“I need to call Heath.I didn’t tell Cherry about that part.I...I forgot.Or didn’t think about it.Oh my god, will I get in trouble for filing a false report or something?”I gasped, pressing my hand to my chest over my suddenly racing heart.“Oh, shit!”
“No, you won’t get in trouble,” Ben bit out, eyes closed and jaw tight.“Because you didn’t file a report.You answered questions as the person who discovered a dead body.And it was most likely an accident, Damien.I know the incident this summer was fairly traumatizing on several levels, but sometimes it’s not a duck you’re following but a goose.”
“What?Wait, no, I got this—it may look and quack like a duck but it’s a goose I’m seeing, and the goose is leading me on a wild chase?”
Ben’s gaze drifted as he parsed that out, then he nodded.“Yes.That.”
“There were raised voices loud enough to be heard over a get together next door,” I said, ticking off my points on my fingers as I went.“Tubbs was obviously expecting someone before me because there were glasses and a bottle of vodka out on the table.And—”
“And,” the sharpness of Ben’s tone drew me up short, making my face heat with something close to embarrassment.“And who knows what Tubbs’ plans were for the evening.Maybe he met someone.Maybe he got out the glasses and vodka for the two of you, hoping to butter you up.Maybe it was from earlier and he’s just a slob.”Ben shrugged, getting to his feet.“Damien, this isn’t a duck.”
I bit my tongue—metaphorically of course—until he sighed and turned to leave.“It’s late,” he said softly.“Don’t torture yourself all night.Try to get some rest.”He snapped his fingers once and Tony got to his feet, rising from the little cushion near the back door where he spent most of his napping hours.The pair of them disappeared upstairs, leaving me and Muffin alone to stew.
Well.Just me.Muffin took Tony’s pillow and gave me his back before Ben even closed his bedroom door.
#
“NO REST FOR THE WICKED,” Ben announced, knocking on my door at half past oh god in the morning.I’d barely managed to get myself to bed, smoking a little bit of my stash I still had from California (legal, thank you very much, and though it lacked the of punch good old-fashioned dad weed, it did the job).Even then, sleep was a slippery thing that brought reminders of Tubbs’ wide, sightless eyes and lifeless hand along for the ride.
Muffin was not best pleased with my tossing and turning, huffing at me every time the bedsprings squeaked.
I was momentarily relieved when Ben rapped on the door, welcoming the excuse to get up and away from the impending nightmares.Then reality set in the moment my feet touched the cold wooden floor just past the thick rose and ring patterned rug.Hissing in annoyance, I tiptoe-danced over to the door and flung it wide.Ben was unfairly well put together for— “What time is it?”
“Half past five,” he announced, smiling just a tiny bit.“The a.m.one.”
“I understand they’re running two a day through Kansas City now,” I muttered, scrubbing my fingers through my hair and pushing it back out of my face.Glaring blearily at Ben, already dressed in joggers and a loose plaid flannel over a Lester Cove High School (home of the fightin’ lobsters) t-shirt that was absolutely screaming for mercy and shower-damp hair shining in the hall light, I grunted “Is something wrong?”
Ben opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap.“I’m not going to answer that yet.”He paused then, cheeks darkening, motioned to my clothes or lack thereof.I’d gone to bed in my underwear and an oversized t-shirt and was decidedly underdressed for our conversation.
“I’ll go get some pants on,” I muttered, turning to head to the armoire across the room.
“Meet me in the kitchen,” he said, voice weirdly gruff.Maybe he wasn’t as much of a morning person as I thought?
***
IT TOOK ME LONGER THANit probably should have to get dressed and feel alive for the morning.Or at least for the next few minutes.I’d replaced my t-shirt with a sweatshirt I’d found at a resale shop somewhere in the Midwest proclaiming my reign as Bingo Queen of Saint Paul, MN.It was floppy and comfy and no matter how many times I washed it still smelled a tiny bit like menthols and Coty Airspun.It wasn’t super cold out but I knew Ben hadn’t started the heaters yet so I grabbed my buffalo checked flannel joggers and a pair of fuzzy pink socks Max had sent me from Paris that declaredParis is for (foot) Lovers.Partway down the stairs, I caught the low murmur of voices from the kitchen and froze.Am I being arrested?Oh my god, it’s because I forgot to tell Cherry what the neighbors said.Oh my god am I going to jail in this outfit?I stared at the socks and silently cursed Max’s sense of humor before I turned to hurry back up the stairs and grab another outfit.
Too late.Ben caught me.“I made your gunpowder tea,” he said from the kitchen doorway.“Drink it before it gets cold.”
Heath was sitting at the kitchen table, dark circles under his eyes so deep they looked bruised.“I want to preface this with the fact we really did try every option available to us at this time, and we’re gonna keep trying but in the meantime...”He sighed heavily, reaching under the table to produce a leopard-print duffle bag.It was weirdly structured, like it had boning in the ends to give it height but mesh panels along the sides made it sag in the middle.It seemed heavy, too, judging by the little grunt Heath let out as he set it on the table beside him.“Last night, while we were clearing the scene for the guys from the morgue,” he was kind enough to pretend not to notice my wince, “we found something.Tubbs wasn’t by himself.”
“I knew it,” I hissed, slapping my hands on the table, a tinyewsound erupting from between us.“Do you know who did it?Oh my god, was it the person being all aggro the neighbors heard?Did they come back to the scene of the crime?Did—”
“Breathe,” Ben ordered, a little amused and a lot kind.“Heath’s being dramatic.”
“Heath’s exhausted,” Heath muttered.“It’s still an accident, Damien.No one is questioning that.But Tubbs...”
In the heavy pause, thatewsound chimed out.
“Excuse me?”I muttered, my brow wrinkling in concern.“Are you...are you okay, Heath?”
“This is Charlemagne,” Heath sighed, turning the bag so one of the mesh panels faced me.Two glittering eyes peeked through the dark fabric, wide and curious.“We checked with every rescue in a fifty-mile radius.Either there was no answer or they’re absolutely full-up.We reached out to a few fosters that do emergency placements but the nearest one is about a hundred miles from here and they’re not willing to travel for pick up and we’re not able to take him ourselves.And,” he added before I could interject, “we’re still holding out for next of kin or maybe just one of Tubbs’ friends to take him in.”
Ben, dry as Los Angeles on the Fourth of July, said, “Heath figured you could keep an eye on the cat for a few days since you did so well with Muffin.”
Muffin, who was sitting beside me and eagerly sniffing the air, practically quivering in curiosity, huffed in agreement.
“Muffin was—” I paused, covering Muffin’s ears with my hands.“Muffin was anaccident.I didn’tmeanto become his person.”I wasn’t mad about it, though, and we all knew it.
