Condo Crazies: Murder At The Albatross Page 9

  “Sure. It’s probably Devin. I left a note for him.” She opened the door to a worried-looking Devin. He crossed the room in a few quick strides.

  “Dear God, Phoebe. What happened?” Devin sat on the hassock at Phoebe’s feet and took both her hands in his. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, dear boy. As I told the detective, I was accosted by a masked, cloaked figure in the trash chute room. I heard a noise and when I turned, it was there with what looked like a raised, small baseball bat, ready to strike.” She paused, remembering her reaction to danger. “I guess I just went into action. I was a karate black belt in my day.”

  Devin looked at her and shook his head. “Karate? Really, Phoebe?”

  Phoebe chuckled. “Back when I was a young prosecutor, the D.A. insisted I learn karate to protect myself. It’s come in handy through the years—including today. I was trained in Goju-Ryu Karate, one of the oldest and strongest of all the karate styles, well-known for its deadly and effective use of close range fighting techniques.”

  She reached out and grasped her silver alligator head cane. “Today, Oliver did the job for me.”

  “Oliver?” Devin looked around the room.

  “This Oliver.” Phoebe thumped her cane on the floor. “I call this alligator Oliver. Good name, don’t you think?”

  Devin looked at Kate. “Was she hit on the head?” He hadn’t seen this playful side of Phoebe before.

  “No, but maybe Jack has something to do with this.” Kate nodded at the bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter.

  “Ah, good for whatever ails you. Right, Phoebe? And if nothing ails you, it’s good for that too.” Devin smiled fondly at the old judge.

  “Right, my boy.” Phoebe nodded.

  The banter stopped as Detective Ezuma entered the apartment. “Judge, you up to answerin’ some more questions?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You gave me a detailed account of what happened. Let’s go back to your assailant. First you knew of your assailant was when you were in the trash room? You didn’t hear or see anythin’ different before that?”

  “Nothing more than I already told you, Detective. The hall lights went out and seconds later the emergency lights came on. There was no one in the hall. The first I knew someone was there was when I heard a soft sound, like material rubbing on a wall. When I turned, it was there.”

  “Did the perp say anythin’? What did you notice about your attacker? Physical details? A scent? A walk? Anythin’ at all?”

  “Nothing. It all happened too fast, and then there was the cloak and mask. No. Can’t help you there. I had only a second or two to turn and try to avert the blow aimed at my head.”

  “You did a good job on that, Judge, or you’d be injured or dead now,” Latasha declared.

  “Why were you coming to see me to start with?” Phoebe asked.

  Latasha looked at Kate and Devin.

  Kate took the hint. “I have to run. Phoebe, you’ll call us if you need anything at all?”

  “Yes, thank you, Kate.”

  “And I’ll be going too, Phoebe.” Devin nodded at Latasha. “Detective.”

  Once they were alone, Phoebe turned to Latasha. “All right, Detective Ezuma, let’s have it.”

  “Okay. Here’s my thinkin’, Judge. I believe the perpetrator of these crimes is a resident who preys on women. It’s an inside job. An’ we need to fight it from the inside. What I’d like to do is plant a plainclothes officer in the buildin’ as a tenant. We’ll need a vacant apartment to move this person into, and we’ll do it in a real obvious manner. Your new resident will be a very flashy woman, displayin’ a lot of diamonds and a big mouth with a lot of opinions. Good so far?”

  “So far, yes,” Phoebe replied. “But will this person be safe? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to have a man go undercover?”

  “It’s been all women who’ve been threatened or attacked here. Seems our perp aims for the physically vulnerable, ‘cept in your case. Judge, you got any vacant apartments we can use?”

  “We have a few empty rentals. I’ll call the owners and get permission. How soon do you want to install this person…what’s her name?”

  “Soon as we can. And his name is Monica Stevens.”

  “His?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Our undercover gal is a guy. This can’t be divulged to anyone, Judge.”

  “Of course not,” Phoebe snapped.

  “And I’m gonna ask you to have an open-house welcome party in the lounge for Monica. Don’t care the reason you give. She could be a relative of yours or a friend’s daughter. We need to make it known that someone new is movin’ in. And Monica’s going to invite a few friends in for her housewarmin’ party. It’ll be a noisy one meant for people to notice and be aggravated by it. We’re gonna try and speed up the annoyance factor with the residents in the building.” Latasha’s dark eyes were intent on the older woman. “You sure you’re okay, Judge? You weren’t hurt in any way? ”

  Phoebe hoisted herself to her feet with the help of Oliver. “Never better, Detective. Let’s get started. I’ll make the necessary calls to get that apartment ready for…Monica Stevens,” she said wryly. “I must say, this case is taking a most interesting turn.” She led the way to the door.

  “Thanks, Judge. You got my direct line. You hear or see anything suspicious, just call.” Latasha gave the judge a half-salute and closed the door behind her.

  Phoebe limped back to the desk and sat heavily in her chair. Her neck did ache, but a hot shower would take care of that. She looked at the silver alligator head. Who knew, when she bought the cane so many years ago in London, it would one day save her life. “Oliver” was named for the dashing inspector from Scotland Yard, the one with whom she spent an incredible weekend at The Claridge in London—Oliver Reid. And there was a secret about each Oliver only Phoebe knew.

  Phoebe looked at the broken string of pearls recovered from the trash room floor. The necklace could be repaired. Lost lives could not. She brought up the list of resident owners’ telephone numbers, selected one, and dialed the number. She listened as the connection was made.

  “Barbara Davis? Phoebe Burlingame from The Albatross. About your furnished unoccupied rental here. I have a niece who is interested in leasing it. Her name? Monica Stevens.”

  Chapter 38

  “Great party, Judge.” Chester waved his glass at the room, splashing beer on nearby guests. His nose was even redder than usual. “And, Judge, no hard feelings about kickin’ me off the board. I’m better off in the ranks.” His lopsided smile revealed yellowed teeth.

  “The board voted you off, Mr. Cheney. And this is not the place for such discussions. Have you seen Ms. Stevens?” One would never suspect Phoebe’s smile was forced. She was intent on presenting the new tenant to all the residents at this welcoming party.

  “Yeah, a real looker. Just what this building needs to jazz it up.” Chester turned to the buffet table and popped three pigs-in-a-blanket simultaneously into his mouth.

  Phoebe seized the opportunity to turn away and greet more residents. “Valentina, good to see you.”

  “Buenas tardes. This is a good idea, Judge. I love par-r-rties.”

  Dressed in a long-sleeved, high-necked, red silk dress, a tall, well-endowed, blonde woman drifted to the judge, a strong fragrance following in her wake.

  “Auntie, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meetin’ this lady,” Monica flashed a big smile at Valentina. “Latina, right? I could tell from the way you walk.”

  “Valentina Lopez, Monica Stevens.” The old lady wondered if her niece was coming on too strong.

  “Hola. The way I walk?” Valentina forced a smile. “Latinas walk differently?”

  “Oh, y’know, y’all have those jacked-up butts that look so good. Makes us white gals feel insignificant.” Monica laughed loudly. “It’s a compliment, Miz Lopez.”

  Valentina looked dubiously at the new resident. “Wher-r-re are you from, Mees Stevens?” />
  “Now, y’all can call me Monica. I’m not about formalities, even though I’m a southern girl. I’m from No’th Ca’olina.” She smiled brightly at Valentina, her bright red lipstick accentuating very white teeth. “And y’all are from…?” Monica cocked her head, her silky, blonde hair touching her shoulders.

  “Havana.”

  “Oh, my, my. Y’all knew Castro? That was before my time, but my daddy loved Castro. Said he was the best thing that happened to Cuba.” Monica took a sip of her Cosmopolitan and looked over the rim at Valentina.

  “Your daddy was a fool,” Valentina spluttered. “You need to educate your niece, Judge.” She glared at the newcomer. “That’s like saying Hitler-r-r was good for Ger-r-many.” Valentina’s r’s were becoming more pronounced. “Excuse me.” She turned and examined the buffet table with exaggerated attention.

  Monica smiled at Phoebe. “Nice lady.” She jumped as Chester passed behind her.

  “Mahh goodness. I haven’t been goosed in ages.” Monica grasped Chester’s arm and brought him into their circle. “Auntie, who is this not-so gentleman?”

  “Chester Cheney,” Phoebe said through clenched teeth.

  “Why, Mr. Cheney. You naughty boy! Didn’t your mama teach you better manners?” Monica shook a bright red manicured finger at Chester, the polish an exact match with her lipstick.

  “Ah-h-h, haraauggghhh.” Chester cleared his throat. “Just can’t resist a ripe southern peach.”

  “I bet you say that to all us southern girls.” Monica smiled coquettishly at him. “I’m guessin’ you were in the navy and went wild on shore leave, Chester.”

  Chester straightened to full military attention. “No, ma’am. I was a leatherneck.”

  Monica drew back in mock surprise. “Oh, my goodness. You were a marine?”

  “Why not?” Chester bristled.

  Monica shrugged. “You just don’t look…I thought marines were He-Man types.”

  Chester stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “I’m more man than you can handle, Miz Southern Belle.” He stalked away, talking to himself.

  Phoebe looked at Monica. “That’s two for two, Niece,” she murmured softly.

  “Such fun, Auntie.” Monica smiled sweetly at Phoebe.

  “Sorry I’m late, Judge,” Devin said to Phoebe.

  “You haven’t missed much. Devin Dillon, Monica Stevens.”

  Devin extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Monica. Welcome to The Albatross.”

  The statuesque blonde held Devin’s hand warmly in both her own. “A pleasure, Devin. You lived here long?”

  “Just three years. Seems longer somehow.”

  “Auntie tells me you’ve had some excitement here lately.” She raised one well-shaped eyebrow and tipped her head questioningly.

  Devin took a glass of white wine from a passing server. “I’m afraid so.” He raised the glass to his lips then looked at Monica speculatively. “So Monica, what do you do?”

  “Do? I don’t have to do anything, Devin. I have a trust fund. Daddy set me up for life. I’m just down here to invest in real estate. Now’s the time, y’know. An’ Devin, what do you do?”

  “Interior design.”

  “Now, how did I know that? I took one look at you and I said, that man is so good lookin’, dresses great, and has nice manners, I bet he’s a gay designer.”

  Devin looked at Monica and smiled coolly. “You’re one perceptive lady, Monica.” He turned to Phoebe. “You’ll excuse me, Phoebe? I have a late appointment. Have a good evening, ladies.” Devin waved to Kate as he left the lounge.

  “Monica, dear, your mama would have been proud of your southern manners,” Phoebe muttered.

  “Just getting’ the job done, ma’am.” Monica snared another Cosmopolitan from the server’s tray and raised her glass to Phoebe. “These are just the yummiest. Long life to you, Auntie.”

  “Right now, it’s not worth a plugged nickel, my dear niece. Isn’t it bedtime for you yet?”

  “I think I’ll spread a bit more cheer before I take my leave. And tomorrow, don’t forget I’m havin’ my condo warmin’ party. It’ll start at nine and who knows when it’ll end. You’ll come, Auntie?”

  “As you’ve only invited your friends and no residents, I think my presence isn’t required. Besides, I’m quite sure I’ll be fielding residents’ phone calls. Especially from the unit owner above you. Yetta Horowitz isn’t leaving her condo until the killer is caught, but her dialing finger is in good shape. One minute after eleven tomorrow night, she’ll be on the line about the noise coming from the new tenant’s apartment.”

  “Ah, excuse me, Phoebe. I haven’t been introduced to this lovely lady.” A rotund, balding, very short man smiled at Monica. His coloring matched the bright red flowers on his silk shirt from too much sun or too much liquor, or both.

  “Alphonse Jacoby, my niece, Monica Stevens.” Phoebe looked at him in alarm. “Were you in the sun today, Mr. Jacoby?”

  He took a sip of his bourbon. “Yes, had my captain take me out on my boat today. It’s a one hundred and thirty foot Westport.” He turned to Monica, sliding his arm around her waist. “Mon, you have to be my guest on Mr. Big.”

  Monica squeezed the little man, burying his face in her provocative bosom. “Why, Al, I barely know you and already I’m ridin’ Mr. Big?” She looked down at him and winked. “Who’s been tellin’ you about me?”

  Alphonse barely had time to recover before Phoebe interrupted. “I need to talk to Kate before she leaves. Monica, dear, you’ll call me before you turn in?”

  “Of course, Auntie.” She turned back to Alphonse. “Al, tell me all about Mr. Big.” She smiled provocatively. “Just how big is ‘big’?”

  Chapter 39

  “Listen, Judge, I’m an easy-going woman.” Yetta’s voice got louder. “I went down there three times to talk to your niece about the noise. The last time it was past midnight. I could see there were men looking at the TV. Only men, drinking beer. I didn’t see one woman. What kind of woman is she? She’s a hooker?” Yetta’s voice rose another octave. “We have a brothel in the building? Murder isn’t bad enough?”

  Phoebe held the phone away from her ear. “She’s not a hooker, Yetta. I’ll talk to her. I’m sorry you were disturbed. Thank you for letting me know.” She clicked off the connection and tapped another speed dial number into her cell.

  “Detective Ezuma, Phoebe Burlingame. You wanted to make residents aware there’s a new tenant and that’s certainly happened. I’ve had at least ten complaints about my niece’s party last night.” Phoebe’s patience was waning and she was tired. “And five of those were past midnight. You’ll have to find another way to draw out the murderer besides raucous condo parties.”

  “It worked, huh? We’re on our way, Judge. If so many residents are riled up, it’s good. How was the board’s welcoming party?”

  “Monica insulted everyone in the room, southern style.” Phoebe frowned faintly at the memory. “I must say, she’s a great actress…actor.”

  “Officer Dennison was a theater major.”

  “Now what, Detective?”

  “Now we let Monica weave her spell around the building. From what you tell me, she’s doin’ a good job aggravatin’ people. And our perp acts out of anger. We just wait. Um, Judge—”

  “Yes?”

  “I have to remind you, you were attacked only a few days ago. You need to be vigilant.”

  “Thank you, Detective.” Phoebe forestalled any more advice concerning her safety by ending the call.

  Of course she realized the need for vigilance. She went to her closet, dialed the combination on a wall safe, and withdrew a Glock and a holster. She checked the chambers—fully loaded. The gun fit snugly in her palm. She thought her gun-totin’ days were over, but with Florida’s concealed weapon law, she could provide herself with extra protection. When it was beyond Oliver’s capacity to help her, she could defend herself.

  She wrapped the holster around her thig
h and slid the gun into it. The mirror verified there was no evidence of a firearm under her full skirt. The only one who would suspect this diminutive, white-haired woman could hurt anyone was the assailant who had fallen victim to Oliver’s powerful blows.

  Time to get ready for a lunch date with an old friend from her Manhattan court days. She sighed. She missed those days more than she thought she would. The excitement of a new court case, organizing facts, dealing with chicanerous attorneys, determining decisions competently and fairly, seeing justice done. It made her feel alive and useful. But it was time to hand the gavel to the next generation. Don’t look back—that was her motto. Just take whatever happens and make it work in a different way.

  Handbags—Louis Vuitton, Fendi, Hermes, Prada—lined the shelf, evidence of Phoebe’s niche in life. She chose her favorite, a Fendi purse big enough to hold lipstick, compact, a tiny, lacy handkerchief, and a small can of pepper spray. She patted her skirt pocket. Her cell was charged. She swept Oliver off the back of a chair and checked the lever hidden in the silver amphibian’s eye. The lever released a blade from the top of the alligator’s head, a virtual bayonet. All set to go. This time, she was prepared, loaded for bear—or a murderer.

  Chapter 40

  Devin tapped the elevator button impatiently. He checked his watch. He was late. Noise from the new tenant’s party kept him up until two in the morning.

  Monica Stevens. All night long, the brassy blonde’s face floated in his dreams.

  I’ve seen her before, but where? Phoebe’s niece? Hard to imagine Judge Phoebe could be related to such a raucous woman.

  It came to him when he began drifting off to sleep for the fifth time that night. When it registered, sleep was out of the question. He thought back to his visit to the Keys, when a friend introduced him to Prescott Dennison, a Robert Redford look-alike. Devin was sure Prescott and Monica were one and the same.