Trust Me

undone somewhere inside. The door opened a crack. A woman of indeterminate years peered out suspiciously. She was dressed in a faded housecoat and a pair of fluffy slippers. Her frizzy gray hair stood out at odd angles around her head.
    “What do you want?” The woman’s voice had the scratchy hoarseness of a longtime smoker. The smell of alcohol was strong. “I already talked to enough people yesterday. You another cop or something?”
    “I’m Desdemona Wainwright,” Desdemona said. “I was Vernon’s Tate’s employer.”
    “Vernon’s dead.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “Spent an hour talkin’ to cops yesterday. Then they spent an hour or two goin’ through his things upstairs.”
    “You’re his landlady?”
    “Was. Name’s Nadeen Hocks. Not that it’s any of your business. I got better things to do than answer dumb questions.”
    “I don’t want to ask you any questions, Ms. Hocks.”
    “Then what do you want?”
    Desdemona lifted one hand in a vague gesture. “I just want to offer my condolences.”
    “To who? Vernon didn’t have no relatives or friends. Leastways, none that I knowed of.”
    “None at all?”
    “Nope.” Nadeen scratched her wiry gray hair. “Spent all of his time with that blasted computer of his.”
    Desdemona stared at her. “He did?”
    “Yep. As for me, I ain’t gonna miss him much. Just the back rent he owed me.” Nadeen gave her a sly wink. “But I took care of that problem.”
    “You did?”
    “Damned right. I been rentin’ out rooms for over thirty years. You learn a few things. And I stay informed. Got the television on all the time. Also got me a scanner radio. When I heard that some guy had been killed at a catering company early yesterday mornin’, I didnt take no chances.”
    “What did you do?”
    “Went right upstairs yesterday and helped myself to his computer. Good thing I did, too. ‘Cause the next thing I know, the police was knockin’ on the front door. They’d’ve probably taken it, even though there ain’t no one for them to give it to. Can’t trust anyone these days.”
    “I didn’t know Vernon was into computers,” Desdemona said carefully.
    “You kiddin’? Computer stuff was all he cared about. No friends, no family, no girlfriend.” Nadeen chuckled slyly. “And no boyfriend, either, if you take my meanin’. Figure I got a right to sell off his computer to make up for his back rent.”
    “You’re going to sell it?”
    “Yep. Lots of folks are into computers nowadays. Maybe I’ll put an ad in the paper. Expect I could get a hundred and fifty, maybe even two hundred, for it.”
    Desdemona tried to think of what to do next. She needed some expert advice. “You know, I have a friend who’s into computers. He might be interested in buying Vernon’s stuff.”
    A distinct glint of greed appeared in Nadeen’s eyes. “You think so?”
    “I can call him right now, if you like. See what he says.”
    Nadeen looked doubtful. “He got enough money for a computer?”
    “I think he can manage to come up with two hundred bucks.”
    “I ain’t takin’ no checks,” Nadeen warned.
    “I understand.”
    “You sure you ain’t with the police?”
    “Absolutely positive, Ms. Hocks.”
    “Well, all right, then.” Nadeen stood back. “Come on in and call your friend.”
    “Thank you.” Desdemona stepped into the dark, stale-smelling room.
    The rank odors of old smoke and alcohol were overpowering. The smell clung to the faded drapes and seemed to waft upward from the threadbare carpet. Desdemona tried to take small, shallow breaths.
    The shrill voices emanating from the television were annoying and much too loud, but Nadeen appeared oblivious to the noise. Desdemona glanced at the set. The afternoon talk show host was interviewing three men who were dressed in frilly maids’ aprons. They were extolling the thrills of cleaning house for a dominatrix.
    “Phone’s over there on the wall.” Nadeen pitched her voice above the drone of the talk show host. “Tell your friend I won’t take a penny less than one-fifty. Cash.”
    “I’ll tell him.” Desdemona prayed that Stark would be in his office. She picked up the grimy phone and punched out the number.
    “Stark Security Systems,” Maud said in a sunny voice.
    “This is Desdemona Wainwright. I need to speak to Stark.”
    “Certainly Miss Wainwright,” Maud said cheerfully. “I’ll put you through.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Quite all right. Have a nice day.”
    Stark