L Is for Lawless

He turned to me, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the bathroom. "You ought to see in there. Medicine cabinet's pulled all the way out the wall…"
    He droned on, pouring out the details, which seemed to give him satisfaction. He probably liked to bitch, reciting his grievances in order to justify his ill treatment of other people. His irritation was contagious, and I could feel my temper climb.
    I cut into his monologue. "Hey, I didn't do this,
Chester.
You can rant and rave all you want, but the place was fine when I left. I locked up and put the key back through the mail slot like Bucky suggested. Ray Rawson was here. If you don't believe me, you can ask him."
    "Everybody's innocent. Nobody did nothing. Everybody's got some kind of bullshit excuse," Chester groused.
    "Dad, she didn't do it."
    "You let me take care of this." He turned and looked at me narrowly. "You trying to say Ray Rawson did this?"
    "Of course not. Why would he do this when he's hoping to move in?" My voice was rising in response to his, and I worked to get control.
    Chester's attitude became grudging. "Well, you better have a talk with him and find out what he knows."
    "Why would he know anything? He left the same time I did."
    Bucky interceded, trying to introduce a note of reason. "Pappy didn't have a pot to piss in, so there's nothing here to take. Besides, he died in July. If burglars thought there was anything of value, why wait until now?"
    "Maybe it was kids," I said.
    "We don't have kids in this neighborhood as far as I know."
    "True enough," I said. Ours was primarily a community of retirees. It was always possible, of course, that a roving band of thugs had targeted the apartment. Maybe they figured that any place this crummy looking had to be a cover for something good.
    "Nuts!" Chester said with disgust. "I'm going down and wait for the police. Soon as you two crime experts finish your analysis, you can get the place cleaned up."
    I gave him a look. "I'm not going to
clean
the damn place."
    "I wasn't talking to you," he said. "Bucky, you and Babe get busy."
    "You better wait for the cops," I said.
    He swung around and stared at me. "Why is that?"
    "Because this is a crime scene. The cops might want to dust for prints."
    Chester's face seemed to darken. "This is bullshit. There's something not right about this." He made a motion in my direction. "You can come on down with me."
    I glanced back at Bucky. "I wouldn't touch anything if I were you. You don't want to screw around with evidence."
    "I hear you," he said.
    Chester gestured impatiently for me to pick up the pace.
    On the way down the steps, I glanced at my watch. It was 1:15 and already I was tired of taking crap from this guy. I'll take crap when I'm paid for it, but I don't like doing it without compensation.
    Chester clumped into the kitchen and went straight to the refrigerator, where he jerked open the door. He took out a jar of mayonnaise, mustard, bottled hot sauce, a packet of bologna, and a loaf of Wonder white bread. Had he ordered me to come down here so I could supervise his lunch?
    "I apologize if I was rough, but I don't like what's going on," he said gruffly. He wasn't looking at me, and I was tempted to do a double take to see if there was someone else in the room. He'd dropped the imperious attitude and was talking in a normal tone of voice.
    "You have a theory?"
    "I'll get to that in a bit. Grab a chair."
    At least he had my attention. I took a seat at the kitchen table and watched in fascination as he started his preparations. Somehow in my profession I seem to spend a lot of time in kitchens looking on while men make sandwiches, and I can state categorically, they do it better than women. Men are fearless. They have no interest in nutrition and seldom study the list of chemicals provided on the package. I've never seen a man cut the crusts off the bread or worry about the aesthetics of the "presentation." Forget the sprig of parsley and the radish rosette. With men, it's strictly a grunt-and-munch operation.
    Chester banged a cast-iron skillet on the burner, flipped the gas on, and tossed in a knuckle of butter, which began to sizzle within seconds. "I sent Bucky out to live with his granddad, which turned out to be a mistake. I figured the two of them could look after each other. Next thing I know, Bucky's hooked up with that gal. I got nothing against Babe… she's a dim-wit, but so's he… I just think the two of 'em got no business being