Chapter 31 Hazel
THIRTY-ONE
Hazel
“I can’t believe you dragged me into this.
” Jackson looked up and down the residential street, shaking his head.
Remnants of gray snow clung stubbornly to the edges of curbs and the patchy strip of overgrown, dead grass between the sidewalk and the street.
Since this was Michigan, potholes also marked every stretch of asphalt.
This street was familiar, even though it had been awhile since I’d been here.
I bundled further into my jacket. My adrenaline hadn’t stopped racing. I hadn’t slept a wink last night, ever since I put it all together.
“It’ll be easy. He has no idea who you are. You’re the perfect distraction.” I pulled tighter on the straps of the backpack cat carrier we’d picked up at the pet store on the way.
Jackson balled his fists into his coat. “Why can’t you just text Reid? He’ll have a plan.”
I grabbed his arm. “Because we can do this!”
What I didn’t say to him was that I needed to do this for myself.
I was done being the damsel in distress, the one who didn’t have her life together.
I would get Vermont back and solve all my problems on my own.
I’d show Reid and he’d be impressed. Well…
probably irritated when I admitted how exactly I’d gotten Vermont back, but when he saw that I was fine and it all worked out, he’d be forced to be impressed.
Right?
“I still think you should call him.” Jackson eyed the house.
“I need to do this,” I said, defiantly. “Reid has been helping me since the day I met him. I need him to see me as more than a charity case.”
Jackson frowned. “He already does. You’re getting in your head too much!”
The wind whistled as I glanced from the house back to Jackson. A seed of doubt creeped into my mind, but I brushed it away.
“You’re not backing out on me, are you?” I asked. This plan hinged on Jackson helping. He looked the part too, dressed in a blue jumpsuit, a thick coat, and a neon orange vest he just happened to have lying around from an old Halloween costume.
He sighed. “No. No. I’m here for your crazy plan. Besides, this will put those improv classes to good use.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Let’s not go overboard on the improv.”
He held up a hand. “Hazel, I’m a professional. Now, what the fuck is this guy’s name again?”
“Callum.”
My blood boiled just saying the name.
That fucking asshole. I should have known. The second I saw my beloved tie-dye sweatshirt in the corner of his video, I had put it together. It was the same sweatshirt Paul had lent him, the one he’d said he had no clue what happened to.
I’d never liked Callum all that much, but I couldn’t believe he’d stoop so low.
We were friends. I mean, kind of. As much as anyone could be friends with their boyfriend-at-the-time’s slightly misogynistic best friend.
I always thought he was a little dense, and way too eager to say “yes” to whatever Paul wanted.
But we’d hung out for years. I’d even stayed with Paul in this very house when we’d first moved out here, for crying out loud.
Granted, the house was gross, and I’d made Paul find us an apartment almost immediately, but still.
Reid and I had been so preoccupied with the idea that Paul could have done this, I hadn’t even considered Callum. To be fair, even if we had considered him as a suspect, I would have assumed there’d be no way in hell he could pull off something like this.
Reid must have been right. It had been a crime of opportunity.
For whatever reason, Callum had been at my apartment that day.
Probably to ask for money, knowing him. I’d redownloaded my apps to scroll back through my messages from weeks ago, and he had replied to my lottery win story with a jokey meme about begging for money.
I’d responded with a ‘lol’ and thought that was it.
But it clearly wasn’t. He’d come to my apartment, and when he saw me leave Vermont alone, he must have acted on impulse.
The fucker.
I’d probably never get a true explanation, because I had absolutely zero intention of confronting him.
“How much time do you think you can buy me?” I asked Jackson while we stood at the edge of the property line, on the sidewalk.
Jackson frowned and looked at the white house with its peeling siding. “I don’t know. Maybe, like, five minutes? My limited electrical knowledge won’t last me long.”
“That should be all I need,” I said.
The plan was simple.
Jackson would knock on the door and pretend to be from the city.
He’d show Callum a line that needed work at the edge of his property, on the side of the house, just far enough away from the front door to break his line of sight.
He’d force Callum to fill out a fake survey we’d printed off and I’d be able to slip in, find Vermont, and exit out the back door.
In. Out. It would only take a few minutes.
“You ready?” I asked, stepping behind the tree so I could keep an eye on the door and spring into action as soon as Callum took the bait.
“Are you ready?” Jackson asked. “This is insane.”
“Let’s just get it over with before I change my mind.”
Jackson gawked at me. “Seriously? No. you should think this through.”
“Go,” I hissed, waving him away as I huddled behind the tree. He staggered out and pulled the baseball cap he wore tighter over his head.
If last night hadn’t cemented the friendship, this surely would.
Or he’d think I was a nut after this and never speak to me again.
But if I knew one thing about Jackson, it was that he lived for the drama.
The way he sauntered up to Callum’s front steps told me he was immediately falling into character.
I would have laughed had I not been so on edge.
He knocked and I stopped breathing.
I counted.
One.
Two.
Callum opened the door, rubbing an eye and looking sleepy. Good. I hoped we’d woken him up, the asshole. He didn’t deserve to be well-rested.
I could hear the bass of their voices but not the actual words. Jackson pointed to the side of the house and Callum shook his head with irritation. His scrawny, stupid, little head.
I held my breath when he dipped back inside, but then almost let out a squeal when he reemerged wearing boots and tugging on a jacket. He followed Jackson, closing the front door behind him.
I left the cover of the tree, creeping toward the entrance. As soon as Jackson and Callum disappeared completely around the side of the house, I took off. I slowed when I got to his stairs, peeking to make sure they hadn’t re-emerged, but I could still hear them talking.
“This is the line we need to work on. Could be without power for a few days.”
“A few days? That’s ridiculous, man. Why didn’t I get a letter or something about this?”
I crept up the steps and placed my hand on the doorknob. I held my breath as I slowly turned it and slipped inside, letting the door shut lightly behind me.
The house was just as dingy as I remembered it—balled-up clothes and cans everywhere, fruit flies buzzing around the kitchen, the faint smell of musty body odor covered up by an aggressive amount of cologne.
I had to be quick.
I ducked and peered into the kitchen on the left side of the house, not wanting to risk being seen through the window that led to the side yard where Jackson and Callum were currently. No sign of Vermont, but I did notice a bowl of water on the ground.
He was here. Somewhere.
“Vermont,” I whispered, before making a cooing sound.
I stepped into the living room, snapping my head from side to side. The couch from the photo caught my eye immediately. No sign of Vermont, but there was my sweatshirt, draped over the armrest like it was his.
My anger flared as I yanked it off the couch. Shrugging one backpack strap off my shoulder, I stuffed the hoodie inside, grimacing at the smell. Hopefully if I washed it a dozen times, that would eventually fade.
I kept moving. A short hallway branched off the living room, leading to the bathroom and his bedroom.
The bathroom door was open. Inside, the only sign of life was a makeshift litter box shoved into the corner.
I side-stepped across the hall, pushing Callum’s bedroom door open. My eyes barely scanned the room before they landed on him, and my heart flew into my throat.
“Vermont!” I whisper-shrieked. His fur was slightly matted, his limbs lazily stretched in every direction, soaking in the rays of morning sun filtering through the blinds. When he spotted me in the doorway, his head lifted slowly, ears twitching as if deciding whether I was worth the effort.
Tears brimmed the corners of my eyes. I fell to my knees and he stretched, letting out a small meow as he got up to nuzzle my hand.
“You scared the shit out of me. And here you are just lounging about,” I said through a laugh.
He blinked at me innocently, a purr vibrating his entire body.
I stroked his chin before I shrugged off the cat carrier backpack and set it down.
I took out one of the treats I’d bought, trying to bribe him not to make a fuss.
Thankfully, Vermont, the even-tempered cat he was, let me pick him up and set him inside without a struggle.
I wrapped him in the sweatshirt, giving him a makeshift bed of sorts before I zipped it closed.
He got settled, pressing his face against the mesh siding.
Got him, Gran.
I had to keep it together, and then I could happy-sob on the way home.
I stood, slinging the bag over my shoulder. I took two steps toward the half-open bedroom door, preparing to slip out and down the hallway to the back door and escape out the yard.
That was the exact moment the sound of a slamming door and footsteps halted me in my tracks.