“I knew it,” Izzy said, pumping her free fist in the air. “You’re a brilliant detective. I bet we can solve this before Vince even gets his first real lead.”
“Speaking of which . . .”
“Don’t want to talk about him,” she interrupted me.
“You know if you don’t call him, he’ll just come find you.”
“I said I don’t want to talk.”
Alrighty then. I could take a hint. Really, I could. I didn’t know what was going on between her and Castillo, but if she didn’t want to discuss it, I couldn’t exactly force her. “You know how to get ahold of Amanda?”
“I DM’d her earlier.” The good thing about messaging was that as long as you knew someone’s username online, you didn’t need to know their phone number to send them a message. “She’s got plans tonight, but she can meet us tomorrow morning.”
“Can’t. I’m working.”
“Don’t worry, Betty volunteered to swap with you, but she’s gonna want a favor later.”
“Thanks!” With most people, I’d be suspicious, but Betty was always reasonable when it came to swapping shifts. At worst, she’d ask me to cover the Sunday-night shift, when we were deader than Dracula. “In that case, I’m gonna go chat with my aunt. You’ve got someplace to stay tonight?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’m good.”
“Where did you end up?”
Izzy laughed. “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’ll see you in the morning. Meet up at Untapped around ten?”
“Sure thing.” Before coming to New York, I never would have considered ten to be early, but now that I was used to sleeping in and staying out late, ten in the morning might as well have been the break of dawn, especially on a day that I didn’t have to work.
Izzy peeled off to do . . . whatever it was that she had planned. That could be anything from attending one of those wine-and-paint sessions to BASE jumping off the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. It was illegal—BASE jumping, not wine-and-paint—but Izzy loved anything that gave her a rush, and apparently parachuting off high places was on her bucket list.
My bucket list was a little tamer. I wanted to rescue a special-needs dog from a high-kill shelter. Learn how to crochet one of those adorable little amigurumi dolls. Visit the Eiffel Tower, but not to BASE jump. I wasn’t that brave. Actually complete an escape room.
As I walked along the bustling sidewalk in my boots, I retrieved one of the tamales from my bag, removed the corn-husk wrapper, and savored every bite. Cars flew past, ranging from hybrid taxicabs to noisy charter buses belching fumes. The shadows lengthened, creeping up the sides of turn-of-the-century brick warehouses and glistening glass apartment buildings. In the distance, enormous cranes labored hundreds of feet over my head.
A woman led three young girls, each in pink tutus and sparkly tiaras with springy leashes connecting them together, past me. On the other side of the street, a man dressed in several layers of flannel despite the warm day pushed a squeaky three-wheeled shopping cart filled with Mylar balloons in the shape of SpongeBob. A rat the size of a well-fed Chihuahua eyed me from the steps leading into a high-end shoe store while next door, the owner of a pawn shop paced behind barred windows.
I could spend my whole life in the two-point-something square miles of just the neighborhood of Williamsburg and probably not experience everything it had to offer, mostly because things changed so rapidly. I walked past a storefront that had been advertised as the “Best Falafel in Brooklyn” when I’d come to town a mere six weeks ago. Now it was a florist shop. Next month it could be a gallery or a pop-up restaurant.
Which reminded me that I’d left my flowers at work. Shoot. Then again, they helped spruce up the café. I wondered who had left them for me, and why they hadn’t included a note. Maybe they had come from a happy customer, which was nice, but I would have preferred a tip instead.
A bead of sweat rolled down my neck and tickled my spine. New York summers were brutal. The oppressive temperature got trapped in between the buildings with nowhere to go. In the middle of the day, the sidewalk shimmered with waves of heat. But multiple beaches were a short train ride away when I needed to escape.
Everyone said that fall was spectacular up here on the East Coast. As the air crisped up, the leaves turned miraculous colors before abandoning their trees en masse. Hot cider and pumpkin-flavored everything reigned supreme. I could finally take in a hockey game at Madison Square Garden and see what all the fuss was about.
And then as autumn merged into winter, frost would creep across the car windows and paint the tiny green spaces, whether they were planters on door stoops or narrow strips of grass between the sidewalk and the street behind tiny wrought iron fences. Eventually the snow would fall, turning even the shabbiest streets into a wonderland.
I wanted to buy a bulky peacoat at a secondhand store, crochet myself a pair of mittens, and wander down Fifth Avenue in December, marveling at the intricately decorated shop windows as the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center sparkled over ice-skaters. Maybe I’d even give ice-skating a try myself. I wanted to catch a snowflake on my tongue. I wanted to smell the cloyingly sweet scent of spring as apple blossoms exploded on the trees and miniskirts began to replace down-filled puffy jackets.
Arriving at last at my aunt’s building, I brushed my fingers against the kaleidoscope of broken pottery shards that someone had plastered around a lamppost, turning an ordinary pole into art. Sure, my hand came away filthy and there was something slimy dripping across my pinkie finger, but if that wasn’t the perfect metaphor for my New York experience, I didn’t know what was.
The front door was locked. Even though I could see the building’s concierge sitting behind his desk at the far end of the lobby, he made no move to buzz me inside, so I dug my key out of my bag and let myself inside. “Hiya, Mr. Earl,” I called out.
“Miss Odessa,” he replied in his normal dry voice. Earl had been born around the same time as poodle skirts, but didn’t even have half of their flair. He always had a neatly pressed shirt and tie, a sharp eye, and a scowl on his face. Or maybe that was just for me. Izzy seemed to think he was a sweet old grandfatherly man who doted on her like she was a kitten, but then again Izzy brought out the best in people. Not that I was entirely convinced Earl had a good side. “I thought you’d be moved out by now. What with Miss Melanie being back and all.”
I gave him a tight grin. Like I needed the reminder. “Soon enough, I’m sure. Any mail?”
“I already took it upstairs.” That surprised me. He’d never gone out of his way to be helpful before. One time, I came down to check the mail and I’d forgotten the key to the box, and he’d made me go back upstairs and get it instead of using his master key. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except it was one of the hundred-degree-plus days and the elevator was locked down except for emergency use to conserve energy, so I had to slog five flights of stairs up to the apartment and back only to find out the mailbox was empty save for a single flyer.
“That’s awful kind of you,” I said.
“Couldn’t have Miss Melanie trudge all the way down here and back, not with her foot being in a cast like that, could I?”
“Of course not.” The building had a fully functional elevator that let out mere steps from my aunt’s apartment, but whatever. I tried to keep the begrudging note out of my voice, but if his smile—maybe the first genuine one I’d ever seen on his face—was any indication, I’d been unsuccessful.
“Well, you just let me know when you want me to call you a cab to the bus station. I’d be happy to do it.”
“Gee, thanks.” Gone were the days when New Yorkers needed doormen in their uniformed splendor to hail a cab, replaced with the Uber app. Most of Earl’s position as concierge could be replaced with one app or another, but even with his surly attitude, even I had to admit it was nice to see a live human face when I came home.
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“Sure am gonna miss you when you’re gone, Miss Odessa,” he said.
I ignored him and headed for the elevator, punching the call button a teensy bit harder than necessary. The doors slid open and I stepped inside, shoulders stiff. “If you say so,” I muttered under my breath as the elevator doors sealed and the car rose.
The door to my aunt’s apartment was, as expected, closed. Was I supposed to use my key and let myself in? Or was I supposed to knock? I compromised and knocked as I unlocked and opened the door. “Yoo-hoo, I’m home,” I called out for extra emphasis.
“Odessa?” Aunt Melanie said, poking her head out of the bathroom.
“It’s just me,” I confirmed.
She stepped out of the bathroom. Her long hair was wrapped up in a towel. “Sorry, I’m just so used to living alone.” She had wrapped a silk robe around herself. A white kitchen garbage bag covered the walking boot on her ankle.
“Aren’t you supposed to take that off when you shower?” I asked.
My aunt looked down at the clumsy contraption. “Yes, but it’s such a pain to get on and off. I’m not supposed to put any weight on my foot, and I was worrying about trying to balance in the shower. This is easier.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” I took my messenger bag off and looped the long strap over a hook near the door. I withdrew the box of tamales. “But first, tamale?” I opened the box and held it out.
“Don’t mind if I do.” She plucked one from the box. “These will go real nice with the chocolates.”
“Chocolates?” I asked.
My aunt split open the corn husk and rolled the tamale onto a plate. She pointed her fork at a box of gourmet chocolates on the counter. “Those came for you earlier. I hope you don’t mind, but I helped myself to one of the coconut creams.”
I looked over at the box, and my mouth watered. I recognized the logo from a small local chocolatier, but I hadn’t ordered anything from them. I’d bought a truffle from them as a splurge one day, but their big gift boxes cost more than I made in a good shift. “Of course I don’t mind, but those aren’t mine.”
“Your name’s on the box. Maybe your friend Izzy sent them as a thank-you?”
“Doubt it. Izzy couldn’t afford those any more than I could, and even if she could, she’s more the type to bring over a homemade treat than to have something delivered.” I opened the box, selected the pink-coated chocolate, and popped it in my mouth. Divine. My name was in fact on the delivery slip, but there was no note to indicate who had sent them.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Aunt Melanie took a bite of the tamale. “Oh! This is spectacular,” she said around bites. “Did you get this from that place on Grand?”
“Nope. A coworker’s mom made them from scratch.”
“Well, don’t you forget to tell her this is hands-down the best tamale I’ve ever tasted.” She peeked into the box, which I’d set on the countertop, next to the mystery chocolates. “May I have another?”
“Help yourself.” Rufus was winding himself around my feet, making it impossible to walk without tripping, so I picked him up and cuddled him. “I’ve been thinking. You shouldn’t have to be alone, not when you’re injured. When you’re hobbling about, everything is more difficult. Maybe I should stick around and take care of you and Rufus for a few more weeks. Just until you feel better.”
“Why, that’s terribly sweet of you but totally unnecessary. I really appreciate you coming all the way up here to take care of Rufus for me while I was gone, but I don’t need anyone making a fuss over me.”
My shoulders sagged. Aunt Melanie didn’t need me.
My brilliant plan to stay in Williamsburg a little longer crashed and burned.
I guess I wasn’t going to be around long enough to see the autumn leaves change after all.
12
Odessa Dean @OdessaWaiting ∙ July 13
Social media pro tip: post “how do I store leftover tacos?” & if anyone responds with suggestions, block them IMMEDIATELY. U don’t need that kind of negativity in your life! This is the hill I will die on. #eatmoretacos
I took a beat to process the possibility of leaving Williamsburg. I didn’t like it. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around a little while?” I asked. “I can help.”
My aunt gave me a cheery grin. “Sweetie, I’ve got everything I need at my fingertips. If I get a craving for Ethiopian food or a chocolate silk pie at three a.m., there’s always someplace open that delivers. I’ve got practically every book ever written and every movie ever filmed at the push of a button. I’ll be as right as rain. Don’t worry about me.”
I hated to admit it, but I wasn’t worried about her.
I was worried about me.
“I know, but who’s gonna take care of your plants while you recover?”
My aunt laughed. “You mean the plants you killed?”
She had me there. “What about Rufus’s litter box? You can’t hardly bend over.”
Aunt Melanie leaned against the edge of the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. “It’s all under control. When Earl came up earlier to drop off the mail and those chocolates, he volunteered to lend a hand if I need anything. Even mentioned the litter box specifically. He’s got a cat himself, you know.”
No, I hadn’t known that. I didn’t know much about him, except that he disliked me enough he would go so far as to volunteer to clean someone else’s litter boxes just to get rid of me. I mean, that’s some next-level passive-aggressiveness. I should know. I’m from the South. We invented passive-aggression.
“Oh.” That’s me. Odessa, undisputed queen of the witty replies.
“Really, you don’t need to fuss over me. Your mom called earlier and said how you’d be sticking around awhile to lend me a hand and I told her that was just plain silly. Now, I know you’ll need to quit your job and say bye to all your new friends, so take all the time you need. Mi casa es su casa.”
My hopes rose. Not at the thought of leaving my friends. I wasn’t sure how I would even begin to say goodbye to Izzy, Parker, or any of the staff at Untapped Books & Café. Even Todd. How could it even be possible that I could miss Todd? Huckleberry, the ancient shop dog, I knew I’d miss, but Todd? And yet the thought of never seeing him again stung.
Take all the time you need.
Mi casa es su casa.
It gave me hope. I couldn’t mooch off my aunt forever, of course. But maybe, just maybe, I could stay here long enough to find a place of my own. Not in Williamsburg, probably, but I could afford a place in Bed-Stuy with enough roomies. Or a little farther out if I had to.
Before I could open my mouth and thank her, my aunt continued, “What do you think? Would a few days be enough? I think Greyhound is running a deal, twenty percent off tickets for Wednesdays. My treat.”
My heart plummeted. Wednesday. It was already Saturday evening. I had three days to either figure out a way to stay in New York or pack up and head home.
Three days wasn’t long. It certainly wasn’t long enough for Izzy to find us an apartment. Three days to say goodbye to everyone I’d met. Three days to cram in every experience I’d missed so far—like taking the Circle Line around Manhattan or exploring the Cloisters. I hadn’t even visited the Bronx Zoo yet!
And there was the tiny little detail about having only three days to bring Vickie Marsh’s killer to justice.
My phone beeped and I reached for it automatically. It’s funny how even when the world was crashing down on me, I felt obligated to respond whenever my phone made even the slightest noise. Because maybe it was an emergency. Or maybe it was just a welcome distraction.
It was a text message. Whatcha doin?
I didn’t recognize the number. If it had been a phone call, I wouldn’t have answered. The only people who ever called me were telemarketers and politicians. Un
expected text messages didn’t seem nearly as invasive. Who dis? I responded.
Contrary to what some people thought, text messaging wasn’t ruining the language. It was enhancing it. I could speak and write in perfect, grammatically correct English when the occasion called for such things. But when tweeting or texting with limited characters, I happily and easily truncated accordingly. Besides, why take forever to type out a complete sentence when a few characters would do the job just as well?
Rodney, he replied. Then he sent a picture. In it, he was surrounded by snowy mountains. I couldn’t make out much of his face, since he was wearing ski goggles, a thick cap, and a colorful scarf. He had a scruffy, thick mustache that made him look like a walrus.
Even without fully seeing his face, I knew I’d never seen him before. That mustache made quite the impression. Sry, wrong #, I texted back. Then I blocked him. “Weirdo,” I mumbled aloud. There was a 60 percent chance that Rodney was harmless, but if I was wrong and he was a creep, blocking him now was the simplest solution. I certainly didn’t want him calling me, much less sending more pictures.
“Who’s that?” my aunt asked.
I shook my head. “Nobody.” She looked exhausted, like she might fall asleep standing up in the kitchen. “Can I get you something? If the tamales weren’t enough, I can make dinner. If you’d prefer, I can run out and get anything you’re in the mood for.” I wasn’t the best cook, but Izzy had taught me a few simple recipes that yielded surprisingly delicious meals. I’d never be as good as Parker, who was an absolute wizard in the kitchen, but I could make a mean mac ’n’ cheese.
And I didn’t mean the stuff that came out of a box with the sketchy orange powder.
“That’s sweet, but I’ve got plans to meet up with some friends this evening.” She’d been leaning against the counter, but when she started back toward her bedroom, she looked down with a sigh. Aunt Melanie had left a trail of water droplets from the bag around her walking boot. “Oh dear. I seem to have made a mess.”
No Memes of Escape Page 11
