“Then go back to the office and I’ll do this myself,” I hiss.
“Are you kiddin’? Someone has to have your back, and as your best friend, this asinine task falls to me.” She sighs and pushes her bangs from her eyes. “Let’s go snoop. Investigate,” she says quickly when I glare at her. “Investigate.”
The doors open, and I shake my head, walking out into the hallway. Lena and Ryan’s apartment is 3B, so I straighten and walk toward the door like I’m supposed to be here. Then I pause.
I didn’t actually consider how we get in.
Bek stops at my side and whistles low. “How do we get in?”
“Shut up.”
“It might be unlocked,” she says. “After all, this is Holly Woods. Who locks their doors?”
“Me.”
“But you’re like a dead body magnet and your house has been broken into. I’d whoop your ass if you didn’t. Lena and Ryan, however…” She leans forward and pushes the handle down.
Sure as hell, the door opens.
“Oh, yes!” I whisper, excitedly grabbing her arm. “We’re not breaking in!”
“We’re not supposed to be here,” she reminds me as we walk in. “You of all people should know it’s still breaking and entering.”
“But the door was open. I’ll argue technicalities.” I sniff and tuck some hair behind my ear.
Looking around the apartment, I take a deep breath. It’s cozy. That’s about all I have to say. There’s nothing really stand-out about it. It just looks like…an apartment. There’s a decent-sized TV, a games console and games. There’s a bright afghan slung over one cream armchair, and pictures of Ryan and Lena adorn the walls and counters and windowsills.
If I didn’t know she was a compulsive liar, I’d say these two really loved each other.
“What are we looking for?” Bek asks, closing the door behind us.
“Good question,” I mumble. “Uh, anything that looks like it could solve this case.”
“Nothing too out-there, then.”
Damn her sarcasm. “Just keep an eye on the door. I’ll look.”
I walk into the kitchen and open the drawers, hoping to find some documents or something. Doesn’t everyone have a kitchen drawer jammed with bills and bank statements and invoices? I thought that was, like, a thing.
Not the Perkinses, anyway. Either they’re real organized or I’m super lazy.
The kitchen turns nothing up except for a fridge covered in pictures attached by various magnets. I pause and look through them. Lena and Ryan, Lena and her family, Lena and Penny and Mallory. Lena at the front of her store on the day it opened. I tilt my head to the side and focus on the calendar on the wall next to the fridge. Every Saturday is crossed out on Lena’s column. The day she was never in the store.
That’s when she went to Houston to see Melly.
What did she tell everyone when she went?
“Hey, Bek?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you call Mallory Chandler? I want to know what she knows.”
“You want me to tell her to come see you at the office?”
“Yes. Please.” I proceed to the bedroom. This is more than a little awkward, and I make sure to keep my attention away from the bed.
Because. Ew.
I slowly open the drawers on the nightstands. There’s nothing except the usual suspects. Chap Stick, condoms, pills. Nothing in the drawer on the other side, either. The bathroom also comes up empty, so the office opposite the bedroom is my last hope for something.
“Someone’s here!” Bek hisses, grabbing me from behind.
I clamp my hand over my mouth and look around. “Closet!” I whisper, opening the door.
We both step in and, after I close the door, crouch down. A high heel pokes me in the ass and a dress almost smothers me, but I manage to pull my phone out of my pants pocket and look at it. No missed calls from Dean.
That means it isn’t Ryan. So who’s here?
Drawers open and close somewhere in the apartment, and Bek shuffles closer when it becomes evident that whoever’s here is looking for something just like we were. Which means there’s something here to find.
If only, like this person, I knew what it was.
“Fuck it!” Penny.
Bek grips me tight and opens her mouth. I shake my head, clinging tight to the closet door handle. God bless walk-ins.
“Where is it?!” Penny exclaims, more drawers opening and closing. There’s silence for a second, then more drawers open in the bedroom. Right in front of us.
I shake my head again at Bek. Her hands are trembling, but I squeeze one tight and she holds her breath. Dammit—what was I thinking bringing her with me?
That’s right. I wasn’t.
A phone rings, and Penny answers with, “I can’t find it!”
Bek and I share a look.
“No, Ry! I’ve looked everywhere, just like you said you did. The policy isn’t here… I’ve already checked the store. You know that… No, Mallory said she didn’t know anything about it… Okay… Sure. I’ll drive in now… See you soon.”
The policy.
The sound of footsteps echoes through the apartment, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. We wait for an excruciatingly long minute before we get out of the closet and straighten up.
“The policy?” Bek asks, frowning.
“The life insurance policy,” I reply, putting my hands on my hips and looking around.
“Why would they want that? They being Ryan, too.”
“Let’s go,” I say, not wanting to be here any longer. God knows who else could be after that. When we’re in the elevator, I look at my best friend. “Life insurance policies are generally made out to your spouse. Right?”
“Right.”
“Ryan obviously knows that Lena was in contact with an insurance company about it. It made sense because of the debt she was in with her store—maybe she was paranoid about someone killing her.”
“They did.”
“Well, yeah. But that wasn’t connected. Anyway…” We get into her car. “What if Ryan knew about the policy but didn’t know anything about it? Now that she’s dead, he’s thinking he has the store, all her assets—which don’t seem to be many—and her insurance payout.”
“Except there’s no policy.”
“Except there is. It just doesn’t have his name on it.” I shift in my seat. “When did you say Mallory was coming in to see me?”
“I didn’t. But she should be there already.”
“Then put your foot down, Bek!”
She does. We make it across town, breaking several speeding limits in the process, and when I walk into my building, Mallory is sitting in the lobby with Grecia, talking about the newest stock inventory and the cutest little black lace dress Grecia would love.
“Mallory?” I interrupt their conversation. “Do you want a coffee or anything?”
“I’m fine,” she says hesitantly, swallowing. “What’s up?”
“Let’s go to my office.” I lead her upstairs and shut the door behind us. “Take a seat.” I nod toward my tub chairs.
Mallory sweeps her hair over one shoulder, her eyes warily focused on me. “What’s wrong?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Lena’s past?”
I can’t help but think we could be much closer to solving this case if Mallory had just told me everything in the first place—or even told the police. It’s not like she hid a tiny bit of information, either. She hid something huge. Massive and explosive kind of huge.
Change-the-course-of-this-investigation kind of huge.
I look at my feet, which are propped up on my coffee table, and wiggle my painted toes. Well, I say painted. They’re closer to chipped than painted. Which reminds me that I have to reschedule my hair appointment for next week since I forgot about it today.
People getting killed is starting to really piss me off.
At least I managed to get my things from my parents’ house earlier relatively unscathed. And by relatively unscathed, I mean I only heard my mom and my nonna yell three times and Nonna promised me she has me a date to take me to church on Sunday.