Needy Little Things(20)

“Do the police believe you?” It wouldn’t surprise me if they do. There’s something likable about him. He’s got a trustworthy vibe for someone who allegedly threatened a tiny, middle-aged woman with a gun.

“Lived here my whole life. No record. Licensed to carry. Ms. Jess don’t got a visible wound to speak of. My lawyer thinks I’ll be fine. Thinks I could press charges on her. But I’m content to drop it all. Here’s hoping she will be, too.”

“I gave her the nail file.” Word vomit. It comes out without any preemptive thought, and I don’t know why.

He studies me. “Well, ain’t that something?”

“Danny, like I said, I’m not a psychic. What I do—it’s not always right. It doesn’t always make sense.”

“Or maybe it does. Maybe I would have hurt her,” he says matter-of-factly.

“You just said—”

“Maybe not on purpose. But maybe it would have happened. Maybe you stopped it.”

I gesture to his neck. “Pretty violent solution.”

He grins. “Just a scratch. Would have been out by now if it hadn’t gotten infected.”

“Well, I feel like I should apologize or something.”

“No, no. Never that, but I may take you up on the or something.”

“You want me to go see Philly.”

He places his hand on his chest. “We’d both appreciate it.”

“Danny, there’s no guarantee I have something that will help the way he expects or wants. Both of you need to understand that.”

“Sure, of course. But you stopping by will at least lift his spirits some, and that’s worth plenty.”

I take out my phone. “What’s his address?”

“402 Milner Place, Atlanta.”

I type it into my Maps app and the red target centralizes almost directly on top of Hyde Park, where Afro Alt was held. My hand trembles as I try to contain my shock. “Thanks for talking with me.”

“Nothing but a thing. You take care.”

“You too.” On my way out, I place a fly swatter on his bedside table.

Jude’s in the hall waiting, back against the wall, one foot propped up. “Figured I’d keep a lookout. How’d it go?”

“Fine. I think the whole thing was a misunderstanding, but he did tell me something kind of strange. Maybe coincidental. Will you drive me somewhere? I’ll explain on the way.”

“Sure. Where to?”

I hold up my index finger and glance down at my ringing phone. “One second, it’s Malcolm—hello?”

“Turn on the news.”

I pop back into Danny’s room. “Hey, can I use your TV for a minute?” I ask, a little breathless.

“Be my guest.” He points to the remote sitting on his breakfast tray.

Jude hovers behind me as I turn it on and flick through the stations. When I get to channel 2, we are greeted by Deja’s senior photo.





CHAPTER 8





We missed most of the news report, so Jude drives us straight to Malcolm’s. I enter through the front door without ringing the bell like I have so many times before, but this time I find a dozen people gathered around the coffee table holding hands. Malcolm’s parents are rarely home. He says they work hard to pay for a house they never spend any time in. He says work and providing a comfortable life for him and Winnie has been their get-out-of-parenting-free card ever since Tessa disappeared. I think it’s partly why he rejects most of the material things they try to provide. If he doesn’t want them, doesn’t need them, doesn’t use them, what excuse do they have then? But they’re here today. Solemn faced, eyes closed, and heads bowed. Mr. Hawkins leads the group in prayer, his wife to his left, and Derrick, Deja’s stepdad, to his right.

“And we ask you, Father God, protector of the helpless, be with Deja. Guide her safely back to us.”

Malcolm leans against the large kitchen island, looking on, arms crossed, jaw set. I lock eyes with him and point upstairs.

He meets us in his bedroom a couple of minutes later. “I ain’t mad at them for praying. I just don’t know why they can’t do it in the car on the way to search for her. They’re wasting valuable time. My parents know that. They’ve been through this. That’s why everyone is here.”

“Malcolm, what happened?” Deja making the news might mean we find her sooner, but there’s a reason they are running the story when she’s been gone less than a day. And I know it’s not a good one.

He squats down onto his faux-fur footstool. “They found something.”

“Found what?” Jude asks hesitantly.

“Police went back out to the festival site this morning to search in the daylight. One of them found her phone in the woods. It was dead. Screen smashed.” He gnaws at his bottom lip. “They also found that pepper spray you gave her, Ri.”

“Can they tell if she used it?” I ask.

He rubs the heels of his palms over his denim-covered thighs. “Yeah.”

My nose burns and Jude looks between Malcolm and me like he’s missing something. “Okay, they can tell, but did she? Did she use it?” he asks.

Malcolm’s nod is almost imperceptible. No one speaks for over a minute, but the room is loud. The reality of what this might mean screams. It rages. Bouncing from wall to wall, knocking the breath from each of us as it goes.