Like a Sister(57)

Alyssa leans into the camera and stage-whispers, “Y’all. You won’t even believe this shit. So me and Jazz are at Marquee. We leave. ’Cause we both gotta work in the morning. Y’all. Guess. Who. We. See.”

She flips the camera to show us a woman in a black minidress bent over like she might throw up. Another woman stands next to her.

Alyssa speaks again. “Y’all, that is Desiree Pierce. Let me tell you, sis is lit. Jazz has been trying to stop her from puking her guts out for five whole minutes. You know Jazz, always trying to help someone.”

Alyssa pauses as we hear Desiree Pierce start to gag. Jazz Brown pats her back. Desiree throws up as Alyssa continues her play-by-play. “Y’all, she is gonna puke all over her Gianvito Rossis.”

Jazz rushes to grab Desiree’s hair, then yells back. “Alyssa, you gonna film or you gonna help?”

Alyssa opts for both, keeping the camera on as she rushes over. She zooms in on the vomit as Desiree finally straightens up, and Jazz lets go of her hair. Eyes glassy, Desiree wobbles. She notices the camera and attempts a smile. “Hey!”

Alyssa speaks from behind the camera. “You okay, sis?”

“Probably something I ate.”

“Or drank.” But Alyssa says it so low that Desiree doesn’t hear her.

Desiree’s too distracted by an incoming text. Her voice is singsongy as she dances. “Guess who might be getting some. Guess who might be getting some.”

Alyssa quickly turns the camera, gives it a quick bugeye, then turns it back around. “Yeah?” Alyssa says. “What’s his name, sis?”

But Desiree’s not paying attention. She’s looking off somewhere. Her eyes narrow, and she ignores the valet when he drives up in a Mercedes and stops a few feet away. He gets out, tries to hand her the keys.

Alyssa finally speaks again. “Your car’s here.”

Desiree snatches the keys out of the valet’s hand.





Eighteen



I raced to the guest room like Pennywise was giving chase. I did manage to knock. I just didn’t bother to wait for Erin to tell me to come in. “Where’re your car keys?”

I stood at the foot of her bed, typing in a flurry on my phone while the tiny mass under the purple-flowered comforter spoke. “You doing a Starbucks run? I’d kill for a nonfat white mocha, no whip.”

If she hadn’t figured out by now this wasn’t a Starbucks neighborhood, I wasn’t going to break the bad news. “We can get it on the way,” I said. “I’m sure there’s one at a rest stop.”

She sat up. No one should look that good first thing in the morning. “Where are we going?” she said. “Even clubs are closed at this hour.”

“Northgate. There probably won’t be much traffic heading west on the George Washington Bridge, but we should still leave as soon as possible. Waze says it takes only two hours.”

“I have a meeting with a potential partner for the club Freck and I were working on. I’m not going to Pennsylvania,” she said and must’ve seen the true intentions radiating off me like steam. “You’re not either. Calling is bad enough. Going to someone’s house is stalking.”

“I won’t be hiding in the bushes. I spoke to her.”

Erin stared at me for a good minute. “And she invited you to stop by for tea?” She lay back down and pulled the comforter over her head.

“No, for a nonfat white mocha. No whip.” I inhaled. “She hung up. Maybe suggested I stop calling.”

The silence was heavier than she was. I spoke to the lump. “You’ve never done anything that you knew was ridiculous but you just had to do?”

I was two states and two hours away from finally coming face-to-face with Zor-El. The person who’d saved Desiree’s life two years ago and the person who might know who’d taken it last week. I didn’t just want to talk to her. I needed to. Though I knew it wouldn’t bring Desiree back, my life would feel on pause until I knew what had happened. And Karma Dodson was holding the remote.

Erin lowered the covers enough that I could see her face. We locked eyes. “I’ll even drive,” I said.

She looked away. Shook her head.

“You can sleep in the passenger seat,” I said.

Still nothing.

“I’ll have you back for your meeting.”

“You don’t even know what time it is.”

She reached a hand down the side of the bed, pulled that Birkin off the floor, and stuck one manicured hand inside it. She was proof that the old wives’ tale about leaving your purse on the floor was complete BS. “You’ll need to get gas.”

She handed me her key fob.

I quickly washed up, threw on the same clothes I’d worn the day before, and twenty minutes later was on the road. One hundred twenty minutes later I was in Northgate. One hundred twenty-one minutes later I realized my first mistake. Erin’s car. It probably cost more than Northgate’s median property value, even accounting for the immediate deflation when it was driven off the lot. Its sole purpose was to attract attention—one thing I didn’t want. Not at that moment. Not ever.

Northgate looked like the type of place where even the drug dealers were broke. It was all hills and red brick. The houses. The storefronts. Even the converted laundromat on the corner. This little piggy was not happy.