We didn’t have much of a front stoop, just one step leading to about two feet of standing space. Erin lounged on it like it was Malibu. She watched as Mr. Buck stopped at the curb and came around to help us out. By the time he pulled off, Erin was on her stilettoed feet and advancing toward us with her arms spread out. “Are you Aunt E? Can I give you a hug?”
Aunt E said nothing, just gave her the same look she gave Ms. Paterson’s son whenever he walked his pit bull without a leash. I stepped in between them and walked into Erin’s outstretched arms. Better me than Aunt E. For all of us.
“Erin, what a surprise.” I’d wanted to talk to her but not now. Not right after our convo with Zizza. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you wanted to chat, and I’ve always wanted to see this place. Desiree talked about it like it was Disneyland.”
She eyed Aunt E again. I stole a move from Veronika, keeping one arm around her. The better to herd her away from the cranky Black woman trailing behind us. It’d been a rough day. Plus, I could sense my neighbors watching from windows and stoops and front doors. Sometime over the next forty-eight hours Ms. Paterson would “happen” to run into me to find out who that had been. The quicker I got Erin happily on her way back to Chelsea, the less our nosy neighbor would have to share with the rest of the block.
“Now’s not a great time,” I said. “We were about to go inside and eat.”
“Really?” She looked back at Aunt E as I unlocked the door. “Freck…I mean Desiree always said you had the best mac ’n’ cheese she ever tasted. I’m from the South so you know I love some mac ’n’ cheese. Do you use Velveeta?”
“Of course.” Aunt E smiled. Food was not just a way to a man’s heart. It was also the way to Aunt E’s good side. “But the key is Muenster. You didn’t hear that from me, though.”
Erin zipped her lip while managing to say “Mmm” at the same time. “Sounds delicious. I’m starving.”
“I was just about to whip some up,” Aunt E said. “Why don’t you keep me company? Lena’s place is in no shape for guests.”
I watched them both walk inside Aunt E’s apartment. Erin slowly took in the living room, all the furniture spread out like Aunt E was twenty-five moves deep in a chess game. She went all around the room before stopping at Gram’s recliner. Its black leather was cracked and fading. “Vintage. I love it.” Then she followed Aunt E into the kitchen.
Guess she was staying.
Aunt E was right, though. I’d neglected any and all housework since Desiree had died. Clothes were spread out on my floor like a man on a subway. Cups sat around unwashed. Schoolbooks had been left abandoned on the living room floor. About the only place not junky as hell was my fridge. It housed expired milk and one extra-large egg.
There was no way I was going to talk to Erin about Desiree in front of Aunt E, which meant Erin had to come upstairs. I did a drive-by clean, which meant the books were thrown into my bedroom, hidden behind a closed door. Cups were congregated in the sink “to soak.” And I grabbed my laundry bag and foraged for dirty clothes. The trip downstairs to the washing machine was quick, but I was still a bit wary. Despite what Karen in Middle America might have you believe, our street wasn’t a hodgepodge of gangs, guns, and ganja. But still.
I hesitated going down the basement stairs even though it was still daytime. Making a production of turning on the light, talking loudly as I stomped down each step, giving would-be burglars time to make their escape or hide. The basement was one room that took up the entire length of the house, the whole shebang a maze of Gram’s old stuff mixed with childhood toys and a few things I’d brought when I’d moved. Boxes upon suitcases upon books and bags. Lots of stuff I’d been “meaning” to go through for five years and counting. Aunt E refused to touch it.
The good news was that the washing machine was near the stairs. I started with the warm-cold mix. Panties and jeans and the like. I’d read somewhere that turning your jeans inside out reduced wear and tear. So far I had no proof this was true, but I always did it just in case. I was pulling one leg through itself when I found the pregnancy test.
It was still shoved in my back pocket, long forgotten. Still clumsily wrapped in the torn piece of purple paper I’d picked up from Desiree’s hotel room. I hesitated, not sure what to do. It wasn’t the type of memento I wanted to remember my sister by, but it still felt weird to just throw it away.
I was unwrapping it like a white elephant gift when I noticed Desiree’s handwriting.
Sixteen
Desiree’s handwriting was impeccable. When she was five, she’d said it needed to be for future autographs. She’d already signed more than a few for people so desperate for a piece of Mel that they’d shove a pen at his daughter, who barely knew how to read.
Erin read it slowly. “‘Dodson.’ What’s that mean?”
She handed the piece of paper back to me from across my kitchen table. After seeing Desiree’s note, I’d rushed upstairs to find her acting as Aunt E’s sous-chef, folding macaroni into the cheese mixture. I’d waited until they’d gotten it into the oven, then rushed Erin upstairs.
“Exactly. I found the other half in the hotel trash. It was clearly the same sheet. Same color and everything. There were two words written on it. ‘Check Karma.’ But that makes no sense. You can’t check your karma. It’s not a bank account. Unless you put it all together. Check Karma…” I trailed off.
“Dodson?”
“Yes!” If I’d had a gold star, I would’ve given it to her. “Check Karma doesn’t make sense. Check Karma Dodson does. She was looking for someone. Karma Dodson.”
Zor-El finally had a name.
I shared everything with Erin, partly because I figured—hoped—it would trigger something related that Desiree had told her. Partly because I owed her an update after ghosting her post-Free. And partly because I was excited as hell.
I started with the night of Desiree’s accident, bypassing me freaking out—both at home and the hospital—and ending with my suspicions that Desiree may have agreed to meet her killer up here. And that Zor-El was the key to finding out who.
When I was done, Erin just stared at me. “You’re wrong.”
So much for Erin’s help. She stood up, paced the small area between my table and fridge. “She would’ve shared this all with me.” I opened my mouth, but she cut me off. “Don’t even mention that damn pregnancy test. She would have told me, and I would’ve gone with her to meet Karma. And I definitely would’ve gone to meet the piece of shit who let her take the fall for the accident. Whoever his ass is.”
“Didn’t you hook up with some guy you didn’t know?”
“And? Friends before mens. I would have brought him too.”
I laughed and it felt good to do so, each chortle making me feel ten pounds lighter. That’s when I realized it. I actually liked Erin. Yes, she was blond and rich, and she probably considered a broken nail an epic tragedy. But she was also funny and sweet and a damn good friend. Grinning too, she walked toward the hall. “All I know is that Karma is a horrible name to give a kid.”