Chapter Twenty Goldie
Chapter Twenty
Goldie
I look over my shoulder into the dark, the view of my neighborhood blurred by all the Halloween lights strung up over trees and railings. Doesn’t matter that Noah’s already disappeared around the corner to get my birthday gift; I still can’t stop smiling about it.
What more could he want to give me tonight? It’s been incredible. He is incredible. Not only did he bring everyone together to celebrate me, but he’s also re-created our first date along the way, and that’s so romantic.
A thought suddenly springs forward, making me smile wider: Is he going to propose?
No. Would he . . .
I pull his jacket tighter around my shoulders, turning my head to smell his cologne while trying to change the subject with myself before I look up and watch my sister.
She’s watching Chase . . . and his new girlfriend.
I hum-laugh. “You know if I didn’t know any better . . .”
Her face whips to mine, the brunette wig she’s wearing swishing with her, which is disconcerting since the fake body stuck to her side feels like it’s staring at me too.
“Finish that sentence and it’s red to the rum . . . If you must know, I was actually thinking, ‘How is that happening?’ Him having a girlfriend feels like a crime against humanity. Is she doing community service?”
I laugh, bumping shoulders with my coworker, who laughs, too, until that damn thought pops back up in my mind, swirling around and tempting me with giddiness.
What if he is asking me . . .
“Hey, Eves. Come with to the bar?”
She nods as I excuse myself from Lee and let her follow me. My cheeks are heating up as I bite my lip and glance at her, trying to hide my smile.
“What is going on with you? Why do you look like you have a secret?”
I open my mouth, then shut it, still grinning as I stop at the bar top. “Has Noah asked you for any favors? Or for any advice lately?”
Her brows draw together like she’s confused. “Huh?” she chuckles, looking at me like I’ve lost it. “What are you talking about?”
I look around, making sure we have privacy, then lower my voice. “Okay, so this is probably far-fetched, but tonight . . . the party with everyone I love.”
“Yeah?” She motions to the bartender, pointing at her glass.
I lean in closer. “It’s more than that. This whole night is like a re-creation of our first date.
The costumes, the park . . . Even the lanterns hanging from the trees are just like the ones last year.
And not to mention he stopped me in the street as we were walking here to kiss me in the same spot we first did that. ”
Her eyes grow wide. “Hold on. Do you think . . . Do you think he’s going to propose?”
I shrug, but the grin on my face gives me away. “Maybe? I dunno . . . Am I off base?”
She shakes her head, unable to hide her excitement. “Holy shit.”
I shush her before looking around to make sure no one is watching.
“Goldie,” she says quieter, with a laugh. “He’s going to propose.”
“Wait, you know that?” I almost shriek, but she puts her hand over my mouth as the bartender sets the drink in front of her.
She laughs again. “No, I’m agreeing with you.”
I move her hand and reach for her drink, taking an overindulgent sip before we both just stand there and smile at each other. My hand presses to my chest as butterflies gather in my stomach.
“I’m so nervous.”
She raises her brows. “You want him too, right?”
I nod, making her face go back to normal. “Yes. I do want that . . . maybe more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my whole life. I’m so freaking in love that it’s disgusting.”
“Agreed.” She shimmies, then clasps her hands together. “Oh my god, now that you’ve committed to moving across the country to be with him, you’ll be doing that as his fiancée.”
Fiancée. Holy smokes.
I grab her hands, trying to anchor us back down to reality before we float away like the one escapee balloon at a party.
“Okay, we need to reel it back . . . We don’t even know if that’s what’s happening. And if it doesn’t, I don’t want either of us crying on the way home. So, we’ll just play it by ear.”
She chuckles and looks down at me holding her hands, and I realize I’m holding the dummy from The Shining.
I drop it and laugh before she un-Velcros the creepy thing from her side and props it up against the bar.
“Remind me to take that with me, or I have a feeling Chef-Boy-R-Pervert will steal it.” But then she gasps, pulling me right back into the clouds. “Wait a minute . . . That could be why he told me to take you to get manicures yesterday. So that your ring finger would look iconic.”
Normally that’s not something I would attribute to man-think, but Noah is the cream of the crop. Of course he’d think of that.
My lips part as I stare back at her. “Oh, the way in which I would bribe the universe for this to be tonight’s destiny. I mean, I would do unethical and wrong things for this to be true.”
My sister laughs that maniacal, partner in crime kind of laugh that we did as kids before getting grounded. Because of that, I glance back over my shoulder again to make sure nobody’s onto us.
But as I do I feel a vibration by my ribs. My face drops to the front of Noah’s coat before I realize what it is. I smile at my sister as I reach inside.
“He forgot his phone,” I say in explanation of what I’m doing.
“Let me answer it,” she rushes out as I pull the phone from the pocket, the sound growing louder. “What if it’s a jeweler?”
She reaches for it, but I draw it back.
“And why would it be a jeweler? If he’s proposing, he’s already got the ring. Please stick to your current occupation because Scooby gang is not in the cards.”
The call stops but starts again, making me frown as I look at the screen and see an unknown caller.
“Jesus, they’re persistent. It’s probably a spam call.”
My sister looks up thoughtfully. “Didn’t he say he was waiting on Nike?”
My mouth forms a small o as I nod, remembering how he talked about expecting a call over drinks when we were with her the other night.
“What’s it, like, six p.m. on the West Coast?” I rush out, staring down at the phone. I lift my face to where Noah left from, then look at my sister. “Should I answer it?”
“Yes.”
I hit “accept” and put the phone to my ear, just as the crowd starts chanting Chase’s name, drawing my eyes.
“Hello, Noah’s phone.”
The cheers are too loud as he drops to the ground, doing the worm. Evie rolls her eyes as I try and plug my ear so I can hear. “Sorry, hold on. I can’t hear you.”
I point to an empty cocktail table farther from the bar before I start to walk away, but Evie begins to follow me, so I shake my head.
“Keep holding for two more seconds so I can get somewhere quieter.”
Evie crosses her arms and mouths “Spoilsport” before I walk past the table and go just beyond the hanging lanterns in a bank of trees.
“Okay, I can hear you now,” I say with a smile.
“Hi.” It’s a woman. “I’m calling for Noah Adler.”
Oh my god. Is this really about to happen for him?
“He’s away from the phone, but I can take a message.” I chuckle at the end, but I’m not met with the same sentiment.
Oh shit.
“My name’s Kate Green, from the Boston Police Department.
I’m calling to notify Mr. Adler that case number 678023346 involving his motorcycle is slated for close.
But we’re still in need of some form of his identification, since he lost his wallet.
If he could bring that by the station tomorrow, that’d be great. ”
“Oh. Sure. Sorry . . .” I didn’t know he lost his wallet. My mind takes a minute to process the important part of what she said before I rush out, “Oh my god, did they find the person responsible?”
There’s silence, then papers shuffling in the background before her monotone voice fills the speaker again.
“We were unable to locate the owner of the gray Altima that hit Mr. Beckett. The car was left at a junkyard, wiped clean of any prints, and the VIN was stolen.” Papers shuffle again.
“The only other possible lead we had was a set of prints on the motorcycle, and according to Mr. Beckett, after he was hit, the car sped off. That was also proven by some street-cam footage we obtained.”
I shiver and pull Noah’s jacket tighter, a thought scaring me. “Are you sure someone didn’t try and steal the bike and then maybe decided to take it by force later? I mean . . . he wasn’t on the bike when he was hit. Why would someone do that?”
“Damned if I know. But it’s unlikely it was premeditated. Crimes like these are opportunity based—that kind of planning only happens on television shows and in books.”
My eyes narrow, unhappy with her brush-off, so I press. “You said there were other prints . . . If this is a crime of opportunity, wouldn’t we be most likely to know the perpetrator? What was the person’s name?”
One of Chase’s staff, dressed as a baseball player in a Mets hat, gives me a nod while crumbing the cocktail table I walked past earlier. I’m watching him but not really focused on anything as she answers.
“Davis Keller.”
I exhale then wince because a feeling of déjà vu hits, but nothing really comes to mind.
“I don’t know,” I whisper as I stare out, trying to think back to a time when I’d heard that name. Someone then yells “Hey, hey!” in the background of the phone, and my gaze sweeps back over the blue cursive of the busser’s hat.
An unsettling feeling continues to grow, almost as if there’s something on the tip of my tongue that I can’t quite figure out.
“Sorry,” Kate says. “We just brought in some drunks. I’d be surprised if you knew the guy. There’s been no hit since juvie.”
Davis Keller, Davis . . . Keller. Davis.
“Even if the juvie had anything to do with it,” she continues, “he’s probably long gone by now. They always pull a disappearing act. Off the grid is easy when you come from some nowhere little fishing town . . .”