Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
“ J ust so we’re clear, you’re sleeping in the apartment of a guy who was murdered basically a few hours ago,” Eli began as soon as they sat down and started to eat.
“Yup,” Tristan replied.
“And that doesn’t bother you? Creep you out? Give you the willies?” Eli demanded.
“No, why would it? Do you think his ghost is going to rise up and avenge me for living in his apartment?” Tristan said.
“Wouldn’t you feel pretty silly if it did?” Eli said. Josie snorted a laugh and had to cover her mouth with her napkin. “What’s going on with the investigation?”
Tristan’s only answer was a dark look and stoic silence.
“Josie, please interpret your boyfriend’s terrifying glare,” Eli requested.
“Investigations are classified, he doesn’t like to blab things,” Josie explained.
“What? I’m the one who brought her in. Doesn’t that entitle me to some kind of finder’s fee?”
“You want to be paid in gossip?” Tristan asked.
“Obviously,” Eli replied.
Tristan studied him a few more beats and finally relented. “Fine, but this doesn’t leave this room.”
“Would now be a good time to tell you I’m wearing a wire and broadcasting live to my true crime support group?” Eli queried.
Tristan gave him another quelling glare.
“That one means he’s grown tired of your humor and wants to rip your ears off,” Josie inserted.
“Who am I going to tell?” Eli demanded, giving his food a sullen poke. “Sadly, you guys are pretty much the sum total of my social group now.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Josie said, patting his forearm. “You’ve dated a shocking number of insane females lately.”
“You’re right, I do feel better,” Eli agreed.
“Strangely, so do I,” Tristan said. “What do you want to know?”
“Start with Darby. Did you find out about the husband?”
This time when Josie did a spit take, she was too late with the napkin and had to use it to sop her wet chin instead. “A little warning before we blurt earth shattering information, please.”
“His name was Ham,” Eli added, and she spit again.
“Hamish, actually,” Tristan said, handing Josie more napkins. They must have been provided by her because he hadn’t owned napkins since…it was possible he had never owned napkins. If he spilled something, he used a towel.
“Hamish, that’s cute. He should have stuck with that. Who would choose to be Ham over Hamish?” Josie mused, squinting as she tried to imagine.
“A guy who owns a pig farm and is known for his quality hams,” Eli suggested.
“This is devolving,” Tristan deadpanned. “Do you want this information or not?”
“Proceed,” Eli said. He focused on finishing his food while Tristan talked.
“Darby Welsh was eighteen when she married Hamish Sullivan, twenty three when he dropped dead. In the intervening five years, it appears she’s kept to herself and barely left the apartment. She has no priors, not even a speeding ticket, and a clean credit record. As for the husband, he had a couple of arrests for drunk and disorderly in his youth, charges were pled down to a ticket. At some point he either grew up or got sober because he stopped getting into trouble, minus a few speeding tickets. His credit was spotty, too, but he cleaned that up nicely in the decade before he died. He owned this property outright, no debt, as well as the car she still drives. The only significant thing I found on him was that Darby was his second marriage. His first resulted in divorce and yielded two children, both of whom are older than Darby.”
Eli’s mind flashed at that. Did those kids have anything to do with Darby? Did she even know they existed? Likely, but she hadn’t mentioned them. “What about Asher?”
“Asher Noble was thirty four, mid-level management for a company that makes snowblowers.”
“Snowblowers? In DC?” Josie said, nose wrinkled cutely.
Tristan shrugged.
“Mid-level management doesn’t explain how he was able to afford the car he had,” Eli mused.
“No, it doesn’t. Nothing came up in my initial search, but Elyse is digging deeper on the dark web and other nefarious sources,” Tristan said.
“Elyse is so cool,” Josie said, somewhat worshipfully.
“You’re cool,” Tristan assured her, giving her pumpkin-themed cardigan a little tug.
“Have you had a chance to interview anyone else in the apartments yet?” Eli asked.
“Not yet,” Tristan said. “I wanted to run all of their names first, do some background so I’ll know how to play them.”
Eli’s phone chirped with a text.
“Is that one of your crazy girls?” Josie asked.
“You make it sound like I have a harem of them,” Eli said.
“In this economy, you could never afford to feed them,” Tristan inserted.
Josie eyed him. “Should I be concerned that you’ve done the math on that?”
“This one’s not crazy,” Eli said. He fired off a text to Sheena and tucked his phone away. “It’s kind of freaking me out how normal she is. With the others, it was glaringly obvious why they were unattached. Now I’m wondering what is secretly wrong with this one.”
“Maybe it’s not her; maybe it’s the men she’s met,” Josie suggested. “Think about it—there’s you, nice, normal you, who hasn’t met someone for a variety of reasons. Now you start to date, and you’re hit with a bevy of beautiful bananas.”
“Alliteration,” Eli said. He kissed his fingers and sent them into the air, a sign of his appreciation.
Josie gave a little nod of acknowledgment and continued, while Tristan continued to eat and ignored them both. “Maybe it’s the same for Sheena. She was shy or a late bloomer or working on her degree, and now that she’s in the market, she’s probably also met her fair share of losers and weirdos. Maybe this has been a matter of timing for both of you.”
Josie was sunshine and rainbows, a walking beam of optimism. But sometimes that was what Eli needed in his life, to keep the cynicism from taking over. So even though he rationally knew she was probably wrong and he shouldn’t accept her too-pat answers, he allowed himself to be comforted by her explanation. There was nothing wrong with Sheena, and there was nothing wrong with him. It was merely a matter of wrong timing.
“Speaking of time, I have to go. We’re meeting for ice cream.”
“An ice cream date,” Josie gasped. “That is so cute. Why don’t we ever do ice cream dates?” She turned accusing eyes on Tristan.
“All I’m doing is quietly eating chicken. How did I get thrown under the bus?” Tristan mused.
Eli stacked his dishes by the sink, said goodbye, and disappeared. “Do you want to go for ice cream?” Tristan asked, still not certain if he was mysteriously in trouble.
“No. Do you know what I want to do?” Josie returned.
“Probably not,” Tristan said. It was never what he thought it would be. On the plus side, it was usually something better. Not this time, though.
“I want to go meet your new neighbors.”
He groaned.
She poked his bicep. “You know it’s your job to meet and interview these people.”
“Yes, but I’m supposed to eke out of my hiding spot unwillingly, not be dragged out by my overly friendly girlfriend who will be so pleasant they’ll all love you and, by extension, think better of me.” He shuddered. “What if they’re fooled into believing I’m actually friendly?”
“I promise to only be minimally charming,” she tried.
He pointed an accusing finger at her. “We both know that’s not possible. You will woo them with perkiness and cardigans.”
“Not everything that worked on you works on others,” she reasoned.
That calmed him somewhat. “Okay, but don’t make follow up plans with anyone. I am not joining a supper club with these people.”
Josie clasped her hands together. “A supper club sounds so fun. Maybe we could…”
He gave her a look.
She sighed. “Fine, I’ll hold off on filling our social calendar.”
“Good, thank you.”
“For now,” she added in a muttered aside, then took his hand and drew him out of the apartment and into the light.