I change out of my clothes and into something nice—too nice. Then I change out of that outfit into something more relaxed but still flattering. Despite telling myself I don’t care what other people think, there are times I do care and people I want to impress. Right now is one of those times, and Detective David Resnick is one of those people.
I jerk on the door. It doesn’t budge. “Paige? It’s still locked.”
“I need to hear it,” she replies.
Oh God, no.
“Is he out there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Please don’t make me.”
“Sorry,” she says.
I sing as fast as I can.
“Cheer, cheer for old Notre Dame,
“Wake up the echoes, cheering her name.”
Before I’m even finished, the hook scrapes out of its lock, and the door slides open. Paige offers an apologetic look. I ignore her and walk briskly past to find the young police detective sitting on the couch. The first thing I notice is David is wearing a new suit—a taupe two-button and a significant upgrade from his Kohl’s collection. His thick hair is still unkempt, and his perpetual four-day-old beard could still use a shave, but he looks much more refined.
“What was that about?” he asks.
“Oh, it’s an ongoing bet I lost.” Along with my dignity.
As I move farther into the room, I notice another person near the kitchen—his partner, Detective Snyder. In his left hand, he holds a can of Coke, apparently his go-to source for caffeine. I offer him a nod. He offers back a grunt in greeting and grooms his moustache.
David rises from the couch and approaches me. I’m never sure how to greet him. Should we shake hands? Should we hug? Should I jump into his arms and ask him to whisk me away?
We shake hands.
“We were in the neighborhood and thought we could drop by.” He looks me up and down, in the way guys do when they think they’re being subtle but aren’t. I feel both vindicated by my choice in outfits and self-conscious that I didn’t have more time to get ready.
“This is some door,” growls a voice behind me. Snyder plays with the pocket door, sliding it in and out of the brick wall that separates my room from the living room. The heavy oak makes a dull roar as it moves along its track.
“Yeah,” I say, “a girl can never be too safe in this neighborhood.”
He studies the iron latch that securely, and formidably, locks it into place. “The lock’s on the outside.” The hook clamps into place, offering a deep metallic clank.
“Well…” I start, exchanging a look with Paige as I struggle for a reasonable excuse.
Paige finishes. “Sometimes I need a little peace and quiet when she’s acting up…?”
“And why would you be acting up?” Snyder asks.
“PMS,” I reply.
And with that, Snyder concludes his questions. If there’s one thing that stops men—even detectives—from asking questions, it’s a woman’s bodily functions. Satisfied, I take a seat on the couch, and Paige joins me.
“Sorry. I’m a little out of it this morning,” I say while trying to tousle my hair.
“Rough night?” Snyder asks. There’s no mistaking the stern tone.
This isn’t going to be a friendly visit, and I’m now on the defensive. “I’m not a morning person,” I say matter-of-factly.
“It’s eleven in the morning, Darcy,” David says, standing over me. “Hot date last night?” He smiles as if he’s teasing me.
This is no tease. He’s searching for answers to different questions and talking around the subject he’s investigating—which, chances are, has everything to do with what transpired last night in Harvard Park. I know this what he’s trying to do because it’s what I do.
Now I need to counter and to learn what he knows without giving anything away. I also need to know what Paige might have already told him. Everything counts on our keeping our stories straight. The last thing I want is to get caught in a lie and taken to police holding. Nothing good would come of locking me in a jail cell with a hundred other women with anger-management issues.
I don’t answer his question. I ask my own. “What brings you here?”
“Can’t I come by and say hello?”
“You’re on the clock. Didn’t think you’d have time while you’re working.”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
I do my best to remain calm despite panicking on the inside. I decide to redirect the conversation. “Have you found any information about Lupe’s killer?”
“Killer?” Snyder asks. He closes in on us—on me—and leans in. “Was there only one killer?”
“Was there more than one?” I ask.
“Do you know something?”
“Less than you, I’m sure, Detective.”
Snyder steps away, clearly annoyed by my response.
“No updates,” David says, shooting Snyder a glance. He turns back to me. “Sorry. We’re still looking.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your checking in.” I hope that is the end of the conversation. I lean forward and get ready to stand, but David continues speaking.
“You hear about the house fire last night? Happened in Harvard Park ’bout eleven thirty.” He’s given me something, expecting I’ll give something in return. I don’t.
I sink back into the couch. We’re going to be here a while. “Are you with the fire department now?”
“Were you out last night?”
“Are you suspecting me of arson?” I ask.
“Should I?”
“Do you have a reason to?”
Detective Snyder sighs in the corner, causing David to flinch. It’s becoming clear that Snyder has, once again, extended David the courtesy of leading this interrogation—I mean, interview. As of now, Snyder is less than impressed, and his patience is waning.
“I might,” David says, shifting gears again.
Shit. He has something.
My mind races, but I don’t let him see. I run through the checklist from last night. Did I remove all the evidence of my being there? Did I leave anything behind? I can’t keep up the act much longer. I need to cut to the chase.
“Why are you here, David?”
“Where were you last night?” The playful tone in his voice dissipates. He wants an answer.
Paige pipes in. “I told you, we were both here last night. Drinking wine and binge-watching
