Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Gossip
And now to distract myself with this murder so I don’t overanalyze every little thing I said to her, Amie thought as Ziya sped away. Letting out a small sigh, she turned back to her building and started up the steps.
Amie was focusing so hard on everything she’d learned in the previous hour surrounding Savannah and her death that she almost ran into the person standing at the top of the stairs.
“Ah, sorry!” she exclaimed, swerving to avoid plowing down the tiny woman in front of her. “Oh, hi Elena.”
Amie’s neighbor beamed up at her through large, plum-colored glasses. Elena Serrano was in her late fifties. She had a short brown bob streaked with gray, and standing at about four feet, eight inches, she was clothed in her usual outfit: a multicolored knit poncho over linen pants.
The woman did tarot and palm readings out of her apartment, a few doors down from Amie.
She was also the self-appointed town crier of the building, seeming to consider it her sworn duty to stay up-to-date with everything that was going on with her neighbors and then share that information with as many people as she could.
Amie was almost surprised Elena hadn’t yet figured out that Amie had been stuck in a time loop.
“Hello, sweetheart.” Elena patted her on the arm. “Was that Ziya I saw leaving just now? Have you two patched things up?”
Amie winced. She really didn’t need the building gossip telling everyone about Amie’s love life—or lack thereof.
“It was,” she said with caution. “We’re just friends now.”
“Ah, I see.” Elena nodded thoughtfully. “You know, my second husband—Charles, I’ve told you about him, the ginger who builds furniture—he and I reconnected after I divorced my third husband.
And then he and I became lovers for a long while, even longer than we had been married.
The sex was better than before, too. Sometimes you just need some time apart. ”
“That’s really sweet, Elena,” Amie said weakly. “We’re kind of just taking things slow right now.” If you can call conducting a murder investigation “taking things slow.”
“Of course, of course. By the way …” Elena leaned in conspiratorially, and Amie braced herself for more romantic (or, god forbid, sex) advice.
But instead, the woman whispered, “Did you hear people think David might’ve killed Savannah?”
Amie reeled back. “Elena!” she scolded. “You know that’s not true.”
Elena shrugged. “I just share what I hear,” she said, her eyebrows rising with innocence. “I know you’re close to him, dear, but—”
“Come on,” Amie said sternly. “I’m sure you’ve heard more stories than anyone about Savannah terrorizing half the people she comes into contact with. You really think David’s the most likely suspect? He hardly leaves his apartment.”
“You sound like you have your own suspicions,” Elena said, her eyes brightening. “Who do you think did it?”
“Haven’t really thought about it,” Amie lied, pulling her key fob out of her pocket. “I just know it wasn’t David.”
“Interesting,” Elena hummed as Amie held the fob up to the scanner by the door. “So what did Ziya mean when she told you not to solve any murders without her?”
Amie turned back to the woman, ignoring the beep and soft click as the door unlocked. “Were you standing here so you could eavesdrop on my conversation?”
Elena let out a theatrical gasp at the accusation. “Of course not! I was just looking for my key, and I happened to hear Ziya call out to you.” Her expression morphed into curiosity. “So? Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know,” Amie said firmly. “I’m not going to tell you my theories just so you can go around telling people they did it like you’re doing with David.”
“But you do have theories.”
Amie huffed with frustration. “I’m just gathering some information in case David gets into hotter water than he already is,” she explained. “He didn’t do it.”
“I know, I know,” Elena said, raising her hands in surrender. “I just tell it like I hear it. But if you find out anything juicy about anyone else, you let me know, okay? You have my email, right?”
“Yes,” Amie said, scanning her fob again. Elena had wrangled Amie’s email address out of her within a week of moving in. “But not unless it’s backed by fact. A real person has died. It’s serious.”
“Oh, of course, I know that.” Elena followed her into the building, her sandals slapping on the tile floor. “Poor Savannah. She rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, but she was a spitfire. One of the strongest auras I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s a nice way to describe her.” Amie stopped by the mailboxes, pulling out her key ring again.
“I read her cards just last week,” Elena said. “If I’d known it would’ve been her last reading … well, at the very least, I wouldn’t have charged her.”
“I didn’t know Savannah was into tarot,” Amie said, unlocking her mailbox.
She hadn’t checked the mail in what felt like years, and she almost expected an avalanche of letters to fall out.
But, chronologically, it had just been a couple of days, so the only item in there was a flier for a plumbing service addressed to “Our Friends” at Amie’s address.
“Oh, yes, Savannah had her cards read every week,” Elena said. “She told me it helped to focus her mind.”
“Did she feel like her mind had been unfocused lately?” Amie asked, removing the flier and closing her mailbox. If Elena had spoken to Savannah recently, she might have learned something that could help point Amie toward the murderer.
“No more than usual,” Elena responded. “I can’t say anything other than that. Client confidentiality.”
Amie groaned internally. Of course when she actually wanted Elena’s gossip, that’s when the woman decided to be unforthcoming. She crossed the lobby and pushed open the door to the stairwell. Elena followed close behind.
“Do you want to know who I think did it?” Elena asked as they ascended the stairs together.
“You said it was David.”
“I said people think it was David. I don’t think he did it.”
“Okay. Who do you think did it?”
Elena stopped in the middle of the stairs, gesturing for the younger woman to lean in close. Amie backtracked down a step, crouching so that Elena could lean in and whisper in her ear.
“Benny.”
Amie’s eyebrows shot up. Both women glanced around, as if their landlord could be lurking in the stairwell.
“Why would he kill Savannah?” Amie whispered back.
“The Harlows were struggling with money,” Elena said. “Things had gotten a little easier for them, I think, but I still wouldn’t be surprised if they were behind on rent payments.”
Amie shook her head. “But that still doesn’t explain why he’d kill her.”
Elena huffed. “Well, I haven’t had much time to develop the theory,” she said, starting up the stairs again. “I only just saw him in the Harlows’ apartment several minutes ago.”
“Wait, what?” Amie hurried to follow.
“Oh, right.” Elena stopped again as she seemed to realize she’d forgotten to mention a key part of her theory. “I was in my apartment, doing the crossword, when I heard yelling from out in the hallway. It was hard to make out what the person was saying, so I left to go investigate.”
“Naturally,” Amie said, not unkindly.
“By the time I opened the door, the yelling had stopped. I heard footsteps going down the stairwell, but I didn’t see who it was. A couple of decades ago I might’ve gone after them, but …”
Elena bounced where she stood, as if to demonstrate the deteriorating strength of her limbs.
“These knees probably wouldn’t have survived the chase.
So I went down the hall to see if I could find out who was doing the yelling, or who was getting yelled at.
There wasn’t anyone out there, but the door to the Harlows’ apartment was open.
I thought maybe Andrew had forgotten to close it when he left for the memorial—that reminds me, I need to go down there and pay my respects—but then I heard someone moving around inside.
“So I called out, ‘Hello?’ ” Elena’s hands flew to her chest. “And as soon as I did, my god, did my heart start pounding. Because I realized: that could’ve been Savannah’s murderer! And there I was, calling, ‘Hello? Hello?’ Can you believe it? I could’ve died, too!”
“I’m sure you would’ve been fine standing in the middle of the hallway,” Amie said. “But that is scary.”
Elena seemed pleased that Amie understood the gravity of the situation.
“But then I peeked through the door, and Benny was right on the other side, sitting on the floor.” She whispered the name, as if saying it too loudly might summon the man.
“He did not look well. Very discombobulated. He said, ‘What’s wrong, Elena?’ And I said, ‘I heard yelling. Is everything okay?’ And he said, ‘Everything’s fine. I was just looking for something.’ ”
“What was he looking for?” Amie asked eagerly.
“I just assumed Savannah had taken one of his packages,” Elena said, shrugging. “We’ve all been there. But I don’t know what he was doing sitting on the floor, looking like someone had died.”
She frowned. “Though, I guess someone has died. I just didn’t think Benny cared that much about Savannah.”
Amie nodded in agreement. “He seemed okay at her memorial. His appetite wasn’t affected, at least,” she added, recalling how much time the man had spent near the refreshments.
“Anyway,” Elena continued, “I asked him if he wanted help looking for his package. Just as a kindness, you know?”
“Sure,” Amie said drily. She knew Elena would never pass up the opportunity to snoop around someone else’s apartment. “Did you find it?”
Elena shook her head. “Didn’t even make it inside. He just stood up, said”—she deepened her voice to a rough growl—“ ‘Doesn’t matter anymore.’ ” She returned to her regular speaking voice. “Then he pushed past me and closed the door.”