Prometheus Confidential:
The Case of the Vengeful Landlord
Chapter 3
A sharp knock interrupted the quiet, startling both Luke and I. It was too early for Charlene, and visitors were a rarity here.
“Expecting someone?” I asked, glancing toward him.
“No,” Luke said, already heading to the door. He hesitated for a moment before peering through the peephole. “It’s someone I don’t recognize.” His fingers hovered over the deadbolt before he slid it open, leaving the chain on for safety.
The stranger’s voice came through, low but firm. “You Luke? Is Reese in there?”
I leaned closer and caught sight of Todd’s unmistakable grin through the crack. “It’s just Todd. You can let him in.”
Luke sighed, undoing the chain and swinging the door open.
“What’s with all the security? I thought you were just worried about your landlord spying on you.” Todd stepped through the doorway and surveyed the apartment with an exaggerated expression. “Now I know who’s been stealing everyone’s packages. I’d offer to take my shoes off, but I don’t think it’d matter.”
“Todd, be nice. We are still his guests,” I said, shooting him a pointed look.
Todd shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Oh, come on. You still have your shoes on.”
“It’s more than just spying, I think.” Luke’s voice had a weight to it that caught both of us off guard.
“Luke suspects his landlord is trying to murder him,” I said. “So far, all I’ve gathered is that he’s a nice guy, if a bit protective of his property.”
“Murder, huh? Now that’s intriguing,” Todd said, shifting to look at me with a grin. “In the future, we should charge more for potential murder cases. Victims will be more motivated to pay more.”
“Todd!” I snapped, half-amused, half-annoyed.
Luke let out a small laugh. “It’s okay. I was just telling Reese how this all started.” Luke paused, staring off into the distance. His eyes flickered as if searching for something just out of reach. “I can’t seem to remember where we were. Want me to start over?”
“NO!” I quickly interjected, not wanting to listen to those insignificant details again. “You were just telling me how Charlene thought this apartment was haunted.”
“Not just this apartment. The entire building.” Luke’s expression turned serious, and a shiver passed through me.
Todd moved to the couch, nudging a stack of magazines aside and settling in. “This sounds juicy. Keep going.”
Weeks passed, and Luke saw no signs of a haunted apartment. He spent time with Charlene, learning that you could never take her too seriously. Half of her comments were thoughtful or surprisingly helpful, but the other half were jokes, witty one-liners, or pranks meant to get a reaction.
It was with Charlene’s encouragement that Luke grew more comfortable around Belle Pointe. He dined with Carol and her husband, who always spoke fondly of their children, even if they “didn’t visit enough.” He spent a sunny afternoon with the Jensens by the lake, swapping stories as they hiked the well-worn paths. Even Nancy Pratt, the town’s sole real estate agent, had taken a liking to Luke and offered him part-time work.
At first, Nancy had him clean up the clutter in her makeshift office, a place that looked more like a storage attic than a business space. But soon, she discovered his talent for writing. She tasked him with creating descriptions for properties that could capture any potential buyer’s interest. It was a skill he took to quickly, learning to spin even the quirks of a property into charming details, using words like “cozy,” “quaint,” and “timeless.”
Luke was working on a property listing in his apartment on a weekday evening when a knock came from the door. It was dark outside, but not late enough to make visitors unusual.
He set his notepad on the coffee table and moved to the door. Peering through the peephole, he saw an older couple he didn’t recognize—an elderly man and woman with friendly, expectant faces. Luke opened the door to greet them.
“Hello. You must be Luke.” The woman smiled and stepped forward, holding a pie wrapped in a dish towel. “I’m Barbara, and this is my husband, Tom. Sorry it took us so long to stop by. Tom’s been dealing with some health stuff.”
Tom glanced at her with a sharp look.
Barbara caught his expression and laughed lightly. “Oh, hush. Luke doesn’t mind.” She looked back at Luke with an apologetic smile. “It’s apple. Just out of the oven, so give it a moment to cool.”
“Thank you,” Luke said, accepting the pie. The warmth seeped into his fingers.
“Mind if we come in?” Barbara asked, already stepping past him before he could respond.
“Of course. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” Luke placed the pie on the counter and glanced back at them. “Would you like a slice now?”
“Let it cool!” Barbara said, as if it were a cardinal rule. “If you cut it too soon, you get a soupy mess.” She made her way to the couch and sat down, Tom following. “Isn’t Belle Pointe wonderful?” she said, her voice tinged with an almost wistful conviction.
“It’s much different than where I’m from,” Luke replied, pulling a folding chair into the room and sitting down.
“Different? How so?” Barbara pressed, staring at him intently. “It’s not a bad thing, is it? Where are you from? Some place where everyone’s just out for themselves? That’s the problem with America, you know. No one cares about anyone else anymore. Isn’t that right, Tom?”
Tom cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve only lived in Belle…“
“Oh, Tom,” Barbara interrupted with a dismissive wave. “We hardly have any crime here, and the little we get isn’t from our own. It’s that riff-raff passing through on the highway. I wrote to our senator about shutting down the exit, but he’s too busy taking bribes to care.”
“State senator or US senator?” Luke asked, trying to stay engaged and steer the conversation away from a dark turn.
“OUR senator,” Barbara emphasized. “The one we elected. What’s his name, Tom?”
“Robert Oberland,” Tom replied.
“The only reason we voted for him was because the other guy was so much worse,” Barbara said, folding her hands in her lap. “But they’re all the same, really.”
Barbara studied Luke for a moment, a small smile forming. “Even though you’re from out of town, I don’t think you’re like them. I can tell by the way we’re talking.”
Luke shifted in his chair, feeling the weight of her scrutiny. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”
“Now, tell me again, where are you from?” Barbara pressed, her curiosity unabated.
Luke paused, considering how much to share. “Out east,” he said finally.
Barbara’s eyes brightened with interest. “Oh, one of those big, elite cities, I bet. What made you come all the way here?”
Luke’s gaze fell to his shoes for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “City life wasn’t for me,” he said, offering a practiced smile. “I needed something… simpler. More charm than grit.”
Barbara nodded, seeming to accept his answer at face value. “I know you’ve been working for Nancy for a few weeks. Did you have experience in real estate before?”
Luke hesitated, his fingers drumming nervously on the chair arm. “Not exactly. But something similar.”
“Well, if things don’t work out with Nancy, just let me know. Tom used to work at the printing mill in Myersville. He still knows the owner and could get you a job if you need it.”
Tom shifted, giving Barbara a sideways glance. “Michael retired last year, remember? His son Stephen runs the place now.”
“No, Michael’s still there, I’m sure of it,” Barbara said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“We were at his retirement party,” Tom said, his brows furrowed. “At the country club.”
Barbara’s smile tightened. “It was the anniversary party for his forty years at the company. But it doesn’t matter. We’re close with Stephen too. If you need a job, just ask.”
“I appreciate that,” Luke said, shifting his posture to signal the end of the conversation. “I’m enjoying my time with Nancy, though. Can I get you anything? I wasn’t expecting company, so I don’t have much.”
“What do you have?” Tom asked, eyes glancing toward the kitchen.
Barbara gave Tom a gentle tap on the knee. “No, we’re fine,” she said, eyes softening as she looked back at Luke.
Luke stood up and filled a glass with water, then returned to the room. “Sorry about the lack of furniture. I haven’t had time to go shopping.” In truth, he had the time; he just wasn’t sure he wanted to settle in just yet. Aside from the bed and couch, which had been in the apartment when he moved in, he’d only bought a foldable card table, the coffee table, and a desk that he kept in the storage closet, repurposed as an office.
“Sometimes those things take time,” Barbara said, looking around. “You’ll have them for a long time; best to make sure you like them first.”
“Although, I see you kept Ms. Gladstone’s couch.” Barbara’s eyes rested on the worn fabric between her and Tom. “Shame what happened to her.”
Luke’s pulse quickened. “Happened? What do you mean?”
Tom’s face tightened, and he shot a warning glance at Barbara. “Oh, Barbara, Luke doesn’t want to hear about that,” he said, his voice low but firm.
Luke leaned forward, trying to hide the tension in his shoulders. “I haven’t heard anything. I’m curious now—don’t leave me hanging.” He forced a laugh, but it sounded thin.
“Barbara has a tendency to exaggerate,” Tom added quickly, cutting in before she could speak. “Ms. Gladstone passed away last winter. They found her in her bed after no one had seen her for a couple of days.”
Luke’s eyes widened, and he glanced nervously at the bedroom door. “In her apartment?”
“Afraid so,” Barbara said, her voice softening. “I heard the place had a horrible stench afterwards, but Greg managed to get it cleaned up. It’s nice in here now.”
Luke’s mind raced. He wasn’t sure he could agree that the place was cleaned up nicely. It constantly smelled of cigarette smoke, even though Luke hadn’t smoked in years. But at least the place didn’t smell of decay. The thought made him shiver.
Tom attempted to change the subject. “What are you reading?” He asked, pointing to the book on the coffee table.
“A Rose for Emily. It’s by Faulkner.”
Barbara leaned forward, her eyes lighting up with interest. “That sounds lovely. What’s it about?”
Luke didn’t remember his exact answer; his mind was fixated on Ms. Gladstone for the rest of the evening. He also didn’t realize how long they had been talking. It was far longer than he was comfortable with, but it wasn’t until Tom mentioned their early morning plans that Barbara finally stood up, still chatting as they made their way to the door. Luke followed them, watching as Barbara animatedly talked Tom’s ear off, her laughter ringing down the hallway as they disappeared down the long balcony toward the stairs.
After seeing Barbara and Tom safely climb into their car, Luke turned to go back inside, feeling a strange mixture of exhaustion and relief. But as he reached for the door, something caught his eye on the window.
Most of the glass was covered in a thick layer of dust, a sign of the neglected upkeep in the building, but one patch was different. The outline of a handprint was clearly visible, as if someone had pressed their palm against it and peered in.
A chill slid down his spine, and his pulse quickened. He bolted the door, heart pounding. Was someone spying on him? Or was it something else? The ghost of Ms. Gladstone? Thoughts raced through his mind, spinning wild and sharp enough to keep him awake for the rest of the night.
Over the next several days, Luke barely slept as the thought of Ms. Gladstone’s death lingered like a shadow. He wanted to talk to someone, to share his unease, but every time he thought about it, he worried he’d sound pathetic—or worse, unhinged. Greg might have answers, but confronting him felt like too much. Instead, Luke tried to push the thoughts aside on his own.
Nothing worked. His nerves frayed, and the strain bled into his work. Nancy’s sharp reminders about deadlines became more frequent, and Luke noticed her editing his property descriptions before posting them—replacing his attempts with her own blunt, matter-of-fact style. It wasn’t long before she called him into the office and let him go. “I’m sorry, Luke,” she said, her tone curt but not unkind. “You’re just not keeping up.”
Losing the job hit him harder than he expected, leaving him adrift. He considered calling Charlene—her sharp wit might be just the distraction he needed—but the idea of revealing his fears to her made him hesitate. He didn’t want her to think less of him.
After a day of pacing around his apartment, he called Carol instead. Her calming presence and warm demeanor felt like the support he needed. When she answered, he tried to engage in a bit of small talk but didn’t take long before asking, “Do you want to grab lunch tomorrow?”
Carol had been thrilled to meet him, saying he reminded her of her youngest son. It made Luke feel a little guilty—this wasn’t just a friendly lunch to him. He needed answers, but he also didn’t want to sour the moment by rushing.
They started with small talk, chatting about the weather and Carol’s family. She told a lively story about spending last Christmas in New York with her son, her eyes lighting up as she described the holiday decorations in the city. Luke tried to stay engaged, but his mind kept circling back to the apartment, to Ms. Gladstone, to death.
“What happened to Ms. Gladstone?” he asked suddenly, cutting into Carol’s story.
Carol blinked, the smile slipping from her face. “Oh. Sad thing, really.” She looked down for a moment, bowing her head as if in silent prayer. “To think it took them a few days to find her body… She never had kids, you know?”
“I didn’t know.” Luke shook his head. “Actually, I know very little about her. Or how she died. It feels like everyone’s avoiding the subject.” He took a large sip of his coffee, as if bracing himself for her answer.
“There’s no secret,” Carol said softly, her voice tinged with sympathy. “It’s just tragic. They said it was a heart attack. She passed in her sleep, alone.” She sighed, her gaze distant. “It’s so sad to think about, isn’t it? Dying alone like that.”
“Heart attacks aren’t that uncommon,” Luke said, his tone uncertain.
“Well, for someone in her mid-thirties, they are,” Carol replied, shaking her head. “And her students—oh, they must have been heartbroken. She was their favorite teacher. But I suppose learning about death is part of growing up, isn’t it? Still, such a tragedy.”
Luke let out a slow breath, the tightness in his chest beginning to ease. His imagination had conjured up far worse scenarios, but the reality—a heart attack in her sleep—was something he could make peace with. Still, the thought of continuing to sleep on the same bed made his skin crawl. He’d have to replace it soon.
“Have you heard the rumors that she haunts the apartment?” he asked, trying to sound lighthearted but still craving reassurance.
Carol raised an eyebrow. “Haunted? That’s just nonsense. When you die, you either join God in Heaven or burn in Hell. There’s no middle ground for wandering souls.” She paused for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smile. “But even if there were ghosts, I’ve never heard a single thing about Whispering Pines being haunted.”
Luke chuckled softly, her no-nonsense certainty pulling him out of his unease. The rest of their lunch unfolded in easier conversation, and by the time the check came, he felt steady enough to insist on paying. “It’s the least I can do,” he said as Carol waved her thanks.
Back at his apartment, Luke noticed the faint outline of the handprint still on the windowpane. He paused, considering whether it might have been a nosy neighbor—or just a strange coincidence. Either way, he felt more at ease after his talk with Carol. He stared at it for a moment before grabbing a rag and wiping it away with firm strokes. For the first time in days, he slept soundly through the night, albeit on the couch.
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