“I didn’t do it,” she repeated.
Castillo sighed. “I know.” He squeezed her knee. Then he let go so he could reach up and adjust the rearview mirror so he was looking at me. “Your fingerprints were on the trophy, too, Odessa.”
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Well, yeah. It was our trophy.”
“Every bit of evidence that points to Izzy could apply to you, too, except for one thing. You didn’t know the vic, so you’ve got exactly zero motive.”
“And what’s my motive?” Izzy asked. “I got into a couple of hair-pulling matches with her in high school? I haven’t even seen her in five years. I was as surprised as anyone to bump into her.”
“Except that’s not exactly true.” Castillo turned his attention back to her. “You were on the Facebook invite.”
“I was?”
“You hadn’t replied one way or the other, but you were on the invite, according to the screenshots that Ms. Buckley provided,” he said. “Something I wouldn’t have even known existed if you hadn’t brought it up.”
“I haven’t checked Facebook since, I don’t know, since forever. I don’t even remember my password anymore.”
“And that is easy enough to check, if you grant me access to your phone and laptop. Or do I need a warrant?” He held out his hand. “Your phone. Please.”
To her credit, Izzy handed it over without argument. With any other person, police or otherwise, she would have been better off holding on to it but if she truly had nothing to hide, this might be exactly what she needed to dig herself out of this hole.
“And your laptop?”
“It’s at the bookstore,” she said.
“Good.” Castillo expertly navigated the streets of Williamsburg. Instead of circling the block to look for a parking space, he pulled up in front and double-parked, blocking in another car and taking up a whole lane of traffic. He put his flashers on, waited for a break, and got out of the car. He walked around and opened both of our doors at the same time. “Ladies.”
“I’d rather wait here if you don’t mind,” I said. “You see, I called in sick earlier and . . .”
“The problem is, I can’t trust you right now, Odessa. You lied to me. You pinkie swore you didn’t know where Izzy was, when she was five feet away from you. Izzy’s a bad influence. Which puts me in an awkward position and makes me less sympathetic.”
Well, since he put it that way, I guess he did have a point. I got out of the car and looked up at Untapped Books & Café, at the familiar display in the window that was long overdue for a rotation and the faded awning that sagged a little in the middle. A few people browsed the shelves inside. A man walking by on the sidewalk paused to check out a poster advertising a local band, which someone had taped to the glass.
A wave of emotion hit me and I realized that sometime in the past two months, this unassuming bookstore-slash-café had become more than a job. It was my home away from home. My safe haven.
“You coming?”
I realized that Castillo was holding the door open for me, and I hurried up the steps.
Todd wasn’t behind the front desk—thank goodness. In his place was Nan, again. “Thought you called out sick,” she said, seeing me.
“I’m feeling better,” I told her.
“Beer delivery didn’t show up,” she said. “Todd had to rent a van and drive to Queens to pick it up. Won’t be back for”—she checked her watch—“another fifteen minutes or so. He’s already in a mood. If I were you, I wouldn’t be here when he gets back.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Where’s your laptop?” Castillo asked Izzy.
“In the back,” she replied, and led the way to the narrow hallway that separated the public spaces from the employees-only area. I assumed she was going to Todd’s office. We had a cabinet in the kitchen where we stored our purses and bags when we’re on shift, but when it got crowded, sometimes Todd would let us lock valuables in his bottom desk drawer. A laptop would be safer there than in the kitchen, where despite my coworkers’ best intentions, it might grow legs and hop off.
But Izzy didn’t stop at Todd’s office. Instead, she continued to the stockroom.
Like the rest of Untapped, the stockroom was crammed to the brim with merchandise waiting to be sold. Only today, it felt even more cramped than normal. The boxes that held excess inventory were piled to the ceiling, and the extra uniform shirts and other supplies were pushed off to one side. “Whoever did inventory last did a lousy job of putting everything back where it belongs,” I mused aloud.
Izzy wove her way through the boxes and disappeared behind a stack. I followed her and Castillo, and noticed that the storeroom felt more claustrophobic because the boxes had been pushed forward away from the wall to create a narrow walkway. Only it wasn’t a walkway. An unrolled sleeping bag was spread out in the narrow space, alongside an assorted collection of garbage bags and thirdhand luggage I recognized as Izzy’s.
“Oh my actual goodness, you’ve been staying here?” I asked incredulously.
“NBD. It’s just temporary, until I find something for us,” she said, waving a hand at me.
But I knew it was a big deal. “Todd would lose his entire mind if he found out. You’d be out of a job on top of being homeless.”
Izzy shrugged. “Nah. I fixed the air conditioner, scrubbed the walk-in, and kept Huckleberry company. If anything, he ought to be paying me overtime.”
No wonder Huckleberry had been content to sleep in the shop instead of following random employees and customers home lately. I should have guessed that something was up. Izzy had been staying here under everyone’s noses and no one had noticed, not even me.
Castillo pursed his lips. He grabbed the nearest bulging garbage sack and shoved it at me. Then he knelt and rolled up the sleeping bag. Once he looped the elastic around the bundle, he handed that to me as well.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Izzy asked, positioning herself between him and the rest of her belongings.
“You’re staying with me tonight,” he said, brushing past her to pick up a battered suitcase that had seen better decades. “Bring the laptop.”
“Won’t you get in trouble if your captain finds out that Suspect Numero Uno is sleeping at your place?” she asked.
“Not nearly as much as if you get arrested for trespassing here after hours and I knew about it.” He grabbed another bag. “Let’s go.”
I had no choice other than to retreat, as there was nowhere else to go. I lugged the heavy bag through the storeroom and into the hall. “It was just for a few nights,” Izzy protested, bringing up the rear. “It’s not like I was hurting anyone.”
I bit my lip to keep from saying anything. This was my fault. She’d given up her previous living arrangement—as odd as it had been, staying in an abandoned schoolhouse with other squatters—because I’d convinced my aunt to let her stay with me. Then when my aunt showed up a month and a half early, Izzy hadn’t had a backup plan.
The worst part was I should have figured it out sooner. Izzy showing up at the bookstore first thing in the morning and right before closing, even when she wasn’t scheduled to work. The AC miraculously starting to work. Izzy popping up in the store when I never saw her come or go.
It was all totes obvious, in hindsight. And to be completely honest, it wasn’t even the worst idea. There was a working bathroom—sans shower—and a fully functioning, well-stocked kitchen. She knew everyone’s schedule, and like most of the employees, knew the alarm code if she accidentally set it off. The only thing she didn’t have was a key to the door, and that wouldn’t be a problem as long as she slipped in and out during operating hours.
To be completely honest, it was brilliant.
And sad.
“I’m sorry,” I said as she drew even with me.
“For wha
t?” she asked brightly. All traces of the embarrassment and annoyance she had shown in the stockroom were gone, replaced by her usual cheeriness.
“I’ve been a bad bestie,” I admitted.
“Odessa, you’ve been a better friend to me the last coupla weeks than people I’ve known for years. You let me stay in that big, bougie apartment with a washer and dryer and a big kitchen and that gorgeous pool on the roof. You taught me how to use a sewing machine and split the grocery bills without complaint.”
“You were the best roomie I’ve ever had,” I told her, propping the front door open with my foot so she could follow me outside.
“I’m the only roomie you’ve ever had,” she pointed out.
“True, but you made me coffee in the morning, then made dinner and did the dishes. You even cleaned the cat’s litter box and somehow got the old grump at the concierge’s desk to like you.”
“I’ve got a way with folks,” she said.
“You do,” I agreed.
Castillo unlocked the trunk of the sedan. Then he yanked at it. Nothing happened. He smacked it a few times, and the creaky trunk finally relented. He pushed the trunk open and stared inside it in dismay. It was filled to the brim with crumpled fast-food bags and what smelled like sweaty gym clothes. “Back seat it is,” he said, slamming the trunk and walking around to open the passenger door.
As we filled the back seat, I asked, “Where am I supposed to sit?”
Castillo gave me a sideways glance. “Izzy will call you later.”
I looked at her, not wanting to ask aloud if she was all right. She nodded and gave me a hug. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Text me later.” She got in the front seat and buckled her seat belt before Castillo pulled away from the curb.
I had the rest of the afternoon to kill, so I started down the sidewalk toward my aunt’s apartment. A windowless white panel van pulled up next to me, then jerked over at such a sharp angle that the front-right tire jumped the curb. The van screeched to a stop and the driver’s side door popped open.
20
Untapped Books & Café @untappedwilliamsburg ∙ July 15
We might not sell coffee-scented beard oil, but a case of It’s Nine A.M. Somewhere coffee-flavored stout just arrived if you’re thirsty! And come on, who isn’t? #coffee #craftbeer #youknowyouwannatryit
I jumped back and peered around the windshield to see an annoyed Todd Morris glaring back at me. Todd hollered at me from the front seat of the delivery van, “Looks like someone’s feeling better.”
“Um, yeah, I guess,” I said, my heart still racing. I wasn’t sure what was worse, thinking that I was about to be run over, or bumping into my boss after lying and telling him I was too sick to work.
“Good. You can help me unload these.”
“Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, go around back?” Most of the deliveries came up the alley, where they were not blocking traffic and could unload directly into the kitchen instead of having to lug their wares all the way through the bookstore, navigating several steps inside and outside.
“Some son of a gun’s been futzing with the dumpsters again, and there’s no way I’m squeezing this beast back there. Go ahead, there’s a trolley in the back.”
It served me right for showing up to work after calling out sick, but I knew if I wasn’t careful, Todd would make sure I didn’t get paid a dime for helping him. “Sure thing, let me go clock in first.”
“You’re not in uniform,” he pointed out. “Which means you’re not on the clock.”
I rolled my eyes. I was never gonna win this argument. I swung open the back doors of the van to reveal several crates of beer and a handcart. I pulled the trolley out and set it upright on the sidewalk. I carried the first crate to the trolley, noting that Todd was back in the driver’s seat, enjoying the air-conditioned van. “Can I get a hand?” I asked.
“Not my job,” Todd replied.
“Not my job, either.” I was a waitress, pulling down less than minimum wage, plus tips—when I was lucky. That didn’t stop Todd from demanding that I manage the store’s social media accounts, help with the bookstore’s inventory, and even walk the shop dog whenever Huckleberry needed to go outside. Now he wanted me to finish the beer delivery, off the clock.
Typical.
I dragged the first load back into the stockroom, forgetting that Izzy had rearranged things and there wasn’t enough room. I had to stack the crates in the hallway instead. I went out with the trolley, and Todd helpfully pointed out, “You know, this would go a lot quicker if you took bigger loads.”
“It would go even faster if you helped,” I said. Maybe Castillo was right, and Izzy was a bad influence on me. Or living in New York City for six weeks was enough to override my ingrained Southern manners. In any event, I wasn’t the quiet, overly polite person I’d been before arriving in Williamsburg.
“Like I said . . .”
“Except,” I interrupted him to my surprise. I hardly ever interrupted anyone. I once caught myself apologizing to an automatic door. Another time I’d thanked a canned announcement played over the crackling subway speakers. “. . . this really is your job, a lot more than it is mine. You’re the manager, but that doesn’t just mean you sit on your keister all day and tell everyone else what to do. Sometimes you gotta get your hands dirty, too.”
Instead of bursting into flames or whatever I might have expected, Todd turned off the engine, got out of the van, and came around to the back. “You know, I liked you a whole lot better when you first started working here,” he said, grabbing a case of beer and moving it to the trolley.
I lugged the heavy load up the stairs into Untapped, navigated through the narrow pathway between bookshelves—honestly, how come the fire marshal hadn’t shut us down yet was anyone’s guess—and down the steps into the café. The beer refrigerator was almost empty, so I pulled out the cold ones, shoved as many of the newly delivered ones as I could fit inside, leaving just enough room to put the cold ones back in front before I closed the door. Beer fridge stocked and ready for business, I rolled the trolley toward the stockroom and offloaded the remainder in the hallway.
That done, I headed toward the kitchen. Parker had his back to me. He reached into the walk-in refrigerator and came out with a flat of eggs. “Oh! I thought you weren’t coming in today,” he said as he put the eggs on the counter. “Todd said you called out sick.”
“I was playing hooky,” I admitted. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Oh?” Parker wiped his arm across his forehead. “I guess I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too.”
Great. Way to make this even more awkward. “I found out this morning that Izzy opened a Tinder account for me. And apparently has been talking to a bunch of guys, as me, on my behalf.”
“Oh,” he said, for the third time in as many minutes.
“I was trying to explain to her what a bad idea that was because I’m really not looking for a relationship right now when I noticed that you were one of my matches.”
“And?” He was staring at me with a deliberately blank expression.
“And you know how important our friendship is to me,” I started.
“Of course. I matched with you as a lark. I thought it was funny. I’m not even really active on Tinder anymore, not since I started going out with Hazel.”
“So, it’s serious with you two?” I asked.
“Not sure. Maybe it could be. She’s nice.”
“That’s good to hear,” I told him. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us.”
Parker reached out and punched me on the shoulder, lightly, like we were old buddies instead of two coworkers having an awkward conversation about dating profiles on an app that I never even intended to use. “No worries. Hey, Odessa, why don’t eggs tell each other jokes?” Without waiting for me to respond, he said, “Because
they’d crack each other up.”
I groaned. Parker had the worst sense of humor.
He began cracking eggs into a large bowl. “I’m playing around with tomorrow’s menu. What do you think, chicken and apple salad for the carnivores, and toasted walnut and avocado sandwiches for the vegans? And I’ve got a recipe for gluten-free, dairy-free fudge brownies I’ve been wanting to take for a test-drive.”
“Yum,” I said. My horizons, and palate, had been vastly expanded, thanks in no small part to Parker’s culinary creativity and the wealth of food trucks parked on every street. “Thanks, Parker.”
“For?” He looked genuinely confused.
“For encouraging me to try new things.”
Nan stuck her head into the pass-thru window. “Are you working or what?” she asked me. “I’ve been covering the cash register in the bookstore and waiting tables at the same time since we opened this morning. Good thing we’re slow today, but I could really use a smoke break.”
“Yeah, I’m working. Give me a second.”
I headed back into the hall and finally punched in. Then I grabbed an extra neon green polo shirt from the box in the stockroom. It seemed like a waste, knowing this might be my second-to-last shift, but I hadn’t expected to go into work, so I hadn’t brought a shirt with me. I could wash it and return it, but I doubted even Todd would notice a single missing shirt. I fastened my apron around my waist, pinned my shiny new name tag to my shirt above the Untapped Books & Café logo, and reported for duty.
Nan was right about it being slow. In between serving tables, I had time to rearrange the beer cooler so that the servers could easily see what was in stock. Along with the usual labels, we had some new flavors, including It’s Nine A.M. Somewhere coffee-flavored stout, Beam Me Up Berry lager, and Orange Is the New Beer IPA. The last one sounded intriguing, and I promised myself I’d sample it after it had a chance to chill.
The lunch rush was long over when a woman entered the café alone. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but when she settled into her chair and waved me over, I bit back a sigh. Marlie Robbinson, the Realtor. Today’s ensemble was a suit dress in various colors of purple and green that was almost vintage enough to be cool again. A ginormous necklace of interlaced peacock feathers graced her long neck.
No Memes of Escape Page 19