Undercovers 2.0 #2
I grab an apple slice from the tray, chewing slowly. I know too well what she means—the way you learn to seal off parts of your mind, to feel nothing when everything around you threatens to wound. “What made you finally pull the plug, then?”
Jane nods like she expected this question. “He wanted kids. It was then that I knew I couldn’t fuck a whole new generation,
or myself . . . or Trevor anymore.”
“Hear, hear.” I raise my glass in her direction, smiling. “Wow. That must’ve been really hard to do.” My mom let her whole
adult life be dictated by my dad’s issues.
She nods. “It was a small town, and his family owned like ten tentpole businesses there, so me leaving him was just so slutty of me.” She snorts through her nose. “I knew I had to get away if I wanted a chance of starting a new life.”
“And that brought you to Calgary?”
“Yeah.” The pain finally eases from her expression as she grins proudly. “Work is shit, and I’m not saving much, but this
is the first place that’s ever been just mine.” She looks around her apartment, breathing it all in. “It’s all me.”
Now all her eccentric fashion statements, the ever-changing hair colors, her random hobbies scattered around the apartment,
even the times I heard her crying through the walls—it all makes sense, because it’s all down to the same thing: Jane is currently
finding herself. Because she never had a chance to just live for herself before.
I look at her with a newfound reverence. “Jane, you’re very cool. Seriously, to up and restart your life and make it work—not
everyone could do that.”
Last month, when Carolyne called me into her office, I was completely frozen.
The thought of losing my job felt like my entire world was about to collapse.
I remember how desperate I was to avoid being kicked out of Valleyview after vandalizing it—so desperate, in fact, that I agreed to take on this ridiculous temporary-super role.
Could I ever really let go, drop everything, and start over?
I’ve poured so much into this one version of my life, planned every step so carefully, that I never allowed myself to even consider the idea of pivoting.
Jane tucks her feet under her, leaning into the arm of the couch. “It never would have worked out without Irene. I’d been
crashing on my cousin’s couch for two months, paying the same rent Irene is now charging me. None of the places within my
budget, even with my new job, had landlords willing to take a chance on someone without a rental history. I was this close
to going back to town and sucking Trevor’s dick—metaphorically speaking, of course.”
I take a hefty gulp of wine, my mouth suddenly dry. “It’s nice Irene let you have it.”
Jane shakes her head. “She told me she actually didn’t think I could afford it with my salary, so she lowered it by like two
hundred a month. I don’t know if anyone else would’ve taken pity on me like that.”
I try to hide my wince as my thoughts linger on the box of bills hidden beneath my coffee table. Irene’s kindness couldn’t
have lasted forever, I remind myself, swallowing the familiar pang of guilt with the practiced ease of someone who’s grown
used to it.
“That was fortunate,” I say. “But now that you’ve found your footing, don’t you want to move somewhere with a few less panty
thieves and toilets that actually flush properly?”
Jane pops a grape in her mouth and continues. “Eventually, yeah—but for now, my main goal is to save up enough to buy a toaster
oven. Plus, staying on this lease for a while will look better to future landlords.”
The wine curdles in my belly. Jane is going to be screwed when this place sells, if my recent market research is any indication.
“And this place isn’t so bad, especially now that you’ve been helping out,” Jane says, her words stirring the uneasy knot
in my stomach tighter. “If we catch the panty thief, I might even admit I genuinely like it here.”
I swallow hard and hold out my glass. “Here’s to justice, then.” Jane clinks it with her own and we both take a hefty sip.
“I still think Norm’s the top suspect,” Jane says. “He’s the only one who came close to the machine that night.”
I nod. “For what it’s worth, I looked into him—but I don’t know. I get the feeling he’s not the one. And, I mean, it would have been pretty unreal if he’d managed all that while on camera.”
Jane nods. “Well, Carmen was the only other person we saw that night. Do you think he could have done it? Maybe secretly snuck
them while I was emptying the dryer?”
A few days ago, I would have undeniably said yes. But I get the sense Carmen’s interests are more about selling things off
than hoarding things for his own pervy interests. Maybe it’s the dad energy I can suddenly recognize in the guy, but I can’t
quite see him as suspect numero primo anymore.
“I don’t know . . .” I say. “He gives off a weird vibe, but not like I’m-stealing-your-underwear level? I could be totally
off base here, it’s just my feelings.”
She chews her lips, fingers rapping on the side of her glass. “Yeah, I think our guts know. Like honestly, with my ex—if I’d
just listened to the little voice in my head, I could’ve saved myself a lot of time. I think I knew he was an ass when I first
went out with him, but I was horny. After the divorce, I promised myself I’d never second-guess my instincts again.” She sighs,
looking down at the remaining liquid in her glass. “It’s so annoying. Women are told their entire lives that they’re being
dramatic or hysterical—but we know the truth.”
I nod as another piece of the puzzle that is Jane clicks together. “I do get a weird feeling about that guy in the couple
on the first floor.”
“That guy is a dick for sure.” I grin and take another sip.
“He’s a crop-dusting bitch,” Jane blurts without warning, and I start to wonder if she got started on the wine before I showed up. “He farted in the fucking foyer once and acted confused where the smell came from. Nothing like gagging your way through that just to pick up the mail.”
“It’s the hot dogs.”
“The hot dogs! You noticed that too?”
“Oscar Mayer himself must have taken notice of that shit by now.” I chuckle into my own almost-empty glass of wine. “What
about Divorced Dad? Across the way. Are you still suspicious of him?”
I realize I’ve let slip the nickname that’s only existed in my head until now, but Jane furiously nods like this is what’s
written on his birth certificate. “I can’t stand him. Sometimes I catch him out on his balcony, just sitting there with his
hands folded in his lap, staring into space. And in my head, I’m like—he’s definitely up there edging.” She purses her lips
mindfully. “I mean, it’s most definitely not that, but still.”
Her phone buzzes on the coffee table. Jane grabs it to silence it. “Looks like it’s time to go.”
I chuckle. “Maybe we can bring some towels to sit on that futon in the rec room? Avoid the mouse droppings?”
“Let’s bring this throw blanket. I can wash it after.”
“Great!”
We make our way down to the basement. Jane switches her laundry into the dryer and double-checks her spy setup. Then we huddle
up in the dark rec room and wait.
Nobody else is down here this late. We start whispering quietly to pass the time. But about an hour in—right around the moment
we discover we have an overlapping obsession with mysterious hotel deaths and a love for erotic thrillers made during their
renaissance in the nineties—I realize our voices have crept up to full volume.
“Should we call it?” I ask. Jane’s laundry has been sitting there for a while.
She nods. We’ve kept our eyes on the cameras, but no one has come down the stairs. And even if there was a thief intent of sniffing out some panties tonight, our raised voices might have kept him away. Still, it doesn’t feel like a lost evening.
“You know, investigation aside,” I start, stretching my arms over my head, “thanks for setting all this up. I haven’t had
a fun night like this in a while.”
Jane’s skin flushes. “I mean, me too. I always had a feeling we’d get along.”
I can’t say the same. When Weird Girl Beside Me moved in, she was quickly written off in my mind as just another building person I’d need to go out of my way to avoid.
I probably should have left it that way.
But it’s far too late to pretend I don’t know these people or care about what happens to them once this place finally meets
its end. That’s just something I’ll have to live with—and I know I can. Jane has rebuilt from nothing before. Somehow, we’ll
all figure out a way to be okay.
As we climb the stairs, we agree to revisit the investigation next week—with a new bottle of wine in hand.