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Chapter Twenty-One
I got to Lemaire’s house and parked at the curb just as Lillian was pulling into the driveway in her yellow VW Beetle. The street was coming to life at the end of the day, neighbors returning from work, walking dogs and bringing in the mail.
“Hey, Lillian!” I got out of my car and crossed the lawn as she emerged from the VW in her black sweater and knit pants.
“TJ! I worried you’d change your mind. I asked around about you…” Lillian didn’t finish the sentence, and I knew that my reputation had preceded me.
“Of course I’d come. I want my cat.” I felt guilty deceiving her, but I needed to see what I could see in Lemaire’s house, which could lead to whoever killed him. We turned together toward the paved path to the door.
“You’ll give her a good home, won’t you?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Good.” Lillian extracted a set of jingling keys from her purse. “I stopped by Petco and got the canned food she likes.”
“Thanks. How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing, it’s the least I can do. She’s very picky. For example, she likes tuna, but it has to be flaked. I made a list.” Lillian slid a key inthe lock and opened the door, and I followed her inside while she kept talking. “She gets one can a day in the morning. You have to put it in the fridge if she doesn’t eat it. You can’t leave it out.”
“Okay,” I said, looking around. The living room was furnished with a royal blue couch and chair on a patterned rug. A walnut entertainment center contained a newish TV, books, and a turntable with a vinyl collection.
“She gets dehydrated, with her condition. You have to change the water every day.”
“I will.” I noticed a kitchen to the right and stairs to the left. “What a nice house. Is it two bedrooms or three?”
“Two.” Lillian set her bag and keys on an end table. “Neil used the second one for an office.”
Bingo. My heartbeat quickened at the prospect of getting into Lemaire’s office. “I wish my place were this neat.”
“He kept the litter box immaculate. You will, too, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“But you just said your apartment wasn’t clean.”
Argh. “The litter box will be the cleanest thing in the place. I’ll leave no turd behind.”
“Good.” Lillian smiled, looking around. “Mango’s probably hiding. She used to hide from me in the beginning.”
“You check downstairs, and I’ll check upstairs.” I headed for the staircase, but Lillian turned, puzzled.
“But I thought we’d go over the list first. Maybe she’ll come out—”
“Why wait?” I hit the steps. “Mango!”
“Mango!” Lillian left for the kitchen, and I reached the top of the stairway and made a beeline for the office, a small room with shelves full of books, a file cabinet, and a dark wood workstation with a desktop Mac.
“Mango!” I called out, for show. I crossed to the file cabinet, hopingfor bank accounts or the like. I tried to open a drawer but it was locked. I tried the other two drawers, also locked. I looked around for keys and didn’t see any.
I hurried to the computer and moved the mouse. The screen sprang to life, requesting a password under a close-up of Mango, her green eyes glowing. On impulse, I typed inMango1, but it didn’t work. I typed inMango123, but that didn’t work, either. I probably had one more strike.
My gaze fell on two drawers below. I opened the top one, which contained pencils, pens, Runstan thumb drives, and Post-its. I didn’t see any keys for the file cabinets.
I opened the second drawer, and it held a few manila folders. I pulled them out and thumbed through them quickly. They were labeledComcast,PECO, andMercedes Financial. Oddly, there were no bank statements.
“Mango!” I went to the last folder and got a lucky break. It was labeledPasswords, and I tore it open. Inside were sheets of passwords, incomprehensible combinations of capital and lowercase letters, numbers, and weird signs. Lemaire was a Suggested-Strong-Password kind of guy. I, on the other hand, always went with Carrie’s birthday.
I scanned the list, located Lemaire’s desktop password, and typed it in. The screen came to life with an email account, and the sidebar showed two accounts, [email protected] and [email protected], which must have been personal.
