Needy Little Things(44)
I take a deep breath. Maybe this isn’t what it looks like. Because it looks like Deja was afraid or had something to hide. But the police came here. They saw this. I press and turn the lock on the doorknob, then wiggle it on the other side. It works fine. Why would Deja install the chain lock? Malcolm’s voice trails up the stairs again. I turn and give the room another once-over, now positive there was something going on in Deja’s life that she never shared.
At least not with me.
CHAPTER 18
Malcolm waits until we reach the end of Ms. Jasmine’s block to bombard me with questions.
“The bathroom trip was a front, right? You went up to Deja’s room? Did you find anything?”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Um. Did Dej ever talk to you about stuff?”
“No. We had staring contests and sent blank iMessages back and forth.”
“You know what I mean, Colmy. Serious stuff.”
“Of course she did, Ri. She’s my best friend.”
My next inhale is rough and shaky and insufficient because even though I know this boy’s heart is big enough for two best friends, it hurts to hear him call her that. I was his first. I fiddle with the back of my earring, forcing away thoughts that maybe she’d been replacing me. Scary thoughts that her disappearance was somehow a fulfillment of my need and desire to reclaim my best friend. It’s not outside the realm of possibility. Nothing is anymore.
He links his arm with mine like he knows exactly how his words hit. Like he’s sorry for that. He won’t say it out loud, though. He doesn’t need to.
“I don’t know many details, to be honest. She didn’t like being at home, but ain’t that true for most people our age?”
“She didn’t like being at home, or she was afraid of being at home?”
He drops my arm and stops walking. “Afraid? What makes you say that?”
“Have you ever been in her room?”
He thinks about it for a few seconds. “No, actually. I don’t think I have. Why? What did you see?”
I fiddle with the small stack of friendship bracelets on my wrist, still processing the last thirty minutes.
“Spit it out, Sariyah. You’re making me nervous. What’d you find?”
I monitor my tone carefully so I don’t freak him out even more. “She had an extra lock on her door. A chain lock.” I don’t mention that it was provided by me. “The lock on the knob worked fine, but there’s probably a good explanation, right?” I can’t think of one, but maybe I could be swayed if he can.
He scrunches up his face. “Ri, what Black mother you know gives a mess whether or not her kid’s bedroom door locks? Some of us are lucky to have doors, period. Nah. A chain lock? That don’t sound right.”
“Yeah. You know what else doesn’t sound right?”
He glances away from me. “What?”
“Derrick. Her stepdad. He needed a black light.”
“A black light? Maybe I watch too many crime shows, but can’t you use those to see bodily fluids?”
“I think so. There are probably more … innocuous uses for them, but the vibe was off in that house, Mal. Maybe Deja really did have a reason to run away.”
“It doesn’t matter if she had a reason to run away. Look at the facts, Sariyah. She used that pepper spray in the woods. She left her phone out there. There was blood out there.”
“I know, Malcolm! I know that. I’m not implying that running away means she’s off chilling somewhere happy and cozy.” I understand better than anyone why he’s so resistant to the suggestion. Once the police decided Tessa was a runaway, their effort to find her seemed to drop off a cliff. They didn’t reclassify her case until the security footage and chat room logs popped up five months later. Five months too late. “We don’t need to call Habib in a panic claiming Deja had problems at home. Not yet. But figuring out what was going on with her might get us closer to finding her. That’s all I want.”
He lets out a big puff of air. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Are you thinking Derrick is involved somehow?”
“I don’t know. The police likely saw everything I saw in her bedroom. More probably. And you know they questioned him and her mom.”
“They did.” He takes my hand. “But we’re going to make sure they didn’t miss anything.”
“Oh!” The lock thing completely distracted me. I wriggle free of his grasp and take the Valentine’s Day card from my purse. “Have you heard of somebody named J.? Was Deja seeing someone?”
Malcolm’s eyebrows crash into each other and he snatches the card from me, taking a few seconds to read. “I know this can’t be from Jay Peters. That boy smells like Subway and he don’t even work there. Deja wasn’t that desperate.”
“No. I had the same thought, and no. Could it be a girl?”
He nibbles on the end of his thumb. “I don’t think so, but don’t quote me.” He tucks the card back in the envelope and inspects the front. “No stamp or return address. Whoever it was must have hand-delivered it.”
“What are you thinking?”
He shrugs and passes the card back to me. “Maybe Dej had herself a little secret love affair, but Valentine’s Day was like two months ago. Her longest relationship was five weeks. If she broke the record, we would have heard about it. Now come on, because Deja willingly turning her bedroom into a bunker is a far more pressing mystery.”