I pull away from the curb. “Yes. Worse comes to worst, we’ll sit in the car eating Italian together while nothing eventful happens.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
The sun is dropping low when I pull up to the side of the road in front of the property a few up from the Simms’ home. We took my car instead of a cruiser so we don’t stand out. I kill the lights,and then I reach around behind Alex’s seat and pull the large paper to-go bag up into the front seat with us.
I catch a whiff of Alex’s shampoo—and her familiar cinnamon and honey smell wraps around me, warming me from the inside out. She shifts in her seat and her knee brushes against my arm—just a light touch—but it sends a spark through me like someone flipped on a live wire.
Visibility is low on these country roads at night. With the lights out, we can barely see our food.
“I want to turn on the inside lights,” Alex says with a soft laugh. “I keep stabbing at my pasta and missing. I swear I have the coordination of a drunken raccoon right now.” She taps her fork against the tinfoil container until she makes contact with some noodles.
“I’d say turn them on, but we need to stay as invisible as possible.”
“I know. I’ll manage,” she says around a bite.
Our eyes adjust to the darkness over time. I can make out Alex’s silhouette and her smile.
We crack open the tiramisu and I turn my phone flashlight on dim so we can manage to share from the to-go container with two forks.
Alex hums around each delicious bite. I don’t look directly at her lips. I couldn’t see them well enough through the darkness even if I wanted to. But awareness flickers anyway—I imagine her mouth, lips slightly parted as she savors each forkful. I stare out into the dark night and focus on breathing normally.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I say.
“Embarrassing myself is more like it.”
We continue to take alternating forkfuls, sometimes clicking our forks against one another. Sharing this feels intimate—promising.
“Headlights in the distance,” I say quietly when twin lights grab my attention at the end of the road.
I turn my phone light off and watch intently as the beams brighten and grow closer.
We’re both frozen in place as if someone might hear or see us if we even flinch. The lights pass by—a pickup truck. And then everything goes still and dark again.
We polish off the tiramisu and still there’s no sign of movement or activity anywhere around us.
“Do you have any suspects?” Alex asks. “Since we talked to Mrs. Simms—did you think of anyone in particular? Any new thoughts?”
“I’ve run a lot of scenarios through my head. I don’t think the teens would even know about Mrs. Simms, let alone go out of their way to steal items and come all the way out here to set them in her yard.”
“Right,” Alex agrees. “And since we know all the crimes are connected, it probably isn’t Kate Shaller, even though she seemed to like the publicity the thefts brought to her events.”
“I don’t see Kate driving out here putting the decorations around the yard all willy-nilly,” I agree. “The arrangement would have been far more organized and visually appealing if she were the one.”
“So, who then?” Alex asks.
“I honestly don’t know. I think it’s going to come down to someone we don’t know—someone who knows the Simms and is aware of their situation. Maybe it’s one of her neighbors.”
“Could be,” Alex concurs.
We sit in silence for a while, each of us mulling over our own thoughts. The heater hums while I work up the courage to say what I need to say.
When I finally speak, my voice comes out low and rougher than I mean it to. “About the other night in the alley …”
Lights flash in the distance.
“Did you see that?” Alex whispers.
“Yes.” We’re still again, my moment lost, but it doesn’t matter for now because the car is slowing down in front of the Simms house.
