Dearly Departed Carly Winter (ebook reader for pc TXT) 📖

I shut the door behind him and motioned for him to sit on the couch, but I realized my blankets and pillow still littered the cushions. “I'm sorry about that,” I said, trying to hustle over and remove them. As I leaned over to grab the blanket, my crutch fell and I almost lost my balance. Mr. Coffee grabbed my elbow and righted me. “It's fine,” he said. “I can take care of this myself. Please, take a seat.”

After hopping over to a chair, I fell onto the cushion. Instead of pushing the blankets aside, he folded them neatly and stacked them on top of one of the pillows, then set the other in front of me on the coffee table. “I don't want to tell you what to do, but you may be more comfortable with your foot elevated.”

“Thank you,” I said, setting my leg on the pillow. “I appreciate your help.” Then, realizing my manners, I asked, “Would you like some hot tea? Maybe a coffee?”

“No thanks,” he said, taking a seat. “Hot tea is… well, I can’t say what I think of it in mixed company. I’m not a tea drinker.”

“I can make coffee if you like.”

“Really, I’m fine. Thank you.” He opened his file folder. “As I said, I'm with the FBI and we're investigating your neighbor, Charles Bernard.”

“Why is the FBI involved?”

“We believe it may be tied to a national investigation.”

Interesting. “What national investigation?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

“Why is that?”

I probably shouldn't be questioning the FBI on why they could or couldn't divulge certain information, but my curiosity had definitely been piqued.

“Well, it's... it's a matter of security.”

“National security?” I asked, my mouth agape. “I find it hard to believe that Charles Bernard had anything to do with a breach of national security!”

“And why is that?”

I was about to say because my life was so boring, I simply couldn't have a neighbor that the FBI had interest in. “I... I don't know. He just seemed so... normal.”

But I realized my mistake there as well. Charles had been anything but normal. A married vet without a job who had come into money and who had a girlfriend and loved to babysit my cat? No, normal did not describe Charles at all. Perhaps chaotic would be a better word.

Mr. Coffee glanced at his papers. “It says here you found the body. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell me about that?”

“It should be in the report. I already told the police.”

He smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I know. I'd just like to hear it from you.”

After I gave him the rundown on the happenings of that day, I sighed and wondered how many times I'd have to repeat myself.

“You didn't notice anyone around when you came upstairs from the demonstrations?”

I tried to recall if I’d seen anyone in the hallway. “I don't think I did. I was in a hurry to get inside my apartment because of the riots out in the street. The protestors had already set a garbage can on fire in the lobby. When I arrived at the building, my super said I should get upstairs for my own safety in case it spilled inside again. I was lugging my suitcase and focused on getting home. I didn't pay attention to whether anyone was in the hallway, but I don't remember seeing a soul.”

“Okay,” he said, jotting down a few notes. “I was also wondering if you noticed anything odd in the apartment when you found him.”

I thought about Charles' place. Messy, but minimalistic. Nothing special. Maybe even drab. I couldn't recall what color his living room furniture was. “Not that I remember.”

As he looked over his papers, he tapped his pen against the file folder. I admired his crisp black suit and white shirt. Dapper was the word that came to mind.

I was also incredibly curious about the FBI, and since I had an actual G-Man sitting in my living room, I decided to ask some questions. “Does the FBI employ women?” Maybe I'd skip becoming a cop and head right for the big agency.

“Sure. We have lots of secretaries.”

“I mean in your position,” I said, rolling my eyes. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped behind a desk. “Do you have a lot of women special agents?”

Mr. Coffee shook his head. “No. The position can be very dangerous. The bureau believes women wouldn't want to arrest people or practice self-defense.”

I fisted my hand in my lap. Another man who assumed women only wanted to be married, have children, or sit behind a desk all day.

“What if one was interested in doing such things?” I asked, trying to keep my voice pleasant. “If a woman could prove herself, could she become an agent?”

“I'm not the one who decides those things,” he said. “But personally, I think having women agents would be an asset to the FBI.”

Tilting my head with a grin, I said, “And why is that?”

Mr. Coffee smiled at me. “Well, I do believe that women are just as capable as men.”

How refreshing! His charms began to grow on me. If only I could remember his name.

“Getting back to the case, the police reports note that you had a couple of people you considered suspects.”

“Well, I don't really know if they're suspects,” I said. “They asked about people I saw coming and going from the apartment. I didn't actually say I thought any of them could have killed Charles.”

“What can you tell me about Karen?” he asked. “The girlfriend.”

“Not a lot,” I said with a shrug. “I'd met her once or twice. She seemed nice enough, but I don't know if she's a murderer.”

“There's a man in here you mentioned... It says you didn't have a name but he lives downstairs? He and Charles argued a lot?”

“Yes. He's an anti-war protester. Charles was a vet. Mrs. Wilson knows him, but I can’t recall his name.”

“Mrs. Wilson?”

“Yes. She lives on the other side of