Just in Time. Suzanne Trauth
traveled over Barrow and onto Hamilton Avenue. Lola eased her Lexus to the curb and we stared at 119, the address she had for Ruby’s apartment building. The neighborhood was old and worn, like Ruby herself. The faded red brick structure housed four floors of apartments. The courtyard had remnants of a dried-up fountain. In its heyday, the courtyard must have been an attractive setting. Now, however, debris littered the empty fountain. Single-family homes bordered either side of the apartment building, and parked cars lined the curb. On the opposite side of the street were a deli, a post office, a tavern, and a church. The streets were uninhabited.
“This is it,” said Lola.
We got out of the Lexus and followed a cracked cement walkway, through patches of dry brown grass, to the back of the courtyard and the entrance into the building. Lola called a number and in a minute, the super opened the door. “I am Nikolas. Come, come. I am sorry to hear about Ruby. She was nice woman.”
I judged his thick accent to be Eastern European. About forty, with thinning dark hair, he wore a plaid work shirt and a tool belt that jingled. He led us to the elevator and explained that he had not entered Ruby’s place in the seven years she’d lived there. Ever? Ruby was on the verge of elderly, and she’d never needed help with the plumbing or heating or electrical? She’d been self-sufficient.
We rode to the third floor in silence, and then moved down a hallway to an end unit. Nikolas fiddled with the keys and pushed open Ruby’s door.
“We’ll only need a few minutes to find the papers,” Lola explained.
“I will come back in fifteen minutes.” Nikolas left us alone—as though we needed discretion to search among Ruby’s things.
Lola and I walked to the center of the two-room apartment. There was an efficiency kitchen, with a refrigerator, stove, and sink on one wall, and a table, chairs, and bookshelves on the opposite wall. A laptop sat on the table. A door led into a miniscule bedroom that allowed for a single bed and a chest of drawers. A sofa facing a flat screen television and an upright piano occupied the remainder of space in the apartment. Everything was neat as a pin.
“Wow. Doesn’t seem like Ruby,” I said.
“I know what you mean. The flask, cigarettes, her scruffy look like she’d spent days in the same clothes. Where are the ashtrays and empty liquor bottles?” She sniffed. “Even the air smells clean.”
I poked my head into the bedroom. Nothing strewn about, some clothes in a closet neatly arranged on hangers. Two pairs of dark slacks, several blouses, and knit tops. “I’ve never seen her in nicer clothes—like these. Are we sure it’s her place?”
“Yes.” Lola found a piece of junk mail addressed to Ruby on the bookshelf.
“It’s pretty sterile,” I said.
“Well, it shouldn’t take me long to find the cue sheets—if they’re here.” Lola took a glimpse of the room, gazed at the bookshelf, and moved into the bedroom.
Out of sheer curiosity, I ducked into Ruby’s bathroom. It was a bad habit of mine…checking out medicine cabinets. Ruby’s held the basics—toothpaste, dental floss, face cream, hand lotion, an outdated prescription for an antibiotic, and an open bottle of Ambien. It was half full; without thinking, I snapped the lid back on.
I re-entered the living room and walked closer to Ruby’s books. I was always curious about the things that people read, or at least pretended to read. Ruby had a handful of romance novels, biographies of presidents from Eisenhower to Obama, and a series of books on Indiana—its history, a text on its native plants, and a phone book for Indianapolis dated 1970.
“I can’t find the cue sheets. Ruby must have left them somewhere else,” Lola said, frustrated.
A light bulb went on. “I didn’t see anything that looked like a bunch of papers in her car—but maybe Bill has them.”
“That makes sense. Could you ask him?”
“I’ll text him now.” My fingers went to work on my cell phone. “You know, it’s strange. Not a single picture in here. I’m thinking of my great aunt Maureen. By the time she was Ruby’s age, family photos decorated every surface of her home. Where are Ruby’s?”
Lola ran her finger over the edge of a bookshelf. “Who knows? I heard she was from the Midwest.”
“Indiana, I’m betting.” I pulled out a history of the state and showed Lola.
“I suppose the police will try to contact her family. If she has any.”
I replaced the book and, shoved to the back of the shelf, I noticed a worn binding that covered a fat sheaf of pages. A thick rubber band held everything together. “What’s this?”
Lola crossed to my side and watched as I withdrew a scrapbook, eight by ten, apparently jammed full of newspaper clippings and memorabilia. “Ruby’s?” Lola asked.
I lifted off the rubber band and opened the cover. In block print were the words Ruby Passonata. “I’d love to see what’s in here.”
“Nikolas will be back any minute,” Lola said apprehensively.
“Maybe I could borrow it. I don’t think Nikolas would mind, and it doesn’t look as if any immediate family members are racing to Creston to collect her things.”
Lola bit her lip. “I suppose we could say we’re using the scrapbook to write a dedication to Ruby in the program.”
“That’s a lovely idea!” I jammed the book into my bag as Nikolas knocked softly on the door.
“Missus? I must lock up now.”
We joined him in the hallway. “Is someone coming to remove Ruby’s things?” I asked.
Nikolas motioned his uncertainty. “The police…they say they are looking. I don’t know.”
He seemed dejected. Maybe one of only a few who would miss Ruby.
4
Lola wound her way out of Creston while I texted Benny to alert him that I might be running late. He texted back: Be prepared…Cheney Bros. missing asparagus. Henry second thoughts on tonight’s contest winner.
I’d been going toe-to-toe with Cheney Brothers food delivery service for two years over orders missing items. I wanted to replace them with another company, but Henry had a long history with them. Anyway, he hated change: new staff, new specials, a new son-in-law…
“I think, for the moment, we should keep the scrapbook to ourselves,” I said.
“I agree. Although it’s not like anyone would care,” Lola said and scooted onto State Route 53.
“Timothy thinks Ruby’s exhaust system was defective. That the carbon monoxide leaked into the engine and then into the interior of her car.”
Lola’s eyes widened. “What? Didn’t she die from a stroke or something?”
Ooops… “Lola, you have to keep that to yourself until the official word is out. I don’t want Bill to think I’m speaking out of turn.”
“Mum’s the word. Carbon monoxide? Don’t you have to be in a closed garage or something to die that way?” she asked.
“Not if there’s a problem with the exhaust.”
“Speaking of Bill…”
Lola’s eyes twinkled and I might have blushed a bit. I wasn’t used to having everyone check in on my love life. Sometimes I yearned for the anonymity of my Jersey Shore days. “All good.”
“And your summer vacation?”
“Negotiating. That camping thing is a big deal for him,” I said.
“We went camping once. Tom and I.”
Tom was Lola’s husband who had died years ago. Long