I interrupted, ready to rip the Band-Aid off even though it had barely covered the gaping wound in the first place. “What did they say about Desiree? I know they had to say something.”
“Yeah,” he said. “They did. They said she met someone up there.”
Fifteen
He’d buried the lede so deep it would take a backhoe to find it. Tam and Veronika had stopped nodding, both staring at him, mouths all agape. Aunt E still looked unimpressed.
Desiree had been in the Bronx to meet someone. It took a moment for that to settle in. I should’ve been relieved. For the first time in four days someone was telling me what I’d suspected, what I’d eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner. Even as a midnight freaking snack. Desiree hadn’t been up there by herself. But all I could think about was one thing.
Desiree hadn’t been coming to see me.
“Who?” Veronika said at last. “Who did she meet?”
She turned to Aunt E.
“You know I ain’t leaving my house for nobody that early in the morning,” Aunt E said.
Had this really never been about me at all? Two years ago I would have stopped right here and now. Washed my hands of all of this like I’d washed my hands of her. But I couldn’t. The guilt still remained. She still needed me even if she’d been too stubborn to know it.
Veronika’s eyes were back on Zizza.
“I’m assuming her dealer,” he said. “It would explain the drugs.”
“She didn’t know anyone up there, besides us,” Aunt E said. “Not even dealers.”
She was right. Our neighbors weren’t Desiree’s people. They didn’t tweet or post or filter the hell out of their selfies. They just lived. Sometimes barely.
Who was important enough to have made Desiree leave in the middle of her birthday party? It must have had something to do with the accident. What else could be that important? And if it was, there were just two people worth the trip: Zor-El or the other person who knew about the accident.
The missing driver.
Sherry had overheard Desiree arguing with someone—a witness—who Desiree thought could prove she hadn’t been to blame. But a couple of days later she’d told Sherry everything was taken care of. That meant she’d gotten what she needed, right? Had Zor-El taken a video that night? Told Desiree something that’d helped her ID someone? Had Desiree confronted them only for things to go horribly wrong?
Of course, none of it made any sense. Why would someone want her dead? Why come all the way to the Bronx?
I finally spoke. “And the kids. They didn’t give you a description?”
Slowly, he pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and started reading off notes in a monotone flatter than an Instagram model’s ass pre–silicone shots. “They claim they only saw her get out of the car ‘from a long distance.’ By herself. Didn’t even close her door. She walked up the street. When she turned the corner, she said ‘Hey’ to someone they never saw.”
One of the first witnesses had heard Desiree say “Hey” too. I’d assumed she had been yelling it at the kids when they stole her car. Turns out I’d been wrong about that too.
Zizza was still going. “Kids claimed they politely waited five minutes, and when she didn’t return, they took advantage of the key fob she’d left in the passenger seat, alongside some other belongings.” He tapped his phone again and put it back in his pocket. “It’s all bullshit. Desiree could’ve been yelling at them.”
I’d thought the same thing, but it still annoyed me to hear him say it. It was clear how seriously he was taking my sister’s death. “Why would they lie about that?” I said.
“Because carjacking is a Class C felony with a maximum fifteen-year sentence. We caught them with the key fob so we know they didn’t just break in. These guys are smart.”
A minute ago they were idiots. I didn’t point that out, though. “What if they’re telling the truth?” I said.
“They’re not.”
“But you’ll still look into it,” I said, then took a breath, ready to finally share what I’d found out. That this had something to do with her accident, even if I still wasn’t sure why.
But then he rolled his eyes harder than a pair of dice. “Of course we will.”
Sure. Right after they flew to LA and figured out who shot Biggie.
Zizza kept on. “But we have no reason to believe there was any foul play. If she did meet someone up there, we’ll find them and talk to them about the narcotics we found in her purse. But we don’t believe the carjackers were involved in her death.”
That settled it. If I told him my news, he’d just smile and nod and not do shit about it. Zizza and his brethren didn’t give a crap about any of this. Any of us.
Desiree was a crackhead.
The thieves were liars.
I was just over it.
“Bullshit,” I said.
“Don’t be rude, Lena,” Aunt E said. I’d forgotten she was even in the room. “Act like you’ve got some home training.”
Gram and Aunt E lived by the adage that if you don’t have anything good to say, then don’t say anything at all. Probably why they never brought up my mother. So I took a sip from my bottle of expensive-ass water and wished it was a glass of C?roc. I needed to know who had been up there with Desiree. And there was one way left to find out. Her phone.
“When can we get Desiree’s stuff back?” I glanced at Aunt E. “Please.”
“We’ll need to hold on to all her belongings for the time being since they’re part of an active investigation,” Zizza said. “Might take a while. We’ll keep you updated if we find anything of note.”
Yeah, okay.
My left wrist itched, but for once I ignored it. Because even if I didn’t know why the person had come to the Bronx—to meet her, or to follow her?—I knew I wasn’t wrong about the most important thing. They’d played a role in her death.
I just needed to figure out how to find them.
*
“Who’s the white girl?” Mr. Buck’s voice chopped through my thoughts.
I’d spent the entire ride back fantasizing Black Panther–esque methods of figuring out who had killed Desiree and why. Me breaking into the Omni hotel offices. Hacking their computer. Tapping their phone. I was doing it all. And not even wearing skintight vibranium to do it. In reality, I couldn’t hack or tap or break anything, which didn’t leave me much to hunt them down with. But I did have one lead. Zor-El. If I could find her, she could tell me exactly what she’d told Desiree.
If there was a video, she had it.
“Hope she’s not a new neighbor,” Aunt E said.
I finally glanced up.
We’d left the gate open because our neighbors knew not to park in front of our driveway. Aunt E and her broom would be out the front door before they’d be out of their front seat. This person hadn’t gotten the memo. Yet.
The first thing I saw was a black coupe haphazardly pulled into our drive. I didn’t need to know the make or model to know I couldn’t afford it. The second thing I saw was a familiar set of blond extensions. “She’s a family friend,” I said.