Chapter 2 Reid
TWO
Reid
Armchair_Detective: Did you look at the timestamp on that photograph?
Armchair_Detective: Good to rule him out, though. Everyone is always obsessed with the idea the boyfriend did it.
WhiteKnight31: Because it’s always the boyfriend.
ReidingRainbow: Not always. We can’t sequester ourselves into those narrow-minded stereotypes.
WhiteKnight31: Leave it to Reid to be the logical one. Whatever. It looks like the photo evidence backs you up this time.
Armchair_Detective: He could have still hired someone to take her.
ReidingRainbow: That seems farfetched. 10 years ago, this guy crashed his car trying to do donuts in an abandoned Kmart parking lot. (ATT: mugshot picture) You really think he masterminded this whole plan, so brilliantly that the police haven’t figured anything out all these years later?
Armchair_Detective: Fine, you have a point. Let’s move onto other theories. Like the fact that he claimed she was cheating on him and the police never looked further into that.
ReidingRainbow: Exactly. They thought they had their guy (kind of like you’re trying to do now) so they didn’t investigate anything he had to say.
“Reid?”
The faint sound of my name barely filtered through the giant noise-cancelling headphones engulfing my ears.
“Reid?”
Louder this time. I shot off a quick “got to run” to my group. I pulled off my headphones and nestled them around my neck before spinning around in my office chair.
My sister stood there, arms folded, leaning against the wooden door frame.
“Ruby.” Exasperation seeped into my voice. I hated being snuck up on. “I told you, that key is for emergencies only.”
She rolled her eyes and dangled her fuzzy, hot-pink, rabbit-foot keychain in front of her. “And I’d leave it for emergencies if you ever answered your phone. I texted you that I was here and called you, like, three times.”
“Oh.” Frowning, I pulled out my phone to see that she had, in fact, called. “My bad. I got caught up in something.”
“I’m used to it.” She pushed off the doorframe of my office and disappeared down my hallway.
My stiff back protested as I stood. The hours I’d spent holed up in the office, hunched over my computer, had taken their toll.
“Are you almost ready?” Ruby called from somewhere in my house.
“Just let me grab a sweater,” I called back, veering to the right out of my office and walking the short distance to my bedroom at the end of the hall.
It was late October, and I knew I’d regret leaving the house in just my t-shirt.
After I’d thrown on my favorite gray crewneck, I assessed myself in the mirror, then patted down my short golden-brown hair that was sticking up haphazardly from wearing headphones all day.
Ruby said something else that was muffled by the hallway and multiple square feet between us.
“What?” I asked, padding out of my bedroom and down the hall that led to my very open-concept living, kitchen, and dining room.
The high ceilings were what had sold me on the place when I’d first walked into this townhouse.
For someone who spent most of his days in a dark room in front of a computer, I appreciated the haven of sunlight.
“I said, what do I need to grab?” My sister was parked in front of my fridge, door open. She assessed its contents, carefully arranged by category. “You know your refrigerator looks like a serial killer’s, right?”
“Are serial killers the only people allowed to be organized?” I asked, walking behind her and pointing to the top shelf. “That container.”
“No, but there is a certain obsessiveness to not having a single item out of place. It’s food, Reid. It doesn’t have to be this compulsively arranged.” Ruby plucked out the covered glass bowl and closed the door with her hip.
“What is it?” she asked, peeling the lid open.
“Mediterranean orzo salad.”
She sighed. “Why must you always be so impressive?”
“It took five minutes,” I said with just a touch of defensiveness.
Ruby saw me as the type of person who constantly put too much effort into things.
Organizing a room so that it was just so.
Color-coding my closet. Learning the science behind baking a soufflé.
These traits apparently meant I lacked a certain…
cool-guy essence. It didn’t matter that being organized came naturally to me.
It didn’t matter that I enjoyed doing these things.
“It makes me look bad. All I’m contributing are the warm two liters of soda in my trunk.”
“So, the usual,” I said, which was met with a swift elbow to the side.
“Hey, I baked cookies literally last week.”
“Cookies that bore a striking resemblance to the ones found in the bakery section of Meijer.”
Her mouth dropped open in mock horror. “How dare you hurl that accusation at me.”
My lips strained, tugging upward as the two of us headed outside.
The small, shared garden space right off my front door was always meticulously kept.
When I moved into this place a few months ago, one of the first things I had done was apply to be on the HOA board.
Not long after I joined the board, I’d hired a new landscaper, someone who shared my obsession with perfection.
Someone with an eye for detail, as if a Home and Garden magazine crew might show up at any moment to photograph our modest little complex.
Ruby and I climbed into her red SUV—relatively clean, but still too cluttered for my liking.
Last year, I’d passive-aggressively gotten her a car wash subscription for her birthday.
She’d snorted with laughter and said it felt more like a gift for me than for her.
Between all the family gatherings and trips we took together, I was in Ruby’s car a lot.
She always insisted on driving, so was it so wrong that I wanted her car to be just a touch cleaner?
“Haven’t had a chance to get to the car wash lately?” I asked, pointing to the streaks on the windshield.
Ruby barked out a laugh before throwing the car into reverse and pulling out of my short driveway.
“I’m never going there, just to spite you.”
She cranked the volume up and started singing along to a new pop song that I wasn’t familiar with. I settled into my seat and enjoyed the colors that painted the evening sky. It was rare to see such a colorful sunset this season; gray clouds typically blanketed Michigan’s skies on fall days.
The drive to my parents’ house was short, barely long enough to queue up two songs.
The whole family lived within a ten-mile radius of each other.
We were one of those obnoxiously close families, the kind that got together for weekly dinners, occasionally took group vacations, and actually enjoyed each other’s company.
We pulled up to the quaint craftsman I’d grown up in.
It wasn’t enormous for a family of five, but the best memories of my life had happened behind the currently red door.
That door must have been covered in hundreds of layers of paint by this point.
My mom loved switching it up for the season, her moods, special occasions—whatever, really.
For her, painting that door was like hanging a new photograph.
Ruby led the way up the front steps, and we walked through the door, which was never locked. The smell of onions and butter hit me immediately. Stepping inside felt like a warm hug compared to the slight chill in the air outside.
“We’re here!” Ruby called, stepping out of her shoes and leaving them amongst the scattered pile that had a permanent place by the front door.
A guy about as tall as me, with dark features and a beaming smile, strode into the entryway before scooping my sister into a hug and planting a kiss right on top of her head.
“Gross,” Ruby muttered, shoving him away. Her practiced look of disgust wasn’t fooling anyone. Her crush on my best friend had been evident to pretty much the entire family—everyone except West—since he’d moved in with us our senior year of high school.
“Hey, man,” I said, slapping him on the back.
While not related by blood, West had been an addition to this family ever since we’d bonded over our shared hatred of playing soccer in middle school.
One time, we’d even snuck home from practice to play video games in his parents’ basement.
Then, when we were seventeen and his family had to move to Australia for his father’s job, my parents hadn’t even hesitated before offering to take him in.
Now he was one of us. And he would never consider missing a Mitchell weekly dinner.
Ruby stared at the back of his head, then met my eyes—just for a second—before quickly looking away. I wasn’t the macho, overprotective-big-brother type. Ruby and West were adults. Her obvious crush on him didn’t faze me. Not in the slightest.
What did bother me was the inevitability of it all. West had no idea how Ruby felt, and even if he did, he wouldn’t feel the same. He’d let her down gently. He was good at that. Too good, if you asked me. Women liked him. Always had.
Me? Not so much. West had tried his best to be my wingman throughout high school and college, but I’d tanked every opportunity he set up.
Then, I’d gotten into a long-term relationship, which had led to marriage—and unfortunately, recently, divorce.
Now West was determined to once again be my wingman, despite the fact that I seemed to possess a natural talent for being entirely forgettable to most women.
“How did I beat you here?” West asked.
“We would have been here fifteen minutes ago, if someone had answered their phone in a timely fashion.”
I shrugged. “I got caught up.”