“No no no no no,” Felice chanted, heading for her own room. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Livvy watched the video, which made it look fairly simple. She didn’t have what the tutorial called a Spam key—the kind that came on cans of processed meats or sardines—nor did she have a flattenedpaper clip or a bobby pin. But she did possess two items the YouTube video suggested: a credit card and the tiny screwdriver that she’d bought to try to repair her favorite pair of sunglasses.
“Felice!” She banged on her friend’s door. “C’mon. I need you.”
“Go away. I’m sleeping.” Felice’s voice was muffled.
“Fine. I’ll jimmy the lock by myself. All you have to do is be the lookout.”
No answer. Livvy knocked again. “C’mon. I know you’re not asleep. And if I get caught and go to jail, you’ll be living here alone with those two jerks.”
The door opened. Felice had changed into her pj’s. “Let’s get this over with.”
Livvy stood in front of Garrett’s door and took a deep breath. She tried to insert the miniature screwdriver into the keyhole, but her hands were shaking so badly she dropped the tool. She watched with horror as it slowly rolled under the doorjamb.
“Shit!”
Felice was standing in the open front door, gazing out into the darkness. “Hurry up, okay? The mosquitoes are already swarming me.”
“I’m a little jumpy,” Livvy reported. “Maybe I’ll have a glass of wine to calm my nerves.”
“Just don’t get so calm you fall asleep on the job.”
Livvy opened the fridge and uncorked the sauvignon blanc bottle. There was just over a glass left, a nice friendly pour, so, taking a cue from Garrett, she chugged the rest, then discarded the empty.
She rummaged around in the kitchen’s utensil drawer until she came up with what she hoped would be a substitute for the now-missing screwdriver: the tiny stainless steel pick Felice used to extract meat from blue crab claws.
After the wine her hands seemed steady although her heart was thumping crazily. Following the YouTube tutorial, with her right hand she slowly inserted the pick into the keyhole, and somehowmanaged to depress the tiny button hidden inside the doorknob. She turned the knob with her left hand.
“I’m in!”
Livvy flipped the light switch. Felice stood behind, peering into the room.
“What a pig! How does someone live in a garbage dump like this?” She sniffed and made a gagging sound. “Nasty! Why am I not surprised?”
Livvy stepped inside, avoiding a mound of clothing. The floor was scattered with debris, empty beer bottles, and dirty dishes. The bed was unmade. The closet was empty.
“That’s weird.” Livvy peeked under the bed and opened dresser drawers, most of which were empty. “Felice, I think Garrett’s moved his stuff out of here. I think he’s gone.”
“Good,” Felice said.
Livvy retrieved the screwdriver that had rolled under the door. “Come on. Let’s check KJ’s room while we’re at it.”
Felice groaned but went back to her lookout post without an argument.
Livvy used the pick again, with the same results. The door swung open and she felt for the light switch.
KJ’s room looked as pristine as it had on move-in day. The bed was made with military precision, the floor swept clean. She opened the closet. It was empty, with the exception of a couple of faded polo shirts and a cluster of wire coat hangers.
“It looks like he’s moved out too,” she said. “Wonder what that means?”
Livvy checked the lounge area, then came back to the kitchen to find Felice standing in front of the open refrigerator. “Garrett’s gaming console is gone,” she reported. “He’s definitely moved out. KJ too. I don’t like it. Something’s going on with those two.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait until morning,” Felice said, setting her jug of kombucha on the countertop. “Want some?”
“No thanks,” Livvy said, yawning. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Felice.”
“Drink some kombucha. It calms your nerves,” Felice advised. She’d only poured a few ounces of the home brew before Livvy’s phone rang, startling her so badly she knocked over the plastic jug.
