14 Ollie
Ollie
Ollie wakes up and listens to the house.
Nothing aside from Pete snoring in bed next to him.
Brandon and Ian must still be asleep, which makes sense.
So Ollie goes about his normal routine. He’s meeting Safiya this morning, after he’s picked up all the dogs, so he takes a little extra care with the sea fennel and oud body cream (he doesn’t want to smell like a soap store, just nice).
He has a little cereal before heading out and leaves a note for Ian and Brandon, telling them he’ll be back later and where everything is so they can make themselves breakfast. He loves that they’re both here.
Sure, the Strongs probably wouldn’t love it, but they didn’t say anything about guests and told him to make himself at home, and nothing makes him feel more at home than having his friends over.
Outside the air is brisk and smells like the decay of leaves, earthy and sweet.
He knows he should be more afraid. There’s a voice in the back of his mind just screaming about the huge man who has a video of him witnessing a murder.
But he also has a to-do list of things to figure out: Who is the man?
Who does he work for? Who was the target?
He made the list last night. First one he’s made in over a year, and it felt like putting on his favorite sweater again after losing it for a decade.
Like he was home. Having everyone in the house added to that, too.
It’s like college again: everyone together, and everything he has to do and think about laid out, ready to be tackled. It’s just there’s murder this time.
He picks up his puppies like any other day, except he’s not listening to a podcast. He’s listening to the streets, the children laughing, the puppies panting, and, most importantly, footsteps.
Streets have a particular echo and rhythm, and a man as big as the one Safiya described probably would walk pretty heavily.
But Ollie doesn’t hear or see anyone following him. Just a normal day.
He texted with Safiya last night and arranged to meet her at the Prospect Park Dog Run.
The puppies shouldn’t go in the water—their owners don’t like the cleanup—but there’s a huge lawn usually brimming with dogs and surrounded by trees where maybe he and Safiya can sit down and chat while watching them play.
He finds a good spot, far from the beach so they don’t run off, and unhooks all of them from their leashes, taking out a variety of balls and toys to toss.
They’re already running circles around him, mingling with other dogs, ears flopping, drool dripping, by the time Safiya shows up.
She walks onto the lawn looking like a supermodel in a long black Muppet-fur coat belted at the waist and huge black sunglasses.
She waves at him, wearing black driving gloves, too.
Ollie walks over to her, and he’s worried there’s going to be an awkward moment, trying to figure out if they’re going to shake hands or what, but she goes for a hug right away, leaning over to wrap her arms around him, and he hugs back.
A hug was what he was going to go for, too.
“There are so many dogs.” Her smile is huge as she looks around. “Which ones are yours?”
Ollie points them out, calling them over for Safiya to pet.
She seems so happy, scratching each of their chins and butts, calling them adorable and introducing herself to them with “hellos,” and “nice to meet yous,” and even an “I love your collar, I have one just like it” for Pepper.
None of them act weird; they all just accept the scritches and happily play fetch with her when Ollie hands her a few toys.
“This is so fun,” she says, tossing a tennis ball and watching all the puppies gallop after it. “Thank you for inviting me. I know I sort of forced you to.”
“You didn’t force me at all,” Ollie says, next to her.
“I mean, I said you had to if you wanted information for your case. I’m like a femme fatale. But for dogs.”
Ollie laughs. “I was getting up the nerve to ask for your number anyway. You just beat me to it and suggested the date idea. Took a lot of work off my shoulders.”
She smirks, throwing the ball out again and grinning hugely as the dogs run after it. “I am known for that. My manager never even leaves the back room. I’m the one doing all the hand selling.”
“Thanks for that gummy. I took it yesterday; it was amazing.”
“So good, right? My body feels so connected and in place when I take that one. And my brain just relaxes and thinks, you know? I always feel like I’m putting off just thinking about stuff, but when I take one of those, it’s like I finally have the space and I can remember a poem I read or a movie I saw and really consider it. ”
“Poems? That’s cool. I don’t know many people who read poems.”
“Really? Oh yeah, I love poetry. I read this one the other day, just this part in it I loved: ‘What part of me is the seed? Not my skin, because it cracks, but doesn’t blossom. Not my mind, because it blossoms, but doesn’t close.
Not my soul, because…because…’ And that’s just the end of the poem. It fades like an echo. I love it.”
“That’s beautiful,” Ollie says, turning the words over in his head. “I mean, maybe no part of us is a seed. Maybe we’re more like mushrooms, y’know? Spores, mycelial networks all connected.”
She turns to him. He can barely see her eyes through the sunglasses, but she looks pleased. “That’s good. I like that.”
“Thank you,” Ollie says, leaning slightly closer. She smells better than yesterday, the sweet earthiness of the pot now mingling with something like oranges and jasmine. Perfume? Did she put on perfume for him?
“I’m going to think about that later. Mushrooms.” Samba has brought over the tug rope, and Safiya pulls on the other end. Samba pulls back, tail wagging. “So this what you do? Dog walker, detective, poet?” she asks as Samba keeps playing tug with her.
Ollie shrugs. “I’m the same as you; I just like to think about things.”
“That’s the poet part. And you love dogs, so that’s the dog walker. But what’s up with being a detective but not?”
“Oh.” Ollie tosses the tennis ball for the other dogs, who seem uninterested in the tug-of-war. Pete plops down at his feet, worn out. “I’m just working this one case. For a friend. But I do love true-crime podcasts.”
She laughs. “Really? Those things creep me out.”
“That’s what my friends say. They make me feel safe, weirdly.”
“Really?” she asks again, then playfully growls at Samba, who growls back, tail wagging like a cheerleader’s pom-pom. “How?”
“I think it’s just…bad things happen. A lot. But seeing them laid out neatly makes them feel less chaotic. A case to solve, instead of another terrible thing that happened.”
She nods, quiet, and drops the rope suddenly, letting Samba run off with it, triumphant. “Something terrible happen to you? You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s fine. My dad. A year back.” Saying it makes him even more eager to solve Brandon’s case—their collective case, really—as quickly as possible. Ollie knows what it feels like when things aren’t solved and instead just fade away, dissolve, and no one even seems to remember except you.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is tissue paper crinkling delicately around the topic. “I guess you were close?”
Ollie nods. His mouth won’t do anything. He really didn’t want this to come up on date one. He should have brushed off the question. But it spiked back into his brain when she asked, an iceberg under the surface, like it had been waiting.
“That sucks. I’m sorry.” She picks up a Frisbee toy and sends it sailing high into the sky, and all the dogs in the park, an army of them, look up, watching it soar.
Ollie watches it with the dogs, then throws his shoulders back. First date. He used to have a checklist for these. He should focus on that.
“So what is your case, anyway?” She leans closer to him, eyes peeking over the sunglasses.
Ollie watches Linus sniff the butt of another dog, not one of his puppies. He feels a slight trickle of sweat on his neck, even though it’s chilly. He shouldn’t talk too much about the case. He could put her in danger.
“Just something my friend thought he saw. I think it’s probably nothing.”
“I mean, it’s not.” She says it simply, like it’s obvious.
“What?” He looks at her. One of her eyebrows is up.
“I told you, some big guy came and took the exact same tapes you were looking for. Whatever your friend saw probably happened.”
“Maybe,” Ollie says.
“Definitely. Or maybe he saw something but didn’t understand it. What did he think saw, anyway?” There’s a faint edge to the question.
“I thought you didn’t like murder podcasts,” he says, smiling.
“This isn’t a podcast. At least not yet, I guess.” She sighs and lies back on the grass for a moment, staring up at the leaves. Silence hangs there, waiting for him to fill it. Zoey comes running back with the Frisbee. Ollie takes it and tosses it, a shorter distance than Safiya did.
“A murder,” he says, giving in.
“Fuck.” All around them the barking dogs suddenly sound farther away.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I hope he’s wrong. I don’t need violent crime where I work.” She props herself back up on one arm, looking at him. “So solve it for me, okay? Tell me what you find out.”
Ollie laughs, but it sounds a little sad. “Sure.”
They play with the puppies until they and the dogs are all exhausted.
They talk about other things from Ollie’s first-date list: Where they’re from (Ollie is a local, but Safiya is from Michigan), where they went to school (Ollie to Oberlin, Safiya to UCLA), and what they majored in (both in philosophy, which they agree is useless).
They swap hobbies (Ollie’s true crime, Safiya’s pottery) and favorite books and movies (more true crime from Ollie, and he worries briefly if he’s boring before remembering he likes high fantasy, which Safiya also likes, along with rom-coms), and by the time Ollie has to bring all the puppies back, he feels like this is someone he knows and likes.
She feels like a new friend, and then when she smiles and kisses him lightly on the cheek as she leaves, she feels like maybe something more.
She smells good, and her lips are soft on his skin, a little sticky from lip gloss.
He would like to kiss her, he thinks. He’d like to touch the skin over her ribs, hear the sound she makes when he does.
That’s the best place to leave a first date, he thinks.
The feeling of friendship, but filled with sexual tension.
Waiting on the edge of something. He drops each of the puppies off, feeling a little dance in his steps, that little bouncing thrill of something new and exciting in his blood, like he’s uncovered some new part of himself through her. Something new to investigate.
He checks his phone as he walks Pete home.
NICOLE
How’d the date go, Ollie?
IAN
He’s still out walking the dogs so I think it’s going well.
Or she’s killed him.
NICOLE
I want the deets!
Ollie grins. Even amid everything, his friends are happy for him.
OLLIE
It was great!
IAN
Or you’re her and you took his phone.
OLLIE
She doesn’t know the passcode
And she’s really great. You guys will like her.
IAN
Did you get a kiss?
OLLIE
On the cheek. I’m going to text her to make another date though.
He closes up the group chat and opens the one with Safiya.
OLLIE
I had a lot of fun
Any chance you want to see me without the dogs?
He looks at the text, but it goes unread.
“She’s on the train, probably, right?” he asks Pete. Pete blinks. They keep walking.
By the time he makes it back home, it’s almost noon, way later than usual.
He lets himself in, excited to tell Brandon and Ian about the date, but finds Brandon alone at the kitchen table in his underwear, a soggy bowl of cereal in front of him, holding Jon’s phone and staring at it.
His eyes are distant, and he’s chewing his lower lip.
He doesn’t even turn as Ollie comes in with Pete.
Still worried about everything. But probably Jon, mostly.
Ollie feels almost guilty after his date.
“Hey,” Ollie says as Pete goes over to his bed and gnaws on his teething ring.
Brandon turns with a start. “Oh, hi.” He pauses, considering Ollie. “I should show you something.”
“Okay,” Ollie says, walking up to him slowly, like he might run.
“I didn’t show Ian, I knew they’d—I knew what they’d say. But I don’t think it’s that.” He holds up the phone.
AVERY
Excited to see you!
And under that is a photo of a woman, maybe late twenties, holding up a smiling baby.
“What do you think it is?” Ollie asks.
“I think it’s a friend, not his wife, like Ian would say. I just think she’d text more if she was his wife and he was on a trip.”
Ollie nods. He’s not sure what this is yet, but it means something. “So what do you want to do?”
“Look—” Brandon pulls up the photo, zooming in behind them. “That’s the Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park. Let’s go.”
Ollie grins. “To look for clues?”
Brandon nods. “Let’s go, detective. I mean, after I put on pants.”