Chapter 10 - Reid
TEN
Reid
“Slumber party!” Hazel said, as she yanked open her door with a beaming smile.
When I’d packed my overnight bag, I could hardly believe what I was about to do. In fact, I’d almost convinced myself I wouldn’t. This was going too far—way above and beyond the call of duty.
After I’d finished work, I’d tried to log on and help the guys write our next blog post—one about a woman who had gone missing in Michigan back in the nineties—but those damn threatening notes kept flashing through my mind.
The thought of her being there alone churned my gut.
I didn’t like it. Especially when we hadn’t gotten the security footage and were no closer to deciphering this mystery.
And maybe it had been my imagination, but I swore I detected a hint of relief in Hazel’s voice when I’d called to insist on spending the night.
I’d expected some resistance, but she almost seemed excited about the prospect of some company.
“I just ordered Chinese, get in here!” she exclaimed, stepping aside so that I could come in and set down my tan leather duffle.
Hazel’s space overwhelmed me the same way it had when I’d been there earlier.
At first, I’d been in shock.
Every inch of space was covered. How was that even possible?
There were pictures of various sizes on every wall.
I realized now that I could get a closer look that her walls were painted green.
Why even bother? Rugs overlapped each other on the ground.
Two coffee tables—yes, two—were wedged up right next to each other, so that you could barely step around them to get to the basically neon-orange couch that looked straight out of the sixties.
This place was my nightmare. I itched to bring in bins and help her donate ninety percent of this stuff. I bit my tongue, though. That would be rude. A completely out-of-line suggestion.
“Did you bring your own pillow?” she asked with a laugh.
“It’s got just the right neck support,” I said.
I would have brought my entire bed if I could.
My routine was sacred to me. My bed, my things, my space; they put me at ease.
The last woman I’d casually dated got frustrated with me because I didn’t spend enough time at her house.
I could never get a good night’s sleep away.
Tonight was about to be rough. The couch looked visibly lumpy, and I’d surely be breathing in an unhealthy amount of dust bunnies.
When I’d made the offer, I hadn’t really been thinking about myself.
All I could focus on was not wanting Hazel to be alone.
I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if something happened to her.
But now that I was here, settling into my discomfort, I realized that this was in no way a long-term solution.
I hadn’t thought about much beyond tonight, but me crashing on her couch for the foreseeable future was not going to happen.
Hazel took my duffel and pillow and set them on the floor next to the couch. When I picked up the pillow and set it on top of my duffel, she gave me a strange look.
“Want anything to drink?” she asked, stepping into her cramped kitchen, a room that dripped top to bottom with cheap laminate and vinyl. “I’ve got soda or water.”
“Water is fine.” I edged into the living room, worried something might spring out at me at any moment. Honestly, if it weren’t for the threatening messages, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find Vermont just hiding amongst the clutter.
She came back in holding two glasses and set them both on one of the coffee tables—all these knickknacks and not a coaster in sight—before sitting back on the couch and pulling out her laptop.
“This is so fun,” she said. “I feel like we’re about to do some sort of sting operation. Should we work on the case while you’re here? What’s the plan?”
Despite my discomfort, I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.
One of the first things I’d noticed when I’d first met Hazel was the lack of light in her eyes.
Since that day at the diner, it had flickered on and off.
But now, tonight, she was vibrant and full of life.
She’d been dealt a rough hand, and seeing her eyes light up like that made me want to do whatever I could to help her get that spark back.
I pushed aside my unease about the apartment and my looming lack of sleep and sank in next to her on the couch. It was surprisingly not as uncomfortable as it appeared.
“To start, I think we should ask your neighbors.”
“I already asked Mrs. Edenbury, and she said she didn’t see anything.”
“What about the rest of the complex?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t met anyone else. I tried knocking on a few doors after it happened, but no one answered. Probably thought I was trying to sell them a magazine subscription or something stupid.”
I took my phone out and pulled up an application before entering her zip code.
“I’ll make a post on the Neighborhood app. Say your cat was stolen, add a picture, and see if anyone has information.”
She nodded. “Okay, yeah. Worth a shot.”
I fired off a quick description of the situation (leaving out the extortion part, obviously) and attached a picture of Vermont Hazel had sent me before publishing the post.
“There, we’ll see if we get any information.”
“Now what?” she asked, shifting in her seat. The loose sweater she wore slipped off her shoulder. I made a conscious effort to keep my eyes off the soft, newly-exposed skin.
“Now, I think it’s past time we look into suspect number one,” I said.
Her forehead crinkled. “We already ruled out Clinton.”
“I meant your ex.”
“Why is he suspect number one?” she asked.
“Because it’s always the boyfriend,” I said, parroting the tagline of many of my group members. We had even thought about using that as the name of our blog, but had worried it might be too insensitive.
Hazel groaned and flopped back into the couch.
She wore baggy sweatpants while I was still in jeans.
I had overanalyzed what to wear over here, like the dork that I was.
While this was miles away from any sort of romantic endeavor, it was still a long time since I’d spent the night at a woman’s house.
I hadn’t wanted to look like a slob. But seeing how comfortable Hazel was made me realize how ridiculously overdressed I was.
“I can’t reach out to him,” Hazel said. “He has me blocked on everything.”
“Which is sketchy,” I continued, pulling my own laptop from my backpack and placing it on my lap.
“He was following you the day you posted your lottery story. Speaking of which—” I opened up a document that contained a short list of names.
“Do you recognize any of these other usernames? I used the login info that you gave me and put this together. They are all people who followed you that day but have since unfollowed you. I figured there could be something fishy about that.”
Hazel’s eyes scanned the names. “I mean, those two are just randoms from high school.” She gasped when she noticed the third name. “Kiara unfollowed me? That bitch!”
“Does that mean something to you?” My voice went up an octave. Maybe we were on to something.
Hazel still glared at the list. “Just that she’s fake and she sucks. I can’t believe she’d do that. She always used to have the decency to at least pretend to be civil.”
“Who is she?” I demanded, pulling up her profile, which thankfully wasn’t private. She had ash-blonde hair and a pouty pose in nearly every picture.
“We went to high school together. She’s close with my childhood best friend, Zoe.” Hazel leaned over me and pointed to a picture. I could smell the citrus shampoo she must use. “There, that one is Zoe.”
“But you two aren’t friends?” I guessed.
Hazel snorted. “No. She’s always been mean to me.
Zoe and I went to middle school together, but Kiara showed up in high school.
She’s a classic mean girl, but Zoe could never see it.
Either that, or she just only directed that energy at me.
” Hazel let out a defeated sigh. “She just moved to this side of the state, and Zoe keeps asking if the two of us are going to hang out. I didn’t want to, but I invited Kiara over for a trashy movie night a few weeks ago.
She said she was coming and everything, then just didn’t show up. She hates me.”
“So she knows where you live.”
Hazel met my eyes and shook her head. “You think Kiara could have stolen Vermont? No way. She might be mean, but she isn’t sadistic.”
“We can’t rule anyone out. She’s in the area, doesn’t like you, and for whatever reason, unfollowed you right after you posted about winning the lottery.” I held up a finger each time I made a point. Hazel reached over and put her hand around my fingers, forcing them closed.
“I get what you’re saying, but I’m telling you. There’s no way. That girl does not think about me enough to do something like this. I barely register as a person to her.” She frowned. “I hate to say it, but I guess we probably should start with Paul.”
My blood heated at the name. “Paul? Is that the ex?”
“The one and only,” she said with a drawn-out sigh.
“Didn’t end on great terms?” I asked, doing my best to keep the curiosity out of my voice. It was strictly for the investigation. I had no personal interest in her romantic history.
“Not really.” She grimaced and sipped her water before setting it back down. “He did not want to break up. But we fought, like, all the time. I’m still annoyed with myself that it took me so long to end it.”
“And you think he could do this?”
She looked at the wall for a moment before nodding. “I mean, maybe? We only broke up six months ago. I actually moved out here with him a couple of years ago, from metro Detroit. We went to high school together but didn’t start dating until we were twenty-two.”
I pulled up his profile on my phone. Once again, it wasn’t private. Did anyone care about security in this day and age?