“She seemed fine last I saw her.”
His voice was so matter-of-fact I immediately wanted to cut the bullshit to meet him halfway.
“Three days ago,” I said.
“Yep. Had to drop off her gift even though she could only fit me in for a few minutes.” He laughed. “She was a busy girl, but I wanted to see her. Twenty-five is a big deal.”
“It is. Still young, though.”
He laughed again, turned around to finally face me. “I liked her, you know.”
He probably liked a lot of women. I didn’t say that, though, just stared until he turned back and we were both looking in the mirror again. He spoke first. “You came here to ask questions. So ask them.”
“How?”
“She showed up backstage one night. Just like you. Next.”
“When?”
His eyes jumped to his crew. “Yo, Pee. When did Desiree start coming around?”
One who wasn’t rolling weed spoke. “Miami.”
The entourage all seemed to have some purpose. Bodyguard. Barber. Weed roller. Pee must’ve been the schedule keeper. Free looked back at me. “March.”
“That was right after Mel cut her off.”
“So I heard.”
I wasn’t surprised he knew. I was surprised by how blasé he was about it. Like he wouldn’t have freaked if things were reversed and Mel was screwing his kid. “So she wanted revenge,” I said.
“Maybe she just wanted a good fuck.” He sounded as blunt as that spliff. I ignored it.
“She say what happened? Between her and Mel?”
“Mel raised her to be a princess. Always knew it’d be hell on any dude she messed with. I was right.”
“But you liked her. What about Cyn?”
I’d said his wife’s name but thought of my mother, how she never got over Mel leaving her. The cheating was annoying but forgivable. The abandonment was not. She and Cyn were one and the same.
“I’ll tell her you said hi.”
It wasn’t what I meant. He knew it too. “TMZ has your divorce papers online,” I said.
He didn’t speak for long enough I thought maybe he wouldn’t at all. But then he did. “That shit was a threat. An empty one. My wife and I have an understanding. I don’t have to keep it in my pants, but I do have to keep it out of the news. I don’t leave the house without an NDA, my man Bones outside, and a condom. Protected in every single way.”
“‘Only thing broke about me is the condom,’” I said. One of his lines. We just looked at each other’s reflection.
“‘But I pay for my mistakes,’” he said. The line after it. “Your sister cost me a quarter mil. She tried to get cute. Leave her earring at the hotel. I found it. Sent her home. She wasn’t happy. Couple of weeks later, she texts me a photo of a pregnancy test. Nothing else. So I texted her the name of my doctor. Nothing else.”
“Desiree wouldn’t have an abortion.” I thought of that day in the supermarket.
“Someone get my phone.”
The timbre of his voice hadn’t gone up at all, yet the crew—who had been acting like they couldn’t hear a word—suddenly all looked at us. I, in turn, looked at the cell on the counter in front of him. “What’s that?”
“Family phone.”
By then, Pee had made his way over. He handed the non-family phone to Free, then went back to his assigned seat. I peered over Free’s shoulder as he scrolled through his camera roll, quickly understanding the need for two phones. Lots of nudes. Nipple size and color indicating they weren’t all the same person.
I had no clue what he wanted to show me, but it didn’t matter. Desiree wouldn’t get an abortion. I clung to that thought. It was my life raft, if only because I didn’t want to think of the alternative. That she did and what it’d made her do after.
That would make Naut right. Prove I really didn’t know her. Not anymore.
“Here we go.”
He handed me the cell so I could get a closer look. The photo wasn’t a selfie, but she’d never take a pic like this herself. Not looking like that. The clothes were hospital, not designer. Her face sans fancy filters. She looked worn down despite the perfectly made-up face, staring at the phone in her hand with eyes as vacant as a lot.
I handed the phone back. No need to look any longer. The photo was permanently burned into my brain. It had been for two years now—ever since I’d taken it.
That had been the last time I’d seen Desiree.
*
Twenty minutes later I was back in familiar commuter territory. If Free thought Desiree’d had an abortion, then there was no reason to believe he’d have met her in the Bronx. Part of me was relieved. The other part was just confused. The photo meant something. I just had no clue what. Just like I had no clue what to do next.
Free could tell the photo had me upset, but he assumed it was because I’d taken some pro-life stance. I didn’t correct him. He didn’t deserve it.
After I left Free’s dressing room, I sent Erin a Got to go text, then hauled ass to the safety of the lower level of Penn Station. I wanted to go home. I needed to go home. But I didn’t. Subway cell service was too spotty, and I was desperate to talk to Detective Green. He still hadn’t called. This would’ve frustrated me on a normal day. At that moment, it had me homicidal.
I selected his number from Recent Calls. It was either the late hour or God taking pity on me because Green finally picked up.
“Ms. Scott. Sorry it’s taken so long to connect, but we’re making progress on the Tesla—”
“She was pregnant when she died. She was supposed to have an abortion, but she just pretended. Even sent a picture from her accident a couple of years ago as fake proof.” I stopped to take a breath, and he didn’t say anything. “She was pregnant,” I said one last time.
Finally he answered me. “You’re mistaken. We test for that sort of thing.”
“She had a pregnancy test. A positive pregnancy test.”
“I’m not saying she was never pregnant. I’m saying she wasn’t pregnant when she died. When do you think she was pregnant?”
I chose to ignore his emphasis. “A few weeks ago.”
“Okay. It can take a couple of weeks for the level of hCG in a woman’s blood to return to normal. If she’d had an abortion—”
“She wouldn’t.”
“Or a miscarriage, say, last month, then we wouldn’t know. It would explain a depression, though. A desire to be reckless. More so than usual.”
A thought hit me so hard I damn near tripped.
What if Green was right?
*
“Thanks. I’ll be right down.”
I slipped the bellhop one of two bills I had on me—a five with a missing corner—then watched as he carted all three designer suitcases to the elevator. Desiree’s belongings packed more neatly than her life had ever been. It was only when he turned the corner that I stepped back into the suite and closed the door.
I’d been at the Omni bright and early. I hadn’t dreamed about hide-and-seek the night before, but only because I couldn’t sleep, too busy trying to make sense of the possibility that maybe everyone else was right. That they knew my sister better than I had.