There were still others on the suspect list that had been provided during police interviews who Bill needed to speak to. I didn't know if he'd ask me to accompany him, but I hoped he did. I found the work fascinating and I liked the idea of assisting him in solving the case.
When I thought I heard drawers closing in Charles' apartment, I stood and turned off the television to listen better. Our unit may not be situated so that we could hear Charles' screams at night, but we could certainly detect movement in the living room.
Yes. Someone was definitely in Charles' place.
I grabbed my crutch and stepped out into the hallway to find Mrs. Wilson staring at the half-open door.
“Did you hear someone in there?” I whispered.
She nodded. “Should we call the police?”
I'd had the same thought, but what if they didn't arrive in time to find out who it was? We'd miss out on this important clue!
“I say we go inside,” I murmured.
Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “Are you crazy or brave?”
“Is there a difference?”
“Good point, dear. I do think we should call the police beforehand, though. Just so we know they're on the way.”
“Okay. I'll wait here and make sure they don't slip out while you call.”
I waited at the ready, my crutch over my shoulder like a baseball bat. My heart thundered and beads of sweat dampened my forehead. Crazy or brave? What a great question. I felt a little bit of both.
A moment later, Mrs. Wilson returned and I fully pushed the door open, realizing I should have called Bill as well. He'd want to be aware of this new development. Perhaps a stranger had simply broken into the apartment and this was all a big coincidence, or maybe it was the murderer. My hands trembled in fear at the thought.
As we stepped inside, I saw a figure going through the desk drawers in the living room carrying a flashlight to light their path. Tall and thin, I couldn't discern if it was a man or a woman, but I tightened my grip on my crutch.
Mrs. Wilson flipped on the lights and with a gasp, the intruder turned to us. A blonde woman who I guessed was Charles' wife glared at us—her hand over her heart, her gaze filled with cold hatred.
“Claudia?” Mrs. Wilson said. “What are you doing here?”
Clammy Claudia because of her frigid scowl.
“I'm looking for something.”
“What would that be, dear?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
Claudia lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don't think that's any of your business.”
“You don't live here any longer,” Mrs. Wilson said softly. “So, being Charles' neighbor, I have to say that it is my business.”
The two women stared each other down for a moment as I lowered my crutch and propped it under my arm. Claudia turned and opened another drawer as if we weren't standing mere feet away, watching her.
“What are you looking for?” Mrs. Wilson asked again. “Are you aware Charles is dead?”
“Yes. As his wife, I was informed.”
“You left him, though,” Mrs. Wilson said. “You may have been married on paper, but not in the eyes of God.”
Claudia spun around and place her fists on her thin hips. “He wouldn't sign the papers!” she yelled. “I begged, pleaded and threatened him, and the lazy jerk still wouldn't sign!”
Threatened?! Had she followed through? Perhaps with a knife to the stomach?
“Well, the police took the divorce papers, if that's what you're looking for,” I said.
Claudia's shoulders sagged, but then she narrowed her frigid blue gaze on me. “Who are you?”
“Charles' other neighbor. My name's Patty. We moved in after… after you left.”
She studied me from head to toe, her mouth turned in disgust. “Were you the girlfriend?”
“Um... no. Just the neighbor. Charles used to babysit my cat while I was away.”
Claudia rolled her eyes and leaned against the desk. “Away where?”
“I'm a stewardess, so I'm gone quite a bit.”
“Figures,” she muttered with snort.
“Excuse me?” I said, unsure what part of the conversation she was referring to.
“I couldn't get that man to change his clothes, let alone babysit anything or get a job. You, the pretty stew, moves in next door and he's bending over backwards to accommodate your stupid cat.”
Not the way I saw it, but Clammy Claudia seemed to have a large chip on her shoulder where Charles was concerned. “He said my cat helped him with... his issues. It was actually a win-win situation for all of us.”
“All of us?”
“Yes. Ringo, our cat, doesn't like to be left alone.”
“That man’s issues ran too deep for a cat to fix. Unless, of course, the cat poops marijuana.”
I smiled sweetly, but Clammy Claudia sat firmly on my last nerve. “I can assure you that doesn't happen.”
“Why don't you two nosey neighbors go back to your own places and leave me alone?” Claudia said. “I've got enough problems without you both staring at me.”
“We called the police, dear,” Mrs. Wilson said. “I wish you would have let me know you were coming over.”
Claudia crossed the room in a flash and stared down at Mrs. Wilson, wagging her finger in the older woman's face. “Call them right now and tell them not to come!”
I expected Mrs. Wilson to wilt under the hatred directed at her, but instead, she pursed her lips and shook her head. “You're trespassing, Claudia. This isn't your home any longer.”
“He's my husband,” she hissed.
Mrs. Wilson crossed her arms over her chest. “Was. He was your husband. We'll let the police decide on whether you belong here or not.”
Clammy Claudia's cheeks turned absolutely crimson as she glared at the small woman. “Are you threatening to hold me here until the police arrive?”
“I hadn't given
