Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
“ I feel like the prison guard who escorted Marie Antoinette to the guillotine,” Josie said when they stepped out of the apartment.
“How am I Marie Antoinette in this scenario?” Tristan asked.
“I don’t know the names of any of the other royals who were led to the guillotine.” Josie shaded her eyes against the setting sun. “Want to flip a coin to see where we begin?” he asked.
“What, like go door to door?” she said, horrified.
“How else do we meet people?” he returned.
“Like normal humans.”
“That does not compute,” he said.
She tugged his shirt and began leading him toward the pool. The apartment complex was set up in a U formation, with six units surrounding a courtyard with a pool and laundry room. Josie and Tristan sat in one of the lounge chairs.
“Try to look relaxed,” Josie urged.
“You know I don’t know how to do that,” he said. He realized he looked tense and ill-pleased, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Visiting with Eli was fun, but it had maxed him out on socialization for the evening. Given the choice, he’d rather be cloistered with Josie for the remainder of the night.
Josie, guessing his thoughts, eased closer and slid her arm around his neck, pulling him into a more intimate embrace that automatically made him inhale and relax when he caught her sweet scent.
Maybe no one will show up, he thought, trying to make it a wish as he reeled her slightly closer, nestling her against him. No such luck, though.
“’Sup,” a male voice said.
Tristan suppressed his annoyed sigh and eased his grip on Josie who straightened away from him and stood. “Hi,” she said. He didn’t have to see her face to know she was beaming a megawatt smile at the newcomer; he could hear it. And when the guy returned her greeting, he also smiled.
“Hi. Name’s Mack. You must be the new neighbors.”
“Oh, hi,” Josie repeated, pumping the guy’s outstretched hand with impossibly more warmth in her tone. “It’s my boyfriend’s apartment, actually. I’m visiting. My name is Josie, and this is Tristan.” She dropped Mack’s hand and turned to encompass Tristan, resting her hand on his shoulder. The warm friendliness dropped from Mack’s gaze when it swung on Tristan, assessing. Tristan did nothing to help, merely gave him an upward nod of acknowledgement. The beauty of having Josie along for things like this was that he could sit back and observe while she made small talk. And she was exponentially better than him with making small talk, a fact she proved by offering Mack a seat and asking him ten questions about himself within the first minute. He was a dentist who had lived in the complex for two years. He did not have a girlfriend, but was not opposed to the idea, should she decide to set him up with any of her friends, ha, ha. Yes, he knew Eli. Oh, she must be the friend he’d told them about. Finally it was his turn to ask a question.
“Not to be rude, but did you know you’re living in a dead guy’s apartment?” This question was naturally directed toward Tristan, who shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but not psychotic.
“Housing crisis, am I right? I’ve been searching for a place forever, and I already liked it here because of Eli. When I heard there was an opening, I jumped on it. I guess that makes me mercenary, but…” He shrugged again, self-deprecating this time.
Mack, who seemed unbothered by the mercenary attitude, nodded. “You gotta do what you gotta do to take care of you.”
“It is…a little troubling,” Josie inserted hesitantly, softening the conversation, easing a bit of civility into the machismo. “Did you know the guy?”
Mack shrugged. “As well as I know any of them.” He waved vaguely toward the complex behind them. “By name, a few conversations.”
“Murdered, though.” Josie shuddered. “Was he, I mean, I know I’m victim blaming here, but was he into something bad?”
Mack laughed humorlessly. “Bad? Asher? No way. He was your typical HR guy. Thought he was a bigtime player because he’d been given a tiny amount of power at work, some hiring/firing committee or something, but was really just middle management.”
Tristan’s ears perked at that. Was Asher having trouble at work? There was no way to ask without tipping his hand, but he tucked it away to investigate later. Josie’s natural curiosity took over, saving him from probing further.
“What do you mean that he saw himself as a bigtime player?”
“That car?” Mack thumbed toward the parking lot.
Josie looked around him toward the lot. “You’re going to have to help me out here. I know nothing about cars. They all look the same to me.”
Mack laughed humorlessly. “His is the only one covered by a canvas drop cloth, and with good reason. It’s worth about a hundred thou, easy.”
Josie’s brows rose. “That is kind of a big deal. I sure couldn’t afford that, on my teacher salary. How did that guy?”
Mack shrugged. “Dunno, and don’t care. Maybe it was an inheritance, maybe he got lucky.”
“You never asked?” Tristan said.
“No, because he wanted me to, I could tell. The way he’d drop the car into casual conversation. You could tell he was dying to brag about it. I never gave him the opportunity. Between you and me, though?” He pinched his fingers together and squinted his eyes. “That car is cherry. I’d give my last four girlfriends for it.”
“I wonder why it’s still here,” Josie mused, though they already knew. She must want to hear Mack’s take on it. My girl, Tristan thought proudly.
Mack snorted. “Probably can’t find anyone who cared about Asher enough to notify.” As soon as the words were out, he pressed his lips together, regretful. “Sorry. I didn’t hate the guy, not at all. Something about him bugged me, though.” He stared into the middle distance, and they let him stew, hoping he’d offer more. When he didn’t, they let it go. It was enough for Tristan to realize someone in the world had a grudge against the guy. If a neighbor was able to come up with something negative so quickly, it boded well for the remainder of his investigation.
“Anything I should know about anyone else?” Tristan asked, nodding his head in the direction of the complex.
“Watch out for our landlord,” Mack said. His tone was somewhere between joking and serious.
“Darby? Why? She seemed nice,” Josie offered, tilting her head in curiosity, encouraging Mack to continue.
“Yeah, I’m sure she was to you. She doesn’t like men,” Mack said, crossing his arms.
Josie chuckled, albeit gently. “No offense, but that sounds a little like a guy who got shot down and is slightly bitter about it.”
“Ha, maybe so,” Mack agreed. He smiled, but it looked a little brittle. “But I’m not the only one who feels that way about our ice princess landlord. She’s weird and standoffish, a total snob. Except…” He trailed off, but it was the sort that wanted to continue.
“Except what?” Tristan prodded.
This time when Mack smiled, it looked fully amused. “Except our boy Asher, your apartment’s former tenant. I think the two of them got along real well, if you know what I mean.”
“They went out?” Josie said. She tried to say it casually, but her voice had a little tremor.
Mack shrugged. “I don’t know what you want to call it, but I saw her leaving his apartment a few times at, uh, an unusual hour. If you know what I mean.”
The fake plants probably know what you mean, Tristan thought, but he remained silent, allowing Josie to put an endcap on the conversation.
“Drama, drama, drama,” she said, shooting Mack a smile.
He tipped his sunglasses down so he could look her in the eye before he said, “Josie, you have no idea.” Then he stood, pushed his glasses back up, and sauntered away.
A cross town, Eli had a hard time keeping his focus on Sheena, and he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t slept well the last few weeks. Maybe it was because one of his neighbors was recently murdered. Or maybe the reason was because Darby kept intruding, her eyes bigger and more imploring in his imagination than in real life. Why was she so alone, so vulnerable?
“Something wrong with your ice cream?” Sheena asked, alerting him to the fact that he had zoned out, allowing his cone to drip onto his hand.
“Gah,” he said, uncertain for a second if he should lick it away or use a napkin. The napkin was obviously the more polite way to go, but it would leave behind a sticky residue. And why did his mind send him those helpful thoughts in rapid fire succession but hadn’t been able to provide one witty rejoinder the entire evening? He’d probably been the most boring and distant date in history tonight.
“No, it’s me. I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I’m afraid I’m not one of those people who can fire on all cylinders when I’m sleep deprived.” As if to prove his point, he felt the urge to yawn and had to use herculean effort to push it back, literally and with his hand. “Sorry.”
Sheena smiled with no hint of irritation or resentment. “Can anyone actually perform well when they’re sleep deprived?”
“Pilots, hopefully. Surgeons,” he suggested, resisting another jaw-popping yawn. Now that he wouldn’t allow himself to have one, he felt the need for it with increasing desperation. In one night he’d become a yawn addict.
Sheena chuckled. “Hey, life happens. It’s all right. You didn’t have to come out tonight, I would have understood.”
“I wanted to see you,” he said and felt guilty because he only half meant it. What he actually meant was that he wanted to want to see her. She was so very normal and nice, as proved by the fact that she was letting him off the hook for being a miserable date. Remorseful and irritated with himself, he shoved the rest of the cone in his mouth. It was a too-big bite, and he felt immediate regret when he once again had to put a hand to his mouth, this time to stop his waffle cone from re-emerging. When he noticed Sheena watching him, his cheeks heated with embarrassment. He waited until he swallowed the cone and wiped his lips before he spoke again. “I swear I’m usually better company than this. I’m sorry I’ve been boring and standoffish and, apparently, gluttonous.”
Her brows rose. “Throw in pride and murder, and you’ve covered all the deadliest sins.”
He barked a harsh laugh that cut off halfway when Asher’s face popped into his head. The abrupt sound was like a seal choking on a sardine. He closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath. “Can we forget this whole evening and start again some other time? I am so off my game tonight.”
Sheena gave another gentle laugh, then leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his. “I like you off your game,” she said, when the kiss was over. He must have missed some ice cream on his face, because after she leaned back she used her napkin to dab at his cheek.
“Thanks,” he said lamely, then groaned and pressed his hand to his eyes. “Please tell me I did not just respond to a kiss with ‘thanks.’”
“You did,” she said, but she was still smiling the gentle, encouraging smile.
He waved his hand between them. “There, memory erased. Trying this again.” He rested his hand gently on her waist, used it to tug her closer, and gave her what probably ranked as one of the better kisses he’d had. When they parted, they both smiled, and he felt better, as if the good kiss actually had worked to clear things between them.
“Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” she suggested.
He gave a little nod. “I should quit while I’m ahead.”
“No, don’t quit,” she said, giving the hem of his shirt a little tug.
“Sheena, you have all the good lines. Apparently you’re going to have to teach me so I’ll have some game, too.”
“Lesson one, always leave them wanting more,” she said, then leaned forward and brushed her lips softly against his. When she pulled back, he tried to follow, but she held up a hand, warding him away. “Go, rest, we’ll talk soon.”
“Okay,” he agreed, not certain if the vaguely dazed feeling was because of her or because of exhaustion.
When he got in his car, drove home, and the feeling remained, he began to think it was because of exhaustion. He barely remembered changing his clothes or brushing his teeth before stumbling to his room. “Bed,” he murmured lovingly. It had never looked so good. He collapsed in a dramatic heap, for his own comedic effect, but then actually did fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, a thing he previously only thought happened in cartoons.
“Eli.”
When Darby said his name, seemingly only a moment later, his brain refused to wake. Nope, not happening, too sleepy.
“Eli,” she repeated, more urgently this time.
He sat up with an annoyed huff. “Darby, should I start being surprised when I wake and don’t find you in my room?” His too-heavy eyes finally levered open and blinked a couple of times, trying to focus on the woman who stood at the foot of his bed. There was something off about her, and it took him a moment to realize what. One of her arms was clutched tightly over her body, as if holding herself together.
“I think,” she began, her voice breathless and reedy. “I think…maybe I’m…going to die,” she managed, and then collapsed in an untidy heap at the foot of his bed.
Eli sprang from the bed, too late to catch her. She lay facedown on the carpet, perfectly still and silent. He grabbed her and flipped her over, her face deathly pale in the dim moonlight from the window. “Darby,” he said, shaking her frantically. There was no reply, no movement. His eyes raked her, searching for signs of trauma, or at least what he could see of it in the darkness. He saw nothing, but before he could allow that thought to ease him, he became aware that one of his knees was soaked and warm. He eased back onto his heels, raising his knee to eye level to make an inspection. It was too dark to discern, but somehow he knew his leg was now soaked with Darby’s blood.