Nursing a Grudge: An Earl Walker Mystery

Chapter 9

When they got to Kent’s apartment, the front door was wide open. Earl heard a lot of clunking. “Don’t they ever lock these doors?”

“Maybe the sheriff came after all,” Jenny said. “I bet he’s got people inside dusting for prints.”

“I don’t think so. They wouldn’t make so much noise.” Earl looked along the rows of doors to apartments. There was no one else in the hall.

He thought about the cranky old man from the night before who threatened to call the police. Had he done it? If the ruckus was enough to make two of the locals come out into the hall, surely others woke up and peeked out their doors. He thought at least one of them would have called to complain.

Earl strained his ears but could not hear any evidence of the other residents. Just the hum of the air-conditioning. One end of the hall led back to the main complex. The other led to the exit. Sunlight streamed in the glass door. Earl wondered whether a glass door like that was a deterrent to criminals.

Getting to the door of Kent’s apartment, they looked inside and stopped. Some of the big furniture was gone—including the couch and the entertainment center. The lamps were wrapped in bubble tape. Boxes were taped up, marked, and ready to be moved.

Earl carefully wheeled his way inside, navigating through the obstacle course. All the framed pictures were stacked together.

The plant Earl had “depotted”, was browning in the corner, roots exposed. The pile of dirt had been tracked through, revealing big boot prints.

There was noise from the back room, the rumbling of voices and the thumping of boxes being stacked roughly. Jenny whispered, “Mr. Walker, what if we—”

He waved her to silence, sniffing the air. There was the pungent odor of cleansers. “They’re trying to cover up the evidence.”

She frowned. “The sheriff?”

A fat man came out of the bedroom, huffing and puffing as he pushed a two-wheeler loaded with boxes. He stopped when he saw Earl and Jenny. “Oh.” Huff. Puff. “Hey.”

Earl grunted. “What’s all this?”

The burly man, shifting his weight, twitched his unkempt beard. “The dude who lived in here died.”

Earl waved the answer away. “Why are you taking away his things?”

“We got orders.” The man tilted back the two-wheeler and pushed it forward, trying to circle Earl’s wheelchair. All the same, Earl had to scoot out of the man’s way.

Two more large men came out carrying the bedroom dresser. They paused when they saw Earl and Jenny, nodded curtly, and got back to their carrying.

After all three were gone, Earl set his jaw. “Come on.” He gripped the tops of his wheels firmly and rolled himself through to the kitchenette. All the cabinet doors were wide open, their contents gone, no doubt shoved into the boxes already taped shut.

Earl checked the fridge—it was completely and thoroughly empty. Of course, Earl reminded himself, that had already been the case before.

Closing the fridge door, he turned his attention to the kitchen drawers. They were slightly open, one even crooked. Earl rolled up to it and pulled, but it was stuck. It seemed to be off its track.

He yanked harder, and the silverware inside jangled as he jerked the drawer open. Hmm. The movers hadn’t packed it up yet. Earl lowered his head and tried to see behind the drawer, but the angle made his head spin. So he stopped.

He tried to push the drawer back but found it difficult. He glanced at Jenny and grunted, “Shut this.”

While she took care of the drawer, he went to the bedroom. There was not much left to see—the movers had already emptied most of it. Earl wondered how much longer they had before the movers came back. He glanced at his wrist—he really should get a watch—and decided to just be quick about it.