TEN
Reid
“Slumber party!”Hazel said, as she yanked open her door with a beaming smile.
When I’d packed my overnight bag, I could hardly believe what I was about to do. In fact, I’d almost convinced myself I wouldn’t. This was going too far—wayabove and beyond the call of duty.
After I’d finished work, I’d tried to log on and help the guys write our next blog post—one about a woman who had gone missing in Michigan back in the nineties—but those damn threatening notes kept flashing through my mind.
The thought of her being there alone churned my gut. I didn’t like it. Especially when we hadn’t gotten the security footage and were no closer to deciphering this mystery. And maybe it had been my imagination, but I swore I detected a hint of relief in Hazel’s voice when I’d called to insist on spending the night. I’d expected some resistance, but she almost seemed excited about the prospect of some company.
“I just ordered Chinese, get in here!” she exclaimed, stepping aside so that I could come in and set down my tan leather duffle.
Hazel’s space overwhelmed me the same way it had when I’d been there earlier.
At first, I’d been in shock.
Every inch of space was covered. How was that even possible? There were pictures of various sizes on every wall. I realized now that I could get a closer look that her walls were painted green. Why even bother? Rugs overlapped each other on the ground. Two coffee tables—yes, two—were wedged up right next to each other, so that you could barely step around them to get to the basically neon-orange couch that looked straight out of the sixties.
This place was my nightmare. I itched to bring in bins and help her donate ninety percent of this stuff. I bit my tongue, though. That would be rude. A completely out-of-line suggestion.
“Did you bring your own pillow?” she asked with a laugh.
“It’s got just the right neck support,” I said. I would have brought my entire bed if I could. My routine was sacred to me. My bed, my things, my space; they put me at ease. The last woman I’d casually dated got frustrated with me because I didn’t spend enough time at her house. I could never get a good night’s sleep away. Tonight was about to be rough. The couch looked visibly lumpy, and I’d surely be breathing in an unhealthy amount of dust bunnies.
When I’d made the offer, I hadn’t really been thinking about myself. All I could focus on was not wanting Hazel to be alone. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if something happened to her. But now that I was here, settling into my discomfort, I realized that this was in no way a long-term solution. I hadn’t thought about much beyond tonight, but me crashing on her couch for the foreseeable future wasnotgoing to happen.
Hazel took my duffel and pillow and set them on the floor next to the couch. When I picked up the pillow and set it on top of my duffel, she gave me a strange look.
“Want anything to drink?” she asked, stepping into hercramped kitchen, a room that dripped top to bottom with cheap laminate and vinyl. “I’ve got soda or water.”
“Water is fine.” I edged into the living room, worried something might spring out at me at any moment. Honestly, if it weren’t for the threatening messages, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find Vermont just hiding amongst the clutter.
She came back in holding two glasses and set them both on one of the coffee tables—all these knickknacks and not a coaster in sight—before sitting back on the couch and pulling out her laptop.
“This is so fun,” she said. “I feel like we’re about to do some sort of sting operation. Should we work on the case while you’re here? What’s the plan?”
Despite my discomfort, I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. One of the first things I’d noticed when I’d first met Hazel was the lack of light in her eyes. Since that day at the diner, it had flickered on and off. But now, tonight, she was vibrant and full of life. She’d been dealt a rough hand, and seeing her eyes light up like that made me want to do whatever I could to help her get that spark back.
I pushed aside my unease about the apartment and my looming lack of sleep and sank in next to her on the couch. It was surprisingly not as uncomfortable as it appeared.
“To start, I think we should ask your neighbors.”
“I already asked Mrs. Edenbury, and she said she didn’t see anything.”
“What about the rest of the complex?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t met anyone else. I tried knocking on a few doors after it happened, but no one answered. Probably thought I was trying to sell them a magazine subscription or something stupid.”
I took my phone out and pulled up an application before entering her zip code.
“I’ll make a post on the Neighborhood app. Say your cat was stolen, add a picture, and see if anyone has information.”
She nodded. “Okay, yeah. Worth a shot.”
I fired off a quick description of the situation (leaving out the extortion part, obviously) and attached a picture of Vermont Hazel had sent me before publishing the post.
“There, we’ll see if we get any information.”
