MANY QUESTIONS

The apartment next to mine has been empty for a year. It contains two bedrooms, a small den, 2 baths, a small terrace overlooking a small park. I have a one bedroom, living room a den like a closet or maybe a closet like a den, a shower in the tub and no terrace. The other tenants, and surely the building owner, worry about the vacancy. This is not a plush neighborhood but is far from a slum. Residents run the gamut from Orthodox Jews to Catholics, skin colors, nationalities vary. While small children may live here, none do.

Charlie, the maintenance man does a good job, keeps everything running smoothly, the halls clean. We are a friendly group, help each other when called on, check on the elderly. Aside from a rare purse snatching, we have been crime free for 5 years. Why then, no tenant?Rumors begin to circulate. A family with two teen sons , a newly married couple in their late seventies, a single man with his lady and grown daughter, are considering 605.

A lot of commotion, banging on my walls wakens me 7 A.M. signaling I will soon have new neighbors. After my shower I go to check out the doings. The t.v. wall unit that used to be in the den is gone. Two over-alled men have already scraped the wall and are applying fresh plaster. I ask no questions and return to my apartment where I belong. My neighbor on the other side of me waves, shrugs and heads to work.

Charlie tells somebody. Somebody tells somebody else and I learn in the afternoon that one rumor is true. The couple with two teens will move in sometime this month. My emotion are fuzzy, mixed up. No sooner were we all somewhat relieved, we learn there has been a mugging in the alley between our building and the corner one. Our tongues wag.

The Dresslers move in ten days later. When the moving men leave and all is still, I knock lightly on their door. A slightly disheveled but attractive woman, 45 or so, opens the door. ‘Welcome, Mrs. Dressler. I live next door in 604. I’m Harriet Thomas. Thought you and your family might enjoy this strawberry short cake.’ I hand it to her. She says, ‘Thanks’ and closes the door. Immediately I take a dislike to her. None of the other Dresslers had been visible.

Two weeks pass and I have yet to see the boys. Walking down the hall, I come close to tripping on a skate board. ‘Will’, Mr. Dressler asked me to call him that, steps from the elevator and sees what happened. He apologizes for his son, tells me it won’t happen again and it doesn’t.

More stories in the lobby. There was another mugging where the first one had been. An elderly lady was pushed to the ground, kicked and her heirloom purse was stolen. She sat in the police car crying over it.Whether anyone else makes a mental connection to the Dressler boys or not, I don’t know. But foolishly I do and think they are criminals.

Mrs. Dressler remains Mrs. Dressler, somewhat aloof. Will is warm, friendly, has met most of us and has already offered to be on the House Committee. His offering is accepted at once.

The unheard of, impossible, happens. 407 is robbed while the Kirsches are out to dinner. The door has been jimmied. Not much was taken but the place is a mess. Police arrive, take photos, dust for fingerprintsspeak to all residents who are home. I tell them my suspicions that we have never had any trouble here until the teens moved in. If anyone else mentions my thoughts I am unaware, and feel a bit guilty.

Mrs. Grempler pulls me on the side and tells me she thinks the boysare involved and my guilt lessens. We stand together and see the boys with the two officers get off the elevator, get in their cruiser. Detective First Class Johnson questions them at the precinct, finds their alibis perfectly substantiated and returns them to their parents. As he apologizes and turns to leave, his eye catches on a bureau drawer not completely closed. He mentions it to Mr. Dressler who quickly opens it and stuffs the thing back in the drawer.

Detective First Class isn’t First Class for nothing. In that moment he is pretty sure that embroidered strap is the match to the bag of the woman who was mugged near my building. ‘Mr. Dressler, please come downtown with me. I have some questions to ask you.’

The Dressler s have a year’s lease and remain my neighbor for the entire time, except Will. The judge went easy on him, too easy, gave him only six months jail time. Mrs. Dressler puts in fives days a week in Walmart’s office, gets discounts on whatever she has to have. The boys give Charlie a hand after school and on Saturdays. They are doing just about the best they can.

In the meantime, while the Mrs. waits for Will to come home, crime around here is back to zero and I am Treasurer of the House Committee.