Mayes, Casey - A Deadly Row

“It’s okay to be sad,” I said. “You lost someone you cared about.”

“More than I can say,” he admitted.

As we drove across town, Barton said, “I tried to get her to move into the Belmont where there was at least a modicum of security, but she refused. Cindy prized her freedom more than that. When she was off work, she liked to live her own life. Here, she could lift a finger and have anything she wanted, but in her own place, she had autonomy.”

“I like her already,” I said.

He nodded. “I approve of strong, independent women, but I should have insisted. If I’d only known . . .”

“You can’t play that game,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. “Second-guessing yourself is worse than cruel; it’s pointless.”

“You’re right. I embrace that philosophy in business, but I can’t seem to accept it in my personal life.”

“Don’t think about her loss,” I said. “Celebrate who she was. Tell me about her.” I needed to get his mind focused on the good rather than the bad. If I could do that, he might be able to get through the painful task we had ahead of ourselves. There was also the slight chance I might learn something new about Zach’s case.

“She was sunshine personified,” he said simply. “The room lit up whenever she walked in, and faded a little when she left it. Not that she was some kind of Pollyanna,” he added hastily. “Cindy had a temper that could be quite fierce when she was challenged. There was spirit under that soft demeanor, and anyone who crossed her had to be sure they were right. She clashed with me more than a few times over the years, and I knew when she challenged me that I needed to rethink my position. I trusted her as my moral compass on tough decisions, and I changed my mind more than once when she pushed me.”

“She sounds like a great person,” I said.

“I never had a wife, or children of my own,” Barton said softly. “She was as close to family as I had since I was a teenager.” There were gentle tears tracking down his cheeks, and I could see that the topic of his own family was too painful to discuss. “I felt better having her be a part of my life,” he added. “Is there anything more you can ask of someone?”

“Not in my book,” I admitted. “I couldn’t imagine living if my husband was gone.”

“Nearly losing him must have been devastating for you. It was a miracle he survived that gunshot.”

“How did you know about that?”

“It was in all of the newspapers,” Barton said. “I just have to imagine how you must have felt.”

“Worse than I can ever describe,” I admitted. “But enough about me. What exactly are we going to do at Cindy’s place?”

“I want to collect a few personal things, and then I’ll have someone else go through the rest of it.” His voice choked a little. “This is probably a bad idea from every angle you examine it, but it’s something that I have to do. Thank you for going with me.”

“I’m honored you asked me,” I said.

He started to reach out to pat my hand, pulled back for a moment, and then lightly touched my fingers. No words were spoken, but a great deal was understood in that instant.

We reached an ordinary-looking apartment complex, and as the driver stopped the car and opened our door, Barton hesitated before getting out.

“I’ll do it myself, if it would help,” I said. “It can’t be easy for you to go inside.”

He took a deep breath, and then said, “No, I can manage it. I’m not at all certain how long I’ll be able to keep up my nerve, so let’s get this over with.”

I followed him out of the car, and as we stood at the apartment door, I saw that his hands were shaking as he held the key out toward the lock.

“Let me do that,” I said as I took the key from him.

“Thanks,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

When I opened the door, a wave of disinfectant smell swept over me. I wasn’t sure that the odor was better than what it had disguised, but then again, I didn’t have any experience with dead bodies.

It was a typical young single woman’s place, decorated with a wide palette of oranges, browns, and greens. She had a framed Monet poster over her couch.

“I have the original at home,” he said softly as he studied it. “If I’d known she loved it, I would have given it to her.” He wiped away his tears, and then he said, “I’m being ridiculous, I know. I’ve got hundreds of people who work for me.”

“She was a lot more than just an employee to you. It hurts losing someone you care about.”

He nodded. “This is more difficult than I ever imagined. I’m sorry, Savannah. I just can’t do it.”

I hugged him, and though it was clear he wasn’t all that comfortable with anyone embracing him, he let me. When he pulled away, I said, “You don’t need to be here. I’ll go through and collect anything that looks like it might have sentimental value to you, and then I’ll bring it back to the hotel.”

“There was a necklace, sterling silver, with a cow pendant on it in black and white. She loved it, but it wasn’t found when her body was discovered.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” I said.

He nodded numbly, and then left without saying another word. After the car pulled away, I dead-bolted the door behind me and started digging into the apartment, and more importantly, Cindy Glass’s life.

CINDY WAS NEAT, WHICH WAS A REAL PLUS FOR ME, GIVENthe search I had ahead of me. Checking out her place was a lot easier because of it, but at the same time, it made me sad to think that this tidy young woman’s life was cut so short.

There was no way around it; I was going to have to pry into her most personal things if I was going to help Barton.

The first place I looked was her lingerie drawer, knowing that many women liked to hide things there. She had a great deal of conservatively cut panties for the week, but there were also a few brightly colored pairs that had to be reserved for the weekend. Under it all, wedged into the back of the drawer, I found a photograph of Cindy and a young man that couldn’t be identified by the snapshot. They’d been skiing, and he had a fit build, but his face had been haphazardly torn out of the photograph, leaving nothing really identifying in what was left behind. Who had it been, I wondered, and how long ago had she and he broken up? From the way the photograph was torn, I was guessing that the breakup hadn’t been Cindy’s decision. I took the picture and put it on the bed where I was starting a pile of things to take to Barton. I’d have to go over everything I collected again to make sure it wasn’t a clue before I turned anything over to him. Barton had asked me to take my time, and I was going to honor that request.

There were a few more photographs scattered throughout the apartment, mostly of Cindy and her friends, and then I found one I was certain Barton would want. It showed the two of them together, standing side by side and smiling broadly. In the background was a sign hanging from the ceiling proclaiming “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.” I wasn’t sure where it had been taken, but I put it on the growing pile and moved on.

As I searched the small apartment, I kept my eyes open for the cow pendant necklace Barton had mentioned. There wasn’t much in the place in the way of jewelry, just some oversized earrings and a few glittering peace symbol necklaces housed in a small wooden box that appeared to have been made at summer camp a long time ago. Cindy had retro tastes in her jewelry as well as her curtains and bedspread. The material in her bedroom for both sported a matching pattern of brown, gold, and green rings on an orange background. I wondered what her clothes were like. As I opened the small closet door, I found mostly work clothes, but among her prim business suits, I found another section of the closet filled with flared blue jeans and bright tops. Cindy was clearly button-down at work, but when she played, it was obvious that she enjoyed casual comfort. In the kitchen, I searched each drawer and cabinet in turn, but it was so generic that it could have been anyone’s place, so there was nothing to add to the pile. The living room, the only other room in the apartment besides the tiny bathroom, had few things of a personal nature in it. All I could come up with was a half-finished crossword puzzle, and a well-read copy of Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. I was about to leave it on the table, but then I spontaneously added it to the pile.