Addison
FOLLOWING DYLAN DOWN the hall, I ignored the strong smell of antiseptic wafting around me. We stopped at the third door on the left, where Dylan knocked and peeked inside. “Grandma?”
“Dylan? What are you doin’ here?” the old woman said.
Dylan’s shoulders slumped as she said, “I brought my friend with me. We thought we’d see if we can help find your jewelry.”
“Allow me,” I whispered,and stepped in front of Dylan. “Mrs. James? I’m Addison Allen. Are you up to answering some questions?” I refused to tell her it was nice to meet her because I didn’t want to start the conversation off with a lie.
“It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
“Wonderful.” I faced Dylan. “Do you want to head to the next name on the list and I’ll take this one?”
“Well...if you insist,” she said,a little too brightly.
I stuffed down a chortle and pulled a chair up to Mrs. James’s table, scanning my notes. “Says here you’re missing a couple of rings, some necklaces, and some bracelets. When did you first notice your jewelry was missing?”
“Are you that rich girl my granddaughter has taken up with?”
“‘Taken up with’?”
“You know, in an unnatural sorta way.”
I frowned. “I don’t think Idoknow, Mrs. James.”
“Oh yes you do, Lebanese. You’re both Lebanese.” She waved her hand.
“Excuse me?” Was she really accusing us of being foreigners? “I was born in Portland, and I can’t imagine Dylan lying about being born in this town—”
“Funny. Queer. Gay. You know, Lebanese.”
Not foreigners, lesbians. She thought we were gay. I just stared at her, unable to even form the words necessaryto defend our friendship.
“Don’t look at me like that. We all know your dirty little secret. That’s why Dylan ran off to the city and left that nice Rowe boy high and dry.”
“Dylan and I aren’t...wait, what Rowe boy?”
