Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(67)

Gina put down the phone. The thought of a new baby arriving in the world made her think of, who else? Ted. Imagining the happy family converging on the hospital brought to mind her father, and guess who? Marian. Knock it off, she said to herself. You’re not going to get anything done if you spend the whole time sulking and worrying.





75





The next morning Gina called the first and second funeral homes. Neither had a record of having made arrangements for a Paula Stephenson. With some trepidation she phoned the third. Yes, they had taken care of her. There was only one mortician at their facility, the owner, Vaughn Smith. Mr. Smith was out of the office on business but would be available to see her at one o’clock.

Change of plans, she thought to herself. She pulled a folder from her bag and opened it to Paula’s obituary. The address of her condo was 415 Walnut Street. She opened her laptop and went to Google Maps. The pictures revealed a relatively small four-story building. Probably no more than sixteen units.

The Uber dropped Gina in front of a four-story structure that was set back from the road. A small parking area was in front. A painted sign welcomed visitors to Willow Farms. A set of glass double doors was in the center of the building. Looking through them, she could see a vestibule leading to a twin set of elevators.

At the moment there was no one in sight. Gina tried opening one of the doors. Predictably it was locked. It’s so much easier in Manhattan, she thought. Most buildings there had doormen. In exchange for a smile and a cash tip, most of them were happy to provide general information about the residents. Here it was going to be potluck and a lot of waiting.

Ten minutes later the elevators opened and a black man carrying a briefcase walked toward the front door. He appeared to be in his forties.

“Excuse me, sir,” Gina said, “did you happen to know a Paula Stephenson, a woman who lived in the building until a few months ago?”

“I’m on the second floor. She was on the fourth. If you’re here about her apartment, I’m pretty sure it was sold last month.”

“No, thanks, not about that. I’m hoping to talk to anyone in the building who knew Paula. Any ideas?”

“I’m afraid not. The first time I heard her name was when the police came after her.” He paused. “Passing. Sorry I can’t help.”

Now she knew Paula lived on the fourth floor. That was progress, Gina thought to herself.

Fifteen minutes later a taxi pulled to a halt in front of the building. A woman who appeared to be in her late seventies exited and made her way to the front door. She eyed Gina suspiciously.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Gina began.

“I hope you know there’s no soliciting allowed here, young lady,” the woman snapped.

“I promise I’m not here to sell anything. By any chance did you know a young woman named Paula Stephenson who lived on the fourth floor?”

“That one,” she replied, almost spitting out the words. “I’ve never had a drop of alcohol my whole life. I don’t think that one ever let a day go by that she wasn’t inebriated.”

“So you knew her?”

“I didn’t say I knew her. Just being in the elevator with her and her breath was enough to make me feel like a drunkard. Do you go to church?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” Gina answered, surprised by the question.

“If the young people today went to church, they wouldn’t need to drink or take drugs, and they’d face their problems instead of killing themselves.”

“I’m sure they would,” Gina said as she tried to think of a graceful way to end the conversation. She could see through the doors a woman pushing a stroller headed her way and did not want to miss the opportunity to speak to her.

“Thank you, ma’am, you’ve been very helpful,” Gina said as she kept holding the door.

“Keep going to church, and pay attention when you’re there,” the woman admonished her before heading toward the elevators.

Gina held the door open as the woman pushing the stroller approached. She appeared to be about her own age. Dark hair to her shoulders framed even facial features.

“Your daughter is lovely,” Gina said, leaning toward the little girl, who returned her smile. Two small teeth protruded from her lower gum.

“Why, thank you” was her mother’s response, in a strong Southern accent.

“I don’t want to hold you up, but by any chance did you know a building resident named Paula Stephenson?”

“Oh, I did. That was such a shame.”

“Paula’s friends lost track of her after she left New York. Would you mind if I ask you a few questions about her?”

“Of course not. I’m taking my little Scarlett for her walk. Why don’t you come with us?”

After exchanging names, Gina followed Abbey around to the back of the building. Beyond the pool was a field. A paved path ran along a brook. “Scarlett and I walk this way every morning, except of course when it’s raining.”

“How well did you know Paula?”

“She lived across the hall from me, in 4A. I’m in 4B. Paula always made a fuss over Scarlett. She’d buy her gifts. My husband travels a lot for work. When Paula was going to the store, she’d knock on my door and ask if I needed anything.”