Like a Sister(79)

I hadn’t made my bed, so it didn’t take long to get back in, ignoring the clothes still piled high on the left side. The melatonin didn’t help, though, even when I doubled the dose. So I got out my laptop.

I started with The Baltimore Sun. Their archives page had gone with form over function, a simple gray-and-blue interface highlighting screenshots of actual newspapers from years past. I started my search too broad—just Mel’s full name. Over two thousand hits. So I narrowed it down. “Mel Pierce Morgan State Graduation 2017.” Much better results, ones they made you pay to see. They wanted $7.95 a month for full access. Luckily, they also offered a free seven-day subscription. I started my free trial and found myself staring at a front-page photo of Mel, wearing a blue suit and orange tie and smiling next to the college’s president. The paper had done an entire two-page graduation spread. Mel was in almost every photo.

I checked the date just to be sure: Saturday. Hours after Desiree’s accident. Then I checked the time Morgan had held their ceremony. The processional had started at 9:30 a.m.—less than an hour after she and I had gotten into our final fight.

I leaned back on my headboard, desperately needing to process it all. He shouldn’t have been there, and I didn’t mean the night before. Mel shouldn’t have been at Morgan that morning—not with his daughter laid up in a hospital. And yet there he was. Business as usual.

It was cold-blooded, but it was also an alibi—one he would need if he’d done the unthinkable. Did he meet up with her after she saw him that night? Take her keys to get her to calm down? Hit Kevin House while she was passed out in the passenger seat? And then abandon her at the scene of the second accident, when the car hit the pole, minutes later? Would he let his own daughter take the blame? And did he do much worse when she finally figured it out?

No.

It felt like too much of a leap.

Even if he was in town, it would’ve just been the impetus for her acting so irrationally. Maybe it made her run off with some random man she’d let drive her car.

I don’t remember finally falling asleep, but when I did, Desiree was there for another round of hide-and-seek. I found her easily, but it didn’t matter. I still couldn’t tag her. We ran in circles. Round and round and round. And just when I was about to catch her, Mel stepped between us.

*



I woke up to my phone buzzing quick jolts like the world’s weakest earthquake. It’d stop, then start again a few minutes later. The only reason I didn’t throw it across the room was because it was already over there, sitting on my dresser. I finally got out of bed just to make it stop.

Erin.

“Morning,” she said when I picked up. At least she didn’t say it was good. “Just wanted to check in. Make sure you slept okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Because we still have to figure out what the hell was going on, especially if you don’t want to talk to Mel…” She trailed off, hoping I’d correct her. Just hearing his name made my wrist itch. When I didn’t say anything, she kept going. “I was thinking you should talk to Naut again. He’d be the one person other than me who she’d talk to about this. He could confirm if Freck saw Mel that night.”

I rubbed my forehead like it would help clear the cobwebs. Erin was right. Desiree had met Naut months after her accident, but I’m sure it came up. “Why don’t you talk to him yourself?” I said.

“He’s not my biggest fan.”

She knew I wasn’t either, but she hadn’t let that stop her from talking to me. “I’ll text him,” I said. “See if I can stop by his apartment.”

“Great. Let me know as soon as you leave.”

With that she hung up. Erin was bossy as hell, but she was also right. And although I still didn’t completely trust her, I appreciated she’d done what she’d said. Stuck around. It was like she still had her evil powers, but now she was using them for good. It made me believe at least a little bit that we both did still have the same goal: to find out what had happened to Desiree.

I texted Naut I was in the neighborhood, though I was still in my apartment. Asked if I could stop by. By the time I got out of the shower, he’d responded he was home.

I got my bike.

*



Getting upstairs to Naut’s apartment wasn’t a problem this time. I didn’t even have to bring up a package. The only thing that greeted me on his floor was music. I followed it like the Pied Piper to his door, then knocked. No one answered, but I doubted he could hear me.

So I sent a text. Here.

The door opened a few seconds later, but it wasn’t Naut. Just a white guy with his same slight build and height. He smiled at me.

“You’re not Naut.” I raised my voice to be heard over the beat.

“You’re not the first person to be disappointed.” We shook. His fingers were as long and delicate as a piano player’s. “I’m Trevor. His assistant. We’re supposed to be getting the playlist together for his gig at the Apollo Friday night, but he’s in the Zone.”

I nodded like I knew what that meant, then followed him inside. “Apollo Theater? Fancy.”

“He curates this monthly late-night producers’ showcase. DJs between acts. It’s like amateur night but with beats. You should stop by. It’s free.”