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“It’s a simple enough question. If I were you, I would probably remember every word I spoke to my friend knowing it was the last thing he heard from me.”
“He was my friend. One of my better ones. The shock wears off eventually, right?”
“Yeah, I can see how you and Judy are both clutching to each other in your grief.” Anastacia frowned and closed her notebook with a regretful sigh.
“Pardon?” Jason loomed over her seated form.
“I’m sorry, maybe my bias is getting in my way of this interview.” She stood and leaned on the table toward him. “I’m not too keen on those who take up with their friend’s partners. It’s my understanding it takes longer than a week and a half to know if you’re ‘cher’ material, doesn’t it?”
“I've known her since we were kids," Jason ground out behind clenched teeth. “It happens like that sometimes. She wasn’t his girl.”
“Oh, she wasn’t?” Anastacia’s tone went a bit higher as she dug through the notes in the small notebook in front of her. “Then you may want to have her amend the official statement she made to the police. She made it very clear he was her boyfriend. Was she confusing him with you?”
Jason pursed his lips and stayed quiet.
“Or maybe she thought you both were? It happens like that sometimes.” Her voice mimicked his earlier words in a biting tone, shoving her notebook back in her bag. She didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. The dumbass needed to hear it to get the full message. To think someone would choose him willingly over Mel blew her mind. “I think we need to end this here. You have some things to think over before someone else from the department contacts you. We both seem to be confused about some… facts.”
She covered the steps from the table to the front door in fewer strides than when she went in, Mel on her heels watching Jason. As she opened the door, she paused and looked back at the man still at the table. She expected him to be watching her, to challenge her gaze. Instead, he was running his hand over his face as if the world suddenly crashed down around him.
“Don’t forget about the glass out here. You wouldn’t want Judy to step on it," she quipped, closing the door behind her. She hurried down the stairs, rushing away from the blatant lies and disregard for Mel’s feelings. Mel walked quietly beside her, leftover energy pulsing around him.
“I’m sorry for getting so worked up," he whispered. The energy around his form waned, fading slowly until it popped out of existence, and it was just him again. Anastacia breathed easier without the pulsing anger built up around them.
“I don’t blame you,” she admitted, stopping in her tracks to face him. Though there was still no one on the street, she put in the earpiece. “I was about to deck him for you. Not to mention her. She’s not all that distraught about losing you.”
“She didn’t really know me. Not for lack of trying on my part. She was there, just not there, you know? Maybe she had someone else on her mind.”
“If she took the time to get to know you and was smart enough, she wouldn’t have traded down to him. She’d realize you were a much better choice and a better man.”
“Wait, was that a compliment?” He beamed at her, a new bounce to his step.
“Don’t get too excited," she warned him, crossing the street toward the streetcar stop.
“Hey, wait a minute.” He ran ahead of her and looked again at the surrounding streets. “I want to show you something. Follow me.”
ItwasobvioustoAnastacia that Mel was enjoying the walk along Magazine Street. It distracted him from the revelations he just experienced.
“This reminds me of the trips I took with my father when I was younger. Obviously, I couldn’t go to bars, but the boutiques, artists’ shops, studios, startups… They were all so eclectic that I never felt I missed out by being too young for the clubs.” He pointed to different storefronts as he spoke.
“You get paid next week, splurge a little,” he encouraged as he tilted his chin at the window of a boutique home décor shop at a decorative pillow in a mix of blues and oranges that would be a perfect fit for her apartment.
“On pillows?”
“Okay, maybe not pillows, but experiences are always great. I’m thinking maybe something small to start you off.” He gestured to a white home across the street from them. “There.”
“You want me to visit a home?” she asked with apprehension.
“Not a home. It’s converted into a fine dining experience. It’s so good. I’ve been a few times and it’s worth it. If you decide to come back, I recommend eating on the terrace.”
“It sounds nice and quiet.” Her eyes ran over the windows of the building. A spirit in decades-old clothing holding a fan to the bottom of her face was at a window on the second story waving a gloved hand at everyone who walked by below. The fact that nobody noticed her didn’t seem to bother her at all. Maybe eating something light on the terrace wouldn’t hurt. “Why are we going for a stroll on Magazine Street?”
“I wanted to show you a few things. And it’s the quickest way.”
“Quickest way to what?” She sped up as his steps widened.
He stopped at the next intersection before turning left down the sidewalk. Huffing out an exasperated sigh, she trailed him. They passed a mix of business and residential buildings, some re-imagined like the white house on Magazine Street. They were getting closer to the Quarter when he guided her to another side street and stopped in front of a two-story building that wasn’t quite a warehouse and not a residential home.
It had the Spanish flair in construction, like the buildings on either side, but unlike them the windows were dark and some were boarded up along the top floor. Anastacia followed the gallery around the front of the building— where Mel stood in front of two large double doors locked with a combination lock.
