Story: Drownings (part eight)

Drownings

(part eight)

The outer door was unlocked, the lobby a commercial corridor of glass doors and display windows. A quartet of businesses and a stairwell. Faia rapped at Joanel Properties, A. Jellison, but McAlley strolled on, noting what else. Fentz Aquarium Supply; Colburn Studio; BCB2.

Curious, this last.

“I manage the building’s rentals, yes. And several more on these streets hereabouts.”

“Mr. Jellison, here is my partner, McAlley.”

Not Swan, then. Reserve Swan for the meeting, don’t have Herbertson sending some clumsy secretarial person with an eyeglass camera to pretend casually buying a fish. He entered in full. Jellison caught papers rounding his desk, stopped to fuss…a doughy fellow in the way of the terminally indoors.

“Herbertson, I was telling Julia, is a name I know factors as to Joanel, I just don’t offhand… ”

McAlley ignored him. Not to play games; a figure had paused in the hallway outside, and with a hollow plea in its own, it sought McAlley’s eye.

Faia said: “Carmadge. Tambinder.”

“Tambinder, now. He is my missing tenant. Or nonpaying tenant. I really think he’s sublet, I want to say illegally, but the phrase must be in-violation-of-the-terms-of-his-contract.”

Small smile for Faia. Small smile in return…she felt sorry for him. “Did he live alone? Could we see the place?”

Preferring, McAlley judged of Jellison, a man’s encouragement to a woman’s.

“We ought to be certain the rooms are empty,” he said. “Victor may be there today. Or his illegal tenant.”

Jellison bent to a plaster Scottie, rifling, four or five keys hooked on the tail. “We will do it, and I’ll inform Joanel. I can only leave a message.”

He led them to the stairs between Colburn’s and Fentz’s. McAlley touched Faia’s hand and pointed with his chin. The figure followed and meant to stay.

“Not tidy,” Jellison apologized, climbing. “One bath. Pull-out in the lounge. Kitchenette. Four-seventy by the month.”

“As low as that?”

“Capped. Joanel has filed thirteen complaints.”

On the mattress, a plate of moldering macaroni and cheese. Sheets mushed together at the bed’s center, suggested someone had been tidying, at least thought of changing them.

“Why is the screen off? Oh, I see…he’s got it torn.” Jellison cranked the window shut.

“If the door fixes itself locked, we’ll have our look and show ourselves out,” Faia said.

Jellison wavered, found permission from McAlley, and left.

“But keep the door open just yet,” McAlley told her. “It wishes to speak.”

8

Drownings

Drownings (part nine)

(2021, Stephanie Foster)