Interestingly enough, they aren’t actually divorced. Dad’s tried to get her to sign papers, but she’s never in a place long enough to have anything delivered.
Long story short, that’s why I have her stuff. She asked me to hold on to all of it for her, and that’s what I’ve done for years, but I’m tired of it. Of all of it. I’m tired of being a tool they both use. For Dad, I do his work, and for Mom, I keep her crap.
Well, no more.
I look over at the tall stack of magazines I’ve pulled from two plastic bins. I step closer, trying to decide where to start. I know some of these are worth money. Take the very first Vogue magazine published in 1892. It’s one of my mom’s most prized possessions. I won’t toss that, but most of the other stuff, yes, definitely.
I sigh looking at the stacks. I wish she were here to do this. Not only that, more than anything, I miss her. I want her back, and I guess I thought holding on to all her things would help draw her back. But living like a hoarder isn’t good for anyone. God, how many times has my dad threatened to come in here while I was gone to toss her stuff away? Maybe I should have let him do it. At least she’d be angry with him instead of me. It’d put the onus of guilt on the man who caused this mess in the first place. That is if she ever comes back. I thought it was my duty—no, my responsibility to hold on to her things. If she didn’t want to see me, she’d at least want her precious Vogue magazine. But, like the clothing hanging on the rack next to my kitchen and the crates with her miscellaneous housewares, it’s all got to go.
I’ve lived like a hermit long enough. While I leave my apartment to get groceries and things of that nature, I mostly stick around home to make sure… well, I never know when my dad’s going to let himself into my place, so I like to be here, just in case.
Now I’ve got something else to keep me tethered to my apartment. I mean, what if something happens at Kara’s place? If I’m away, who’ll call Gage?
A small smile crawls across my face because Gage Golden is... well, I think he may be perfect.
Chapter Seven
Gage
I make my way back to the station after talking with Daisy. I want to observe Dylan Forrester’s questioning.
The first person I see upon entering is my captain. “Good job tonight. You caught the kid trying to break into Kara’s place. Name’s Dylan—”
“Forrester. I know him.”
The captain chuckles. “I’m not surprised.”
I don’t know what he means by that. Probably because I know the other players in this drama too. “He’s Tayler Sorenson’s ex-boyfriend. The one who was stalking her.”
Captain Billings scratches his chin. “So the two of them are working together.”
“The two? Which two?”
“Sorenson and Forrester.”
What the hell is he talking about? “Doubtful since Sorenson pressed charges against him and has a no-contact order on the guy.” Choosing to move on, I ask, “Who’s questioning him?”
“You.”
I shake my head. “Not a good idea. I brought him in for the stalking. He’s not gonna talk to me. Where’s Trumbull?”
“He’s not coming in today.”
He’s off? In the middle of a murder investigation.
“Which means it’s either you or Finch.”
“Captain—”
“I’ll be in the booth if you run into trouble.”
Great.
“They’re bringing him down now, so get your ducks in a row, Golden.”
Fuck the ducks. He’s not giving me any time to prep for this. It’s not going to go well.
“By the way, I want Finch in there with ya. He needs to learn how to talk to suspects.”
Awesome.
“What were you doing in Kara’s apartment, Dylan?” I may as well start right off with that question because we need to know why he was there in the first place.
“I already told you. I went to get my stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“My stuff, man. I was crashing at her place.”
“Crashing?”
“Jesus, dude. She let me stay there.”
“I didn’t realize you knew Kara Becker. How long have you been staying with her?”
He shrugs. “A couple of weeks.”
“You had a key?” I assume because he didn’t break into the apartment. There was no damage to the door.
“Yeah, man. She gave me a key because I. Was. Staying. There.”
Wow, this kid is beyond belligerent. “Watch yourself,” I growl. I hate punks like this. “Were you seeing her… romantically?”
Dylan laughs. “You mean, was I fucking her?”
“If that’s how you’d prefer the question. Were you?”
He chuckles again. “You can’t say ‘fuck’ or something, dude?”
“Answer the question.”
Dylan makes a scoffing sound, and I roll my hand into a fist. Damn, I’d love to punch him. “Sure, we fucked a time or two, but we weren’t together, if you know what I mean.”
“Why not?”
“What the hell, man? What’s your obsession with my sex life?”
Now I laugh right along with Finch. But why is he laughing? “Asking you about your relationship with the deceased isn’t about your sex life, Mr. Forrester. It’s about who murdered her.”
“Fuck. It wasn’t me, man. I was partying that night. All night,” Dylan adds with a smirk.
“I see you’ve provided us with some names of people who can corroborate your whereabouts the night of the murder.”
He nods, then smiles.
“We’ll get them in here so they can answer some questions as well.”
His smile drops.
“So, back to my earlier question. Why weren’t you and Kara in a relationship?”
“She had too many irons in the fire, if you know what I mean.”
Irons? Interesting turn of a phrase, considering.
He continues, “No time for anything more than just a fuck or two. Same with me. I’m still in lo—I still have feelings for someone else.”
Tayler.
I nod. “Sure. I get it. Did you know they
