Chapter 1
The Odd Couple
This story takes place before Evil All Along.
“Can you believe this mess?”
Bobby didn’t respond.
I assumed it was because—like me—he was horrified.
The billiard room was a disaster. And not just a regular, we-all-let-our-hair-down-over-the-weekend disaster.
This was a nuclear meltdown, that kind of disaster.
This was Biblical. A pair of slides abandoned by the chesterfield.
A beanie stuffed between a lamp and a crystal knick-knack-thingy.
A laundry basket on the chesterfield, full of clothes.
Clean? Dirty? I had no clue. On the coffee table, a Monster energy drink had been abandoned.
There were literally cups of water everywhere—on the TV console, on the built-in shelves, even behind one of the chairs.
Xbox cables lay on the floor like someone had gutted a robot and been none too neat about it.
A wiffle bat lay across the billiard table—no sign of any wiffle balls—next to a stack of notebooks.
There was even, for the love of God, a travel pillow on the floor.
(It was one of those horrible neck ones that don’t actually help at all.)
“This is unacceptable, right?” In a fit of outrage, I grabbed a pack of fruit snacks from the occasional table. “Someone has to talk to him.”
“I think those are Keme’s,” Bobby said with a look at the fruit snacks.
“I know. But he left them out in the open, so they’re fair game.” Bobby looked like he wasn’t convinced by that logic, so I added, “Bobby, this place is a disaster.”
Bobby gave the room another look and settled on the basket of clothes. “When did he start doing his laundry here?”
“Oh, no, that’s mine. I’m going to fold those clothes and put them away today.” My general truthfulness made me add, “Or wash them first, maybe, since I’m not one hundred percent sure where we’re at with that. And then I’ll fold them and put them away.”
“Uh huh,” Bobby said.
“But look at his beanie!”
Bobby extracted the beanie from between the crystal knick-knack-thingy and the lamp. “Okay, we’ll talk to him.”
“Unh-uh. No way. Do you remember when I asked him to pass me the salt, and he stared at me for so long that I dried up like that old knight at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? You can talk to him.”
I wasn’t totally sure, but it looked like Bobby was fighting the urge to close his eyes. “Okay.”
“You have to tell him this isn’t how adults live.”
“I said I’ll talk to him.” He gave the room another surveying glance. “He definitely doesn’t need to use so many glasses.”
“Those are mine too, actually. See, if you leave your water out too long, it gets dusty, and I hate dusty water.”
“Why don’t you just get fresh water and use the same glass?” I honestly couldn’t believe he’d asked me that. Maybe some of the sentiment transferred to my face because Bobby said, “You know what? Forget I asked.”
“Thank you.”
Bobby nodded at the notebooks stacked on the billiard table. “Was he doing his homework at the billiard table? Because we should get him a desk.”
“Uh.”
“Seriously?”
“Okay, listen, I was using those notebooks, but then Keme came in with the wiffle bat, and I had to show him how hard I could swing it, and then I hit a lamp and we had to clean it up before you and Indira came home—”
I managed to stop. Just not quite in time.
Bobby breathed out slowly.
It came to me what Bobby might—mistakenly—be thinking.
In the loftiest tone I could muster, I said, “This is different. I live here. This is my house. I’m—I’m nesting, Bobby.
This is all just domestic fluff and cuteness because I’ve been wrapped up in this story, plus Crime Cats has had crazy good coverage of a cat burglar this week, and I really think I’m close to killing Keme on Fortnite.
” It sounded like I might be losing the thread of my argument, so I said, “Keme is the one making a mess.”
“I thought birds abandoned their nests after their babies were fledged.”
“Bobby!”
Fortunately, both of us were spared Bobby’s response because at that moment, a footstep sounded behind us.
Keme stood in the doorway. He must have sensed something in the air because his expression became guarded, and he watched us warily.
“How much of this stuff is yours?” Bobby asked.
Keme shrugged.
“You’re in trouble now,” I said. “Bobby’s not messing around. You’re going to be on your hands and knees, scrubbing every inch of this room—”
Keme’s eyes narrowed.
I took a step back to give Bobby extra room to protect me.
With a teenager’s sneer, Keme stepped into his slides. Bobby tossed him his beanie, and he caught it one-handed and pulled it on. He took another look around the room, grabbed the wiffle bat, and cocked it over his shoulder. Then he gave Bobby another look.
“That’s it?” Bobby asked.
Keme shrugged.
“Okay,” Bobby said with a sigh. He started collecting glasses. “Dash, why don’t you get the laundry started?”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s it? That’s his punishment? What about the—” But when I glanced around the room, words failed me. “What about his—” And again, I came up empty. “He should at least have to help!”
Bobby just kept picking up glasses.
Keme headed for the door—to make a mess somewhere else in the house, I was sure—but he paused long enough to glance back. His words were directed at Bobby. “If you think this is bad,” he said with unbridled satisfaction, “wait until you see what’s he done to the den.”