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“I’ll tell Seventy-Nine we have no statement to make.” Slamming the phone down and spinning away, Fifi storms out of the small coffee room in a rage more severe than any I’m used to seeing her carry. Frowning, I look at Aubree, then down to the phone still live with the call and Fletch’s “Hello? Sera? You there?”
“What the hell was that?” Aubree crosses to the table and picks up her phone. She checks the screen for damage, then glances through the glass walls to find Fifi striding toward the elevator.
“Aubs?” Fletch tries again. “What the fuck?”
“Um…”
While she takes the phone off speaker, I clutch my coffee in a tight grip and dart from the room to follow Fifi, stopping only when she does outside the elevator.
“You wanna talk about whatever the hell that was?” I trail her onto the elevator since I know she’d prefer to escape and go back to work on her floor. Then I walk to the back wall, lean on the handrail, and lift my chin just a fraction when Aubs tries to cross the floor quickly enough to dive in with us.
She’s too slow. But I don’t think Fifi wants an audience anyway.
“People tell me I’m their friend,” I murmur. “Aubree. Fletch. Archer. I didn’t come to Copeland looking for relationships, and yet, I’ve somehow ended up someone’s wife. Someone’s sister. An aunt, even.”
When Fifi turns from the button panel and reveals deathly pale cheeks, I swallow the dread lumping in my throat. “And then there’s you. God knows we both shy away from whatever this is. But it’s there, regardless. So now I need you to tell me why I have bodies in the fridge downstairs with more color than you.”
She folds her arms and ices me out. “No. I’m going back to work.”
“Fine. But since I’m your boss, I’m choosing to toss that ‘friendship’ hat aside since I never wanted it anyway, and I’m asking for the second, and last,” I grit out, “time. What the hell is going on? You’re inside my building right now, Seraphina. On the clock. And you’re throwing a tantrum on the ninth floor, surrounded by my staff and autopsy rooms. If you have a problem, let’s discuss it.”
“It’s personal,” she rasps.
“And yet,” I stalk past her and slap the emergency stop button as we approach the lobby floor. I don’t want the doors to open and my friend to run away. “You’ve brought this personal thing to work. Now you’ve made it my problem. Has something happened between you and Fletch?” I give my back to the doors and study the side of her face. “Did you break up?”
“This isn’t high school, Chief Mayet. And just so we’re clear,” she glances across, swallowing so her throat bobs, “we’ve never been together. Thus, no breakup.”
“Okay… so you want to be together?”
“No. Charlie and I are just friends.”
“Friends who hate each other,” I joke. “It’s tension, and tension is sexy. I get it. But what’s the problem? Why don’t you want to speak to him?”
“Because he’s a good man, Minka.” Her voice cracks. And for the first time ever, I watch in horrified disbelief as her eyes shimmer with tears. “He’s a great dad.”
“Oh god.” My stomach flips with dread. “What happened?”
“His ex-wife is?—”
“A bitch?” I offer. “A selfish twat who continues to choose herself over her marriage and child? An abuser, who tells her four-year-old to lose weight to fit into ballerina tutus? Pick an option. I could go on.”
“I saw her a few nights ago.” Fifi chews on her bottom lip, her usually proud self dropping under the weight of her confession. “I was at a club known for… Um…” She releases her lip and gulps. “Dancing. I like to go there sometimes with my friends.”
“Uh…” I wasn’t prepared for this line of conversation, but I lean back against the doors and bring my coffee up to sip. “Okay. You were at a club. Jada was there, too?”
She drops her gaze, staring down at her shoes when she so often looks above a person’s head. “She was dancing, just like everyone else.”
“Well…” While Fletch was at home, raising their child and making excuses for the mother who doesn’t care. “It’s a free country, I guess. Dancing is allowed. Even for deadbeat moms.”
“I saw her…” Clearing her throat, Fifi sighs. “I saw her with these men.”
“Still. That’s allo?—”
“They were doing drugs. All of them. I saw her snorting a line of powder.” Finally, she drags her head up and meets my eyes. “Pretty sure rehab and custody disputes frown on the use of cocaine, Doctor Mayet.”
“Shit.” And there it is. Fifi not wanting to speak to Fletch, because she can’t be the bearer of shitty news and not seem a tad… malicious in her intent. Maybe she and Fletch like each other. Maybe, someday, something will be there. But she can’t destroy the mother of his baby on the way in. “You don’t want to tell him what you saw.”
“I can’t tell him! I can’t be that in-between person.”
