“Uh-oh,” Digby said. “You’d prefer that I use ‘girlfriend’? Isn’t that a little . . .”
I was embarrassed that I did prefer it and was mortified that Digby might think I was getting ahead of myself by assuming we were more than we actually were.
But then Digby just said, “. . . basic?”
“Then what would you call me?” I said.
“Is this us trying to have the are-we-official talk?” Digby laughed but he wasn’t mocking me. He was nervous too. “Well. Since we’re talking now . . . are we?”
It was nice to see him off center too, for once. I just smiled.
“You’re messing with me,” he said. But he knew the answer to his own question. We both did.
We kissed and by the time I next opened my eyes, Digby had kicked off his shoes, thrown off his jacket, and had half-unbuttoned his shirt.
“Whoa,” I said. “You got undressed fast—”
We both froze at a huge crashing sound in the kitchen.
When it was quiet for the next few seconds, Digby said, “She’s fine—”
But then his mom yelled, “Phil-ly! Help!” When Digby didn’t immediately answer, she ratcheted up the drama and screamed, “Help! Help! Help!”
“You’d better go help her,” I said. “Before the neighbors call the cops.”
“She suddenly decided she wanted to make her own yogurt but she keeps walking away from the pot and burning the milk.” Digby started buttoning up his shirt and stepped into his shoes. When he saw me put my jacket back on, he said, “No, no, don’t move.”
“I really need to get home,” I said.
“Are you sure?” he said.
“I should go,” I said.
“Damn it,” he said. “So close.”
“Yeah, right.” I laughed. “It wasn’t close.”
“Are you sure you have to go? I mean . . .” He leered at me and did a not very graceful body roll.
To which my only reply was, “Wow.”
He ran his hands over his torso. “There’s all this here,” he said.
“Ha-ha. Surprisingly, I have not changed my mind,” I said. There was another loud crash downstairs. “Better hurry.”
“Hey, Princeton. That Felix thing . . . we’re good?” He stuck out his hand.
“We’re good.” I shook his hand. “But the real question is . . . what about you and Felix? Are you sure you two are good?”
“Well, he accepted my apology but . . . actually, he hasn’t been answering my messages.” Digby laughed and said, “I’m starting to get the feeling he isn’t totally on board.”
“Can you blame him?” I said.
“Nope. Not at all. I wouldn’t be involved if I didn’t need to be.” Digby stared at me for a little while. “In fact, I’m not so sure you should be involved. Maybe you should sit this one out . . .”
“Shut up. Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. But it was the first time I’d ever seen Digby this uncertain.
* * *
• • •
Ever since Saturday morning, I’d been living with a low but steady buzz of some unnamed impending doom. But now that Digby and I had made up, the terrible hum had been dialed down a notch. I got home from Digby’s place determined to get my life back on track. I squashed down my anxiety about having to return to school in the morning, stayed off my phone, ate my dinner, and wound down with a book rather than exhausting myself with overthinking.
I don’t know how long I’d been asleep before I woke up with a sudden stab of understanding. I finally knew what that subsonic hum had been trying to make me remember for the last three days.
“Oh, no,” I said. “No.”
In a cold sweat, I jumped out of bed and thrashed my way through the pile of papers on my desk even though deep down, I knew what I was looking for wasn’t going to be there.
My mind rewound back to the months-old memory of being on the bus, doodling daisies on a piece of paper while I listened to music on the way to work. I remembered being overcome with a momentary insanity that moved my hand to write down the single stupidest thought I have ever had: MRS. ZOE DIGBY. I think I might even have written it down twice.
Just remembering the way the words looked on the page shorted out my mind. It felt like millions of my brain cells suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. Except there was actual screaming. I screamed so loud that I woke up my mom and then I had to fake a foot cramp to get rid of her.
EIGHT
I spent half the next morning hoping that by some dare-to-dream stroke of luck, I’d look in my book bag and find my stupid page of doodles wadded up at the bottom. The other half, I spent messaging Digby to meet me. No reply.
By the end of school, I couldn’t take it anymore. I took three buses to get to the police station. Even though I hadn’t heard back from Digby, I waited out front for a few minutes, hoping he would turn up. After a while, I went inside and approached the desk sergeant.
“Oh hi, Zoe, what’s up?” the desk sergeant said. “You know Mike doesn’t come on until tonight, right?”
“No, actually, I’m here to see Officer McPheeter,” I said.
Young and handsome gym enthusiast Officer Abe McPheeter had introduced himself to me at the department’s Christmas party and I would’ve been more receptive to his flirting if I hadn’t just started dating Austin. Cooper hadn’t been happy when he spotted us talking in the corner and he’d made sure everyone at the party had heard him yell at Abe to “back off them high school girls.” Which of course meant that I was busy for the rest of the night because Cooper’s warning had made him even more determined to get me to agree to go out with him.
“Abe McPheeter?” he said. “What for?”
“Um . . .” I swallowed down my embarrassment and said, “It’s personal.”
“Personal, huh? With McPheeter?” The desk sergeant looked worried and said, “Mike is not going to like that.” But he pointed the way to the uniformed officers’ bullpen anyway.
“Excuse me,” I said. A few of the cops looked up from their desks. “Is Officer McPheeter around?”
Amid the laughter that my question got, one uniformed officer said, “He’s on his break. Or as you might call it . . . recess.”
“Hey, Aaaaabe . . .” another uniformed officer said. “Another one of your little groupies has come a-calling.”
Abe peeked out of the break room, smiled, and waved for me to come over. I crossed the bullpen and joined him in the otherwise empty room.
“Hi, Abe.” I tried to evoke jailbait vibes and said, “Do you remember me?”
Abe said, “Of course. Chloe.”
“Close,” I said. “Zoe.”
To compensate, he turned up his smile another notch. “Of course.”
I said, “I was just wondering. Remember at the party when you noticed my hands . . .” And then I noticed that his hands were covered in dye. “Why are you purple? Oh. And it’s all over your shirt too.”
“It is? Oh, man.” Abe looked down and groaned. “Idiot intern accidentally deployed an entire stack of dye packs on me.”
I’d just said “Idiot intern?” when from the corner of my eye, I saw the jerky shuffle of a very familiar pair of long legs enter the room and walk to a spot directly behind Abe. I didn’t need to peer around Abe to be sure that Digby had walked into the room but I did anyway. I momentarily dropped the smile I’d put on for Abe and gave Digby my best nasty look. That’s when I noticed the yellow lanyard around his neck was holding an intern badge. Digby raised his coffee cup and toasted me.
“You were asking me about something I said at the Christmas party . . .” Abe said.
But I’d been totally derailed by Digby’s unexpected appearance. “Uhhhh . . .”
“Something about your hands?” Abe said.
I watched Di
gby take a banana from the fruit basket, lean against the counter, and start peeling it in the most annoyingly pointed way. Go on, Digby gestured.
“Um . . .” I fought to get my face to relax back into an inviting expression. “You said I could test out the new biometric equipment with the mobile fingerprint scanner?”
“I did?” Abe said. “Wow. I must’ve been drinking on an empty stomach, because that is majorly inappropes.”
“I could ask Mike, I guess.” I hated having to give this performance of fake petulance in front of Digby, who, by the way, was now nodding and giving me a thumbs-up.
“No, no, it’s okay. I can do it,” Abe said. “I mean, this is for school or something, right?”
“Um . . . yeah,” I said. “For a paper.”
Digby suddenly spoke up, saying, “What class is that for?”
Abe jumped and grabbed his chest. “Geez. I didn’t even see you come in here. Like, at all.” Which tells you a lot about the quality of policing River Heights was getting.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“What class?” Digby said. “What’s the paper about? It sounds like a cool class.”
“Um, we’re having a private conversation here,” I said. “Abe, can we . . . ?” I gestured out the door.
“Sure. But I should go wash this off first.” Abe leaned in, rubbed my arm, whispered, “That’s the idiot intern,” pointed at the mess on his hands and shirt, and then left the room.
When we were alone in the break room, Digby whispered, “Really? This is where we’re at?”
“Shut up . . . he’s right there.” I pointed out the door.
“Oh, sorry. Wouldn’t want to ruin your date,” Digby said.
“Shhh,” I said. “Anyway, now that you’re here, do you maybe want to help me?”
“What for? You have it under control,” he said. “Give him some accidental contact in the bathing suit area and he’ll probably just go fetch it for you.”
“Are you jealous? Is this you being jealous?” I said. “Seriously?”
He pointed at my mouth and said, “And is that lipstick? You never wear lipstick for our dates.”
“When have you ever taken me on a date?” I said.
“What about that time in Olympio’s?” he said.
“I paid,” I said.
“No. The other time,” he said.
“I pay every time,” I said.
“And how un-feminist is it to get hung up on who paid?” Digby said.
“This is not the time for that discussion,” I said. “Are you going to help me or not?”
Digby took a bite of banana and smiled. “You don’t need me. He will be very, very easy to steal from . . .”
“Unbelievable.” I turned to leave the room.
I was so annoyed, I almost missed Digby’s saying, “I mean, I’ve already stolen from him once today.”
When I finally absorbed that and turned around, Digby was reading from an open notebook I realized was my diary.
“You have it? You had it the whole time?” I tried to take it from Digby but he held it high above his head and out of my reach. “Give it to me,” I said. “That’s private, you sociopath.” I finally just hit him in the gut and caught my notebook when he dropped it. I flicked through the pages, hoping hoping hoping I’d find the sheet of incriminating doodles.
“All December long . . . will they? Won’t they?” Digby said.
“I hate that you read my diary,” I said. But I couldn’t find that damned piece of paper.
“Looking for something?” Digby said.
“No, uh . . . I guess I didn’t . . .” I smiled at Digby. “Nothing.”
Abe poked his head back into the room and said, “Is everything okay?”
I was about to answer when Digby said, “It’s okay, man. She says she’d rather go on the intern tour.” And then Digby grabbed my hand, spun me, dipped me, and then kissed me.
I heard Abe say, “Oh . . . I guess I’ll see you later, Chloe?”
Abe was gone by the time I opened my eyes again.
“You’re such a jerk,” I said. “He’s nice and he didn’t deserve that.”
“Oh, yeah? I saw him wait until you had your back turned to him and then pop some Tic Tacs,” Digby said. “He’s not nice.”
Gross. “Okay, fine.” I tucked the notebook into my purse. “Let’s go.”
“What? I can’t.” He pointed at his intern badge. “I’m working.”
“Are you kidding?” I said.
“Until six thirty,” he said.
“Are you coming over for dinner after?”
“Will you wear lipstick again?” he said.
I rolled my eyes and said, “Walk me out so I don’t have to walk past Abe alone.”
* * *
• • •
I went home and called out from the front door, “Mom, Digby is coming to dinner.” But then I entered the kitchen and realized right away that I’d made a horrible mistake. From the width of the smile Mom gave me, it was obvious she’d made dinner with a goal. It was the exact wrong time to be bringing home a complication like Digby.
Mom smiled and sang, “Family dinner.” She turned her horrifyingly sunny expression on Cooper and stared until he forced a similar grimace onto his face.
“You know . . . studies say the benefits of family dinners include higher self-esteem and better academic performance.” Cooper looked like he was in physical pain as he tried to remember the exact phrasing my mother had clearly fed him.
“Whoa,” I said. “Are you okay, man?”
Cooper said, “And speaking of better academic performance—”
“Oh, God, Cooper. I can see why they never let you go undercover,” I said. “I have not made a decision about Prentiss, Mom.”
“The deposit is due soon, Zoe,” Mom said.
“I’m aware, Mother,” I said.
“That was a little tone-y.” Mom looked at Cooper and said, “Did you hear a tone, Mike?”
“Yes, I’m sure he did. Because I put a tone in there,” I said. “Mom. I need to figure it out for myself.”
“And Digby? I’m sure he’s had a lot to say about it,” Mom said.
It was none of her business and I was still struggling to find a way to tell her so with a level of outrage that stayed on the right side of dignified when the doorbell rang. “That’s Digby,” I said. “Can we argue about this later? In fact, can we just not talk about it in front of . . .” I pointed toward the front door.
“What? Why not?” Mom said. “He doesn’t know?” When I didn’t answer, she gasped. “He doesn’t? Why haven’t you told him?”
“Just.” I didn’t have the words, so I put my hands together and made a pleading gesture. “He doesn’t know. Yet. I will tell him soon. For now, could you please . . . ?”
“Certainly. I will withhold that information,” Mom said. “Oh, wait. Now I’m confused. Should I be withholding? Or will that cause him to check out?”
I ignored her, opened the front door, pushed Digby back out onto the porch, and closed the door behind us. “Hey, I need you to promise me you won’t say anything.”
“Anything about what?” Digby said.
“It’s just, like, a blanket request. Don’t talk about anything real,” I said. “Keep it casual.”
Digby laughed. “This is going to be a fun dinner, I can tell,” he said.
I was already turning the doorknob to go back in the house when I remembered to say, “And I should just apologize right now. My mother is—”
“‘In need of chill’? ‘All about herself’? ‘So drama’?” Digby said.
“You have to stop quoting my diary back to me, okay?” I said. “It’s deeply creepy.”
“Relax. It’s just dinner.” Digby kissed me on the cheek, han
ded me the bottle of sparkling water he’d brought as his hostess gift, and pushed open the front door.
We walked back into the house but before we could turn the corner and enter the kitchen, Cooper peeked out of the living room and gestured for us to come over to him. He was on the phone, though, so he held up his finger to signal us to wait quietly for him to finish his conversation.
“No, Phipps, I don’t want to hear the expired Chinese food story again,” Cooper said. “Just text me the picture you did get of the guy.” Cooper hung up the phone and said to Digby, “Did you hire someone to look at your sister’s case files?”
“Why?” Digby said.
“Remember my old partner, Stella? Well, she put an alert on your sister’s files. Anytime a FOIA request gets processed, we get a message. Well, someone requested the file and left word to have the material up at the front desk for pickup today,” Cooper said. “Now, I told the desk sergeant to take a photo when they came in but unfortunately, Sergeant Phipps was indisposed when the pickup happened. All he got was a cell phone picture of the guy leaving.”
“Can’t you just look at the CCTV?” I said.
“Broken,” Cooper said.
And then Cooper and Digby both said, “Budget cuts.”
Cooper’s phone beeped. He showed us the photo he’d just been texted. “Recognize this guy?”
Digby shook his head and said, “No . . .”
But Digby and I both knew we were looking at the back of Shorter Guy’s head. De Groot was definitely up to something.
Cooper zoomed in on the picture and tilted his head. “Does that maybe look like the little guy I thought was watching the house the other day?”
I could tell Digby was as surprised as I was that Cooper might not be completely oblivious after all. “Uh . . . I don’t know. I don’t think so. Zoe? What do you think?” Digby said.
“Um. I guess that’s the back of some short white dude’s head, so . . . maybe?” I said.
Mom called out to us from the kitchen. “Hey, are you guys coming to dinner? Or am I eating alone?”
When we all walked in, Mom said, “Hello, Digby. Welcome to dinner. I made your favorite.” She waved at the dining table. “Food.”
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