Gargantuan_ A Ruby Murphy Mystery - Maggie Estep [107]
I looked through the trash. An empty container of protein powder and a very brown banana peel. I shuffled through a stack of Daily Racing Forms near the bed. I sat on the bed. I wondered if Ruby had slept in it.
I went into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet held one crusty toothbrush and a jumbo-size bottle of generic ibuprofen. The guy was out of toilet paper.
The apartment didn’t contain traces of Ruby or of anything other than a depressing life.
I closed the door behind me. The landlady was standing on the porch, waiting.
“Thank you, ma’am, I’m done.”
“Find anything?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “Have a nice day.”
I got back in the car.
Carlo had told me that Attila had a kid and an estranged wife whose address I’d jotted down. I nosed the car into traffic and drove.
It was a narrow two-story house flanked on both sides by houses that were identical save for the color of their vinyl siding. This edge of Queens had clearly been the victim of a particularly aggressive vinyl-siding salesman. The guy—and it had to be a guy—had come through, spreading ugly uniformity in his wake.
I rang the doorbell but nothing happened. I knocked. When that failed to yield results, I tried the two neighboring houses. No one was home. Finally, I picked the lock on the wife’s house. I could get in trouble for it, but I can’t say I cared.
The door opened into a narrow hallway. To the right a small living room and ahead, a kitchen. The kitchen windows looked out over a tiny concrete yard. There didn’t seem to be any animals or indications of happiness. The living room held an orange couch, a rocking chair, and a large television. There was a bookshelf holding more porcelain knickknacks than books. On the far wall there were pictures of horses. Two of them were win photos from Aqueduct. Two horses I’d never heard of but the rider was Attila Johnson. He looked happy. I wondered if he still was.
Upstairs were two bedrooms. Not a lot of cheer in either one, though one of them was obviously a child’s. The bed was small. The dresser was made of pink plastic. On top of it sat a collection of plastic horses.
I made my way back downstairs, reset the lock, and let myself out.
I sat in my car for a few minutes then decided to go by Ruby’s. It was rush hour and it took me nearly an hour to get to Coney Island. The day was still gray and the wind had gotten meaner.
I parked the car on Mermaid Avenue, and, as I headed over to Ruby’s, I took my phone out and tried calling her again. The machine came on. When I reached her building, I picked the downstairs lock and climbed up the narrow stairs. I knocked at her door and then at the neighbors’. No one seemed to be home anywhere today. I picked Ruby’s lock too.
Ruby’s cats were waiting at the door and the big one let out a hunger cry as soon as I came in. The air inside the apartment smelled stale, like no one had walked through it in more than a day. The cats started milling around my legs, screaming at me to feed them. I walked into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. There was a packet of raw meat there. I fed it to the cats. I noticed their water bowl was dry and I started to feel a little sick. It was totally uncharacteristic for Ruby to have left her cats unfed and unwatered. Something was very wrong.
I was trying to figure out what to do and what to look for when I heard something in the hall. I threw open the door and there was the neighbor, Ramirez, with his girlfriend, Elsie.
Ramirez frowned and looked behind me, seeing if Ruby was standing there. Elsie looked me over head to toe and a few different emotions crossed her face. Finally, she asked what I was doing there.
“Looking for Ruby,” I said. “When’s the last time you guys saw her?”
“What you doin’ in her apartment?” Ramirez asked.
“I had to let myself in. I’m worried about her. I’m trying to figure out where the hell she is.”
“Ain’t none of