No One Needs to Know (17 page)

Before sneaking out the side door during all the commotion, Ryder McBride had left his calling card—a little white mountain of salt on the counter.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

Thursday, June 26, 5:22
P.M.

Seattle

O
ne of the first things she’d bought Joey in Seattle was the toddler seat/desk unit. On the desk was a soft plastic phone that lit up, alphabet blocks that spun on a horizontal rod, an oversized pad of numbers that lit up and played a note every time he pressed one, and a steering wheel, which had dried beans or something inside that rattled whenever he turned it. The gizmos fascinated him. He’d been happily sitting at his “work desk” in the kitchen for the last half hour.

Laurie was getting ready to line the drawers and cabinets with blue-gingham patterned shelf paper. “You’re So Vain” was playing on the radio’s oldies station she’d become addicted to while they’d stayed at the Hampton Inn.

This was her second day at her new home—Unit 3, La Hacienda Apartments. The place was everything Cheryl had promised—with charming built-in hutches, nooks, and crannies. There was even an old-fashioned fake fireplace in the living room.

Except for Ryder’s gruesome surprise on her last day at the diner, Laurie’s escape to Seattle had gone pretty much as planned. Still, she hadn’t completely recuperated from the shock of that sickening self-execution. The girl was a nineteen-year-old runaway named Simone Hahn. Her family in Billings, Montana, had been trying to locate her for over two years. Ryder McBride was brought in for questioning about the incident, and he claimed he barely knew her. She’d been a friend of Tad’s, he’d said. Simone Hahn died in the ambulance on the way to Kittitas Valley Hospital.

At 6:50 on Saturday morning, two CWU students quietly packed into a U-Haul everything Laurie had been storing in her room at the Hampton Inn. They followed her and Joey in the Camry, all the way to Seattle. Everything got unloaded and locked up in a storage facility on Lake City Way. Laurie and Joey checked into the Loyal Inn—under her real name.

Once she’d seen the unit at La Hacienda, she didn’t want to look anywhere else. She’d balked when the manager had wanted last-job and last-residence references from her. Laurie needed to cut all ties to Ellensburg—for a while at least. Detective Eberhard was the only one who knew how to reach her. Cheryl had saved the day. As Laurie’s new employer, she vouched for her. The manager even let her move in a few days early.

The furniture in the place was decent, and clean-looking. One of her favorite pieces was here in the kitchen: a small, 1950s yellow “cracked ice”–pattern dinette set. There were even a few pictures on the walls—including a framed print of the Eiffel Tower in the living room that she liked. Yesterday, while Cheryl babysat Joey, Laurie had rented a U-Haul and moved her things from Lake City Storage into the apartment. This morning, she’d put the first coat of butter-yellow paint on the walls of the upstairs annex, which would be Joey’s room. There was even a small window in there. It was perfect for him—at least for another couple of years.

Laurie still had unopened boxes in every room. But right now, her new kitchen—and shelf paper—were a priority. All the appliances were new, stainless steel, but the cabinets and drawers were probably original—with green glass knobs and pulls.

Joey pressed several numbers on the desktop in front of him, and each note he played competed with Carly Simon. Then he turned the purple plastic steering wheel and laughed at the rattling noise.

“They have you working at least three people’s jobs there, Joey,” Laurie declared, sitting on the laminated-wood floor with a kitchen drawer out of its sleeve. She wanted to give each drawer a quick soap-and-water clean before slipping in the shelf paper. “Whatever they’re paying you isn’t enough. You should . . .”

Laurie trailed off as she noticed something scribbled inside at the back of the drawer:
2-16-47.

Was it a birthday or a lock combination or what? Obviously, it was something one of the previous tenants had needed to remember—and keep secret, since it was written on the back of a drawer. Laurie tried to wipe it away, but they must have used a fine-point laundry marker, because the set of numbers didn’t fade at all. So Laurie just left it. Then she pulled out the next drawer in the stack and started cleaning that.

The doorbell rang. All at once, she tensed up. She might have left Ellensburg nearly a week ago, but she couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding. She still expected Tad’s brother to show up at her door one day.

Getting to her feet, she told herself that it was probably just Cheryl. She patted Joey’s mop of curly brown hair and headed to the front door. She checked the peephole. The glass distorted things slightly. She saw a dark-haired man with glasses, smiling and nodding—as if he knew she was looking at him. He even gave her a little wave.

Taking a step back from the door, she glanced toward the kitchen. She couldn’t see Joey, but heard the music tones from the numbers he was pressing. She turned toward the door again. “Yes?” she called. “Who is it?”

“Hi, this is Vincent Humphrey, your neighbor in unit five!” she heard him call back cheerfully.

Laurie took another glimpse at the peephole and saw that he was still smiling and waving. It was almost as if he were trying too hard to convince her that he was just a friendly visitor.

With uncertainty, she fixed the chain on the lock and opened the door a crack.

“Hi, neighbor!” he said, grinning at her.

Within the narrow space, Laurie saw he held a small, potted African violet plant in his hand. He was a handsome man in his mid-forties, but he had a bad haircut—like he’d cut it himself. His glasses were Clark Kent style, and a bit nerdy-looking. The short-sleeve checkered shirt he wore was neatly tucked into his cargo pants, which—as she looked down and noticed—rode a bit too high over his black Converse sneakers.

“I want to welcome you to La Hacienda,” he said. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time . . .”

Reluctantly, Laurie unfastened the chain lock and opened the door wider. She worked up a smile for him. “Hi, I’m Laurie,” she said, still a bit wary.

“I bought you this,” he said, thrusting the African violet plant at her. “It’s a housewarming, welcome present. I got it on sale at Safeway and saved two dollars.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Laurie said with an uncomfortable laugh.

“Looks like you’re painting,” he said, eyeing her paint-stained shirt. “Let me know if you need any help. I’m pretty good at painting—only not right now, because I have to go fix my dinner.”

Laurie nodded a few more times than necessary. “Well, I might just take you up on that offer sometime, thank you.”

Joey let out a cry.

From the doorway, her visitor tried to peek in at the kitchen. “Is that a baby I hear? Do you have a baby? Can I see it?”

Laurie hesitated.

“I won’t touch her—or him,” he said. “I promise. I know you might not like it.”

Laurie didn’t know how to answer him.

“See, once at Safeway—” he continued, “that’s where I work. I’m a bagger. I’ve been Employee of the Month nine times. Anyway, once this little girl was running around near my checkout station, and I didn’t see the mother anywhere. So the little girl fell—like,
bam
—and she started crying. Well, I went to help her up, and suddenly her mother came out of nowhere, screaming at me. It was really scary. I think the whole store heard her. I couldn’t figure out what I’d done that was so bad. Anyway, later, my friend who used to live in this apartment here, she told me that it makes certain people uncomfortable for someone like me to get near their kids or pet them or anything like that. So I—I’ve learned my lesson. I’d never do that. I just want to look at your baby, that’s all.”

Laurie’s heart broke for him. She managed a smile, but still stood in front of him, blocking his path toward the kitchen. Joey let out another cry. She didn’t want to be like the bitch in the supermarket, yelling at this developmentally challenged man for coming to the aid of her unsupervised child. At the same time, she couldn’t help wondering if he might be a friend of Ryder’s—and this was all an act.

“Ah, he’s a little hungry and cranky right now,” Laurie said at last. “But I’d love for you to meet him some other time, maybe over the weekend . . .”

“What’s his name?”

“Joey.”

He nodded. “That’s a good name.” Scratching his head, he took a step back. “Well, I’m going to fix my dinner now, mac and cheese. My friend who used to live here, she used to make me dinner all the time. Maureen was a professional cook. She worked with Cheryl—y’know, the woman in apartment eight. They had a food truck, but Maureen got killed when it blew up.”

Her mouth open, Laurie stared at him. “You mean this was her apartment?”

“Yes, that’s all Maureen’s furniture,” he said, with a nod at her living room. “She didn’t have any family, and neither do I. So she left everything to me, but I only took a few things—some lamps I’ve always liked, you know, nothing too frilly-girly, and her picture albums, her TV, and stuff like that. Anthony, our manager, he said I could give all the rest to charity or he’d pay me two thousand dollars for it. So I took the money and put it right in the bank.”

Standing in front of the doorway with the African violet in her hands, Laurie tried to process this revelation. Why hadn’t Cheryl told her? It was unsettling. Cheryl had set her up in her dead predecessor’s place—complete with the poor woman’s furniture. Laurie kept thinking about the horrible way she’d died. Now, she was literally in that unfortunate soul’s place.

“I miss Maureen a lot,” the man said. “She was my best friend.”

“What about Cheryl?” Laurie asked. “Aren’t you friends with her, too?”

He sighed. “Well, Maureen said I should be polite to her, but not try to be friends with her or anything.”

“Did she say why?”

Vincent shrugged and shook his head. “So, can I come by and see Joey tomorrow or Saturday?”

“Of course,” Laurie said. She managed to smile again and hoisted the small African violet a little. “Thanks so much for the plant, Vincent, and thanks for stopping by . . .”

“Well, it’s time to make my mac and cheese,” he said, waving at her as he started up the courtyard’s paved walkway. “Bye, Laurie!”

She heard a clank, and glanced over at the courtyard’s wrought iron gate. Someone was entering the apartment complex. She noticed Vincent briefly looking that way, too. But he kept moving, and then pulled a key out of his pocket. He unlocked his apartment door, opened it, and ducked inside.

The woman breezing into the courtyard wore black slacks, and a pale blue sweater set. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She carried a grocery bag. As she passed the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, she looked over and seemed to catch Laurie staring.

“Oh, swell!” the woman announced. “My day is made!”

Laurie set the plant on a table by the door. “I beg your pardon?”

The woman approached her, and Laurie could see she was about forty. “I said, ‘Oh, swell,’” the woman replied, with a half smile. “I was hoping a cute, hot, single guy would be moving in next door. And I get you.”

Laurie laughed. “Oh, it’s a lot worse than that. You’re getting a toddler, too. I’m Laurie . . .”

The woman nodded. “Brenda, in number two,” she said. “That’s my life, number two. So how old is the little nipper?”

“Almost eleven months,” Laurie said. She noticed that Joey had quieted down and gone back to playing his music-tone number pads. “Let me know if he ever gets too loud for you.”

“Will do,” Brenda replied. “I see you’ve met Forrest Gump. He’s a sweet guy. But if you want my advice, don’t get too friendly with him, or he’ll be over here all the time. He won’t leave you alone . . .”

Laurie didn’t say anything. She was a bit taken aback by the insensitive Forrest Gump crack.

“Anyway, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Brenda shrugged. “The manager mentioned you’re working with Cheryl Wheeler—in a brand new food truck.”

Laurie nodded. “Yes, in fact, I just found out from Vincent that this used to be her former coworker’s place.”

“Cheryl didn’t say anything to you?” Brenda laughed. She set down her grocery bag. “Well, that’s typical of her. Yeah, Maureen lived here. She and old Vincent go way back. I think they’ve been here longer than anyone—or rather they
were
here longer than anyone. I should get my tenses right, now that Maureen has gone on to that great food truck in the sky.” She let out a sad, little laugh. “Actually, she was a nice lady, a good neighbor. I liked her.”

“So, Maureen lived here in the complex before Cheryl?”

“Oh, yeah, years before,” Brenda answered. “Cheryl’s been here only a few months. Her old place was going condo or something, so Maureen used her pull to get Cheryl into Unit Eight when it went vacant. You want to hear the funny part? She barely knew Cheryl at the time. I think she’d just started working in the food truck with her. And even after cooking alongside her for—what, three months?—Maureen never really trusted her.”

“Why do you say that?” Laurie asked, frowning.

Brenda shrugged. “That’s just the impression I got. I mean, look at what Cheryl
didn’t
tell you about this apartment. Did she mention that the cops were here recently?”

Laurie shook her head. “No. What for?”

“A couple of teenagers disappeared about two weeks ago. The last person to see them was a friend of theirs. They’d told him they were coming here—to peek inside this apartment.”

Laurie just stared at her.

“Apparently, they’d heard about the food truck explosion, and were curious to see where the victim used to live. The kids are still missing—as far as I know. The police came by here asking all of us if we saw anything. I can’t believe Cheryl didn’t mention it to you. Well, like I said, typical.”

Bewildered, Laurie kept staring at her. She didn’t know what to say.