Alex and I canvas the alley, combing every inch for anything that might be a clue.
“I’m taking photos of these muddy boot prints,” Alex says from the end of the alley. “They could belong to anyone.”
“I saw some mud on the kitchen floor. I’ll photograph that,” I tell her, ducking into the kitchen, taking a few pictures and then returning to the trash bins where I found the tray.
Alex is already there, carefully poking around the outsides of the cans to see if she can find anything else. She lifts one lid at the same time as I lift the one next to it. Our arms brush and a fissure of warmth takes me by surprise.
When I turn to say, “Sorry,” Alex is blushing. Did she feel it too? The air between us felt charged—like the purr of an engineright after the key is turned—at least that’s how it felt to me. Maybe she just blushes easily—it’s not the first time her skin has turned pink from something I said or did.
We wrap up our investigation of the bakery and take our donuts out to the patrol car. Alex isn’t shy about enjoying her food. She takes a big bite of her sugarplum spice donut and pulls away with a dusting of purple icing and sugar dust around her mouth.
“You’ve got …” I circle my mouth with my finger.
“What?” Alex’s face scrunches up and then she pulls down the visor and moans. “Kill me now. I’m a mess!”
“It’s …” I was about to saycute. What has come over me? “It’s fine. Grab a napkin from the glove box. I don’t think you’re really enjoying a donut unless you make a bit of a mess.”
“You’re just saying that so I feel better.” She pulls a napkin out and wipes around her mouth.
“Maybe, but it's true.”
“You have quite a way with people, you know,” Alex says easily.
“What are you talking about? Because I pointed out the sugar on your face?”
“No,” she chuckles softly. “The way you handled the décor wars. And Thea. She was a wreck. You were steady, confident, and snapped right into problem solving. You put people at ease.”
I’m about to ask her if I put her at ease, but I don’t want to fish for compliments.
Who am I kidding? I’d love to fish for compliments, especially from Alex, but I refuse to appear desperate, so I just say, “Thanks. You have a way with people too.”
“A direct way,” she amends.
“There’s nothing wrong with being direct. I think that’s admirable, really. So many people are afraid to say what they really think. You’re never mean.”
I glance at Alex. Her mouth is popped open. She promptly closes it.
“What?” I ask.
“That was sweet,” she says. The blush returns.
“Just the facts, ma’am,” I say, affecting a 1950s detective accent like the one on a classic show I watch onTV Land.
Alex’s laughter rings through the car, filling spaces that I didn’t realize were empty before she came along to fill them. It might not be prudent to like that sound as much as I do. But I can’t seem to help myself.
“Are you going to Aiden and Em’s tomorrow night?” She asks the question as if she assumes I’m included in all the gatherings of people my age in this town. I’m usually not.
“They invited me,” I say.
“Is that so unusual?” She must have picked up on that nuance in my response. Good detective work.
“Actually, yes.”
“Why?”
“We never hung out much in high school.”
“High school?” She scoffs. “That was like eons ago.”
