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“Hi… Detective?” Jesse didn’t shake. I put my hand down, and Sam cleared his throat behind me.
“I’m here because your roommate Hazel thinks someone is stealing her things. I like to start from the inside and work my way out, so I wanted to ask both you and Sam some questions about it.”
Jesse shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I’ve already told her, I don’t have anything to do with her things going missing.”
“What’s your relationship with Hazel like?”
“It’s fine. We’re just roommates. I barely really talk to her, or you, Sam. I just mind my own damn business.”
“So would you mind if I just take a quick look around?”
Jesse reeled back. “What? No, you’re not looking around. Not my room at least. Actually, I don’t even have time for this. I have to go.” With a huff of annoyed air, he turned and walked into his room, slamming the door shut and locking it. I looked to Sam, who just shrugged and rolled his eyes. He adjusted the glasses so that they sat higher on his nose.
“You can look around the apartment,” he said. “Check my room if you want. You’ll see I’m not hiding anything.”
Part of me, a part that was buried miles-deep underneath all the scar tissue that covered me, that part wanted to believe Sam whole-heartedly. Something about him made my instincts scream at the top of their lungs, You can trust him. He’s a good one.
Too fucking bad I didn’t trust anyone, not even my own instincts.
I started looking around their cramped living room, spotting signs of each of them everywhere I looked. There were a pair of discarded red heels by the door, sitting next to a pair of muddy old tennis shoes. I could see the indentations on the old black couch where Hazel and Sam most likely sat, watching trash television on the old TV set hitched up precariously on the eggshell-white wall. There wasn’t much natural light coming in, so I flicked on the two floor lamps, shedding an orange glow on everything.
In the kitchen, their refrigerator was covered in photos and postcards and a couple of wedding invitations. Most of the photos were of Sam and Hazel with friends of theirs. Only two photos had Jesse in them. They were group photos, and he had been delegated to the farthest corner of the group, barely in the shot. It was obvious to me that Jesse didn’t fit in with the pair, and that made me even more inclined to believe Sam when he said he had nothing to do with it.
“Do you want water or anything?”
I turned to face Sam. He leaned against the wall, staring at me with a curious look on his face. Like someone who’d just unearthed a strange rock. Like he was turning me over in his mind, trying to figure me out.
“I’m good.” I licked my lips, realizing how dry they were.
“Beer?” Sam offered, his kindness showing.
“Sure,” I said. “Why not.”
Sam walked around me and opened the fridge. “So,” he asked, “live around here?” I could tell he was a little on edge with my presence.
“Not too far. I live in Coral Gables.”
“Oh nice, my uncle lives there. They’ve got some beautiful houses in that neighborhood. He’d take me walking when I was a kid, and we’d give them all stories.”
He grabbed two bottles of Stellas. He set them on the pastel-yellow counters and opened a drawer full of different kitchen utensils.
“There was always this one house. It had a mailbox with a manatee wearing a top hat, and the manatee looked half-drunk, half-drugged. I always said a weird magician lived in there.”
“You’re actually not far off. The man who lives there owns a company that throws kid parties. I’ve seen him walk out dressed like a clown, a magician, a cowboy.”
“Wait… you’ve seen him?”
“He’s my neighbor.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “No fucking way. Really? Huh, that’s crazy.”
“It is. I figured you were talking about the house across from mine the second you said ‘manatee.’”
Sam, still appearing to be in slight disbelief, rummaged around the drawer until he found the beer opener.
The kitchen was small, forcing us to be close. Forcing me to take a deep breath and to stop imagining what it would feel like if I pressed Sam up against the counter and started kissing the back of his neck.
Fuck.
I really need to get fucked.
Sex wasn’t always a constant thought for me. Even though I thrived off great sex, and definitely craved it more often than not, I wasn’t one to lose my cool and start imagining myself rubbing up on someone I’d just met, especially not when I was working a case.
But, well, here we are.
“Here,” Sam said, handing me the cold beer. He raised his in the air. We clinked. “To figuring this shit out.”
