But she’s a strange one. I’ve thought that from day one. Estranged from her entire family, unemployed, collecting money from who knows where to pay the rent. She believes her ship will come in if she can prove that Bertram stole Budgie, and that’s what I’m here to do for her. But her entire life seems to be on hold until then. It’s unusual. I’ve worked with all sorts of clients who hire me to spy and gain intel on people who have wronged them. Every one ofthose clients has maintained some semblance of a life. Working, having a family, painting as a hobby—something. But not Erin. I’ve circled by her rental several times, only to find her curtains always drawn and her car always in the parking spot.
I thought it was best to just leave her alone. But Elodie has a point. If she’s not on board, it could serve as another roadblock. And Bertram is closed off enough as it is.
“We should go over there tomorrow morning and talk to her in person. Explain the process and give her the notes we’ve compiled so far about Annie. I wish we could give her more information, but right now, the more time we spend investigating, the more questions we have. We’ll see what she can answer for us.”
“A house call!” Elodie is excited again. “I’ll bring croissants!”
The doors to the school open, and we rise to our feet. Finnegan is one of the first students out of the door, bouncing happily toward Elodie, as Elodie assumes her position directing the pickup line.
Collette is somewhere in the middle of the sea of students. She walks gracefully and deliberately. When I was a kid, I had a cat that moved in a similar way. It used to nap on the shelf where we kept the wineglasses, its long, slender body curled deliberately between the glasses without moving them so much as a centimeter out of place.
But I don’t tell Collette about my cat, or anything else about my childhood. I don’t tell her about what I do after she’s gone to bed.
She gives me a small smile as we get into the car.
“Why are you parked in the lot?” she asks me as I buckle my seat belt. “You usually pick me up in the line.”
“I was early, darling,” I tell her. “So I had a chat with Mrs. Blevins.”
In the rearview mirror, I see Collette wrinkle her nose. “Do I have to tutor Finnegan?”
“If you’re open-minded about it, you may just make a friend,” I tell her. “Look at me and Mrs. Blevins. I didn’t think we’d get along, but we have a lot in common.”
“Like what?” Collette asks.
“Well…we both like croissants.”
Collette rolls her eyes and stares out the window. That’s new. Who isthischild? I switch gears and ask her, “How was school?”
“Fine.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“I got a ninety-seven on my book report forMrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. I said it was timeless, because teaching the rats to read and write isn’t all that different than using AI to create art.”
It is a clinical and yet impressive response that leaves me stunned. “That was only worth a ninety-seven?”
“I misspelled ‘genocide.’ ”
This time last year, Collette was decorating the back of the seats with unicorn stickers, the glitter from which has never fully vacuumed out of the upholstery. She was bubbly and all too excited to tell me about her day. Now she tiptoes around my questions, giving me just enough to have technically answered me.
We ride in silence for the rest of the way, and as I pullinto the driveway, it occurs to me that Collette has spent eight hours away from me, and I have no idea what she’s done in that time, and she isn’t going to tell me.
She tells me that she’s going up to her bedroom to do her homework, and I tell her that she can come and ask for her iPad once she’s finished and I’ve checked it.
I hear the familiar clack of Waylen’s keyboard as I head up the stairs, and I find myself craving the sameness of it. Waylen never changes, never does a single unpredictable thing. Most days, this puts us at odds because it is our biggest difference. But today, I find it oddly comforting. Before I open the door, I know I’ll see his familiar silver hair, his tense, hunched shoulders. He’ll close the laptop screen, swivel in his chair, and say, “What’s up?”
That’s exactly what happens. But the smile on his face is guarded. We haven’t been on the best terms since our disagreement. Well, string of disagreements, really.
I sit on the small couch by his desk. “Can we talk?”
There’s concern on his face. “Is everything all right?”
God, I hope this doesn’t blow up our marriage. We’re already on a tightrope. I decide to cut right to the chase. Waylen may hate my line of work, but he at least appreciates straightforwardness. “In two weeks, I have to go into the city. For work.”
“For design work?” he asks. “Or…work?”
I tug nervously at my hair. “A bit of both. There’s someone out there who needs a host for her event, and she’ll definitely have valuable information. The only thing is that it has to be on that exact date, and there’s no wiggle room.”
