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I opened the Facebook app and started typing Isabella's name into the search field.
At that moment, someone came out of the door we had been standing next to for so long. I looked up quickly.
Isabella?
Nonsense, Carter, you just saw that she doesn't live here anymore. So what would she be doing here? It CAN'T be Isabella. Stop looking for her everywhere when you have no idea where she is.
Of course, it wasn't Isabella coming out of the door, but a portly man in his late fifties wearing a faded sweater with several grease stains on it. He pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket and started fiddling with the doorbell nameplates.
The janitor?
"Do you know where Isabella Abbott moved to?" The question escaped me before I could think about it further. And why not? A janitor usually knew quite a bit about what was going on in the buildings he took care of. Since he was changing the doorbell nameplates, he knew who came and went. And maybe also where to.
"To the other side," the man grunted, unsuccessfully trying to pull a nameplate out of its holder.
To the other side?
I turned around and looked at the building on the other side of the street. There was a bakery on the ground floor. Above it were several floors with apartments. Was Isabella living there now?
I had already set one foot on the street when Don asked, "Above the bakery?"
"Nah," grunted the portly janitor.
"What do you mean by 'to the other side' then?" Disappointed, I turned back. I felt like I had just lost Isabella again. It had just seemed like she was so close... and now I had no idea again.
"Opposite." The janitor obviously wasn't one of the most talkative people. I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him. Here was someone who apparently knew where Isabella was and wasn't telling me. Yet I needed to know that more urgently than anything else! But apparently, no one understood how urgent this was for me!
"Where opposite?" I could barely hide the impatience in my voice. "On the other side of the street? What exactly do you mean?"
The janitor lowered his hand holding the screwdriver and looked at us closely for the first time. "Who are you anyway? And why are you asking all these questions? If Ms. Abbott wanted you to know her address, surely she would have told you where she moved to?"
"Well..." I stuttered, embarrassed. The janitor was right, of course. What should I say now? "It's a private matter. I absolutely need to see Isabella." This explanation sounded unconvincing even to my own ears. It wasn't even really an explanation at all.
The janitor just snorted.
"Mr. Jenkins here owes Ms. Abbott some money," Don explained at that moment. "He's come to discuss the terms with her. When he should pay which installment and how. If he can't find Ms. Abbott, she won't be able to get what's rightfully hers. And that would be a real shame. We all need money, don't we?"
I looked at Don gratefully. Once again, he had gotten me out of a tight spot. He was always there when I needed him. The explanation he had just given was obvious, but I would never have thought to give it at that moment.
"Indeed, we all need money," grumbled the janitor. "I'd be happy if someone would just give me 50 dollars like that."
That was a pretty clear hint. I took my wallet out of my breast pocket and pulled out a 50 dollar bill. When I held it under the janitor's nose, his eyes widened. He reached for it so hastily that I barely managed to pull the bill out of his reach in time. The man really needed money desperately.
"Not so fast, my friend. Work first, then reward. So: Where did Isabella Abbott move to?" I repeated my question from earlier.
The janitor was now much more forthcoming. "Across the hall. With her friend. She lives on the same floor, just with her neighbor now. Or rather, her roommate now." He pointed to the doorbell label he had just painstakingly removed. "There. I'm about to replace the label. Haven't gotten around to it yet. Just removed hers."
I quickly pressed the 50 dollars into the portly man's hand, pushed him aside as fast as I could, and immediately pressed my thumb on the button next to the label he had just removed.
I rang the bell.
And waited with bated breath.
So Isabella wasn't far away after all. On the contrary, she was very close. She hadn't moved in with another man and she hadn't left New York.
This news lifted a weight off my chest.
On the other side of the intercom, it remained silent.