“They’re fine. Let me walk you to your car.”
Eric waved as I started the engine and drove off.
I actually accomplished something tonight. I’d been so sick of hitting dead end after dead end. But now I had something tangible to link Sullivan and NorthStar and Packard Graystone. Officially I couldn’t prove anything, and I didn’t know what my next move should be, but I was determined to figure it out. One way or another, I was getting Axton back.
I parked in my lot and scoured the area before I got out of the car, then hustled inside. As I entered the building, my neighbor opened her door and poked her head out. A slim woman in her fifties, Wanda’s fried, bleached hair had a Bride of Frankenstein thing going on. She held a glass of red wine in one hand. “Hey, blondie, want to keep it down up there? I got work in the morning.” She worked at The Gutter Ball, and by the way she slurred her words, I could tell that wasn’t her first glass of red this evening.
“Hey, Wanda, I just got home. I’ve been out for hours.”
“Well it sounded like balls being thrown down the alley.” She slammed the door in my face.
My heart began beating like a bad techno song. I knocked on Wanda’s door. She answered it with a scowl. “What now?”
“When did you hear the noise?”
“’Bout an hour ago.” She slammed the door again.
Could be nothing, I told myself. But myself knew I was lying. Bowling alley sounds coming from my apartment — not a good thing. I pulled out my cell phone and punched in 911, my finger hovering over the send key.
I slowly climbed the stairs to my apartment and tiptoed to the door. It stood half open, the new lock busted. The overhead light was on. I knew that whoever had been here was probably long gone, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I pushed the door open farther with my toe.
My apartment looked like it had been swept up in a tornado. The futon was hacked up and chunks of blue foam dotted the room like enormous confetti. My laptop had been thrown to the floor, the hinge broken. The small TV overturned, the screen shattered, but the cord was still plugged into the outlet. The framed pictures from my dresser lay scattered on the floor along with textbooks, their pages ripped out and crumpled into balls.
Trembling, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. In silence, I scanned the room, threw my hand over my mouth and sobbed.
Clothes were pulled from the closet, slashed to ribbons. Including the new dress from Pour Femme. And every single item from my dresser drawers. Underwear and bras were ripped and torn. I glanced down and saw a decapitated flamingo.
The small amount of food from my fridge was splattered all over my kitchenette. Milk and orange juice mixed together in a puddle and spilled onto the cracked linoleum.
The bathroom hadn’t faired any better. My makeup and toiletries smashed and dumped in the toilet.
Even my little bistro table and chairs were demolished.
Shit. Who would do something like this? Sullivan? Why now? Revenge for crashing his gambling club? He must know about my fight with Manny on the main staircase. But even for him, this was some kind of fucked up.
I pressed the send button on my phone and went back downstairs to wait for the police.
It took them forty-five minutes to arrive. The longest forty-five minutes of my life. They dusted for prints, talked to the neighbors — who by then had stumbled out into the hall to see what all the commotion was about — and took my statement. One of the officers told me to come down to the station the next day and get a copy of the report.
After the police left, I just stood in the doorway of my apartment staring at the damage. Everything I owned had been destroyed.
Chapter 21
It was just after three a.m. when I called Roxy and explained what happened. Fifteen minutes later she walked through my door carrying a broom, cleaning supplies, and a box of garbage bags. She laid everything on the ground, then enfolded me in her arms.
Roxy’s not big on displays of affection, I think because she had so little of it growing up. But she hugged me like she wouldn’t let go. I clung to her and cried.
When I finally pulled away, my gaze swept over the room. “Who would do this?”
“Sullivan, of course. We can’t rule out Dane, either.”
“Dane?” I frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Did it ever occur to you that Dane might not be helping you out of the goodness of his heart?”
I gave a little humorless laugh. “Yeah, I think he’s doing it to get into my pants.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Or he could be working with Sullivan. Dane popped up out of nowhere at the exact same time your bud, Ax, disappeared. That’s quite a coinkadink.”
“That’s crazy talk. He went to Penn’s Cigar Bar with me. Why would he do that? And why would he give me a list of NorthStar businesses in the first place? That doesn’t make sense.”
“He never thought you’d find any real evidence? Maybe Sullivan wants Dane to keep tabs on you.”
My gut clenched in a knot. “No, I can’t believe Dane would do that.”
“He didn’t seem real excited after you showed him the list from the hard drive.”
True. He’d pooh-poohed. Was that because he just didn’t want to mess with the bigwigs of Huntingford or because he was trying to throw me off track? Maybe Dane was setting me up.
Roxy snapped open a trash bag. “All I’m saying is, be careful what info you share with him. He may be working for the enemy.”
She was absolutely right and it had never occurred to me. It should have. What did I even know about Dane? He was cute and dimply? And very eager to help me. Because he sat behind me in sixth grade? I automatically assumed he was attracted to me. He kissed like he was attracted.
“You know, even Kevin could have done this,” Roxy added.
“I hadn’t even thought about Kevin.”
“Jealous ex.” Roxy picked up a broom and began sweeping. “He was all shades of pissed when I saw him the other night. Kept going on about how you two were meant for each other and wanted to know who you were dating.” She stopped mid-sweep. “He’s cute and all, but he’s not that smart.”
“He wouldn’t think about consequences, that’s for sure. He did change his name to Spaz.”
“What about Packard?”
I ripped a wad of paper towels off the roll and started mopping up the milk/juice combo. “I told him I didn’t have the hard drive, but maybe he didn’t believe me.”
“Anybody else not in your fan club?”
“Officer Hardass wasn’t too fond of me.” I threw the sopping towels into a trash bag. “But he wasn’t on the spreadsheet.”
“Chief of Police was though,” Roxy said. “Or maybe Manny figured out who you were and decided on a little payback.”
“Well crap. I shouldn’t have such a long list of enemies. I’m a likeable person, right?”
She glanced up at me. “I like you. But I have low standards.”
I actually laughed. “Thanks, Rox.” I grabbed a trash bag and began stuffing it with the remnants of my clothes.
It took over two hours, but eventually we put everything into bags. We dragged them, along with the remains of my futon mattress and the busted bistro table and chairs, out to the dumpster — it took several trips.
“I still can’t believe no one called the cops,” I said as we walked back inside. “This is such a small building and no one heard or saw anything?”
“People pay attention to their own shit,” she said. Putting her hands on her hips, she leaned back, stretching her muscles.
“No kidding. See if I give wino Wanda a bottle of red this Christmas.”
I tried to boot up my computer, but wasn’t having much success. “I’ll take this to Eric today. Maybe he can fix it.”