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I pressed the button next to a barely readable label with the letters K and M standing out to me. The intercom rang a couple of times before finally buzzing. She didn’t even ask who it was before letting me in, the heavy lock on the door clicking open.
The inside of the building was kept up a little better than the outside. There were vibrant green ferns in beautiful pastel-yellow ceramic pots, and the delicious scent of baking bread made the lobby feel more homey than it probably should. I got in the elevator and rode it up to the third floor, the doors opening on a bright hallway with a hard gray carpet that still had vacuum tracks throughout. There were huge sunflowers sitting in vases along the hall, which appeared real at first but on closer inspection were definitely fake.
Kimmy already had her head poking out of her apartment. “Ryan?”
I waved, smiling wide so that my cheeks hurt, making sure to start this off on the right foot and appear as nonthreatening as possible. Right now, Kimmy had jumped to the very top of my list of suspects, so I had to play this meeting right if I wanted to get some solid answers.
“Kimmy, thank you so much for meeting with me.”
“Yeah, of course. Come in.”
Her apartment was like an acid trip on steroids. The walls were painted in a soft blue, and there were all kinds of art hanging on every inch, from classy black-and-white nudes to colorful blasts of papier-mâché superheroes. Clothes were also on display, hanging everywhere from the back of the couch to the ceiling fan, everything a different piece than the last one you set your eyes on. She had a mixture of modified suits and jackets, along with jeans acid-washed and dyed with a rainbow range of colors.
“Sorry, let me clean up real quick.” Kimmy went to the bright pink couch and moved two tie-dyed blazers, setting them on the coffee table instead. “There we go.” She sat, sinking into the plush cushions and tapping the one next to her. Her pink sweatshirt perfectly matched the shade of the couch and made her head appear to float on thin air.
I noticed her lips: a bold, rich red color.
“This is about Elijah’s stalker, right?”
I nodded, settling into the couch, moving a cushion embroidered in fancy lettering with the words “Suck my tits, girls rule the world.” Kimmy’s face gave nothing away as I asked her a few softball questions, warming things up:
“Has anyone around the bar been acting suspicious during a drag show?”
“No.”
“Anyone seem to take an extra liking to Elijah?”
“No.”
I lobbed a few more basic questions her way, nothing raising any red flags for me. She seemed relaxed, and even though her answers were clipped, she did seem eager to help and took her time remembering the details. I had to pivot this interview toward the lipstick, which could end up changing the entire tone of this conversation; still, it had to be done.
“Kimmy, do you ever remember purchasing this particular shade of lipstick from Solar Beauty a few months ago?” I pulled the lipstick from my pocket and handed it to her. She looked it over, reading the name and chewing on the inside of her cheek.
“I do, actually.”
That immediately got my attention. If she declined, there wasn’t much else to pry into. Her affirmative may have just handed me a huge piece of this puzzle.
“Why?” She kept her eyes on the lipstick.
“This particular lipstick’s been linked with the stalker. Did you ever bring it to the bar?”
She cocked her head, brows pulling together as if magnets had clicked on. I could practically read her thoughts with the stress lines that drew themselves across her forehead. This was when I had to be firm and push forward. Even if that made Kimmy upset or uncomfortable.
“I—yes, I did. It was a gift. For Jen.”
Interesting. If she were lying, it would be a hell of an easy lie to dismantle, and I was sure she knew that.
“What did the stalker do with this?”
“It was found near a message that had been left for Elijah at the bar.”
She shook her head, feathered earrings moving like they were on a pair of wings. “I didn’t write any message or stalk any drag queen if that’s what you’re insinuating. I’m not that obsessed with anyone under the sun and moon and fuck ton of stars, trust me.”
Her voice remained steady, words flowing without a quiver or tremble. Her confidence made her sound truthful, but there were still more tough questions that needed answers. If she had given the lipstick to Jen, then I’d have to ask her about how it could have ended up in the dressing room that night, so I switched gears, focusing instead on the night that album was left at Elijah’s place.
