unlit cigarette in the other.
“Can I help you?” she demanded. It wasn’t an offer so much as a challenge, the dragon at the gate.
“Uh…I’m not sure,” I said. I decided that it was best to come out with a bit of the truth. “I’m trying to find someone, who might live here. Someone who has been…harassing me, hurting people.” I pointed to the mailbox. “I’m pretty sure that’s his name. My name is Emma Fielding, and I work at the college. I hope you can help me.”
She figeted uncertainly, not sure whether to believe me. I pulled out my license and my Caldwell ID card. “Just so you know I’m not trying to pull anything. Can you at least tell me if there is an older man, who lives here alone? I can’t read the label on the mailbox; that can’t be any kind of breach of security or trust, can it? Is it Ernie Fishbeck on the label?”
It took her another minute to decide. “I manage all four of the buildings along here, hell, I own them, too. I usually only rent to girls, and I look after them. My girls are the best-looking and the smartest on campus.”
I got the impression that she said that to all of the renters and their parents, if they were undergraduates, as if that would convince them that this was practically a convent they’d be installing their daughters in. My heart began to sink, when she continued.
“But yes, it’s just one gentleman in this building. I wouldn’t ordinarily, but both of the other places in this building are rented to couples, and I thought no one would get up to any funny business. Name he gave me was Ernie Fishbeck.”
I tried not to get my hopes up, but I could feel my heart racing anyway. “How old is he? What does he look like?”
“He’s older, but you know? I don’t want to tell you any more. No offense, sweetie, you look like a nice girl to me. But I gotta look out for my tenants.”
“Look, I’ll tell you what I think the guy looks like, and maybe, if you recognize him, we can go from there, okay?”
She shrugged. “I ain’t saying anything. You can talk all you want.”
I gave her my description, and her eyes went wide. “And maybe,” I concluded, “he hasn’t been living here all that long? Maybe just renting month to month?”
“I ain’t saying.” But she sounded less sure of herself now.
I seized on that uncertainty. “How about we call the Caldwell police? There’s been a couple of crimes on campus, and if we could nail this guy…a security guard was killed, over in the college art museum. I just want to make sure no one else gets hurt.”
She hesitated, and I knew that the landlady didn’t want to be held liable for anything. “We can do that,” she said finally.
“Maybe you could ask them to come up quietly? I wouldn’t want anyone to run away, or start shooting or whatever.”
Now she looked truly alarmed, rather than suspicious of me. “Definitely gonna call the cops.” She stuck her cigarette behind her ear, propped her broom up against the corner, and pulled an expensive cell phone out of the pocket of her sweatshirt.
“Who’s this?” she said, as soon as there was a connection. “Good. Bill, it’s Helen Clarke, down on Park Street. Yeah. Look, I got someone here, says she thinks she’s found someone who might have had something to do with the murder at the college, recently…yeah, security guard, that’s what she said. That was in the paper, right? Jeez, what you see, these days, huh. Now, I’m not going to let her look around without one of you guys…yeah. That’s it. And, Bill? I don’t think he’s in, but maybe you could park on the other side of the street, or—what? Right, I’m at number seven, right now, park in front of number three, so we don’t tip anyone off, okay? Good boy. Thank you much.” She hung up and glared at me. “Well, they’ll be here in a few minutes. You might as well come in, wait in the hall with me, so you’re not sticking out there either.”
I accepted gratefully, barely able to speak I was so nervous. The thought that I might be able to put this behind me…that this might be over today…was making me dizzy. The landlady pretended to sweep and dust the lobby—a hallway, really—but kept casting suspicious glances in my direction.