7. Invasive Species #2
There were three units on each level, all facing the ocean, with spectacular views from inside, as well as from the communal breezeway out front.
Each resident had decorated their section of the breezeway as they wished.
Maida had turned hers into a small garden.
It kept getting bigger and bigger. The bougainvillea, clematis, and trumpet vines threatened to take over the entire facade of the building, but no one had complained about it, to date.
She never bought new plants. She didn’t have to.
Her neighbors made a habit of ditching their greenery on her doorstep the moment it drooped.
She didn’t mind. It gave her more subjects to sketch.
She’d always make the plants look perkier in their portraits.
She believed in the power of positive thinking.
And it worked. Just a little water and tender loving care, and they always began to thrive again.
When she reached the third-story landing, Maida suddenly had the distinct feeling that something was wrong.
She took the remaining steps two at a time, feeling anxious, without any idea of what the cause might be.
Something was missing. Some sound or essential vibration.
Similar to background music that you don’t notice until someone abruptly shuts it off. It was too quiet.
Tripping in her lightweight clogs that weren’t built for speed, Maida finally reached the corridor in front of her unit and gasped.
Someone had ransacked her small garden. They’d dumped several pots out on the ground. Her precious plants’ pale exposed roots looked as fragile as bird bones.
Her apartment door swung ajar, open just enough to see that the path of destruction had not stopped at her threshold.
Maida cradled the rosemary plant that she’d kept her spare key hidden in since moving in.
The sturdy little bush had grown up and out of the pot, its thick, fragrant leaves creeping down the sides of its colorful Talavera planter.
It had done a fine job of concealing the small plastic capsule that held her spare key.
Until today. The capsule was discarded on the ground, melted and misshapen, as if the burglar hadn’t even had the patience to figure out the latch, choosing instead to torch it with a lighter.
Her poor plant didn’t just look beat up.
It looked beaten. Its twiggy leaves were stripped.
One clot of dirt still clung tenaciously to the inside of the smashed pot.
Whatever was left of the remaining branches hung limp with shame.
The scent of rosemary and burnt plastic that lingered in the air was almost overpowering.
Maida was livid that someone had done this to her beloved rosemary.
“You can’t blame yourself for this,” Maida comforted the plant. “This wasn’t your fault. I’m sure you put up quite the fight.”
Before entering the apartment, Maida reached for the canister of pepper spray that she carried in her bag. Some wild, reckless part of her hoped the intruder was still there. They’d messed with the wrong plant mom.
But instead of the pepper spray, her fist closed around the lump of silk with the locket. Hastily, she tossed it back in the bag and located the canister.
Holding the tiny aerosol can aloft in front of her, she gave the door a shove with her shoe. The burnt plastic smell was even worse inside.
“Hello?” she called out. “Anyone home?”
The apartment was a small studio, with few places to hide, other than the bathroom and the closet. Adrenaline surging, she kicked both doors open, fully prepared to blind a perp. But that wasn’t necessary. It didn’t take long to verify that nobody was hiding inside.
Maida shut the front door, fastened the deadbolt and chain, and wedged a chair under the doorknob.
Only then did she survey the damage. She was careful not to touch anything in case she needed to call the police, though she’d prefer to avoid that if she could.
These types of incidents had a way of making it to the papers.
The intruder had dumped her jewelry box out on her nightstand, but all her things were still there.
They had also gone through her closet, pulling complete outfits off their hangers.
A trail of dresses, pants, and sweaters wound its way across the bed and onto the floor, all the way to the door.
It was like her clothing had come alive and tried to make a run for it.
The awkward poses where they fell resembled the taped out outlines of crime victims.
Even her bookshelves were breached. Her storybooks and reference texts were scattered.
Thick vintage tomes were doing the splits on the hand woven kilim carpet.
Maida suspected someone had shaken them out in search of cash.
What had fallen out had been even more valuable, to Maida at least. For decades, she had been pressing and preserving leaves and flowers in the pages of those books.
The invader had pulverized her precious flowers into a fine powder.
Some of those blooms and buds went back as far as her childhood.
She felt her temperature rising. Who would do this?
Her skin crawled with disgust at the thought of someone else creeping around in her space. Her safe, private, space.
In the kitchen they’d spilled out her spice crocks.
A plastic yogurt container that she’d been using for propagating plant cuttings was melted in her sink.
All that was left of the tender cuttings were slimy smears of green on the linoleum floor.
Maida dropped a kitchen towel over the wreckage. It hurt her heart to see it.
In the bathroom she found her shampoo and conditioner spilled out. Every jar of face cream and bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet was open. Had they been looking for drugs? Maida didn’t do any. Not even the faddish natural kinds that were so trendy.
The “Come to my Nocturnaturals House Party” flyers that had been slipped under her door in the last six months could have papered an entire wall of her apartment. Half the building’s residents were trying to cash in as reps. Including Addy.
Suddenly, it all made sense. She wasn’t the mark.
Someone was targeting one of her Nocturnaturals peddling neighbors.
That had to be it. When they didn’t find what they were looking for here, they’d probably moved on.
Like locusts. It was an awful thought, but at least she had an explanation for the invasion now.
It was going to take her the rest of the day to clean up.
She’d have to order a new pot for the rosemary plant, and she’d also have to find a better place to stash her spare key.
She chided herself. The plant pot was obvious, in retrospect.
She’d just fooled herself into believing it was best to hide things in plain sight.
So much for a quiet night in finishing her book.
Maida picked her way back to the kitchen to make a calming cup of lavender tea before attempting to tackle the mess.
She considered calling the police again, but what was the point?
It wouldn’t bring her plants back. She’d warn Addy, of course, but she didn’t need the scrutiny, the records, or the hassle of filing a formal report.
From the kitchen phone, Maida made a quick call to a locksmith who said he could be there within the hour.
She was still walking around with her bag tucked under her arm.
Placing it on the Formica covered breakfast bar, she went to fill the teakettle on the petite vintage stove.
Then she sat down at the minuscule round table she’d wedged into the corner.
Her father had dinner plates that were larger than her kitchen table, but it did just fine for her.
It was covered with a cheerful yellow Proven?al tablecloth.
Maida did a double take.
Much to her surprise, the square of silk with the locket inside was sitting out on the tabletop, right next to the wooden salt and pepper mill.
Had she set it down there? She had no memory of it but perhaps she couldn’t recall doing it, in all the confusion. She got distracted when she was stressed. She’d been known to scour the apartment for a pair of glasses that were already on her head.
Maida unwrapped the silk handkerchief and looked at the locket again.
She opened the locket and peeked at the picture inside once more.
She could have sworn the house was depicted in full daylight when she looked at it earlier.
But now ?the sun was setting in the little painting inside.
Once again the window winked at her as she tilted the pendant in her hand.
She set the locket back down on the table and went to fetch the kettle to prepare some tea. What an unusual day this had turned into.
For once she had something to tell her friend about!
She wanted to phone Zani immediately to help unpack and review all the strangeness.
But a glance at the clock on the stove told her that wasn’t going to happen now.
Zani was working on an archaeological dig somewhere deep in the Carpathians.
The family she was boarding with probably wouldn’t appreciate being woken in the middle of the night. It would have to wait till later.
Then, with a pang of guilt about her own distractedness, Maida remembered the other calls she still needed to make. She could see the red light blinking on her answering machine.
Will Porter.
For a moment she considered confiding in her father’s PA, but instantly wiped the thought away.
There was no way she was sharing the news of the break-in with Will.
He’d call her father and they would have a private security crew parked outside her door before she even finished her cup of tea.
She didn’t want that. But she still owed him a return call.