“Actually, I lied about my sister,” I said. “We're investigating Lillian's murder. There've been some new developments.”
“I figured,” the waitress said. “You get to be a good judge of people with a job like this and Rambo's got FED' written all over him. A local cop would have ordered pie.”
Ranger looked at me and winked and I almost fell off my seat. It was the first time he'd ever winked at me. Somehow Ranger and winking didn't go together.
“Did Lillian have a boyfriend?” I asked.
"Nothing serious. She was going out with this one guy, but they broke up. She hadn't seen him for a couple months. His name was Bailey Scrugs. You don't forget a name like Bailey Scrags. The cops talked to him early on. So far as I know she wasn't dating anyone when she was killed. She was real depressed after breaking up with Scrugs and she spent a lot of time on her computer. Chat rooms and stuff.
“Do you want to know what I think? I think it was one of them random killings. Some nut saw her out walking in the woods. The world's full of nuts.”
“I know this all happened a while ago,” I said. “But try to think back. Was Lillian ever worried? Scared? Upset? Anything unusual happen to her?” Like was she ever shot with a tranquilizer dart?
“The police asked me all those same questions. At the time I couldn't think of anything to tell them. But there was something that popped into my head months later. I couldn't decide if I should go tell someone. It was sort of an odd thing and all that time had passed, so I ended up keeping it to myself.”
“What was it?” I asked.
“This is probably stupid, but a couple days before she was killed someone left a red rose and a white carnation on her car. Stuck them under her windshield wiper with a card. And the card said have a nice day. Lillian was kind of upset about it. She brought them in here and threw them away. I guess that's why it bothered me when I remembered. She didn't say anything more about them, like who they were from or anything. Do you think the flowers might have been important?”
“Hard to say,” Ranger told her.
“You should talk to her neighbor,” the waitress said to us.
“Carl. I don't remember his last name. They were real good friends. Nothing romantic. Just good friends.”
I ate my pie and Ranger drank his coffee. Neither of us said anything until we were out of the cafe and into his truck.
“Shit,” I said. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”
“I have a house in Maine,” Ranger said. “It's nice there at this time of year.”
It was a tempting offer. “Is there an outlet mall nearby? Is it close to a Cheesecake Factory? A Chili's?”
“Babe, it's a safe house. It's on a lake in the woods.”
Oh boy. Bears, black flies, rabid raccoons, and spiders. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass. Just tell Tank to stick close to me.”
Ranger put the truck in gear, turned at the corner, drove two blocks down Market, and parked in front of an old Victorian clapboard house. The front door was unlocked and led to a small foyer. There were six mailboxes lined up on the wall. Beyond the mailboxes, a hand-?carved mahogany railing followed a broad staircase to the second and third floors. The carpet was threadbare and the wall covering was faded and had begun to peel at the corners, but the foyer and staircase were clean. An air freshener had been plugged into a baseboard outlet and spewed lemony freshness that mingled with the natural mustiness of the house.
We ran through the names on the mailboxes and found Carl Rosen. Apartment 2B. We both knew chances weren't good that he'd be in, but we took the stairs and knocked on his door. No answer. We knocked on the door across the hall. No answer there, either.
We could get Carl Rosen's work address easy enough, but most people were reluctant to talk in their work environment. Better to wait a couple hours and catch him at home.
“Now what?” I asked Ranger.
“I want to go through Bart Cone's house. It'll be easier to do alone, so I'm taking you back to the office. You should be safe there. I'll pick you up at five and we'll try Rosen again.”
Stephanie Plum 9 - To The Nines
Chapter Eight
Mrs. Apusenja was sitting in the office when Ranger dropped me off. She was on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, lips pressed tightly together.
She jumped up when I walked in and pointed her finger at me. “You!” Mrs. Apusenja said. “What do you do all day? Do you look for Samuel Singh? Do you look for poor little Boo? Where are they? Why haven't you found them?”
Connie rolled her eyes.
“Hunh,” Lula said from behind a file cabinet.