Searching for Secrets (3 page)

Mahaska Springs was at the edge of Iowa City, almost in the city of Coralville. It was located just off Highway Six, the main route into town, but when you turned off the highway and drove several hundred yards to the complex entrance, you might as well have been in the country.

A narrow creek ran behind the apartments. Beyond the creek was a small woods, creating an aura of seclusion that Christa thought went with the apartment's namesake. Chief Mahaska was the best-known Ioway Indian chief. His tribe, nearly extinct today, had given her state its name, and she liked to think he stood guard over her little corner of it. Christa found this idea especially comforting this evening. She wanted to be far away from anyone who would even think of robbing her. She knew it was silly to think one part of town was so much safer than another, but she stubbornly clung to the thought that as soon as she reached Mahaska Springs she would be protected. But, from what?

It was dark now, so she couldn't see the brilliant hues of the leaves on the large trees that lined the driveway. At one time, this had been part of a large farm. She'd seen an aerial photo of the property, which has boasted two large barns and a rambling farm home, with the edge of the strip of trees separating the farmhouse from the hundreds of acres of cultivated land. The house had burned in the 1970s, and the property had finally been sold to the developers who created Mahaska Springs.

If she wandered to the edge of the woods, Christa could still see some of the foundation of the old house. It was the only hint of the land's immediate prior residents. She sometimes walked there hoping to come up with an arrowhead or some other trace of the original North American inhabitants of this land. Now, the five garden-style apartment buildings were home to 40 individuals or families.

On her right as she came up the driveway was the community building with the pool just beyond it. At this hour in the summer, there would still be children splashing in the baby pool and adults doing lap swims. Tonight it was a forlorn sight, matching her mood. Two stacks of deck chairs were covered with tarps, and the large mounds looked like dark-colored ghosts.

She pulled into her assigned parking space and turned off the motor. It was an effort just to remove the keys from the ignition. The day's emotional toll was mounting, and she felt vulnerable even in front of her own home. The thought made her angry, and she drew strength from her irritation. As she got out of the car, she noted a handsome pick-up truck in the space next to hers. A couple of padded moving quilts and a child's dresser lay in the truck bed. It looked as if she was getting new neighbors, and they obviously had at least one child, probably a girl, given that the dresser was in an antique white style.

She walked down the short flight of steps to her ground floor apartment and unlocked the door. For a fleeting second she wondered if anyone was inside, but the sound of Brandy's impatient meowing nixed the thought. If anyone was there, Brandy would be cowering under a bed rather than trying to wind herself around Christa's legs. She stooped to pick up the cat, but Brandy would have none of that. She marched into the kitchen and meowed more loudly.

Christa shut the door and flicked on the lamp that sat on the oak table near the door. Some things never change, she thought as she listened to Brandy's call from the kitchen. She reached in her pocket and pulled out the small can of food, then tossed her coat over the back of the couch. Brandy had earned her treat. For two nights her dinner had been delayed, and she was letting her owner know she would have no more of that treatment. Christa walked into the kitchen and uprighted the garbage can. "It's a good thing I didn't have any coffee grounds in there, cat." She emptied the entire can into Brandy's plastic dish and tossed the can into the garbage. She was too tired to rinse it out for the recycling bin.

Outside the apartment door she heard footsteps on the stairs and then saw her front door rattle as someone bumped into it. They were probably moving in the last piece of furniture. She should really be a good neighbor and introduce herself. That's what the unit's prior owners had done on her first night more than six years ago, and it had certainly made Christa feel more at home. She went to her bedroom and picked up the brush on her dresser and ran it through her tangled hair. No sense scaring the new tenants, she thought wryly.

She picked up two apples from the fruit bowl in the kitchen. Not a true housewarming gift, but the best she could do on short notice. She knocked on the door and waited several moments before she was rewarded with the sound of small feet scampering in her direction. "Wait for me, sweetheart," a woman's voice called from the back of the apartment. Good advice, Christa thought to herself.

Christa judged the child to be about kindergarten age, but she didn't recognize her. They must have moved here from a different school district. "Thought you might do with a snack," she said, as she held the apples out to Frances.

"Thanks. Can you sit for a moment? We just got the last piece of furniture in and were going to take a break." Christa glanced around the apartment. Though they couldn't have been there more than a few hours, there were already books on the shelves under the window, and a few unpacked boxes were stacked next to the bookcase. Christa marked Frances King for a high-energy woman. Amy's red-headed rag doll sat on the blue loveseat, and Frances gestured to it. "Move your doll, so Ms. Heckertt can have a seat."

"Who's your first guest, sis?" came the deep voice from the back room. Christa didn't need to see his face as he came into the hallway. She would have recognized Kirk Reynolds anywhere.

"This is our neighbor, Christa. And look," Frances held out the two apples. "She's brought us a snack."

"Gee, I thought we were supposed to give apples to the teacher," he said. Christa wasn't sure if his smile welcomed or mocked her, but she was glad Frances had offered her the seat because her legs just wouldn't hold her anymore.

CHAPTER TWO

CHRISTA SAT, SPEECHLESS FOR A MOMENT, then regained her composure. "I thought I might see you at the police station just now, but certainly not here.”

"What were you doing there?"

Who does he think he is to talk to me in that sharp tone? "Someone robbed me in the mall parking lot." Seeing Amy's frightened eyes, she was immediately sorry she had said it so bluntly. "But you don't need to worry about that happening to you," she said quickly. Amy managed an uneasy smile.

"Are you five or six?" Christa never liked to guess a child's age; you always hurt their feelings if you guessed too young.

"I'm five," was the prompt reply.

"Kindergarten," Frances said, with a smile as she smoothed her daughter's tousled brown curls.

"Your teacher is Miss Jennie. If you like to make jack-o-lanterns, I can pretty much guarantee you'll have a big one to work on." Jennie's father had a large farm about 20 miles south of Iowa City. He gave every class pumpkins, but always saved the biggest one for his daughter's kindergarten class.

Amy's smile was broad. "I love pumpkin carving."

"Off with us, now," Frances said as she gave Amy a gentle push toward the bedroom. "I'll talk to you more in a few minutes. Thanks for the apples." She gave Christa a friendly smile as they left the room.

"You're welcome." Christa turned to face Kirk. His expression was hard to read. If she had to guess, she would say he was angry.

Confused for a moment, Christa regarded him. She had a fleeting thought that he was the most handsome man she had met since Trevor had dumped her. "Who?" she asked.

"In the mall parking lot," he said, not unkindly.

"Yes, of course. Just the pink bag, the one the thief left this morning." Christa saw a look of suspicion cross his face. He probably thought she was some kind of nut. She elaborated on the man in the ski mask and his singular interest, and told him she had gone to the police station to report the event. Looking for you, she thought. "Officer Hadley was very helpful, but I couldn't give him much of a description."

"Who knew you had it with you? Actually, why did you?"

"I wanted to ask Mr. Watkins, he's the computer store owner, what it was for. I sort of remembered seeing one like it in the box with my computer, but I didn't know why it was there. He said it protects sensitive computer components from static."

"And...?"

"And that's all he said. I think it means the thief wanted just the hard drive on my computer, not the whole thing," she said.

"That doesn't make sense," Kirk said.

Christa shrugged. "Not to you or me, but it must to the thief. I can't figure out why he would risk robbing me in such a public place, just to get that bag."

"It ties him to the break-in. Fingerprints, maybe." Kirk was glum. "I should have done as you asked and sent the fingerprint team in there. I'll have someone stop by on Monday."

Christa liked a man who could say he made a mistake, but she didn't think this one was rectifiable. "They can try," she said, "but I think all they'll find is 22 sets of much smaller hands."

"What? Oh, your students." He was silent for several moments. "Is your classroom locked tonight?"

"Tight as a drum. The school custodian even put a chain lock on the inside of the door that leads to the courtyard. That's in addition to the lock on the knob, of course."

"I'll have the night shift swing by the school a few times this evening, and alert the other weekend shifts. Maybe it'll worry somebody."

There was an awkward silence. Christa found herself wanting to ask him a dozen questions, none of them having anything to do with the topic at hand. She stood. "I need to get home. I'm pooped and my cat's mad at me for leaving her alone so much the last two days."

"Sure." He stood and walked her to the door.

Christa realized she didn't even know if he was to live here. She assumed not, since there were only two bedrooms. But, she wanted to know just how much she would be seeing Kirk Reynolds. "You spend a lot of time with Frances and Amy?"

"Try to." He glanced down the hallway that led to Amy's room. "Frances' husband died a couple of years ago, and then..." He cleared his throat. "It just seemed better to get to a different neighborhood. She and Amy didn't need all the room in their house."

"Tell her not to be a stranger. People here are real friendly." Christa sensed that Kirk Reynolds had stopped himself from saying more about Frances, but she supposed it wasn't any of her business.

She opened the door and walked across the narrow hallway to her own unit. "Your only business," she said to Brandy as she stooped to pet her, "is to sleep quietly on the foot of my bed. None of this waking me up at 5 a.m. for some extra food." She kicked off her shoes and walked toward her bedroom. She was too tired to eat.

USUALLY CHRISTA WAS OUT OF BED by seven on Saturday, eager to begin a day when she could do almost anything she wanted. But, this Saturday she lounged in bed until almost eight, then got up and made herself some tea and carried it back into bed with her. She didn't want to sleep any more, but she felt as if she needed more time simply to rest.

"What a wimp you are," she said aloud, as she turned on the TV that sat on the bureau opposite the foot of her bed. The Saturday morning talk show was presenting ways to recognize if your teenager was on drugs. She didn't want anything that serious. Channel surfing turned up only cartoons and nature shows, and she ended back at the talk show. Now it was almost eight-thirty, and they were doing the short local news segment.

"Iowa City police have not yet made an arrest in last night's murder. The body of the former University of Iowa student was found near the university power plant, with a single shot through his heart. The victim, Chas Johnson, was a computer science major whose friends believe that he dropped out of school because of increasing dependence on the drug methamphetamine." Christa looked at the formal photograph of a very young man and judged it to be his high school yearbook picture. He looked like somebody you'd love to have live next door. "Frederick Chambers, known on the streets as 'Fast Freddy' was the last person seen with Johnson. Chambers was questioned at police headquarters this morning, and later released. No weapon has been found."

"Ugh!" The mug shot showed a scowling man in his late twenties, with a thin face. His lower lip jutted out in defiance. "He could pick a fight with the Great Pumpkin," Christa said, and turned off the television. She'd pampered herself enough. She swung off the bed and picked her bathrobe off the floor as she headed for the shower. Brandy had obviously dragged it there from the foot of her bed, probably trying to play with the cord that went around her waist.

Christa had just finished putting the conditioner on her hair when the doorbell rang. She intended to let it go, but on the fourth push of the buzzer she decided the caller must have something important to say. She turned off the water and quickly wrapped the large towel around her. "Coming," she yelled. She plodded down the hall and peered through the peephole. Kirk Reynolds, his hair tousled by the fall wind, peered back at her.