Friday, May 16 | 9:00 p.m.
Why does the heroine always have dead parents? I mean, really. Can someone write a leading lady who doesn’t have some tragic backstory?
My parents are happily retired in Scottsdale. The weather is great, they host bingo twice a week and go on nightly walks with the couple next door.
And why do books always open on some third-person narrator with a god complex talking about the weather?
It was a dark and stormy night?Give me a fucking break.
I huffed and closed the book before tucking it back on the shelf. Anyone else would have been concerned about leaving fingerprints after breaking into someone’s apartment, but not me.
Joel Hawthorne knew I was coming. Maybe that’s why he was late. He was avoiding me.
Not that I blamed him. It was going to be a rather unpleasant night.
Lucky for Joel, I already checked his freezer. He had plenty of ice packs and an ungodly amount of frozen vegetables.
I’d even set out the bottle of ibuprofen for him. The type of pain reliever someone kept on hand said a lot about a person. I didn’t trust people who only took acetaminophen. It didn’t do jack shit.
Joel Hawthorne’s apartment was neatly kept and nicely decorated. Potted plants dotted the windowsill. Thick textbooks were lined up on shelves that bracketed a mounted television. Finance magazines and business journals were in a stack on the end table beside the couch.
The candles were a nice touch. The lavender one flickered where I had set it on the coffee table after lighting it. Lavender was calming.
Maybe lavender was Joel’s preference, but I had a hunch it was his sister’s doing. After all, it was her name on the lease. Lucky for me, she wouldn’t be home until after I was long gone. She was seeing a movie by herself tonight.
Good for her. She deserved a night out before I made her life a little more complicated. Lucky for her brother, the movie would end soon enough, and she’d be home to tend to the state I was going to leave him in.
The doorknob turned ninety minutes later than it should have. As annoyed as I was, at least Joel showed up. The door opened as he loosened his tie, just like always.
If people didn’t want to face the consequences of their actions, then they shouldn’t be so damn predictable.
Today, I was the consequence.
“It’s about time,” I said with a huff as I casually glanced at my watch. “You’re usually here by now. Tell me, was it traffic or was peeling yourself away from the table a little harder than usual?”
Joel Hawthorne stood frozen in the doorway.
I picked up a framed photo of him and his sister off the bookshelf and gave it a passing glance. “The resemblance between male and female twins is always interesting. Sometimes they barely look alike. But you and Amelia are carbon copies of each other.”
I smirked as he swallowed. I loved name-dropping. It was a fun way to play the “I know more about you than you know about me” game. But the game was getting old.
I was an early to bed, early to rise kind of guy. That was, if I slept at all. Unfortunately, in my line of work, late nights were the norm. I just wanted to get home.
“Shut the door, Joel,” I said as I set the picture frame back on the bookshelf. “We need to have a quick chat.”
With a trembling hand, he closed the door, quiet as a mouse. At least he had the good sense not to run. That would have just drawn this out.
“Have a seat”—I motioned to the tufted chair across from me—“and I’ll get to the point.”
Joel’s shoulders slumped as he dumped his messenger bag by the door. The laptop inside could be pawned for a few hundred bucks, but it would barely put a dent in what he owed.
“John sent you, didn’t he?” Joel choked out as he sat down in the chair and wrung his hands together.
“That’s Mr. Valentine to you.”
“Right. I—uh—I’m working on getting the money together.”
“Really?” I said, feigning optimism. “Because your bank account says otherwise. It’s overdrafted by thirty dollars and eleven cents. And that’s a dayafteryour final paycheck was deposited. That’s why you moved in with sister dearest, isn’t it? Couldn’t keep up with your rent on your own?” I hunched forward and clasped my hands together. “You have one week to clear your debt to Mr. Valentine.”
