gesture.
“Thanks,” she said. “So, what do you think? Should we start with your favorite cat-loving matron and work our way down from there?”
I sighed. “I guess. Might as well take the rap on my knuckles now. It’ll make the rest of the afternoon feel like a prance through a flower-studded field—or at least smell like one.”
Shay led the way, knocking on Mrs. Mallory’s door once we’d reached the second floor. After a few moments, the grandmother cracked the gate to her castle. Her face lit up as soon as she saw me. I, on the other hand, recoiled as a wave of cat urine funk slapped me around with complete and total indiscretion.
“Detectives! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Please, come in. Come in.”
I barely managed to fight off the old lady’s cajoling and Shay’s not so subtle elbow to the ribs. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mallory, but we’re in a bit of a hurry this afternoon. We just stopped by to see if you could identify a suspect.” I dug around in my jacket and produced the sketch. “Do you by any chance recognize this man?”
Mrs. Mallory slipped her spectacles on and leaned forward to get a better look, drawing back once the image of the creepy guy worked its way to her brain.
“Ooh… No. I’m sorry, detectives, I can’t say that I do. And I’m sure I’d remember that face if I’d come across it. He certainly looks like a miscreant, doesn’t he? Do you think he’s the man who murdered Terrence?”
“It’s a possibility,” said Shay. “He was seen having a heated discussion with Mr. Mann a few days ago at his workplace.”
Mrs. Mallory nodded. “I see. Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be more of a help. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in for tea? I think I still have some cucumber sandwiches from earlier.”
I politely declined as I returned the sketch to my pocket. Not even deep-fried roast beef sandwiches could’ve tempted me to reenter that den of feline terrorists. “Sorry, Mrs. Mallory. Although I do have one more question, if you don’t mind. You said Terrence normally worked nights. Do you have any idea what he did the nights he had off?”
The old lady blinked and scrunched her lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I follow.”
“The night manager at the book bindery said Terrence took an evening off every two weeks, and last night was one of those nights.”
Mrs. Mallory shook her head. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I believe you’re mistaken. Terrence never took a night off. He always headed out like clockwork around eight in the evening. I can hear when his door opens and closes from my apartment, you see. Left last night, too—same time as always. Normally he’d get back around six, but he must’ve returned home early last night. That racket next door woke me up at half past five.”
I scratched my chin. “You’re sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“Alright, ma’am. Thanks for your time.”
Mrs. Mallory grudgingly started to close the door. I ushered Shay down the hallway to make sure the old lady wouldn’t think we’d changed our minds about leaving. Once I heard the click of her lock, I paused in front of Terrence’s pad.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Shay.
“Yeah,” I said. “Yates’ brain might’ve been addled from lack of sleep, but I’m sure he was telling the truth about Terry taking those nights off. Similarly, Gertrude over there might be pushing eighty-five, but she sounded pretty certain about her story. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s to trust nosy old people about loud noises their neighbors make.”
“That of course begs a question,” said Shay. “What was Terrence up to those nights he had off? And how does our long-haired mystery acquaintance fit in with this?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. But somebody in this building has to know. And if Creepy McGee’s ever set foot here, I’m sure someone’ll remember it. That’s not a face you easily forget. Rather,
“Thanks,” she said. “So, what do you think? Should we start with your favorite cat-loving matron and work our way down from there?”
I sighed. “I guess. Might as well take the rap on my knuckles now. It’ll make the rest of the afternoon feel like a prance through a flower-studded field—or at least smell like one.”
Shay led the way, knocking on Mrs. Mallory’s door once we’d reached the second floor. After a few moments, the grandmother cracked the gate to her castle. Her face lit up as soon as she saw me. I, on the other hand, recoiled as a wave of cat urine funk slapped me around with complete and total indiscretion.
“Detectives! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Please, come in. Come in.”
I barely managed to fight off the old lady’s cajoling and Shay’s not so subtle elbow to the ribs. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mallory, but we’re in a bit of a hurry this afternoon. We just stopped by to see if you could identify a suspect.” I dug around in my jacket and produced the sketch. “Do you by any chance recognize this man?”
Mrs. Mallory slipped her spectacles on and leaned forward to get a better look, drawing back once the image of the creepy guy worked its way to her brain.
“Ooh… No. I’m sorry, detectives, I can’t say that I do. And I’m sure I’d remember that face if I’d come across it. He certainly looks like a miscreant, doesn’t he? Do you think he’s the man who murdered Terrence?”
“It’s a possibility,” said Shay. “He was seen having a heated discussion with Mr. Mann a few days ago at his workplace.”
Mrs. Mallory nodded. “I see. Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be more of a help. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in for tea? I think I still have some cucumber sandwiches from earlier.”
I politely declined as I returned the sketch to my pocket. Not even deep-fried roast beef sandwiches could’ve tempted me to reenter that den of feline terrorists. “Sorry, Mrs. Mallory. Although I do have one more question, if you don’t mind. You said Terrence normally worked nights. Do you have any idea what he did the nights he had off?”
The old lady blinked and scrunched her lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I follow.”
“The night manager at the book bindery said Terrence took an evening off every two weeks, and last night was one of those nights.”
Mrs. Mallory shook her head. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I believe you’re mistaken. Terrence never took a night off. He always headed out like clockwork around eight in the evening. I can hear when his door opens and closes from my apartment, you see. Left last night, too—same time as always. Normally he’d get back around six, but he must’ve returned home early last night. That racket next door woke me up at half past five.”
I scratched my chin. “You’re sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“Alright, ma’am. Thanks for your time.”
Mrs. Mallory grudgingly started to close the door. I ushered Shay down the hallway to make sure the old lady wouldn’t think we’d changed our minds about leaving. Once I heard the click of her lock, I paused in front of Terrence’s pad.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Shay.
“Yeah,” I said. “Yates’ brain might’ve been addled from lack of sleep, but I’m sure he was telling the truth about Terry taking those nights off. Similarly, Gertrude over there might be pushing eighty-five, but she sounded pretty certain about her story. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s to trust nosy old people about loud noises their neighbors make.”
“That of course begs a question,” said Shay. “What was Terrence up to those nights he had off? And how does our long-haired mystery acquaintance fit in with this?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. But somebody in this building has to know. And if Creepy McGee’s ever set foot here, I’m sure someone’ll remember it. That’s not a face you easily forget. Rather,
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