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“Oh chit. Dis is bad.”
“He won’t let me get close enough to tell him the truth. He’s, I don’t know, he’s a steel wall.”
“It can’t be all dat bad. Chow me this cow ranch.” I lift the phone and scan the ranch from one side to the other.
“Lower,” I move the phone lower. “Ah, no wonder jour depressed. Oh wait, I see, lower, to the right. There, much better view.”
It’s then I see what he’s fixated on. Lance has his shirt off and is rinsing some mud from his chest. I turn the phone back over to see several notifications that René has taken a photo.
“René!”
“What?”
“I can see you taking screenshots!”
“I’m not.”
“You so are.”
“Fine, I erase dem.”
“No, you won’t.”
“We can fight about dis later, in de meanstime, why ju not snooping in his room?”
“What? Why would I do that?”
“Because ju don’t know him, not really.”
“Yes, I do. We were together for months.”
“Uh huh, oh months, huh? Do ju know I found out Ricky likes Pink Panther movies? Like really likes them? Tinks dey are funny.”
“Okay. So?”
“This is news. We’ve been together for years, Mami. Ju don knows that man. Snoop. Find his bones.”
“Skeletons. And no way.”
“Trust me and do it. I gotta go, I have a chif in an hour. Rainbows.”
“Rainbows,” I say deflating.
“Mami,” René looks on at me with a small smile. “Remember dis is not de case of dickedgood.”
“What?”
“Dickedgood. It means dis isn’t about sex. Ju aren’t some crazy ex with a sex crush. He came for ju. Dat means someting. Ju are dere to claim jour man, jour partner, be the ‘take no chit’ bitch I raised ju to be and win him backs. Make me proud.”
I’m snooping. And so far, the only thing I’ve discovered is Lance uses dandruff shampoo.
Detective freaking Holmes, right here, folks.
I have no idea what I’m looking for. But I take René’s advice and look for his skeletons. Prying him for any information at the moment seems impossible. Current location—closet, and it’s huge. Inside, I tug on the light switch and see a stack of old notebooks along with his yearbooks. I pull one down and start flipping through. I find him easily, his face unmistakable as I trace it with my finger. He’s not smiling, in fact, he looks a bit pissed.
“Can’t say much has changed,” I snort ironically. “Do ju have any bones, Prescott?” I mutter in René’s accent.
I flip through his senior yearbook and see no signatures. He said he has plenty of friends but does he? He was known as the mute in college, gorgeous and broody. We never ventured out much in public, aside from his training, and he wasn’t quick to converse.
