Things We Do in the Dark(4)

Though the cell appears clean, the harsh fluorescent lights show smears from whatever was recently mopped up. Based on the lingering odors, it was both urine and vomit. The walls look sticky and are covered in a dingy shade of beige paint the color of weak tea, and there’s a camera mounted in one corner of the ceiling.

At the back of the cell, right beside the telephone anchored to the wall, is a plastic-covered sign that lists the phone numbers of three different bail bond companies. With any luck, she won’t need them. She picks up the handset and punches in one of the few phone numbers she has memorized. Pick up, pick up, pick up …

Voice mail. Shit. She hears her own voice encouraging her to leave a message.

“Henry, it’s Paris,” she says quietly. “I’m going to try your cell. I’m in trouble.”

She hangs up, waits for the dial tone, and calls the second number she knows by heart. This, too, goes to voice mail. A few feet away, her cellmate sits up, her greasy hair falling around her oily face. She regards Paris with bleary, mascara-smeared raccoon eyes.

“I know you.” Her words are thick and slurred. Even from a few feet away, Paris can smell her, an aroma like rotting food in a whiskey distillery. “I seen you before. You’re, like, a famous person.”

Paris pretends not to hear her.

“You’re that chick who married that old guy.” The woman blinks, trying to focus. When Paris doesn’t respond, she says, “Oh, okay, I get it, you’re a fucking princess, too good to talk to me. Well, fuck you, princess.” She lies back down. Ten seconds later, her face is slack and her mouth falls open.

There’s a schoolhouse clock on the wall outside the cell, and Paris waits exactly four and a half minutes before picking up the phone again. This time, someone answers immediately.

“Ocean Breath Yoga.”

“Henry.” Relief floods through Paris at the sound of her business partner’s voice. “Thank God.”

“Holy shit, P, are you okay?” Henry’s voice is filled with concern. “I just heard about Jimmy. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it—”

“Henry, they’ve arrested me.” She can’t believe she’s saying the words. “I’m in a holding cell at the King County jail.”

“I saw the arrest. It’s such bullshit—”

“You saw? It’s on the news?”

“On the news? Honey, it’s on TikTok.” She hears some background noise and then hears a door shut, which means Henry has taken the cordless phone into the office. “One of the tourists at the park filmed your arrest and uploaded it. It’s currently the number one trending video.”

Of course this isn’t surprising, but hearing Henry say it makes it all the more real. Paris swallows down the panic and reminds herself that there will be plenty of time to fall apart later.

“Henry, listen,” she says. “I need you to call Elsie Dixon for me.”

“Jimmy’s friend? The lawyer who sings showtunes at all your parties?”

“That’s the one. I don’t have my phone, so I don’t have her number.”

“I’ll google her law office.”

“She won’t be in, it’s Sunday. But if you look in the desk, there might be a business card with her cell. Ask her to come down to the jail right away, okay?”

“I don’t see a card.” She can hear Henry rifling through the drawers. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. I thought she was in litigation?”

“She started her career as a public defender,” Paris says. “And she’s the only lawyer I know.”

“God, P…,” Henry says, sounding genuinely stunned. “I can’t believe you’re in jail. Is it like in the movies?”

She looks around. “More or less. But bleaker.”

“Can I bring you anything? A pillow? A book? A shank?”

He’s trying to make her laugh, but the best she can manage is a snort. “I love you. Just track Elsie down, okay? And maybe you could let the instructors know what’s going on.”

“P, they’re saying…” A pause. “They’re saying you killed Jimmy. I know that’s not possible, because I know you. You’re not a murderer.”

“I appreciate that,” Paris says, and after saying goodbye, they hang up.

Henry has always been a supportive friend, and he’s loyal to the core. But he doesn’t know her, not really.

Nobody does.





CHAPTER THREE


Thanks to the wonders of sensory adaptation, Paris has gone nose blind and can no longer smell the various odors that assaulted her when she first entered the holding cell. Unfortunately, she can’t say the same about the noises.

She sits on the bench with her hands in her lap, doing her best to ignore her cellmate’s snores mixing with the random chatter wafting in from the other cells. Everything is going to be fine. Elsie will be here soon, and she’ll know exactly what to do, because Elsie Dixon is a lawyer, and that’s what lawyers do.

Except she’s not just a lawyer. Elsie is also Jimmy’s best friend. The two of them met in high school fifty years ago, which makes their friendship eleven years older than Paris. There will be no question where the woman’s loyalties lie, and if she believes there’s the slightest chance that Paris murdered her dearest friend, Elsie will not show up today, or ever.