the incident at the Cubbyhole?”
“Maybe the bomb was meant to kill someone else and was placed in the wrong spot. The target might have been somewhere else backstage or even sitting among the spectators.”
“That’s an idea. I’ll keep it in mind.”
R. A. Huber got up to leave and said, “Thank you for your time. And good luck with finding a new roommate.”
Before she was halfway down the stairs, she could hear the music blaring out of Amber’s apartment again.
Chapter 7
On her way out of the Pine Forest Apartments, Huber walked by the tenant’s laundromat, located in a separate small structure. The door to it stood open and she heard the noise of washers and dryers in use. On a whim, she stuck her head in. There were three people in the place, tending to their laundry.
She asked, “By chance, did any of you know your neighbor Megan Maguire in apartment 9C?”
Two people shook their heads and squeezed by her with their baskets full of clothing.
Huber was about to retreat too, when the third person, a young man, looked up from folding his towels and said, “Would that be the fitness nut who blasts her audio and jumps around, making the building shake?”
“You’ve got the correct apartment, but I meant her roommate.”
“Oh, you mean the beauty. But she - -” he caught himself and continued “ - - no longer lives there.”
His slight hesitation was not lost on Huber and she prompted, “So you do know what happened to her.”
The young man eyed her with caution and said, “Are you a relative of hers?”
“You don’t have to worry about my feelings in the matter; I’m a private investigator, looking into Megan’s case.”
He scrutinized her from head to toe, then looked all around them and said, “Where’s the hidden camera?”
She reached into her purse and handed him one of her business cards.
He glanced at it and blurted, “R. A. Huber, Private Investigator. Damn right; you are a private eye! I thought it was a joke.”
“Now that we’ve got that straight, what do you know about Megan Maguire?”
“Not much. Just that she was killed.”
“Who told you?”
“I learned about it indirectly.”
He didn’t elaborate and seemed to concentrate on folding his laundry.
Huber took a step toward him, crossed her arms and waited.
“Okay, I’ll tell you,” he finally said, “I wasn’t really eavesdropping; just came to drop off my rent check at the superintendent’s office, when I realized that he was talking to the cops.”
“So what did you accidentally overhear?”
“That the woman in 9C was killed at the Cubbyhole Theater. I heard about the explosion on the news, but had no idea the person who died was actually my neighbor.”
“How well did you know Megan?”
“I didn’t know her at all.”
“May I ask how long you’ve lived here?”
“Close to a year.”
Huber casually walked over to the small window, and, looking out asked, “Which is your building?”
“I live in building C.”
“That’s right; you mentioned that the building shakes when the young lady practices her aerobic routines. So your place is on the ground floor?”
“No, on the second, apartment 10C.”
In a swift motion Huber turned away from the window and wagging her finger at him said, “Apartment 10C is next door to where Megan lived. Don’t tell me you’ve never met her over the span of a year!”
His face turned red as he protested, “Naturally I saw her coming and going, but we didn’t socialize. When I first moved in, both women came to my door together and introduced themselves as Amber and Megan, but I could never remember which was which.”
“When was the last time you saw Megan, to put it in your words, coming and going?”
He thought about it for a second and then said, “It was the Friday right before Valentine’s Day.”
“And that day sticks in your mind?”
“Not really. It wasn’t until later when hearing the cop say she was killed on Saturday that I realized I’d seen her the night before.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Yeah, it was weird. Even though we didn’t really know each other, she usually smiled and commented about the weather or something when we crossed paths.”
“And on that evening she was different?”
“Exactly. Like I said, it was strange. We were both coming home around eleven at night and she was standing in front of her door, fiddling for keys in her purse. I said, ‘Good night, sleep tight,’ as I passed by her on the way to my place next door. I obviously had startled her; she seemed scared out of her mind and almost fainted. The building is well lit at night and when recognizing me, she seemed to pull herself together. I asked whether she was okay and she assured me that all was fine.”
“Granted, you frightened her, but I see nothing strange in that.”
“I’m getting to it. After she found her keys, and just before she opened the door and went inside, she did something like this - -” he first touched his forehead with his right hand, then the middle of his chest, then left and right.
“She crossed herself?”
He nodded. “She did it slowly and deliberately. It was dramatic.”
Chapter 8
On Monday morning, R. A. Huber had an appointment to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley, the owners of the Cubbyhole Theater, at their playhouse. It was located down a side alley off the main drag in Old Town Pasadena. She was a few minutes early and found the place locked. From the outside, the small theater could have been mistaken for an office building were it not for the wide front portal. Photos with scenes from the current play were exhibited in glass cases on either side of the entrance. Huber was studying a picture of a young woman in the role of Vanity when the couple walked up to her. They were both well into their seventies. Huber had the distinct feeling that the pair had been arguing moments before but were trying to hide this from her.
After introductions were made, she pointed to the photo and asked, “Was this Megan Maguire?”
Mrs.
