The parking garage was around the corner from their place. I gave the keys to the valet, grabbed Desiree’s things, and headed over. The doorman was polite. The ride to their floor was short. The door was already open when I got off the elevator. Veronika stood there, smiling like she was posing for the cover of Architectural Digest.
I clutched the plastic bag, sure Mel would just pop up behind her like the star of a horror movie. But he didn’t.
“I’m so glad you came.” Veronika pulled me in for a hug, ignoring the bag wedged between us.
She stepped back, and I didn’t know what to do. So I just presented the bag. “Everything the police gave me.”
She didn’t take it. Just looked at it, and I understood. These were her daughter’s final belongings and I was acting like it was a housewarming gift.
“You still have that expensive water?” I said, more to fill the space than my stomach.
Veronika defaulted to Stepford Wife. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
I went into the living room and sat, putting the bag down beside me. The apartment was quiet, like the moment right before the bad guy pops out of the closet.
But my villain was still missing.
I was staring down the hall when Veronika came back with two glasses of water. She handed one to me. “Have you gone back to class yet?”
I shook my head, barely able to remember what class I was missing today. Any minute now, he’d show up. “You need any help with the funeral? I know I’ve been MIA.”
“Everything’s set.” She took a sip. “We sent out the invites for the larger service, but we want to do something just for the family and some close friends. You’ll come?”
“Of course.”
Any minute.
“Tam said you were the one who had the idea about the dress. Desiree would have loved that. She was so lucky to have you as a sister.”
“I was lucky to have her.” I glanced at the hallway. “Where’s Mel?”
“He’s not here.” She had the nerve to smile, like it was no biggie. “He had a last-minute meeting.”
Of course he did. I set the glass down next to the coaster on her coffee table. All it had taken was him laughing on the phone and I’d fallen for it.
“He should be back by ten. He told me to tell you to wait. You’re not leaving, are you?” Veronika would attach herself to my leg if it meant following through on Mel’s wishes.
“Which door is Desiree’s room?”
“Second on the left.”
When I got there, I wanted to slam the bedroom door. The only thing stopping me was that Mel wasn’t around to hear it. Instead, I closed it behind me and just took everything in. I could count on three fingers the number of times I’d been in here and could count on four more how long it had been since the last time. True to form, they’d redesigned it.
If Veronika’s living room was tailor-made for a design mag, Desiree’s bedroom was tailor-made for the @Bedrooms_of_Insta account. I beelined to the white marble vanity closest to me. Took in the makeup, chair, and mirror. All waiting for someone who’d never come back. It looked picture-perfect. Just like her. I opened the lone drawer. Inside was a mess. Just like her.
I tightened my Super Black Woman cape and noticed a clock: 9:22. Less than forty minutes to get what I needed before Mel got back. No time to get emotional.
I was looking for a laptop, iPad, or jump drive. I went through the vanity drawer, then did a sweep of the room. She’d packed a lot into the space, which meant a lot of places to hide things. Bed. Two dressers. An ottoman. The color scheme all pinks, grays, and whites. And it was spotless. The housekeeper more than earned her paycheck.
I started with her walk-in closet, then worked my way back toward the door. I searched everywhere. Peeked in shoes. Looked under mattresses. Inspected drawers. Though I found her “massager,” I didn’t find any video. Still I kept on. When I’d gone through everything, I finally checked the clock again: 10:21. I gave up. Desiree had grown up here. If she hadn’t wanted something found, she would’ve known where to stash it. It was time to finally talk to Mel.
I didn’t see him when I left Desiree’s room. Veronika was on the couch, Desiree’s belongings spread out next to her. She stared at them. Motionless. Seeing her like that stopped me dead in my tracks. “You okay?”
She jumped, and the perfectly made-up mask slipped back into place like she was going to a masquerade. “Yep,” she said. Automatic. “It’s just, I don’t know. Seeing her stuff like this.”
I nodded, appreciating her honesty as she kept on. “Knowing she won’t use it again. It makes it real. That she’s gone.”
That’s when a tear escaped Veronika’s eye. I should’ve gone over, comforted her. Instead, I just stared like she was the Mona Lisa.
“A mother isn’t supposed to go through her child’s things. She’s supposed to go through mine. Finally get her hands on this necklace.” She touched her diamonds. “It was her favorite. She’d put it on as a kid and parade around wearing my Manolo Blahniks.”
I sat down on the other side of Desiree’s things. My proximity must have made her feel vulnerable. The wall shot back up like a geyser. “Mel should be here any minute.”
“He’s still not back?”
“Not yet, but let me call him.” Smiling at me, she waited until he picked up. “Hey! I’m here with Melina…We’re waiting for you…” Her face fell as she listened. “No. It’s fine. Let me ask.”
She looked at me, phone still pressed to her ear. “Mel’s going to be a bit longer.”
An intermediary.
“How much?”
“He doesn’t know, but you’re welcome to stay until he gets back.”
I stood. “No.” I was about to say I had a meeting of my own, but I left it at that. No bullshit excuses. Veronika looked like she understood enough not to ask for one either. I turned.
“Wait.”
But I didn’t. I was opening the front door when she came up behind me.
“You left your credit card with Desiree’s things.”
I stopped, turned to find Veronika offering it to me. The Visa White Card.
INSTAGRAM LIVE NOVEMBER 10, 2016,
6:30 a.m. Eastern @TheDesireePierce212
A row house. Desiree Pierce knocks insistently on the door to the basement apartment, then backs up and pulls down the bouquet of balloons in her right hand, blocking the view of the door.
“Leeeennnnaaaa.” Her voice is whiny and slightly slurred. “Open the door.”
A few seconds later, the door opens but whoever opens it is hidden behind the balloons. Desiree starts singing “Happy Birthday.” The Stevie Wonder version written for MLK, Jr. that’s a staple at every Black birthday party. Her voice is awful.
When she finally gets to the final “to ya,” she ends with a flourish. There’s a pause, then the voice of Lena Scott. “Des, it’s six thirty a.m.!”
Desiree doesn’t notice Lena’s discomfort. “On your birthday. I came right over to celebrate.”
“Let me guess. From the club?”
“Perhaps. Are you gonna let me in? I can sing again. Make sure your neighbors really hate me.”