Part 5 (2/2)

The happy face that looked out at me was more piquant than pretty. Carol Nerstad Stokes had big brown eyes, a wide, generous mouth, and an upturned nose. Her hair was short and spiky, the tips dyed a golden blond. She was wearing a tight red sweater and tight black pants that showed off her curvaceous figure. Silver sandals adorned her feet, and I noticed that her toenails were painted a bright red.

”She's very nice looking, really,” I said, and couldn't help but think that Carol must have been the girl who was an answer to Ronnie's prayers. I couldn't think of any other way he'd been able to get such a prize when it came to looks.

”Were you at home the night Carol was killed?” I inquired as we went into the kitchen.

”No,” Henrietta replied with apparent regret. ”I was at the hospital. I pulled a sixteen-hour s.h.i.+ft that Friday. Somebody didn't show up-these young nurses, you can't rely on them. I used to work in private practice, but doctors are skinflints. Hospital work may have long hours, but the pay and the benefits are better. Imagine- working for a doctor who doesn't offer medical coverage!” She shook her head in a disgusted manner.

The kitchen was small, and apparently had been cleaned up and cleared out. Cupboards stood open and bare; the refrigerator, which Vida inspected, was all but empty.

”The daughter,” Henrietta said, waving a hand at the boxes, which appeared to be filled with dishes, pots and pans, and canned goods. ”She was here yesterday, after the police took down that nasty yellow tape. Mr. Chan wants everything out by Wednesday. Come see the bedroom and bath.”

We trooped after Henrietta. The bathroom, like the rest of the rooms in the unit, was small and cramped.

Kendra had cleared it out, too, though the tiles and tub needed a good scouring.

”Did you talk to Kendra?” I asked.

”Just to say h.e.l.lo,” Henrietta replied, leading us into the bedroom. ”She seemed in a big rush. Not that she's the chatty type. You know these young people-they think you're nosy just because you show some interest.”

”Indeed,” Vida murmured. ”So touchy. By the way, did you attend Carol's funeral?”

Henrietta made a face. ”Such as it was, out at the cemetery. I felt an obligation, and as it turned out, I was right. Very few of her friends showed up, but no family except for her brother, who came up from California to make the arrangements. Of course it was during the day, so I suppose some of those people who used to hang out around here had to work. If they work,” she added.

”Did you know any of them?” I asked.

Henrietta shook her head. ”It was a young crowd,” she replied. ”Late twenties, early thirties. They weren't interested in an old coot like me.”

”The brother,” Vida breathed, snapping her fingers. ”In California. What was his name?”

”Charles,” Henrietta put in. ”Chuck, they called him. He was in a big hurry to get back to San Jose or San Mateo or one of those Sans down there. Typical Cali-fornian, full of himself.” She stopped to stare at Vida. ”You know him?”

”Ah... No,” Vida fibbed. ”Not really.”

I remembered to ask about the dog, but I had to be cagey since I wasn't supposed to know he existed. I brought up the subject by noting that the carpet and some of the upholstery had been chewed.

”That darned dog,” Henrietta said as we finally moved out of the tiny hallway and into the bedroom. ”He drove me crazy when they left him tied up outside. Sometimes he'd bark half the night, especially if they forgot to let him in. I haven't seen him since the night of the murder.”

The double bed had been stripped, the closet had been cleaned out except for some shoes, and it looked as if Kendra had been working on the bureau when she quit. One drawer was bare except for a sachet, but the others were still full. The white wicker dressing table was also partially emptied.

”Does Kendra have an apartment?” I inquired as we headed back into the living room.

”I don't think so,” Henrietta replied. ”She graduated from high school last June, but she still lives at home as far as I know.”

”Where did Carol work?” I asked, realizing that Vida hadn't joined us.

”At a seafood packing place in Ballard,” Henrietta told me. ”Carol mentioned she was trying to get Kendra a job up in Alaska for the summer at a cannery. The pay's so good, you know.”

”Carol seems to have taken a real interest in her daughter's life,” I remarked as Vida entered in her splayfooted manner.

Henrietta nodded. ”She did for a fact. I suppose she was trying to make up for all those lost years.”

”Where was the body found?” Vida asked, surveying the room as if she could make a corpse materialize before her eyes.

”There,” Henrietta said, pointing to the floor in front of the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen. ”I peeked in when the door was open and saw the outline. It must have been chalk, because it's gone now.” She turned to look at the big-screen TV. ”You'd think Kendra would get that out of here before somebody steals it.”

”Is there a problem with burglars?” I asked.

”Oh-no, not really,” Henrietta said, obviously embarra.s.sed lest I be frightened off. ”It's like anyplace else, especially when there's a vacancy. You know, Kendra mentions the big TV to her friends and one of them is into drugs and the next thing you know, they break in and steal what's not nailed down. Generally, I mean. We haven't had much of a problem. Not at all.”

”What exactly is the rent?” Vida asked.

Henrietta looked relieved by the change of subject. ”Six seventy-five, plus the usual damage deposit, first and last month's rent. You know the drill, I imagine.”

”Oh yes,” Vida said breezily. ”But we don't want Emma feeling rushed.”

”Of course not,” Henrietta agreed, letting us out and locking the door. ”Maybe you could come by Wednesday, after Kendra's finished.”

”What a good idea,” Vida enthused. ”You've been very helpful.”

”Could I get your number?” Henrietta asked. ”So I can tell Mr. Chan.”

Vida started to say something, but I interrupted, offering my cell-phone number. Henrietta thanked us, complained about the unkempt landscaping, thought better of it, and allowed that the landlord probably had someone coming in as soon as the weather turned nice.

”I gave her the cell number in case she thinks of something about Carol that we ought to know,” I explained after we got into the car. ”What were you going to do?”

”Tell the truth,” Vida said, looking affronted. ”That we were down from Alpine. That you're moving here to start a new job.”

”Vida,” I said, amazed, ”that's not the truth.”

”Part of it is,” Vida retorted. ”Though your answer may have been better. Less complicated.”

”It'd be better if we'd been up-front with all these people,” I grumbled. ”Now we have to pretend, not to mention lie through our teeth. I don't like it.”

”They wouldn't speak so freely if we didn't,” Vida responded.

”Not that we learned much, except that Ronnie's reputation is in the drain as far as most of them are concerned,” I pointed out, turning off onto Greenwood Avenue. ”In fact, this was a waste of time.”

”No, it wasn't,” Vida said, looking smug.

”What do you mean?”

”While you were checking the furniture and the boxes,” she began, ”I was studying the windows.”

I was puzzled. ”The windows? What for? To see if someone could look in?”

”No, no,” Vida replied. ”I don't think Carol was one to open the drapes. Did you notice how faded they were in the living room? The short ones in the bedroom were, too. But you miss my point. I was looking at the drapery cords.”

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