Like a Sister(50)

I’d thought the same thing, but it still annoyed me to hear him say it. It was clear how seriously he was taking my sister’s death. “Why would they lie about that?” I said.

“Because carjacking is a Class C felony with a maximum fifteen-year sentence. We caught them with the key fob so we know they didn’t just break in. These guys are smart.”

A minute ago they were idiots. I didn’t point that out, though. “What if they’re telling the truth?” I said.

“They’re not.”

“But you’ll still look into it,” I said, then took a breath, ready to finally share what I’d found out. That this had something to do with her accident, even if I still wasn’t sure why.

But then he rolled his eyes harder than a pair of dice. “Of course we will.”

Sure. Right after they flew to LA and figured out who shot Biggie.

Zizza kept on. “But we have no reason to believe there was any foul play. If she did meet someone up there, we’ll find them and talk to them about the narcotics we found in her purse. But we don’t believe the carjackers were involved in her death.”

That settled it. If I told him my news, he’d just smile and nod and not do shit about it. Zizza and his brethren didn’t give a crap about any of this. Any of us.

Desiree was a crackhead.

The thieves were liars.

I was just over it.

“Bullshit,” I said.

“Don’t be rude, Lena,” Aunt E said. I’d forgotten she was even in the room. “Act like you’ve got some home training.”

Gram and Aunt E lived by the adage that if you don’t have anything good to say, then don’t say anything at all. Probably why they never brought up my mother. So I took a sip from my bottle of expensive-ass water and wished it was a glass of C?roc. I needed to know who had been up there with Desiree. And there was one way left to find out. Her phone.

“When can we get Desiree’s stuff back?” I glanced at Aunt E. “Please.”

“We’ll need to hold on to all her belongings for the time being since they’re part of an active investigation,” Zizza said. “Might take a while. We’ll keep you updated if we find anything of note.”

Yeah, okay.

My left wrist itched, but for once I ignored it. Because even if I didn’t know why the person had come to the Bronx—to meet her, or to follow her?—I knew I wasn’t wrong about the most important thing. They’d played a role in her death.

I just needed to figure out how to find them.

*



“Who’s the white girl?” Mr. Buck’s voice chopped through my thoughts.

I’d spent the entire ride back fantasizing Black Panther–esque methods of figuring out who had killed Desiree and why. Me breaking into the Omni hotel offices. Hacking their computer. Tapping their phone. I was doing it all. And not even wearing skintight vibranium to do it. In reality, I couldn’t hack or tap or break anything, which didn’t leave me much to hunt them down with. But I did have one lead. Zor-El. If I could find her, she could tell me exactly what she’d told Desiree.

If there was a video, she had it.

“Hope she’s not a new neighbor,” Aunt E said.

I finally glanced up.

We’d left the gate open because our neighbors knew not to park in front of our driveway. Aunt E and her broom would be out the front door before they’d be out of their front seat. This person hadn’t gotten the memo. Yet.

The first thing I saw was a black coupe haphazardly pulled into our drive. I didn’t need to know the make or model to know I couldn’t afford it. The second thing I saw was a familiar set of blond extensions. “She’s a family friend,” I said.

We didn’t have much of a front stoop, just one step leading to about two feet of standing space. Erin lounged on it like it was Malibu. She watched as Mr. Buck stopped at the curb and came around to help us out. By the time he pulled off, Erin was on her stilettoed feet and advancing toward us with her arms spread out. “Are you Aunt E? Can I give you a hug?”

Aunt E said nothing, just gave her the same look she gave Ms. Paterson’s son whenever he walked his pit bull without a leash. I stepped in between them and walked into Erin’s outstretched arms. Better me than Aunt E. For all of us.

“Erin, what a surprise.” I’d wanted to talk to her but not now. Not right after our convo with Zizza. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you wanted to chat, and I’ve always wanted to see this place. Desiree talked about it like it was Disneyland.”

She eyed Aunt E again. I stole a move from Veronika, keeping one arm around her. The better to herd her away from the cranky Black woman trailing behind us. It’d been a rough day. Plus, I could sense my neighbors watching from windows and stoops and front doors. Sometime over the next forty-eight hours Ms. Paterson would “happen” to run into me to find out who that had been. The quicker I got Erin happily on her way back to Chelsea, the less our nosy neighbor would have to share with the rest of the block.

“Now’s not a great time,” I said. “We were about to go inside and eat.”

“Really?” She looked back at Aunt E as I unlocked the door. “Freck…I mean Desiree always said you had the best mac ’n’ cheese she ever tasted. I’m from the South so you know I love some mac ’n’ cheese. Do you use Velveeta?”