The Case of the Lady in Apartment 308 (3 page)

She was, of course, standing on the ladder. She was stretched up, hooking the drapes into the holes on the rod.

It was an enticing and interesting view for a potent male. He swallowed but kept his eyes on her.

She said, “Let go.”

He gasped at her insolence. He wasn’t touching her!

She pulled on the material and looked down at him as she repeated, “Let go.”

He did.

But she’d noted he was susceptible.

She licked her lips, looked away from him and went right on doing whatever it was she was doing to the drape in reference to the rod.

He put his hands into his trouser pockets and walked around a little.

She came down the ladder and lifted it easily out of the way. She then folded her arms and tilted her head a tad as she observed the hung drapes.

Ed was thinking,
She could look away from me!
He said to her, “They’re noticeable.” But his eyes looked down her body.

“My mother got a real deal on this material two years ago in the spring. My dad wouldn’t have it in the house, so she split it between my sister and me. I love the color.”

He ought to say something to support that but he squinted and just cleared his throat.

She soothed him, “When the pictures go up on the wall, it’ll all balance.”

Pictures? “We don’t allow more than one nail hole per wall.”

“I’ll fill the holes with putty and paint them with a dab of…white, of course…and you’ll never notice.”

Obviously, there was more than one picture.

He turned his squint onto her and asked, “How many pictures do you intend hanging?”

“Well, I have friends who paint.” She paused, “Pictures. Then there are the family pictures. I’m a godmother, and I have a niece.”

She had said all that quite softly as one speaks to someone who is already grieving. What is it about men’s rejection of nails in walls?

He accused her of smuggling. “I didn’t see any pictures when you came in here.”

“They’re in the trunk of my car. Would you like to help me bring them up here? You don’t appear to be occupied with anything, right now.”

How could he refuse? Well, this would give him an opportunity to discard some of the pictures and leave them in the trunk of her car.

He made two trips, carrying the pictures. Two trips up two flights. She wasn’t even breathing quicker.

Of course, she hadn’t really replied to his long argument on leaving some of the pictures in the trunk of her car. She’d simply piled them on his arms and didn’t really pay any attention to his succinct reasoning over excess pictures.

He took up pictures and held them against the wall. The frames were wood and heavy. She stood back and decided what should go where. Then she put those on the floor and arranged them to balance.

He got to pound in the nails. Every hammer stroke caused a flinch in his body. He did alter one nail. He
knew
it was over wires.

And he saw that she had a discreet pair of binoculars.

Hmmmm. A voyeur? He frowned over at the woman who was calmly doing whatever it was she was doing then.

She could be a bird-watcher.

He went over and put one hand between the drapes to peek out and see what she would see. The orange-colored windows overlooked The Strip.

That caused him to be very thoughtful. Deliveries? There were some posh stores down there.

Marcia was taking over
Elinor’s
apartment. Were they in cahoots? Was Marcia to signal when one of the stores got a big delivery? The police were just lucky that Ed Hollingsworth was a good citizen.

How could he turn in the supple and intriguing Marcia Phillips? Hmmm. Intriguing Marcia Phillips. The first letters spelled IMP. Perhaps that was a sly indication of what she was?

Yep. The law was just lucky it had Ed Hollingsworth who was a good citizen.

And of course, that gave Ed a good excuse to see Marcia as often as he could. She tolerated him. She was kind. She worked the tail off him.

He had to admit the proliferation of pictures on her one painted wall was almost as fascinating as she.

She began to paint the next wall. Ed found she wouldn’t work in any apartment on the other side of the building. She would paint any apartment he wanted that was on her side, including the two which looked down on The Strip, but she would not paint in the other two sides of the building.

Ed asked Marcia, “Why not?”

She regarded him with her lower lip pushed up in contemplation and replied, “The light.”

“There’s nothing wrong with our wiring. It’s been completely rewired in the last six months.”

“Daylight.”

He considered her with a frown. And she returned his consideration with placid interest. Ed guessed, “Maybe you are an artist after all.”

“After all?” She lifted her eyebrows.

“I thought you painted pictures.”

She shook her head gently as she reminded him, “I have friends who do. They are having a joint showing down on the docks next week.”

“Tell me when, and we’ll go.”

“We?” Her eyes had become riveted.

“You and I will go together so that I know if the artist is any good.”

“Just look at the pictures.”

He looked vulnerable. Men of thirty-seven can do that quite well. He told her seriously, “I have an older brother and three younger but I have never looked at any pictures except those in
Playboy.
How come you’ve never posed for any of the pictures?”

She gasped.

“I’ve looked at all the copies for the last five years and you’re not in any of them.”

She straightened in indignation.

He went right on. “I’ve noticed and you could qualify—easily. Hasn’t anybody else said anything about pictures to you?”

She said a short, stopping, “No.”

But he laughed. “You’ve got to be over twenty-five. You don’t blush or wiggle. You’re one of those new women who think—who consider they’re equal to any man. So you paint to prove you can do it, just like any man can.”

She discarded the conversation and went back to her dainty, precise painting.

She had no idea how many times he climbed those stairs to be sure she was all right. He kept track of every male who entered the building.

She never seemed to look up. She apparently didn’t know he watched over her. She painted with the apartment door open. She’d placed a fan on the floor just inside the door. The windows were all open. Very little of the paint smell crept out into the hall.

He began to worry about her diet. He stood near her as she continued to paint and asked her, “What’s your favorite food?”

“Peanut butter.”

He realized she never gave him more than the initial, brief, identifying glance.

E
d became concerned about Marcia’s diet. While peanut butter was a good staple, she needed other nutritional input. Input? Yeah. She ate it.

But she needed more fruit and vegetables.

He went to his mother and said, “What are some good, easy, balanced meals that you can take somewhere and eat?”

His mother knew instantly he was interested in some female. At last. But obviously, she was not a cook. Hmmmm.

His mother asked with such an innocent face that appeared not too interested, but only casual and kind, “What sort of things does
he
like?”

Ed moved in the manner a man does when he sees a snake close by, but avoidable, and he said with a slow, casual hand opening, “‘He’ is me. I need some different foods to eat. Something I can carry with me.”

He looked up with clear eyes to his radar mother and added in a gentle manner, “I’m out of work.” He began that way as if she’d forgotten his firing. “I need to make pots of things and freeze them. I could take
them out of the freezer as I need them. They’d be ready to eat when it was a mealtime.”

His radar mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. Ed had explained too long and too much. It
was
a woman. He was interested enough to slyly feed that woman. Hmmmm.

His mother reluctantly rejected sauerkraut and wieners for a delicate woman. That had taken real backbone not to be lured into doing something so overly maternal. But she didn’t know anything about this witch who was trying to lure—

Actually, it was her
son
who was trying to lure some indifferent woman?

How rude of the insolent witch!

The senior Mrs. Hollingsworth told her second of five sons quite casually, “I have a loaf of my bread in the freezer. Your father sliced it a bit thick since he likes it that way—”

“I was hoping you had some of your rolls?”

“Well, yes, I do.”

“Then, some of those, and do you have any of your stew?”

“I…believe so.”

No voice could be as reluctant as hers in her replies.

Her sensitive, second son didn’t notice.

His mother had recently assumed that—unlike his raucous, randy, older brother who already had five children—Ed would not marry. What the three
younger boys did was their own choice, but she’d always considered Ed as her own child.

In the continuing effort of his acquaintances even she had touted several good, staunch, true women. But he’d never taken them out on a date singly. He’d had several other couples along, every time.

But he had dated singly. When he’d gone with the women of his choice, he’d never allowed anyone else along.

Ed was now thirty-seven years old and still unmarried. His observant mother had quite comfortably come into the idea that if his dad died before she did, Ed would move in and take care of her and the house…the yard, the errands. The grocery shopping…

It was something of a jolt for Mrs. Hollingsworth to find her son was probably thinking in another line entirely. Ed was concerned with some female’s diet. That was very serious.

Ed wasn’t aware of “serious.” He was curious about the woman and feeding her was a way to observe her. She was a strange person. He couldn’t figure her out.

In all of Ed’s life, there hadn’t been too many women who didn’t wiggle around for his observation. Marcia didn’t wiggle. She looked at him as if she knew more than he did.

How rude of her.

She had the ears of a cat. He’d come to the open door of the apartment she was painting, and she’d be
picking up her brush. She wasn’t just dipping it into the paint, she was picking up the brush and then she dipped it.

Instead of interrupting her painting, he was interrupting something else. It was a good thing he was paying by the apartment instead of by the hour.

But what was distracting her? And there were those discreet binoculars. Was she a lookout?

Was she nosy? Was she watching some other man? For whom? For…what? Why?

And Ed figured Marcia was in some sort of trouble and needed a strong male to take care of her. Somebody like Ed Hollingsworth.

He said, “You’re still in this room?”

She cast a brief, patient glance his way and replied, “I’m careful.”

He thought she’d be a lot quicker if he stood around and watched her. She wouldn’t need to wander around and hurry back to the painting when she heard him coming down the hall.

She didn’t seem to act guilty when he caught her that way. She just didn’t want any questions? What distracted her? Who?

Since he did pay her by the apartment and not the hour, why did he care?

Well, after all, he was a time and motion expert. Many and many a time, he’d gone and studied how people could do a job more efficiently.

This female painter needed more concentration. But then…He wasn’t anxious for her to get through with
the painting. Although it took a good deal of his time to keep check on her safety, he didn’t even notice how much time it took for him to monitor her. His time and motion checking
her
didn’t count.

The most intrusive part of his life was the constant meetings and telephone calls trying to find a place that would hire him. He was very marketable. But he was getting pickier and pickier about what jobs were being offered.

He’d turned down three positions since Marcia had begun working for him. His conscience touched on that briefly, but he didn’t examine the illogic of the blue-eyed reason.

It wasn’t the woman who’d influenced his choice, it was—the apartments. He didn’t want to leave town and leave the supervision of the apartments to a stranger.

Right.

He said to the aloof woman, “I’ll bring your lunch today. Can you eat about twelve?”

She looked at him with a weighing sobriety. Then she said grudgingly, “Okay.”

No surprise, no smile, just that reluctant “Okay.” The woman had no idea how to treat a man. She needed lessons. For her own life, she needed to know how to handle a man. He could help her in learning such skills.

He smiled just a tad.

She gave him a glance that a woman would give to a spider.

She probably didn’t know about black widow spiders who ate the male after they’d mated.

He considered her. He wouldn’t mind being eaten by her. He smiled and licked his lips. But he was discreet.

He wasn’t thinking of cannibalism.

He regarded her. All he could see was that paintflecked hat and the too-big overalls that were stiff with paint splashes, streaks and smears. Did she ever wash them?

He lifted his nose a little and tested the air. Since the fan was behind him, he moved casually to the other, downwind side. She didn’t stink. He smiled.

Then he licked his lips and bit down on his lower lip. He was testing to see if she bathed? Think of that! Just because her clothes were paint smeared didn’t mean she didn’t wash them. She just didn’t soak them in turpentine first.

With her clothes paint splattered that way, she appeared to be a real pro. But the clothing was too big for her.

Now that was interesting. Was she deliberately in large clothing? Or was she wearing someone else’s clothes? Ed found the immediate response to the question was that his body would love to have her inside his clothes.

How strange it was for him to be drawn to an indifferent woman. Why her?

It was probably because no woman had hustled him since he’d lost his job. He was lonely. He’d dated, he
was in groups with a date, he didn’t have any trouble finding a woman willing to go out with him. But they were no longer anxious to trap him.

Every single one asked first if he had another job…yet. It was getting to be a nuisance. And he considered that Marcia had never asked him if he was employed…

Of course. She thought he was…by the owner of the apartment house. She thought he had the job of being a rent collector.

He asked Marcia, “Would you like to eat over in your place? Or would you like to go down to the basement?”

“The basement.”

“We could eat at the table in your apartment.”

“The basement.”

Ed left in time to go back and set out their lunch. He’d set the table in the basement.

Walking down the stairs, yet again, he thought: Why didn’t she find another job? Then he considered his own position. He, too, was doing something other than what he had been doing. And he wondered if Marcia had been in middle management and was another released discard.

So they had lunch together. She came into the basement, sat down and began to eat. She hadn’t wiggled or smiled or even greeted him.

He said, “Hello.”

She looked up at him with some puzzlement. “We just saw each other upstairs.”

“Are you hungry?” He smiled his killer smile.

“It’s noon.” She discarded that as a conversation subject.

So he asked, “Did you read about the new congressional bill this morning?”

She didn’t bother to look at him. “I’ll see it in the evening paper.”

Ed settled a little and smiled. “Well, they—”

“Don’t spoil my reading about it.”

“I just thought you might like to know.”

“I will, tonight.”

So they ate in silence. She blotted her lips with the paper napkin. She did that as if it was fine linen. She laid it casually beside her plate as she would a linen napkin. Then she said with courtesy, “Thank you. That was very nice.”

With that, she got up and went off, out of the basement.

She had used him.

Actually, she’d been courteous and shared his lunch at his invitation. She just wasn’t interested in him.

Ed’s view of himself slumped.

However, two days later, he invited her again to eat with him in the basement. He had pork chops with rice, canned tomatoes and peas with the pork drippings enhanced with Worcestershire sauce, cooked onions and some water.

His mother had made the meal. She’d given him two pork chops for his lunch, but he had shared the food with Marcia.

She ate it with some savor. “This is clever.”

And when she’d finished, she commented, “With an elegant name like Hollingsworth, how did your parents name you—Edgar?”

She didn’t like his name. He said, “My friends call me Ed.”

She spooned the lime sherbet silently.

He said, “I’m really a homeboy.”

She responded, “Marriage doesn’t interest me, at
all!”

That was clear enough. Ed felt somewhat deflated. Why? He wasn’t seriously interested. But he considered her silently sitting across from him. Her eyes were downcast as she slowly, silently relished the sherbet.

It came to him that, while she had been emphatic about marriage, she hadn’t rejected an affair.

And she
had
had two meals with him.

He perked up a little. But she rose and said, “That was nice.” And again she strode out of the basement, leaving the used dishes on the table.

Ed thought maybe he ought to find a more suitable place to feed her.

Where?

It was the evening after that when Rudolf and Amy Smith invited Ed to go fishing early, early the next
morning. “We’ll have breakfast on the boat. We’ll get back here about eight that morning.”

And before he realized what his tongue was doing, he asked, “May I invite someone along?”

Rudolf perked up, but his wife elbowed him, and it was she who said, “’Course.”

So Ed drove back to the apartment house and went up to the third floor. What if she was out on a date? So he wasn’t anticipating any reply to his knock.

However, Marcia came immediately to the door and looked up at him as if she had expected someone. No big smile, just surprise he wasn’t someone else. Who?

She asked, “Yes?”

That was all the greeting she gave him. And he indicated he was willing to enter the apartment and visit, but she stood firmly in the door.

So he stood there crowding the partially open door and gave his invitation. “Two people I know have a boat on the river. And they’ve invited me to go along tomorrow morning about six. We’ll have breakfast on board, and Amy is a good cook.” That’s how he told her another woman would be along. “We’ll dock about eight. Would you like to come along?”

She didn’t move. But she looked at him soberly. Then she said, “Okay.”

She’d agreed! But she hadn’t smiled or moved out of the blocking manner by the door. She said, “I’ll be at the dock at a quarter of six?”

“I’ll come by for you.”

“Okay. I’ll be by the front door.”

“I’m so glad you want to go along. It’ll be nice.”

“Okay.” She moved the door a little to indicate the conversation was finished.

Ed stepped back. “I’ll see you in the morning at the front door.”

“Yes.” And she began to close the door.

He said, “I’ll bring the poles and bait.” He smiled as if she would think
he
was bait for her.

She made no reply but began to close her door. The contact was over.

Ed had looked. He couldn’t see that anyone else was in her apartment, but the door hadn’t been all the way open.

As Ed stepped back into the actual hall, her door closed altogether. She hadn’t smiled or said thanks or even tried to appear friendly.

Ed went down the two flights of stairs and out to his car. He got into it and considered. She really wasn’t eager about him. Why did he pursue her? He didn’t know.

Was it the challenge?

Surely he wasn’t the kind of man who just had to see if he could attract some reluctant woman. Was he guilty of such conduct? Yeah.

He realized he’d been doing such foolishness all his life. He’d been doing that ever since he realized girls were wonderfully different from boys.

He was deliberately trying to attract a woman who wasn’t at all interested…almost not at all. She was going fishing with him. Yeah. With him and the
Smiths. With another couple in a small boat, what did she have to worry about?

Why did she bother at all? With her nothing company at two meals, and now a fishing trip, what was the threat that lured her?

And he knew. Just like that, it came to him!