Page 36 of Pied Sniper

“I’ll tell my assistant,” she said as she gave me the laptop. “The password is ‘badbitch101’, or at least it was the last time I saw her enter it,” she added. “I’m not sure if Tiffany was being ironic. Probably not. I don’t think she knows what irony is.”

“Thanks.” I tucked the laptop under my arm since it was too large to fit in the small crossbody purse I carried and took a quick moment to observe my surroundings. In the daylight, everything was lighter and brighter. It was strange to stand inside the apartment having seen it onscreen so many times, and last night when it was scary and dark. Today, it seemed smaller than onscreen and I wondered how much of that was due to Tiffany’s clever set-ups and editing skills. While Lily and Abigail stood together by the kitchen island, I used the time to walk around. The cabinet door with the bullet was removed. I checked the refrigerator and freezer out of pure nosiness and found a nice array of fresh vegetables and meats, along with what looked like recently made smoothies in perfectly aligned glass mason jars. The detritus of the previous evening of cocktail-making remained scattered across the island. A glass was turned over and no one made any attempt to clean the gloopy liquid from the marble surface.

The living area was remarkable in its sheer emptiness. A few glossy fashion and photography books, that looked more like props than actual thumbing material, were on an end table, next to some big ferns in woven planters. The furniture was nice; high end and upholstered in unassuming grays and creams. A large television was placed on a low table, the remote control neatly next to it. I scanned the fake chimney breast and looked around the windows, wondering where the missing casings were. There were three shots fired and I could only account for one, maybe two if one were still lodged in Tiffany. I looked under the couches and the table before I stood and glanced up. In the ceiling, near the windows, I detected a small hole. I pulled out my phone, and snapped a couple of photos. I zoomed in on the pictures and although the hole was too small to be as clear as I would have liked, I was sure it held one of the missing bullets. But why the hell did anyone shoot at the cabinet and then at the ceiling? And in such close succession? I tapped a message to Garrett, attached the photo, and sent it, suggesting he send someone from the forensics team back here. I knew he’d be pissed the moment he read it.

Skirting around the blood, I stepped into Tiffany’s bedroom. I rifled her closet, trying not to squeal at the vast array of fashionable clothes, but there was nothing that appeared hidden. Her safe was closed and a light blinked on the digital panel. A search of her nightstands and chest of drawers revealed nothing out of the ordinary either.

The door to the bathroom stood open, black dust covering the surface. Aside from the streaks of blood and more fingerprint dust, everything was tidy. The available surfaces were stuffed with as many expensive products as I would find in a spa, as well as an enormous collection of fancy candles. A notepad had fallen to the floor and when I picked it up and glanced through it, it appeared to be Tiffany’s notes about the products and the kinds of video content she could include them in. I took the notepad with me and reluctantly left the gold-leaf face cream.

“Do you know the combination to the safe?” I asked, pausing in the doorway.

“Try her birthday,” said Abigail.

I stepped inside, mildly concerned that I actually knew when Tiffany’s birthday was. I tapped the four digits into the digital panel and the door popped open. The only thing inside was Tiffany’s passport. I checked if it were current and then locked it back in the safe.

Stepping into the hallway, I looked around, working out where and what I hadn’t searched yet. There was the utility room off the kitchen, the small hallway bathroom and a coat closet near the entry. As I moved across the living area towards the utility room, I glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the buildings beyond. St. Mary’s spire appeared through the gap between several tall buildings within a few blocks. All seemed to have undressed windows just as these were. Stepping closer, I stared at them, wondering what else I could see. Although they weren’t close enough to allow me to discern intimate details, I could make out kitchens and living areas. If I could see that clearly into the other apartments, how well could they see into this one? As I scanned the closest building, I found my answer with a gulp. A telescope was aimed at the building, directly into Tiffany’s apartment? I took out my phone and snapped a photo, then zoomed in on the picture. The apartment appeared bare except for that one telescope. It was on the block due for razing and redevelopment.

This definitely wasn’t a random neighborhood stargazer. Someone was purposely observing something. My next question? Was that something asomeone?If so, who was watching Tiffany?

Chapter Eight

I was distracted from my unpleasant theories by a loud thump on the door. As I turned around, Abigail stepped towards it. “Wait,” I called, jogging forwards. “We don’t know who it might be.”

“Oh.” Abigail stopped, hesitated, and a streak of panic crossed her face. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Who’s there?” called Lily.

“It’s Terrance,” replied a male voice impatiently. “Open up.”

“Terrance who?”

“What do you meanTerrance who? You’ve been ducking me all week but I know you’re home, Tiffany. I saw your car downstairs and what the heck is this stuff on the door? Do I need to collect a cleaning fee from you too?”

I jogged softly to the door and Abigail caught my arm before I passed. “Terrance is the building manager,” she said. “I met him last time I was here.”

“Would you recognize him through the peephole?” I asked and when she nodded, I ushered her forwards. She leaned in, paused a moment, then nodded again. “That’s him,” she confirmed.

“I can hear you talking, Tiffany,” sighed Terrance. “It better be about paying the rent.”

I pulled open the door and stared at a huge wall of chest. I looked up, and then up again at the tallest man I’d ever seen. His head didn’t even fit under the doorframe. He stood back about two feet, his arms crossed and bulging under a t-shirt I could go camping in. “Where’s Ms. Rose?” he asked, revealing a gold tooth. “You the new assistant or something?”

“Or something. You haven’t heard?” I asked, watching him closely.

“Heard what?” He looked over my head, then back to the doorframe. “Damn. Did she have a party? I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t complain. They did with the last tenant.”

“Tiffany was kidnapped last night,” I said, cutting him off. “She’s missing.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “She’s two months behind in rent. You can tell your friend if she doesn’t pay up, the building’s owners will start proceedings against her to recover the rent and they’re this close to evicting her,” he added, holding up his thumb and forefinger.

“I think you’ve got that wrong,” said Abigail, stepping forward. “Tiffany owns this apartment. She bought it.”

Terrance’s frown deepened. “No, sherentsit.”

“She mentioned a few times that she bought it. She did a video on how to buy and sell recently and also ran a whole bunch of real estate articles on her blog,” said Lily, joining us in the doorway.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but she’s lying if she says she owns it,” said Terrance. “I would show you the paperwork if it didn’t constitute a breach of her privacy. Not that she currently deserves it since she’s ducking rent. Again.”

I pulled out my PI license and passed it to him. He held it for a moment, scanning the information. “I’d like to see the paperwork. This is her manager, Abigail Swanson. And I can assure you if you call the police, they’ll confirm Tiffany is missing,” I told him.

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