Like a Sister(15)

The response was instant. Oh no. I’m so sorry. What happened?

That one was easier to answer. I’m not sure yet.

That’s horrible. Let me know if I can do anything. Again my condolences to you and your fam.

He followed it up with three red heart emojis.

Afterward, I emailed Professor White to let him know I might miss class Friday but still wanted to drop off my paper. Then I went back to more important research.

The last photo on Desiree’s Instagram was a group shot from her party, Desiree crowded in with three others, all wearing varying smiles like they’d dressed for different occasions. Both Desiree and Zarah wore glassy expressions you’d normally find at a twenty-first-birthday party.

Next to Zarah, the cute white chick I only recognized from Desiree’s IG had a plastic expression you’d find at a graduation. Erin. She was the one who’d made her page private yet had over forty thousand followers—a transparent attempt to boost her follower count by making you essentially sign up to see what she was up to. The one who the police couldn’t find. She could be hiding on purpose. When Zarah responded, I’d see if she had her number as well.

Up next was the boyfriend, who wore the awkward look of a three-year-old at his first school picture day. He’d come around long after I’d blocked Desiree from my life and my phone. Their first posted pic was one of those cutesy “Oh look at me hugging the back of someone’s head” posts. She’d tagged him. I had, of course, immediately followed his DJ Naut account, desperate to see what he actually looked like. I was disappointed. Not because of his looks but because he barely had any personal pics—and none showing his face. He even wore a designer version of an astronaut’s helmet while performing. I only recognized him because I once Googled “DJ Naut real face.” I needed to talk to him too. Another request for Zarah.

I scrolled down past Desiree’s birthday selfie to the next pic, this one from earlier in the day, judging from the teal romper. It was one of her with Mel. Or rather, Mel’s arm. Desiree had cut the rest of him off. I wasn’t surprised. She’d gotten in the habit of doing it with the camera-shy boyfriend. Now she’d given Mel the same treatment. The only reason I recognized him was the handcuff tattoo.

What I didn’t recognize were needle marks. There weren’t any on her arms, but maybe they had a filter to eliminate that sort of thing. And her last bikini pics had been posted over a month ago. None to be seen in those either.

Next to me, Mr. Manspreader put in his headphones. Airbuds, of course. The volume so loud I wanted to ask why bother. Apparently, he was a fan of Whitney Houston. He wanted to dance with somebody. I just wanted him to be more considerate. My annoyance propelled me off the N, north on Broadway, and right through the doors of the Omni.

Some poor interior designer had gone to great lengths to make everything appear “cool and hip” with conversation clusters of stuffed red velvet couches and leather chairs. None were being used. The place was empty. Either I was early or the cops had started without me.

The check-in desk was to the right of the entrance, as far from the couches as physically possible. A lone attendant wore an expression more suited to the overnight shift. She was tired and she was over it. She was also wearing a tag that said SHERRY. I smiled when I reached her even though it hurt as much as when I’d broken my arm.

“Hi. I’m Desiree Pierce’s sister. I’m here to meet the police and pack up her stuff.”

“Why.” It was more statement than question.

I looked her dead in the eye. She didn’t blink first.

I finally spoke. “Because she died last night.”

She didn’t even pause, just perfectly deadpanned, “Well, that sucks.”

And I laughed because it sure as hell did. I needed the sudden jolt of honesty after feeling like no one else wanted to face the truth.

“Ms. Scott, you beat us.” Green was behind me, joined by a standard-issue young white guy. The type who looked like he made daily use of his Planet Fitness membership but never wiped the machines down after. “My partner, Detective Zizza.”

I reached for a handshake and instead got an eye roll. “I’m so sick of you rich kids thinking rules don’t apply to you,” Zizza said. “I don’t care what anyone says. You’re not getting in that room until we’re done.”

I saw why Green had left him at home for the meeting with Mel.

“You’re a dick, right?” Sherry smiled innocently. “That’s what they call cops? Dicks? Like in those old movies.”

I smiled. She’d just made a friend for life. Based on Zizza’s expression, an enemy too. “I think you’re confusing them with private detectives,” I said.

“Really? I would’ve sworn he was a dick,” she said, and even Green had to laugh. She held up a key card. “Desiree’s suite is on fourteen.”

Zizza reached out to snatch the key card but missed. She slowly put it on the counter, as far from him as possible. There was a mini standoff, then he finally grabbed it. Sherry smiled again. “Have a great day!”

He ignored that, turning to me instead. “You can wait here.”

Zizza took off toward the elevator bank, Green trailing him. I turned to follow when Sherry spoke. “I’m sorry to hear about your sister. She was always nice to me.”