Vindicate (Recovered Innocence #1)(47)

He goes back the way we came and then out onto the main road. He makes a risky left, cutting off another car, and hits the gas. I have to wait for traffic. By the time it’s clear I’ve lost him. He’s nowhere in sight. I circle back, thinking he might have too, but he’s gone. I pull into a fast-food restaurant parking lot and pull out my cell to call my dad. What am I going to tell him? A black Mustang with no plates followed me? There’s nothing for him to go on. If only I’d gotten a look at the guy. I might have recognized him.

He wanted me to spot him. He was bold enough to out himself making that U-turn. Why? Is it more of the same scare tactics and intimidation? And I almost led him straight to Zelda’s house.

Zelda wasn’t easy to find. She got married and changed her name. The house is in her husband’s mother’s maiden name. It’s almost like she didn’t want to be found. So why did she agree to meet with me?

I retrace my route, watching carefully for another tail. There isn’t one, as far as I can tell. I feel safe enough to go to Zelda’s house. She’s a piece of the puzzle we desperately need. I pull up in front of the house and stare. It’s empty. I can tell by the For Sale sign out front, the lockbox on the door handle, and the lack of window coverings. Zelda struck me as someone who would insist on fussy curtains. I don’t know why. We had only one brief phone conversation. It’s just an impression I got.

I climb out of the car and go up the walk. The porch is littered with business cards and flyers. A peek in the window confirms my suspicions. Gone. Zelda is gone. I pull out my cell, hit redial on her number, and immediately get a message that the phone’s been disconnected. Son of a bitch! How am I going to tell Cora that our one good lead on Mrs. Wheeler skipped town?

I start to go back to my car, but the twitch of the curtains on the house across the street catches my eye. Nosey neighbors are a PI’s best friend, I can hear my dad say. I hope to hell he’s right about that.

I cross the street and knock on the door. Inside I can hear the thunk thunk of a cane on a wood floor. Pasting on my most sincere smile, I stand still for what I’m sure is an inspection through the peephole. After a few moments, the lock turns, then the knob, and I come face-to-face with a little old lady who reminds me of my own gran.

“Hello,” I say. “I’m looking for your neighbor.” I point across the street. “Zelda Marks Ramirez. Do you happen to know where she’s moved to?”

“No one’s lived in that house for a couple weeks.”

Damn. “You wouldn’t have a phone number or address for her, would you?”

She squints up at me. “What do you want with it?”

“I’m a law student studying a trial she was a witness in—the Cassandra Williams murder. Do you remember it?”

“Oh, my, yes. My nephew’s son went to school with that poor young woman. Zelda never said anything about being a witness though.”

“She was Cassandra’s across-the-hall neighbor. She found her body.”

“Oh, dear.” She shakes her head sadly. “Poor thing.”

“I was supposed to have an appointment today with Zelda, but I guess we got our wires crossed.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. Zelda’s had, shall we say, a lot on her plate lately with the passing of her husband and being evicted from her mother-in-law’s house.” She gestures across the street. “And there it sits, empty. It would’ve cost that woman nothing to let her daughter-in-law stay there while she gets things sorted. But Gert isn’t the type of person to do a kindness for another. A Sunday Christian if I ever met one.”

“I didn’t know Zelda’s husband died.”

“Oh, yes. A car accident. Died instantly.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Did Zelda give you her new phone number or address?”

“As a matter of fact she did. What did you say your name was?”

“Leo. Leo Nash. I’m studying law at UCLA. I’m home for the summer. I grew up just a few blocks from here.” I point toward the back of her house. “Over on Pastora Street. My professor assigned us this project over the summer. I was hoping to interview Zelda. The project really wouldn’t be complete without her input.”

“Yes, yes. I can see that, especially with her finding the body and all. That’s just so terrible. That girl has been through so much. Finding her neighbor, her husband dying, then her witch of a mother-in-law turning her out into the street. Just terrible. You stay there. I’ll be right back.” She closes the door and shuffles away.

I look back across the street. That would explain why her phone no longer works and maybe why she didn’t show up for our appointment. I hope this neighbor comes through for me with a valid address or a work or cell number.

The old lady returns with a pad of paper. “She wrote her info down here for me just in case. I’ve been collecting her mail, but she hasn’t been by in a while to pick it up. I was just about to give her a call.”

I take a pic of the tablet with my cellphone. “Thanks. I really appreciate your help. I’ll let her know to contact you. What was your name again?”

“Dorothy Kuczynsky. But you can call me Dot.”

“Thanks, Dot.” I start down her steps toward my car. “Have a nice day.”

“You too. I hope you get a good grade on your project.”