Page 9 of XO Karma

“That’s all you have?”

“Like I said…” He cocks a brow, rinsing his hands off at the sink. “It’s been slow.”

“Parking tickets are definitely below my pay grade,” I reply, although he and I both know the cases he brings me are more of a pro bono situation and one hundred percent off the books.

“Figured.”

His phone rings, and his gaze meets mine. A call to a detective’s work phone after midnight can only mean one thing. He answers, then gives a few short replies before hanging up.

“And?” I ask.

“Looks like the storm’s here,” he says, heading towards the door, grabbing his badge and keys. “There’s been a murder near Joe’s Pizzeria.”

Time stops. I’m frozen. Just like I always am every time I hear of another body dropped in our city.

“Do you think it was…?” My voice is small, but I don’t have to explain. Liam knows exactly who I’m referring to.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Sounds like a mugging gone wrong.”

A wave of relief rushes through me. I realize I shouldn’t be this comforted at the idea of someone being dead, but it’s the fact they weren’t killed by him that allows me to regain oxygen again. The fact that maybe, just maybe, the man who murdered Violet hasn’t claimed another victim.

“Here you are, babe,” Amara, my favorite barista and—due to overexposure from the amount of time I’ve spent in this little artsy café—friend, says, setting a warm blueberry coffee with milk foam on the table beside my open laptop. Mocha Muse has been in Amara’s family for generations, and she recently inherited it after the passing of her mother.

Violet and I have been coming here since we were kids. We’d enjoy hot chocolate while roaming the walls of art they have plastered around the large space. Watercolors and oil paintings are affixed to the exposed brick, even a few shelves of sculptures to admire. It always felt like such a sanctuary. After college, we spent a ton of time here filling out job applications, adjusting our dating profiles, or spilling the tea over tea. It’s one of the few places in the city I can come and just… be. Also one of the places where I still feel connected to her. Sometimes I even hear an echo of her laugh over the whir of the bean grinder.

“Thank you,” I say, grasping the mug and taking a long pull of the coffee, the warm liquid gliding down my throat. “How’s Zuri?” I ask, referring to her sweet little five-year-old whose personality is bigger than life itself.

“Continuously asking when Miss Lily is coming over,” she says, brow cocked.

Guilt swirls in my gut. I’ve been so busy with Karma requests and wallowing in self-pity, I haven’t made it over in a few weeks. “Could we have a bubbly brunch next Saturday?” A little tradition we started earlier this year when Zuri wanted to tag along for breakfast with Amara and me. We split a bottle of champagne and got her a Sprite. Zuri said it was the best day of her life, and alas, bubbly brunch was born.

“We’d love that,” Amara says with a gentle smile.

“Can Val join?” I ask, referring to her wife.

“Yeah, definitely. She’s getting in late Friday night from a conference and is dying to spend time with Zuri.”

“Good, I look forward to it,” I say, and mean it. They were so great to me after Violet died. I’d been coming here more than usual, and then one day, Amara found me sobbing in the bathroom and insisted I come over for dinner. They accepted me with open arms during what was the worst time of my life and haven’t gotten rid of me since.

“Us too.” She walks away to help another customer, and my phone buzzes on the table, pulling my attention to a notification.

Request #2455 - Payment Received: $500

The scales have been balanced, and I’m 500 bucks closer to paying my portion of the bills. In the beginning I felt guilty for commercializing this business. Making a profit off desperate, angry people who’d do just about anything for some payback. Anything but get their own hands dirty, that is.

People need my help, and I’m eager to give it. It’s my big “screw you” to the universe for taking Violet and letting that psychopath get away with it. But as the money started flowing in, the guilt faded away more and more. Day by day. Dollar by dollar. Or crypto by crypto, if we’re being technical.

And there are plenty of people with disposable cash just dying for some revenge.

I’m not rich by any means. Cleosville is one of the most expensive cities on the East Coast, and when Liam, Violet, and I decided to move here from Florida after she inherited the house from her grandma—with a hefty mortgage, I might add—we were splitting the bills three ways. If we hadn’t moved here, she’d still be alive. With her gone, it’s a lot harder to keep up, but losing or selling the house is not an option. It’s her place. Our place. And I’m not ready to let it go.

Closing my eyes, I take a calming breath. Blaming myself is not going to help find her. That’s the problem with our society these days: people spend so much time pointing fingers, they forget about the actual crime.

My eyes fall to the monarch and domino tattoo on my arm. A reminder not to get stuck on the butterfly effect of it all. That you can change as many outcomes of a situation as you want and still end in the same place.

It’s like those old Choose Your Own Adventure books Violet and I read. Many times, it didn’t matter how many choices we made, it ended up the same way.

On my laptop, I decrypt the xokarma.com admin portal to sort through the most recent requests.