“Hell yeah, darlin', I’ll be great.”
“See you tomorrow? Condition has a gig Saturday and practice tomorrow night. Is that okay?”
I sigh and lean on him. “Yes.”
He leans down and kisses me again. How very nice. When we part, he turns to Schuyler. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, Qasim.”
My tall dark, friend slides past the throng of smokers. I watch him trot down the steps and walk into the alley. When he disappears from view I sigh wistfully and turn to Schuyler. “I’ve gotta slow down.”
“What are you drinking anyway?”
“Mint tea.”
“Can I try?”
“Sure, Hon.” I hand him the cup.
He takes a swallow and comes up coughing. “Christ, what the hell was that?”
I shrug. “Jim Beam, Sprite and peppermint liquor.” He’s gagging. I laugh.
“No wonder you’re tipsy already. You need some water.”
“Water is an excellent idea. Let’s go get some!” I say with gusto.
He smiles. “You stay here and smoke. I’ll come back with water.”
“Okay.” I watch Schuyler go back into the house. He has such a nice back. Brown looks great on him. I’m just replaying his walk in my head, when I feel a cold snap against my jeans. I look down. The shade is undulating against me. “What?” I whisper. Then, even over the noise of the party, I hear a door slam shut. I snap my head towards the noise. It sounded like my back door. I can’t see it around the bend in the building. I stare in that direction, straining my ears. I believe I hear footsteps on the stairs, but I could be making that up. I’m angry now. Who’s at my apartment? I turn to go in, and I see Ralph. He’s staring at me with a wary look on his face. Quite abruptly I’m irritated by that too. I don’t have time for his paranoia. I stalk inside and almost smack straight into Schuyler.
“Whoa.” He laughs.
“We have to go to my apartment now!”
“Okay.” He sounds bewildered, but he follows me as I do my linebacker thing and push past the other guests. A few people give us dirty looks but the anger on my face forestalls any comments. We get out the front door and I turn, digging for my keys. “What is it?” Schuyler asks.
“Someone was just in there.” I reply.
“How do you know?”
“Fuck, I don’t know, but they were.” I key open the door and flip the switch. It makes a bzzt sound and goes out. “Fucking wiring.”
Schuyler opens his phone to light our way. “Where’s a lamp?” He hisses.
“Through the bedroom by the next door. “ He grumbles something but I don’t catch it. We walk slowly through the tiny vestibule and into my bedroom. Some layout huh? Schuyler’s leading the way and he trips over something on the floor. What’s on the floor? I scuff my feet, moving objects along as I go until I reach the lamp. My, this is familiar. I twist it on. “What the fuck?!” I shout. The place is trashed. My mattress it overturned. My drawers have been tipped open, picture frames broken, glass scattered on the floor.
“You weren’t kidding about the mess.” Schuyler says.
“Bullshit. I didn’t do this.”
He holds up his hands. “Sorry. I was joking.”
I look around. What did they steal? I stomp into the next room and turn on the lamps. It’s just as bad in here. “Fuck.”
“Wow.”
“Christ. I didn’t know I even had this much stuff.” I’m turning in a circle trying to take inventory.
“How did you know someone was here?” Schuyler asks.
I shrug. “I heard my back door slam.”
His left eyebrow arches. I love that. “Really, over the noise of the party?” I nod. “Some hearing.”
“A shade might’ve helped. This one’s been clinging to me all night, well, since the subway.” I gesture at my leg. Schuyler looks but doesn’t seem to notice anything.
“What’s that?” He points.
I hadn’t noticed it. What with the cupboards being opened and emptied, and the fridge open, and my books thrown everywhere, I’d missed it. In the center of the floor is a clear spot about three feet in diameter. Sitting very neatly in the middle of the circle, is a gardening spade with a piece of paper taped to it.
“Huh. I don’t own a spade.” I cross to it and pick it up. The note is written in block letters. It says:
YOUR COUSIN WAS A WHORE. KEEP DIGGING AND YOU’LL DIG YOUR OWN GRAVE.
I laugh, loud and long. “This is hilarious!” I toss the spade to Schuyler. “World’s cheesiest death threat.” I laugh some more. “Douche bag.”
Schuyler reads the note and a little smile hits the corners of his mouth. “Who’d you tell that cousin story to? This is serious though,” He says. “We should call the police.”
I wave my hand at him. “Nah. What’re we gonna tell them? Somebody gave me a shovel.” I say in my spooky voice.
Schuyler laughs but he’s trying not to. “It’s a spade.”
“Ha! Take a long ass time to dig my own grave with an itty bitty spade.”
“Sheesh, Meegan.” He says. “It’s corny but it is a death threat.”
“Whatever. The Home Depot killer can blow me.” I sigh. “Let’s clean up this mess... Not that you have to help. You can just watch me work if you want to.”
Schuyler shakes his head. “Really, we should call...”
I interrupt him. “Than I’d have to confess everything, and what am I going to say? I followed some twitching shadows and orbs of light 'til I found a murder victim. That’s not gonna fly. They’ll lock me up.”
He stares at me. “There are worse places you know. At least you’d be safe.”
“I’m safe right now.” The shade makes a little whispering sound, and skitters up to my waist. Without another word I cross into the bedroom, stand on my box spring and try to maneuver the mattress back into place. “Schuyler!” I shout.
“I’m right here.”
“Sorry, Schuyler.” I say in a reasonable tone. “Would you check my bag please and see if my net book’s still there? It’s in the foyer.”
“Sure.” He picks his way over the mess and back towards the front door. “Still here. I don’t think spade man made it to the foyer.”
I nod, grunting as I wrestle with the mattress. “Thanks.”
“Here, let me help.”
“Thank you.” Together we set the bed to rights. “He stripped the sheets. What’s that about?” I comment angrily as I shake them out.
“I hate to be obvious, but he was looking for something.”
I groan. “That was too obvious. Here, will you help me put this on?” I hand him one side of the fitted sheet. We make the bed and I start picking my clothes up off the floor while Schuyler gets my dresser back together. I set the clothes in a pile on the bed and begin picking up all the other flotsam and jetsam, putting what I can away, and gathering the rest into a trash pile. “At least its a little apartment.”
“Where do you keep trash bags?”
“Under the sink, but I guess now they could be anywhere.”
“Broom and dustpan?”
I gesture with my head. “Next to the back door.” For the next hour or so, Schuyler and I move systematically through my place putting things up, bagging trash, sweeping and even mopping because spade man spilled my trash and there were coffee grounds in it. “I should get a really big dog.” I say.
Schuyler laughs. “In this shoebox of an apartment, a big dog would go crazy, chew you’re couch to shreds.”
I nod. “A vicious cat?”
He smiles. “We can hit the SPCA tomorrow if you want.”
I smile back. “Maybe next week or something. Where would I keep a litter box?”
“In the foyer.”
“It would smell like cat shit in here.”
Schuyler ties off our third trash bag. “That’s true, but what a small price to pay for peace of mind.” I giggle. “Will you let me call the cops?”
He puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.”
“Whatever, Dad.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t dismiss me like that. I’m not being unreasonable.”
I cross the room and wrap my arms around him. “Sorry... Will you spend the night? You can have the bed.”
Schuyler runs his hand over my head. It’s a long minute before he answers. “If you’ll clean the tub.”
I laugh. “Sure thing. I’ll do it right now. Will you take the trash down? Dumpster’s right beyond the steps.”
He grins. “Fine.” I release him and he opens the door. Cleaning the tub only takes about five minutes. I don’t know why I’ve been putting it off so long. I use lots of bleach. It smells clean enough to make my eyes water. When I’m done, I lean back on my heals and turn my head. Schuyler’s standing in the bathroom door watching me. “You should stay at my place.”
I press my lips together. I can hear the party pretty loud right now. Staying with Schuyler doesn’t seem like a bad idea... except that I’m taking this home invasion thing as a challenge. It would be quitting to leave now. “I just cleaned the tub man. I’m staying here tonight.”
Schuyler smiles. He doesn’t look surprised. “You take the bed then.”
I shake my head. “You’re too tall for my little couch. You’ll never get comfortable.”
He shrugs. “We’ll work it out later. Movie?”
I grin. “Sure. What do you want to see?”
“I noticed Zombieland out there. I’ve only seen it once.”
“Yeah I could watch that again.”
“You hungry?”
I stop and consider. “I think so.”
“I’ll order Chinese, unless there’s something else you want.”
“No man, Chinese sounds great. I want egg rolls and beef n’ broccoli.”
“I saw menus on your desk. I’m assuming they deliver here.”
“Far as I know.”
As he’s crossing back to the bedroom where my desk is, he stops to pick the spade up off of the couch. “What do you want to do with this?”
I smile. “Bronze it.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “I think I’ll take it home.”
I’m suspicious. “Why?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not calling the cops.”
“Damn straight, you’re not.” Schuyler orders food and I put the movie in the DVD player. This may sound strange but Zombieland is how I learned about Bill Murray. Yeah, think on that. When my very best, blondish, man friend has finished on the phone, we settle into the couch and press play. Schuyler puts his arm over my shoulders and I curl up against him. The gray shade eases off of me and dissolves into the air in front of the TV. I sigh, this is the life.
Chapter Fourteen
A siren blasts from my pocket, and Schuyler jumps about three feet. "What the fuck was that?" His eyes are bugged out and confused. It's cute.
I scramble to shut off my alarm. "Ow." My neck hurts. Well, I guess neither of us took the bed. We're arranged oddly on my couch. Zombieland's menu is repeating itself on mute. I reach across Schuyler to grab the remote and turn it off. "Meds."
"Huh?"
"We set my alarm, so you'd get up to take your meds."
Schuyler sucks in a deep breath. "What time is it?"
"8 AM." I sigh.
"Brush your teeth." He groans.
Bitch. I roll my eyes and lay down away from him on the couch. Schuyler grumbles something and gets up to get his jacket. I'm guessing his meds are in there. I fall back asleep and some indeterminate time later he's shaking my shoulder.
"Meegan... Meegan."
I groan "What?"
"You need to get up and lock me out."
My eyes pop open. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah. I've gotta go home."
"Okay." I exhale and hoist myself up. Damn. Why am I so tired? I follow Schuyler to the door. "Bye." I mumble.
"Bye." He says. "I'll call you Sunday."
I smile. "Cool." He leaves and I lock the door behind him. I'm stumbling into my bedroom when my phone vibrates. I let out a wordless protest. Who would call me at this time of day? Typically I'd let it go to voice mail but I'm irritated so I answer, fully intending to give some telemarketer a piece of my mind. "Hi."
"Meegan Jones." It's a male voice.
"Who is this?" I'm cranking up the pissy.
"Craig Chambers, with the Tribune." He answers brightly.
Oh, I guess I'd better be polite. Good thing I answered. "Good morning, Mr. Chambers."
"Did I wake you?"
"It's fine."
"I'd like to get together and talk with you." My how cordial he's sounding. Where's the pointy faced man from last night?
"I thought you might." I say. "When's a good time?"
"Whatever works for you, Miss Jones."
I take a deep breath. "Sunday."
There's a pause. "I was hoping to talk to you sooner than Sunday." An edge is creeping into his voice.
"I thought that too." I say. "I'm busy tonight and tomorrow."
"How about today?"
"Listen, you've got me up now, so why don't we just talk on the phone?"
"I'd rather not."
I sigh. "What happened with the dark room? You call the cops?"
"A neighbor did."
I nod. "You get to see anything before they got there?"
"Some."
"Did you check the drying book?"
"What's that?"
"Black book on a table by itself. There were three pictures in there."
"No. I saw all the shots on the center table and the ones of you."
"Yeah, who's the blond guy with Mads in that one stack?"
"His name is Evan Sturgis. You know him?" Craig counters.
Evan, okay, that's not ringing any bells. "Maybe we should talk in person."
"Exactly." Craig returns. "How's 9 AM?"
"Too soon. I'm a night shifter. I'm not even supposed to be up before 6 or 7. Do you know a guy named Harley?"
Silence. "Where are you, Miss Jones?"
"How do I even know you're Craig?" I ask a little too late. "You could be the killer pretending to be Craig."
"Who's killer? And we'll meet someplace public."
"Madeline Cross's killer, Luis Finch's killer, Maybe Kelly too, who knows? Barnes and Noble on Diversy off of Clark, sometime after 5 on Sunday."
"You won't come sooner?" He sounds irritated.
"No, I won't come sooner. I need to sleep and I have plans tonight."
"I was hoping to run this in tomorrow's paper."
I shrug. "So? You have enough to print."
"But you have more."
"I don't know about that. I'll tell you what I know, that is if you are Craig Chambers, in exchange you can fill in a couple of blanks for me but really, I need a couple of days off from this mess."
"Miss Jones, I think you might be in danger."
"Why?"
"Not over the phone."
I sigh and roll my eyes. "What? You think it's tapped? That's a little paranoid Mr. Chambers."
Craig's voice goes up an octave. "It doesn't sound to me like you're taking this very seriously. I mean it. You could get hurt."
Oh man, I've heard that recently. "Dude. Anyone can get hurt at any time. Don't get your panties in a wad over it. Unless there's something you want to tell me right now that will help me out, then I'll see you Sunday." I can still hear him talking as I'm hanging up. I hate when people are needy. I set the phone on the night stand, flip the covers back and crawl into bed. It is sooo pleasant. I'm just getting snuggled down when the phone vibrates again. Fuck. I check the number. Oh. "Hi."
"Hi." Qasim sounds surprised. "You're up."
I laugh. "Yeah some other call just woke me."
"Who was it?"
"Reporter."
> There's a pause. "Well, that's not what I was expecting."
"Ha. So what's up?"
"Oh, uh, I was just going to tell you that Condition moved up our practice, so that I could have time to hang with you. You can still come to practice if you want. We're having it at 7 but we'll be done by 10. That's not too late right?"
"Hmm." I say happily. "Sounds good. I can do it. Where should I meet you?"
"Uh... Anywhere you want. Do you remember how to get to Sergio's?"
"I've been to Sergio's?"
"The loft where we practice."
"Oh yeah. I know where that is."
"So, around ten then, unless you're early, which would be fine. I just wasn't sure you'd want to sit through the whole practice."
"Sounds good. I might be a little early to hear you sing. I might not."
He laughs nervously. "That's cool. You'll come to our gig Saturday?"
"Of course. I mean, unless we break up before then. We are kind of on the fast track."
"Uh, that's..."
I yawn. "Forget I said that. I'm sleepy. I wish you were here."
"Really?" he squeaks.
I smile. "Yeah really." I roll over. My eyes are feeling heavy. Geeze this bed is nice compared to the couch.
"What are you doing?" Qasim asks.
"I'm falling back asleep. What're you doing?"
He sighs. "I have to work."
"You work hard." I say dreamily.
He laughs. "How would you know?"
"Whatever. I'm sleepy. Goodnight."
"See you later."
"Yeah." I hang up and return to my happy coma.
***
I haven't slept that well. Chambers keeps calling. He's leaving voice mails that I'm not checking. I'm sorry I gave him my number... If it is him. I sigh, I'm being paranoid. It's still light out, but I need to get up and do something so here I am standing, dressed and all ready to go for my date. Its 5 PM. Only five hours to get there! Shit. I guess I'll go for a walk. I exit by my back door and lock it up. Not that my locks actually keep people out. I growl at the door, stupid ineffective barrier. Then I turn, light up a Camel and trot down my steps. When I hit the pavement I hear,
"Hey there neighbor!"
I blink, surprised, and look around.
"Up here!" It's a shout.
I crane my neck. "Oh, John. Hi. How's it going?" I project my voice.
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