Read Online The Edge of Doom by Amanda Cross - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amanda Cross
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came and went. But, it seemed, he could dredge up a memory of who had not come or gone. “It’s a while since I’ve seen him, now that you ask,” the man said. “Maybe a week; maybe less.”
“Might we be able to look into his apartment?” Reed asked. “Just to be sure that he is not there; not, perhaps, ill or injured.”
The doorman looked them over. Kate had the impression that were they, well, less proper looking, or younger, he might have simply refused. As it was, he agreed to call the superintendent, leaving the decision up to him. Kate wondered if Reed had plans beyond the legal way of getting into the apartment, and reminded herself to ask him later.
If Reed had nurtured more nefarious plans to gain entrance to Jay’s apartment, he did not need them. The superintendent led them to the elevators, thence to one of many doors on a long corridor. He knocked loudly, waited, knocked again and called. Then he opened the door with his master key, still calling. There was no response; the apartment looked not only empty but deserted, though Kate would have been hard put to explain exactly in what this impression of abandonment consisted.
They followed the superintendent as he walked about the apartment, opening the doors to closets; all the other doors to the few rooms, even to the bathroom, stood open. It was what was usually called a three-room apartment: living room, bedroom, kitchen, bath. There was a small foyer, and a generous allotment of closets. The whole place was neat, as though it had been recently cleaned, although a light layer of dust on some of the furniture suggested that another cleaning was shortly due.
Even as they stood in the living room trying to decide what the apartment was telling them, if anything, there came a knock on the apartment door, which stood open. It was, evidently, the cleaning woman. She greeted the superintendent, and stared at Reed and Kate.
“Anything wrong?” she asked.
“I hope not, Maria,” the super said. “These are friends of Mr. Smith’s; it seems he hasn’t been heard from these last few days. This”—the super turned to Reed and Kate—“is Maria. She cleans for several people in the building, and for the people from whom Mr. Smith sublet this apartment. When were you last here, Maria?”
“A week ago,” she said. “I hope nothing’s wrong with Mr. Smith.”
“Probably nothing is,” the super said. “He’s probably had to go away suddenly and forgot to notify his friends.”
“He always leaves me a note and my money,” Maria said.
They looked again, but found no note, no money.
“Perhaps you had better come back another day, Maria,” the super said.
“Before you go, Maria,” Reed said, “would you be good enough to look around—the kitchen, the bathroom, everywhere—and tell us if you think anyone has been here since you last cleaned?”
Maria nodded and went to examine the rooms as she had been requested to do. The woman was Hispanic but spoke excellent English. Reed in his long legal career had met many like her. Clearly intelligent, she worked as a cleaning woman, but her children went to parochial schools and would go to college; they would never need to clean other people’s homes. It was, in Reed’s opinion, a not unusual, yet admirable and difficult immigrant story; it had a long history. The countries of origin changed, but not the hard work or the ambitions for the next generation.
Maria returned to report that no one had been here since her last visit. She could tell from the bathroom and kitchen, although nothing seemed to have been touched in the other rooms. Mr. Smith’s bed was still made as she had made it a week ago; he left it unmade for her to change the sheets. The kitchen was exactly as she had left it; the bathroom shower and towels had not been used.
They thanked Maria and, when she had left, asked the superintendent if they might look through Mr. Smith’s drawers and closets for a clue as to where
“Might we be able to look into his apartment?” Reed asked. “Just to be sure that he is not there; not, perhaps, ill or injured.”
The doorman looked them over. Kate had the impression that were they, well, less proper looking, or younger, he might have simply refused. As it was, he agreed to call the superintendent, leaving the decision up to him. Kate wondered if Reed had plans beyond the legal way of getting into the apartment, and reminded herself to ask him later.
If Reed had nurtured more nefarious plans to gain entrance to Jay’s apartment, he did not need them. The superintendent led them to the elevators, thence to one of many doors on a long corridor. He knocked loudly, waited, knocked again and called. Then he opened the door with his master key, still calling. There was no response; the apartment looked not only empty but deserted, though Kate would have been hard put to explain exactly in what this impression of abandonment consisted.
They followed the superintendent as he walked about the apartment, opening the doors to closets; all the other doors to the few rooms, even to the bathroom, stood open. It was what was usually called a three-room apartment: living room, bedroom, kitchen, bath. There was a small foyer, and a generous allotment of closets. The whole place was neat, as though it had been recently cleaned, although a light layer of dust on some of the furniture suggested that another cleaning was shortly due.
Even as they stood in the living room trying to decide what the apartment was telling them, if anything, there came a knock on the apartment door, which stood open. It was, evidently, the cleaning woman. She greeted the superintendent, and stared at Reed and Kate.
“Anything wrong?” she asked.
“I hope not, Maria,” the super said. “These are friends of Mr. Smith’s; it seems he hasn’t been heard from these last few days. This”—the super turned to Reed and Kate—“is Maria. She cleans for several people in the building, and for the people from whom Mr. Smith sublet this apartment. When were you last here, Maria?”
“A week ago,” she said. “I hope nothing’s wrong with Mr. Smith.”
“Probably nothing is,” the super said. “He’s probably had to go away suddenly and forgot to notify his friends.”
“He always leaves me a note and my money,” Maria said.
They looked again, but found no note, no money.
“Perhaps you had better come back another day, Maria,” the super said.
“Before you go, Maria,” Reed said, “would you be good enough to look around—the kitchen, the bathroom, everywhere—and tell us if you think anyone has been here since you last cleaned?”
Maria nodded and went to examine the rooms as she had been requested to do. The woman was Hispanic but spoke excellent English. Reed in his long legal career had met many like her. Clearly intelligent, she worked as a cleaning woman, but her children went to parochial schools and would go to college; they would never need to clean other people’s homes. It was, in Reed’s opinion, a not unusual, yet admirable and difficult immigrant story; it had a long history. The countries of origin changed, but not the hard work or the ambitions for the next generation.
Maria returned to report that no one had been here since her last visit. She could tell from the bathroom and kitchen, although nothing seemed to have been touched in the other rooms. Mr. Smith’s bed was still made as she had made it a week ago; he left it unmade for her to change the sheets. The kitchen was exactly as she had left it; the bathroom shower and towels had not been used.
They thanked Maria and, when she had left, asked the superintendent if they might look through Mr. Smith’s drawers and closets for a clue as to where
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