Chapter 3 – Lily
LILY
The rain has subsided, but I’m still wet, frozen to the bone, and if I’m honest, all I want is a slice of cold pizza, a steaming shower, and a date with my favorite vibrator.
While I draw the line at listening to strangers fucking, I can’t deny the way it activated my touch-starved body like a sleeper agent. That sexy journalist may have triggered it too.
Too bad reporter pretty boy is off limits.
I’ve been craving connection, but dating is nearly impossible when I can’t help but background check every person I’m interested in. Nine times out of ten, there are red flags impossible to ignore.
Like Joshua Stratham, a software engineer I met at a bar last month.
We went on a few dates, had a smoking hot overnight—everything was perfect.
Until I caved, like I always do, and searched the Cleosville Criminal Database on Liam’s work laptop in his home office.
Benefits of having a detective for a brother who’s willing to bend the rules for the betterment of society.
It only took twelve minutes to discover Joshua had been convicted of a hit and run DUI three years prior, which he did zero time for, might I add.
I went on one more date just to hide socks I’d soaked in milk in his drawers and closet.
Might have also left some pieces of raw shrimp in his curtain rods.
Not a true karmic balance, but knowing he’ll be dealing with the stench for months, possibly years, does make me feel better.
The only date that went well in the past three years was with a girl I’d gone to high school with. Her background check came up clean, we laughed the entire time, but two weeks later she got a job offer in Seattle, and there went my dreams of Happily Ever After.
The creaky front door slams behind me, and I cringe as I slide off my shoes.
The keys jingle as I hook them on the holder, and every noise feels magnified by a bullhorn despite my desperation to remain stealthy.
Making a beeline for the stairs, I yelp when a light flickers on, throwing a hand over my chest.
“Late night?” Liam asks, brow cocked, situated on the couch with a mug in his hand.
“The hell are you doing?” I draw in a stuttered gasp. “You look like Dad that time I skipped curfew to see Violet’s art show in tenth grade.”
“You agreed to keep the research to daytime hours,” he reminds me, taking a sip. His tone is serious, but there’s a teasing crinkle at the corner of his eyes.
“Scaling a tree in broad daylight would be a bit obvious, don’t you think?” I counter, changing directions to head towards the kitchen in an effort to ease my anxiety and hunger.
“You shouldn’t do that either.” He pushes off the couch as I open the fridge. He’s probably right. I almost dislocated my shoulder.
“I’m moving out,” I lie, retrieving a pizza box, and he makes an unconvinced mm-hmm.
I threaten it once a month, but we both know I don’t mean it.
I’m well-aware of the dangers in our city, and living alone is not high on my to-do list. Also…
this house is special. It was Violet’s Grandma’s, and she used to spend every summer here.
Given we had serious attachment issues, after I turned ten, we convinced my parents to let me join her annual trip. Those were the best summers of my life.
“You know I just worry about you after… well, you know.” Liam leans against the kitchen island, running a hand through his blond hair, and our matching blue eyes meet.
I nod, keeping in all the words I dare not speak.
No intention of ripping that wound open tonight.
No intention of fixating on the fact I haven’t spoken to my best friend in almost a year. And never will again.
Shoving down the reminder that all I’ll ever have of Violet is memories, I toss the white cardboard pizza box on the counter with a thump and open it, taking out a slice.
As I bite into a piece, my mind wanders to Aster.
Why was he there? I’m definitely glad I had something—or rather someone—to break my fall, but still, was it kismet or calculated?
“How’d it go?” Liam asks, grabbing a slice for himself, protective brother mode turning curious and pulling me back to reality.
In an effort to reduce tonight’s anxiety, I refocus on the request at hand. “Mr. Predictable and his secretary will be having a very shitty Monday.”
He bites into the pizza, ripping off a piece. “Well deserved,” he mumbles out.
“How was work?” I ask, ready to get out of the hot seat. He likely just got home considering he’s still in slacks, button-down sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his gun’s holstered to his hip. He’s been keeping that on his side a lot more since Violet died, and honestly, I can’t blame him.
“Fine.” A beat of silence passes between us. I narrow my eyes, and he holds my gaze, biting his cheek until he finally relents. “There haven’t been any cases for a few weeks.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? No cases mean less crime, doesn’t it?”
“Well, gun violence has been on the rise, just fortunately, no homicides.”
“Then why do you look so stressed?” I ask, and he shifts in place.
“You remember what Dad says about hurricanes?”
“It’s always calm before a storm,” I imitate in a deep voice while heading to the sink to wash the pizza grease off my hands.
“Yeah.” He exhales a heavy breath.
“Why don’t you enjoy the calm and relax for once? You’ve been working your ass off.”
His eyes bore into mine. “Relaxation is not an option.”
“Okay.” I hold my hands up. “I get it, Detective. Gotta protect the city.” He forces a smile. “And on that note, you got anything for me?”
Aside from doing some part-time bounty hunter work, which Liam says I excel at due to my superior research skills, sometimes he’ll bring me cases of scumbags that were let go for lack of substantial evidence. While it may be insufficient for jail time, it’s enough for some serious karma.
“Not unless you count a bartender who had 343 unpaid parking tickets,” he replies, then stuffs the last bite in his mouth.
“Honestly, they should receive an award.” I huff a laugh. “That’s impressive.”
“Truly.”
“That’s all you have?”
“Like I said…” He cocks a brow, rinsing his hands off at the sink. “It’s been slow.”
“Parking tickets are definitely below my pay grade,” I reply, although he and I both know the cases he brings me are more of a pro bono situation and one hundred percent off the books.
“Figured.”
His phone rings, and his gaze meets mine. A call to a detective’s work phone after midnight can only mean one thing. He answers, then gives a few short replies before hanging up.
“And?” I ask.
“Looks like the storm’s here,” he says, heading towards the door, grabbing his badge and keys. “There’s been a murder near Joe’s Pizzeria.”
Time stops. I’m frozen. Just like I always am every time I hear of another body dropped in our city.
“Do you think it was…?” My voice is small, but I don’t have to explain. Liam knows exactly who I’m referring to.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Sounds like a mugging gone wrong.”
A wave of relief rushes through me. I realize I shouldn’t be this comforted at the idea of someone being dead, but it’s the fact they weren’t killed by him that allows me to regain oxygen again. The fact that maybe, just maybe, the man who murdered Violet hasn’t claimed another victim.
“Here you are, babe,” Amara, my favorite barista and—due to overexposure from the amount of time I’ve spent in this little artsy café—friend, says, setting a warm blueberry coffee with milk foam on the table beside my open laptop.
Mocha Muse has been in Amara’s family for generations, and she recently inherited it after the passing of her mother.
Violet and I have been coming here since we were kids.
We’d enjoy hot chocolate while roaming the walls of art they have plastered around the large space.
Watercolors and oil paintings are affixed to the exposed brick, even a few shelves of sculptures to admire.
It always felt like such a sanctuary. After college, we spent a ton of time here filling out job applications, adjusting our dating profiles, or spilling the tea over tea.
It’s one of the few places in the city I can come and just…
be. Also one of the places where I still feel connected to her.
Sometimes I even hear an echo of her laugh over the whir of the bean grinder.
“Thank you,” I say, grasping the mug and taking a long pull of the coffee, the warm liquid gliding down my throat. “How’s Zuri?” I ask, referring to her sweet little five-year-old whose personality is bigger than life itself.
“Continuously asking when Miss Lily is coming over,” she says, brow cocked.
Guilt swirls in my gut. I’ve been so busy with Karma requests and wallowing in self-pity, I haven’t made it over in a few weeks.
“Could we have a bubbly brunch next Saturday?” A little tradition we started earlier this year when Zuri wanted to tag along for breakfast with Amara and me.
We split a bottle of champagne and got her a Sprite.
Zuri said it was the best day of her life, and alas, bubbly brunch was born.
“We’d love that,” Amara says with a gentle smile.
“Can Val join?” I ask, referring to her wife.
“Yeah, definitely. She’s getting in late Friday night from a conference and is dying to spend time with Zuri.”
“Good, I look forward to it,” I say, and mean it.
They were so great to me after Violet died.
I’d been coming here more than usual, and then one day, Amara found me sobbing in the bathroom and insisted I come over for dinner.
They accepted me with open arms during what was the worst time of my life and haven’t gotten rid of me since.
“Us too.” She walks away to help another customer, and my phone buzzes on the table, pulling my attention to a notification.
Request #2455 - Payment Received: $500