We’d moved in after her husband had passed, and she’d told us bits and pieces of their lives together. They’d raised two children, the boy becoming a doctor while the girl went into teaching. She talked of her husband with longing and sometimes her eyes became misty. His death had been quick—a fall down the apartment stairs. I hoped to one day find someone who touched my soul that way, but not now. And I certainly wouldn’t find him while shlepping drinks on a plane, no matter what the airline advertised.
I noted a new picture had been placed next to the wedding shot—two blond children staring adorably into the camera. Baring a slight resemblance to her, I guessed they were her grandchildren. The apartment had always seemed very homey to me.
“We're actually drinking wine,” Donna said. “Want to join us?”
“Oh my. Drinking in the middle of the day. How scandalous. I'd love to.”
Donna rushed back to our apartment and returned a few moments later with a full bottle she must have retrieved from our stash. If I had much more, I wouldn't be able to maneuver on my crutches.
Mrs. Wilson took a long sip of the Chardonnay, then asked, “What's on you girls’ minds?”
“Well, we were wondering if the cops gave you any indication on who killed Charles,” I said.
She shook her head. “None. They sure asked a lot of questions, though.”
“Same here,” I said. “They asked me about everyone he knew.”
“Yes! They were quite nosey.”
I pursed my lips together to hide my laughter. Mrs. Wilson calling someone else nosey was the pot calling the kettle black. She loved to lurk and listen, claiming no one paid her much attention because she was old and seemingly harmless. If I were a betting gal, I would say she knew something about everyone in this building.
“So, what did you tell them?” Donna asked. “Did you give them any good information?”
“Well, yes, I did,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I told them about that horrid Bob downstairs—that hippy who’s always throwing insults at Charles about him being a war veteran.”
“I mentioned him as well,” I said. Although, I hadn’t remembered his name, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“And the demonstrators outside… they became so violent! If one of them knew Charles was a veteran, they could have taken advantage of the chaos and slipped in the building, killed him, and left without being seen.”
I nodded and drank my wine. Apparently, Mrs. Wilson and I thought very much alike. “I also mentioned Charles’ girlfriend, Karen,” I said.
“Really? Why?”
“They were asking about who I saw coming and going from the apartment,” I replied with a shrug. “I just gave them the names of people I knew.”
“I did the same, Patty.”
“So, who do you think did it?” Donna asked, setting down her glass and rubbing her hands together.
Mrs. Wilson smiled and took a sip of her wine. “Well, I don’t like to gossip, dear, especially not about the dead. It brings bad luck.”
“It’s not gossip,” Donna said. “It’s… it’s conjecture. An educated guess based on what you know about Charles and the people in his life.”
“I couldn’t. It’s disrespectful.” Mrs. Wilson shook her head.
“We won’t say anything,” I interjected. “Like you, we live alone, and frankly, I’m a bit rattled that our neighbor has been killed. I just want to know who you think I should avoid if I see them.”
“Yes,” Donna said. “We don’t want to find ourselves in a dangerous situation. So please… who do you think killed Charles?”
Chapter 7
Mrs. Wilson stared at us over the rim of her glass while she sipped her wine. “Oh, heck. How can I resist such two beautiful girls? You know, when you sit next to each other like that, you remind me of salt and pepper shakers.”
Donna and I exchanged glances, and I realized Mrs. Wilson was speaking of our hair. With mine being black and Donna's being light blonde, I understood the comment.
“Tell us!” Donna squealed.
“Okay, but I'm trusting you girls not to mention my thoughts to anyone else. Do you understand?”
We both nodded obediently. My heart raced as I waited for her to give her opinion.
“I believe it was his wife,” she said quietly.
“His wife?” Donna asked, obviously disappointed. “Really?”
“Yes. She's an absolute shrew.”
“Tell us about her,” Donna said.
“Well, she and Charles moved in right after my husband died. That was three years ago, bless his soul. Anyway, after they were settled, I went over to introduce myself. Charles had just been discharged and was kind to me, but I could tell he wasn't comfortable in his own skin. He was jittery, as though he perpetually drank too much coffee. That's the only way I can explain it, but it was much more than that. Something much deeper in his soul besides caffeine. It was never said to me, but I do believe he was having trouble assimilating back into regular society. I imagine coming from the jungles into an apartment wouldn't be easy.”
Donna and I nodded in agreement. I listened intently as Mrs. Wilson continued.
“Claudia seemed pleasant enough in the beginning. A tall girl with a blonde bob and a nice disposition. She was always smiling, always had a kind word to say. I'm sure Charles' issues didn't make life easy for her.”
“His friend, Wayne, said that Charles suffered from nightmares,” I said.
“When did you see Wayne?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
“Earlier today.”
Mrs. Wilson lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “He's a nice man, but you know he's a marijuana dealer, don't you?”
“Yes. He told me that and also said the drug helped Charles with his sleeping issues.”
“Well, it didn’t work very well if you ask me,” Mrs. Wilson said.
