. “What?” I didn’t hide my irritation.

“How much longer are you going to be? The car’s getting hot.”

“Take a walk outside.” I kicked at a heap of clothes as I talked, but only the dingy, stained carpet lay underneath.

“Forget it. A nosy neighbor already came out and pretended to water her flowers while she tried to spy on me. That old biddy’s always poking around.”

Old biddy? Was my sister watching Andy Griffith reruns? “I’ll be out in a bit. I still need to talk to Stump.”

“Well, hurry up, would ya?” She clicked off without saying good-bye.

Nothing like a little gratitude when you were trying to clear your sister of a murder rap.

The floor of Bobby Joe’s closet held three pairs of shoes and a pair of heavy work boots. On one side of the clothing rod, a heavy jumpsuit much like the one in Crusher’s cabin hung from a plastic hangar that sagged from the weight. A black helmet with lightning bolts sat on the shelf over the rod.

Stepping to the bed, I hefted the thin mattress and checked underneath, as I’d seen detectives do on TV. Only a box spring with holes in the thin fabric greeted me. I had no idea whether the police had already searched through Bobby Joe’s belongings and taken some items. I had to assume they had, though it was impossible to know if the cops had left this mess or if it was Bobby Joe’s natural state.

Disappointed that I hadn’t found a note with a list of people who hated Bobby Joe or maybe a diary full of blackmail evidence or even Ashlee’s iPod, I dropped the mattress back down and left the room, switching off the light on my way out.

As I shut the door, the smell of pot wafted down the hall and tickled my nose. I went back to my shallow-breathing routine. I was definitely going to keep my questions brief.

Stump sat on the couch, staring at a group of meerkats on the TV. The sound was off, and the stereo in the corner still blared rock music. He smiled at the animals and sipped a beer.

“Thanks for letting me look in Bobby Joe’s room,” I said, stepping in front of the giant screen so he couldn’t miss me.

Stump lowered his beer can and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, when’d you get here?”

I couldn’t picture this guy clubbing Bobby Joe over the head. It required too much effort. Too much concentration. “You let me in a few minutes ago, remember?”

He squinched his eyes, apparently in deep concentration, then smiled. “Yeah, dude, right on.”

At least Ashlee hadn’t hooked up with this guy. Bobby Joe was starting to look like Bachelor of the Year.

I sat on the other corner of the worn couch, the thin cushion flattening even more under my weight. “Were you and Bobby Joe roommates for a long time?”

Stump scratched his beard. “Uh, a year, I think.”

“So you must have known all of Bobby Joe’s friends. Can you tell me about them?” I suspected Stump could barely remember what he’d had for lunch today, but maybe he’d surprise me.

“Bobby Joe’s friends didn’t really come here much. He was dating some hot chick for a while, a real nice piece of tail.” He squinted at me. “Wait, that’s your sister, right?”

“Right.” I’d be sure to pass the compliment along. “Did Bobby Joe ever talk about people who might want to harm him? Anyone who held a grudge?”

Stump took a swig of beer and burped. “We didn’t talk about anything that deep, man. Mostly sports and stuff. Bobby Joe spent most of his time in his room when he was home. I think it’s cause I play my Christian Rock so loud.” He gestured with his can at the stereo.

“You like Christian Rock?” Guess he didn’t actually listen to the words.

“You bet. I’m way spiritual. Go to church every Sunday.”

I sniffed the air and wondered if he kept his nice church clothes in the car so they wouldn’t reek.

“So you can’t help me with Bobby Joe?” I asked. If Stump couldn’t provide anything new, I wanted to go home, breathe some fresh air, and wash my clothes.

“Naw. Everything was going great for him, man. He was real jazzed about this monster truck rally. Thought it’d be his big break.”

Exactly what Ashlee had said. Maybe Bobby Joe had more ambition than I’d given him credit for.

“Well, thanks again. I’ll let myself out.”

He hadn’t actually moved, but I figured I’d say that anyway.

I stepped outside, closed the door, and took three deep breaths of muggy air. Heaven. An African American woman on the patio directly in front of me was watering the geraniums in her hanging pots, only she was mostly watering the cement as she tried to surreptitiously watch me and kept missing the plants. Perhaps this was the neighbor Ashlee said was spying on her.

With a little wave, which the woman ignored, I followed the path out to the front and stopped at the curb. I looked to the left, then to the right, then in front of me again.

My car was gone.

And so was Ashlee.

I stared at the empty parking space, as if my car might magically materialize, then yanked my cell from my pocket and speed-dialed Ashlee. As I listened to first one ring, then another, a whisper of panic started in my stomach and slithered its way up my throat. I’d left her alone in an iffy neighborhood. What if someone had decided to steal my car and Ashlee along with it?

Ashlee answered on the third ring. “Hey, you finally done?”

Guess she hadn’t been kidnapped. I scanned the street, wondering if she had parked out of view, playing a little prank on her older sister.

“Where are you?” I asked. “And where’s my car?”

“Don’t get all bent out of shape. I told you it was too hot to sit out there, so I drove over to Get the Scoop.”

My earlier thread of panic twisted into a knot of anger. “Get back here and pick me up.” I could barely get the words out from between my clenched teeth.

“Relax, I’ll be right there. I’m almost done with my cone, anyway.”

“Forget your stupid ice cream and get over here.” But I was talking to myself. She’d already hung up.

I jammed my phone into my pocket, then paced up and down the sidewalk, working myself into a sweat. The nosy neighbor came out front to water her daisies. Those must be the most overwatered flowers in the neighborhood.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and walked over.

“Beautiful flowers,” I said to the woman. The deep lines in her face and white hair put her age at eighty or so. Her T-shirt said, “Official Antique.”

“Thank you, honey. I do love to garden.” She plucked a dead leaf off a stem.

“It shows. I’m Dana, by the way.”

“Yolanda.”

I pretended to admire the blossoms for what I deemed an appropriate amount of time. “Say, I bet you have a good view of everything that goes on around here.”

Yolanda sniffed. “Well, I try to stay out of other people’s business.”

Yeah, right. “I’m sure you do. But it can’t hurt to keep an eye on things, make sure the neighborhood’s safe.”

“So true. I do my part.” She glanced around to make sure no one was watching us. “I couldn’t help but notice you went into that riffraff’s apartment. They’re not friends of yours, are they?”

“No, ma’am.”

Yolanda gave me the once-over. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

“What type is that?” Even as I asked the question, I’d swear I caught a whiff of pot floating by.

“Druggies, stoners, potheads.”

Wow, Yolanda was pretty hip.

Her enthusiasm increased as she talked, her arms waving more and more, watering can swinging. “These guys traipse through here all hours of the night. They think no one notices how they stop by for five minutes and then come back the next week and do it all over again.”

This was certainly a new angle. I swiped at my temples again as I felt sweat trickle down the side of my face. “Are you saying Stump was dealing drugs?”

“Not just Stump, but Bobby Joe, too. And what kind of stupid name is Stump?”

Bobby Joe might have had his faults, like cheating on my sister, but I hadn’t pegged him as a drug dealer. “Are you sure?”

Yolanda cackled. “Of course I’m sure Stump is a stupid name. Might as well call himself Log.”

“No, I meant are you sure Bobby Joe was involved?”

“Yessum. I happened to be crouched down, pruning the base of my lemon tree one afternoon, and overheard him making a deal right at his apartment door, in front of God and everybody.”

I had to take a moment to digest that information. My little sister had been dating a drug dealer? Did she know?

“Sounds like their operation was pretty big with all the people coming and going,” I said.

“Big as the great sky.” Yolanda said. “’Course, that don’t mean they didn’t have their differences. They were shouting at each other something fierce a couple of nights ago.”

Now that was interesting. “Any idea what they were arguing about?”

Yolanda started to say more, but her voice was drowned out by my own car horn beeping as Ashlee barreled into the parking lot and screeched to a halt in front of Yolanda and me.

Yolanda frowned. “There’s one of their customers now. She must have a real problem what with all the times she’s been here.”

“Um, actually, she was dating Bobby Joe. But I’m sure she didn’t know about the drugs.”

Ashlee stuck her head out the driver’s-side window. “Get a move on, Dana,” she shouted. “I don’t have all day.”

Oh. My. God.

I tried to ignore her. “Yolanda, could you hear what Bobby Joe and Stump were yelling?”

Yolanda tugged on her T-shirt and fanned her face. “Afraid not. I got out here right at the tail end. Bobby Joe said something about how this wasn’t over and then got in his truck and drove off.”

“Come on, Dana. Let’s go,” Ashlee shouted behind me.

Man, she could be annoying.

I offered Yolanda a tight smile. “Nice talking to you.” I slunk to the car, sure she’d already tucked me away under the riffraff category in her mental filing cabinet, now that she’d seen me with Ashlee.

I yanked open the passenger door and slid into the seat. My gaze immediately fell on the ice cream cone propped in the cup holder, melted vanilla and chocolate swirl oozing down the sides of the cone and dripping onto my car’s interior.

Ashlee followed my gaze. “You sounded kind of mad, so I bought you a cone. I’ve been blasting it with the AC, but you took so long to get in the car, it’s starting to melt.”

Not wanting my car awash in sticky dairy products, I pulled the cone from the holder and licked the sides.

“See, I knew you’d want it,” Ashlee said.

I checked the cone to make sure I’d gotten most of the drips. “Don’t ever take my car again.”

“It was your own fault,” Ashlee retorted. “You left me in the car like a dog.”

“That’s not true. I’d never leave a dog in the car in this heat.” I stared at the rapidly melting ice cream that I hadn’t wanted. I could throw it out the window, but I wasn’t a fan of littering. I could give it to Ashlee, but she could barely drive with two hands. As I debated, the ice cream continued to melt until I had no choice but to eat it. I didn’t want Ashlee to think I was enjoying the ice cream, but man, it was tasty.

“How about my iPod?” Ashlee asked. “Did you at least get that?” She slammed on the brakes after almost running a stop sign.

I jerked forward in my seat as the belt tightened and held me in place. “Watch it,” I snapped. She pressed the gas as I braced myself for what I had to tell her. “It wasn’t there.”

“What?” she shrieked, jerking the car to the right as she turned to face me. “Are you sure you searched everywhere?”

“Positive. The police must have taken it. Maybe they thought it was Bobby Joe’s and wanted to see all his contacts or e-mails.”

Ashlee shook her head. “The cops would never think it was his. It had a bright pink cover with stickers. You must have missed it.”

I felt my body warm up. “I’ve spent the last two days talking to people, trying to help figure out who killed your stupid boyfriend, and all you can do is whine, complain, and steal my car. Well, I’m done. You want to know who killed Bobby Joe or what happened to your iPod, you can figure it out yourself.”

I banged my fist on the dash for good measure, then patted the spot when I remembered this was my car.

Ashlee was silent, and I sneaked a glance in her direction. She faced straight ahead, tears running down her cheeks. I looked out the window at the passing houses, feeling guilty for making her cry, then angry at myself for feeling guilty. I had every reason to be mad. I was busting my butt to help her, spending all my free time talking to people I didn’t know, inhaling the stench of pot, while she took my car on an ice cream joyride.

Then again, her boyfriend
had
been murdered. After she’d found out he was cheating. And she’d been interviewed by the cops, even gone to the station for fingerprints. The stress of the last few days was probably making her act even more immature than she usually did.

“Ash . . .” I started to say, right as she said, “Dana.”

She held up a hand. “You’re right,” she said. “I shouldn’t have taken your car. And I’m glad you’re helping me. My life is usually so awesome. I work, I date, I shop. But I don’t know what’s going on anymore.” She eased up to a red light, not looking at me. “I’m scared.”

I’d never heard her use those words. Maybe her life wasn’t always the beach party I’d pictured. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” I said. “I’m as worried as you are. If only the police could come up with a suspect, I’d be a lot less stressed.”

“You and me both,” she said.

The light cycled to green, and she stomped her foot on the accelerator. The force pushed me back against the seat, and I said a Hail Mary that both my car and I would arrive home in one piece.

After a few more turns, including one where I thought she would swerve into oncoming traffic, Ashlee pulled up to the house. I held out my hand, and she dropped the keys in my palm. I gave the warm metal a kiss.

“Sorry you had to go through that,” I whispered to the keys.

Ashlee rolled her eyes. “You’re so weird.” She hopped out the driver’s side while I stuck my tongue out at her as she walked away, our sisterly love back where it belonged.

Once inside the house, I stopped by the kitchen for a glass of milk while Ashlee headed to the living room. Mom was already in bed, and after a long day of work and talking to Mr. Pothead, that sounded like a brilliant idea. In my room, I booted up my laptop for long enough to check my e-mail and Facebook, then powered down both the computer and myself, realizing that I’d forgotten to ask Ashlee about whether Bobby Joe was really involved in selling pot. If so, had Ashlee been involved, as unlikely as that seemed?

These thoughts plagued me as I drifted off to sleep, leaving me to wonder what I’d be facing tomorrow.