I waited on my side of the visitor's cubicle while Ruby stepped out and told a corrections officer she wanted to release her property to me. By property, I don't mean the vacant lot where her antique shop had stood, but the things she'd had on her when she was arrested. She had to fill out and sign a form. Thirty minutes after visiting hours had ended, I finally walked out with Ruby's purse, as well as the breath mints and Chapstick she'd been carrying in her pockets the night of Frank's murder.
Back in my car, I took a few minutes to call Mom and let her know I had an errand to run before I came home. I'd learned at a young age not to be late to any of my mother's meals. Then I started the car, drove the mile or so from the city jail to Main Street, and parked in front of the vintage clothing store.
It was Sunday evening, and Main Street had the look of a ghost town. Most of the shops stayed open on Sunday afternoons from April through December in order to capture the out-of-town shoppers, but at 6:30 on a Sunday evening, downtown was deserted and the shops locked. The sun was sinking behind the clouds that had been hiding it most of the day, leaving the street bathed in a gray dusk. Cue the creepy music, I thought, as I walked to the door at the side of the clothing store and inserted the key.
The building housing the clothing store was just two stories tall. I'd never visited Ruby since she'd moved there—mainly because she'd been at the Shelf offering her expertise on bar design nearly every day during the remodeling—but she'd told me that the second floor housed a storage room for the store, the efficiency apartment that she rented and a sleeping room that was currently vacant. Her apartment was at the rear of the building.
A switch just inside the door turned on a bare bulb to illuminate the stairs, and I hurried up. I gotta say I was a little creeped out by the emptiness of the street and the building and by the gloom outside. At the top of the stairs I hesitated for a moment. I didn't have to do this tonight, after all. I could go back down the stairs and head home to a nice hot meal cooked by my mommy—who, if I asked her nicely, would probably tuck me into bed after that hot meal and maybe even read me a story—and come back tomorrow when the sun was shining and the street was full of people. Or better yet, I could tell Gabe about Frank's book and let him come get it.
No, nix that last idea. I was pretty sure Gabe was starting to believe Ruby might be innocent, but that didn't mean the chief would let him open a full investigation. It was the old bird-in-the-hand thing. Frank had been a much sought after tradesman and had worked for a lot of people around town. If he had been blackmailing one of them, it was going to take some time to narrow it down, and Gabe wouldn't be given that time, not when a perfectly good suspect for the murder was already locked up. No, I needed to get that book myself, and if it led to something worthwhile, then I'd give it to Gabe. But I still could come back tomorrow when the place wasn't so creepy.
Or, I thought as I squared my shoulders and strode down the hall, I could stop acting all girlie-girl and get this over with.
The light from the stairway fixture barely made it to the end of the hall, but it was enough to find the lock to Ruby's apartment. I slid the key in and felt it catch a moment--she needs to squirt a little graphite powder in there, I thought—before it turned. I pushed the door open, stepped inside, and fumbled for a light switch.
Ruby's apartment consisted of one large room. The far corner of the wall on my right was walled off for a kitchenette, and nearer to the hall door were two doors—the one for the closet standing open and the closed one leading to what I assumed was a private bath. The bed sat on the wall opposite the kitchenette. A loveseat and chair graced the hall wall, while a small table and two chairs, a dresser, and a TV on a metal stand sat against the remaining wall.
Martha Stewart, Ruby was not. Her place was messier than the average teenager's room. Piles of clothing on the floor, drawers left open, bed unmade—the bedclothes piled up in the middle—dirty dishes in the sink. It's a good thing she told me where to look for the book, I thought, because I'd never have found it in this mess.
I'd taken half a dozen steps into the room, stepping between a pile of clothing and the open closet door, before my brain cells kicked in. Dirty dishes, sure, I could see that. But what I couldn't see was Ruby piling her clothes on the floor or leaving every dresser drawer open. Somebody had searched her room, and they'd been pretty sloppy when they did it.
The police would have searched Ruby's room after she was arrested. I couldn't see Gabe being so inconsiderate as to leave this much of a mess, but some of the other officers—yeah, I could see them doing it. I pulled my cell out of my pocket and hit the speed dial number I'd assigned to Gabe. He needed to see this. If he'd left the mess, he'd get an earful from me, but as the detective assigned to the case, he needed to know if others had done it. I wouldn't have to tell him about the book. I could just say that Ruby had asked me to check on her place for her.
Just as I heard Gabe say "hello," I felt something change in the room—a kind of shift in the air that happens when a door opens in a quiet room. I turned toward the bathroom door—now standing open—just in time to see a shadowy figure, its arms in the air as it swung something at me. I let out a yelp and jumped back, tripping over the pile of clothing, and going down hard. Whatever the figure had swung struck me a glancing blow on the side of my head, and I saw stars. As I lay there, trying to find the breath that had been knocked out of me when I hit the floor, I heard the sound of feet running in the hall and the muffled sound of Gabe's voice calling my name.
