Needy Little Things(45)

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I follow Malcolm upstairs to his bedroom and plop down on the corner of his ratty mattress. Miss Doretta trots over and nestles herself in my lap as Malcolm settles in on the floor with his laptop. He clicks around, types furiously, and curses at the whirring machine every few minutes for being slow.

“What are you doing?”

He pops a jumbo Lemonhead into his mouth and talks with it pushed into his cheek like a chipmunk. “Looking up Deja’s stepdaddy to see if he has any priors.”

“What?” I scootch across his sheets until I can see his screen. “The police wouldn’t have missed anything that obvious, right?”

Miss Doretta gives me a low rumbling growl for daring to disturb her.

“Of course not. But it’s not like they are going to tell us if they found any dirt.”

“Wouldn’t he be under arrest if they did?”

“Not if they didn’t find a straight-up smoking gun. Not if they are trying to build up a case against him or something.”

He immediately goes to the Georgia Sex Offender Registry website. I gasp.

“Sariyah, she had a chain lock on her bedroom door. Let’s get the extreme stuff out of the way first.”

“But you don’t think—”

“No, I don’t.”

We both let out an enormous sigh of relief when his name turns up nothing. Malcolm even uses his address to search in case Derrick Henry isn’t his legal name. Nothing.

“I feel dirty for even going there.” He pumps some hand sanitizer into his palm and clears his browser’s history.

“If you won’t get your hands dirty for a friend, who else would you do it for?”

“You right. Onward?”

“Onward.”

For over an hour we scroll through court records, DMV stuff, even old voting records. By the end, what we’ve actually discovered is Deja’s stepdad is a pretty stand-up citizen. Abrasive in person, and old-school in an annoying way, but on a paper—a decent human who donates much of his time to local charities.

“How did you even know about all these sites?”

He shrugs. “I’m a nosy bitch with a missing sister.”

I sink back against the wall, deflated. “Derrick was rude as hell today, but I think Ms. Jasmine was telling the truth. He’s taking this hard. Maybe he wanted the black light to do his own investigation.”

“Maybe so.” Malcolm closes his computer and slides it under his end table. “What’d you do after the rally yesterday, other than leave me on read?”

I grimace. “I’m sorry.”

“Not asking for an apology.” He stretches and yawns loudly. “I get it.”

“I kind of can’t stop thinking about Danny, to be honest.”

Miss Doretta begins to snore. Malcolm rubs her head but doesn’t say anything to me and I’m brought back to the abrupt way he ended the conversation about Danny in the bathroom at Retro. A quiet voice in my head says to drop it and talk about something else, but I need to get these thoughts out. “You know Charlie McKinny from school?”

“Yeah. I have graphic arts with her.”

“Well, Danny was her uncle.” I skip how I learned that for now. “Her mom started a fundraising account for his medical expenses and it hasn’t really taken off. I want to help.”

“I didn’t realize you were cool with Charlie like that.”

“I’m not, but I don’t really need to be cool with her to want to help, do I?” I hope he hears what I’m not saying. Plenty of people who didn’t know Deja well are supporting the effort to find her. So many people searched and continue to search for Tess. The work of thousands of strangers closed Casey’s case.

“Of course not,” he huffs. “I didn’t mean it like that. But how’d you know about her mom’s fundraiser? She told you about it?”

“No. I was looking up some stuff about Danny. I can’t shake this sense of guilt over what happened. Helping financially feels like the least I could do.”

“He had heart disease, Sariyah,” he says, sounding bored as ever.

“I was thinking about making a donation.” Another donation. A more significant one.

He pushes his shoulders up near his ears. “Okay, so make a donation. You need my permission or something?”

I roll my eyes.

“Oh? What’s all that about?” Malcolm stands and I can tell he is more than ready to fight. Like he’s been holding something in and has had enough. And that’s fine. Maybe I want to fight, too.

“Look, I know he had heart disease, but you’re acting like you can’t possibly understand why I feel some piece of responsibility. Like it’s absurd for me to be caught up on it. Like you wouldn’t be caught up on it if you were in my shoes.”

“I can’t ever be in your shoes, Sariyah. But from where I’m standing, right next to you, no, I don’t get it. Why are you more worried about your potential three degrees of separation in the death of some random dude than Deja? That’s how it goes. These girls disappear into thin air and no one cares. Not for long. They forget. They get wrapped up in other shit.”

“I can walk and chew gum, Malcolm. We just left Dej’s house. You wouldn’t have even gone if I didn’t drag you there. You’re projecting.”