Murder in the Condo Next Door

Chapter 1 “Not again,” Michael grumbled, his attention pulled from the book he was reading by banging in the hallway outside his condo. He knew who was causing it, and heartily wished the woman would…Stop coming home drunk, or worse? When he’d moved into his place, five years before, the condo next door had been vacant. According to the building manager, the man who owned it had bought it to use on business trips to the city. In all the time Michael had lived here, that had never happened. He figured the guy was most likely using the place as a tax write-off. Then, three months ago—again according to the manager—the man had died and the condo had been sold. The new owner had done major work on refurbishing what had essentially been a vacant condominium. When they finished, they’d turned it into a rental unit and the woman had moved in. Michael had met her once, the Saturday night after her arrival. He’d heard banging, swearing, and more banging. When he opened his door to ask what was wrong, she mumbled, “It won’t let me in. The damned door won’t let me in.” “Maybe you’re using the wrong key?” he suggested. “Do you want me to try?” She didn’t, telling him, “I know which damned key it is. It won’t let me in.” With a shrug, Michael gave up and went back inside. A few minutes later, the woman went silent and he heard the door to the fire stairs slam, so he figured she’d given up and maybe gone looking for a friend to stay with until she sobered up. After that, for the next week, things were quiet. He knew she’d finally managed to get into her place, because he heard her moving around. He even caught a glimpse of her on a couple of evenings, on her balcony. Both times there had been a man with her. Unless Michael was mistaken, different men each time—judging from the build—but he didn’t get a good look at him, or them, because her balcony light wasn’t on. Then, last Saturday night, the pounding and swearing had commenced again, followed by a man’s low laughter. This time Michael ignored it, praying she’d finally figure out how to use her key while drunk—if that’s what she was. Or that her companion would come to her rescue and get her door open for her. Apparently that’s what happened, because blessed silence reigned a few moments later. Afterward, all was peaceful for another week. Until tonight. “Lady, this is becoming ridiculous,” he said under his breath, slamming his book down on the coffee table. He opened the door just in time to see that she, or the man she was with, had finally gotten the door unlocked. The man turned away quickly but Michael got a brief glimpse of his face before they disappeared into the unit. He went back to his reading, ignoring the sound of voices and the smell of cigarette smoke coming from the woman’s balcony. Since it was August, the temperatures were in the high eighties, even at this late hour, so he didn’t blame them for being out there. He’d have been on his balcony, too, if the overhead light hadn’t burned out. It was hard to read in the dark. * * * * Two days passed, and all was quiet in the hallway. Michael thanked his lucky stars for that, even though it wasn’t Saturday—the usual time for her antics. When he stepped out of his place Tuesday morning, he was assailed by what, in his mind, he could only equate with the aroma of a rodent that had died in the walls—but twice as strong. There damned well better not be any dead mice, or live ones, in the building. Since the condo complex was in a relatively upscale neighborhood, he hoped there weren’t. On the other hand, what else could it be? With that thought in mind, he stopped by the manager’s office, asking the man to check it out, then continued on his way to work at the costume shop he owned in the heart of the city. It was the time of year when things were slow at the shop, giving him a chance to consider what new costumes he’d like his costumer, Carolyn, to create for the upcoming Halloween season. They talked about the pros and cons of various ideas. Carolyn was all for more historical ones. Not too surprising as that was what she loved making. They ran through the various movies due out later in the year—a pair of costume dramas, the next installment in a superhero franchise, and a remake of a popular movie from several years before that included special uniforms. Michael decided he could purchase decent costumes for the superheroes cheaper than having Carolyn make them, much to her relief. She was more than willing to deal with the Roman and Victorian era clothing for the others. When they finished their discussion, Michael said, apropos nothing that had preceded it, “I think my building is going downhill.” “I hope you mean where you live, not here,” Carolyn replied with a smile. “Yes.” He shook his head. “I have the crazy lady from hell living next door.” She laughed. “So you’ve said. Did she come home drunk again this weekend?” “Yeah. At least this time she had company, who apparently knew how to work a key, because she only ranted for a couple of minutes.” “That’s a blessing. Why else do you think it’s going downhill?” “The hallway smelled like something died. Like a mouse in the walls, or…whatever.” Carolyn wrinkled her nose. “Been there, smelled that. Not pleasant. I hope you let the manager know.” “I did. He said he’d check it out.” “Good. With luck, by the time you get home everything will be fine. I guess you can be glad the critter didn’t die in your walls.” “No kidding,” he replied emphatically.