Erin had been right about the manager. He had a crush. Within moments Erin and I were sitting across from each other in a dark booth drinking vodka and cranberry from the manager’s private stash. He was kind enough to leave both bottles.
Erin waited until I polished off the second drink before she spoke. “I’m sorry.”
And that’s all it took. The tears came again, this time a Category 5. Now that I’d started crying, it felt like I couldn’t stop.
She took my cup, mixed me another drink as she spoke. “Do you want to go to the cops?”
I shook my head. Not now. “He’s on a first-name basis with the police commissioner. For all I know they covered up Kevin House too.”
She nodded, then hesitated. “Stuart?”
There was no way in hell. If he wanted that for his book, he’d have to find it out himself.
“If your father did this, he can’t get away with it.”
She handed me my refill. I was just tipsy enough to notice she was abstaining but also tipsy enough not to care. I took a sip. It was much stronger than the first two. “The video.” I jumped up. “The person Desiree had been stalking at Starbucks starts their shift at eleven. We need to go.”
Erin gently pulled me down. “Let’s get some food in your stomach first.”
I ate, but for all I knew the meal could’ve been cardboard. I cleaned my plate without tasting a single morsel. The night manager got off at eight but stuck around for a good hour, distracting us with compliments and stories. When he finally left, we switched to water and stories about Desiree. I told Erin about the time we’d broken Gram’s favorite vase while playing hide-and-seek and both chose the switch over ratting each other out. And how Desiree would watch patiently as I worked out card tricks when I wanted to be the Black girl version of Harry Houdini. How she always insisted the family who lived in her Barbie Dream House have two girls. And of course, how we held hands through Gram’s funeral service and burial, and how she held me all night after my mom’s. It was so much easier to think of my sister alive than dead.
By 10:00, I was sober-ish and hydrated and we were ready to go. Erin drove and I rode shotgun—still feeling groggy. It took twenty minutes to get to the Upper West Side, another fifteen to find a spot, and a final five for Erin to parallel park Mr. Buck’s behemoth, but by 10:45 we were back at Starbucks. Greg waved when he saw us, then shook his head. I took it to mean Alex wasn’t there. Yet.
The store had one long bench lining the wall, divided by four small two-seater tables. Erin and I nabbed the one by the window.
Alex turned out to be short, skinny, white, and on time, with blond hair he’d gone to the trouble of tinting the slightest bit pink. I stayed put when he walked in. And when Greg pointed us out to him. And when he looked scared shitless.
That was the last time Alex even looked in our direction, instead opting to hurry behind the counter, put on his green apron, and concentrate on making macchiatos like he was finding a cure for the common cold. I let him get through three customers before I finally got in line. Luckily, no one got behind me. Greg wasn’t smiling as big when I went to place my order. “He’s not happy to see you.”
“I figured,” I said. “What’s the most complicated drink you have?”
Greg thought it over. “I had a customer order an iced ristretto ten-shot venti with breve, five pumps vanilla, seven pumps caramel, four Splenda, poured, not shaken once.”
I had no clue what any of that meant. “I’ll take four.”
Alex didn’t turn around when I walked over, but I knew he knew I was there. I waited until he’d finished the first drink before I said anything. “You knew my sister?” There was no one else in line. No one else within hearing distance if I kept my voice low.
He put the drink down.
“I think someone killed her.” I didn’t mention that person was Mel.
He hesitated before starting the second, and I used that to keep going. “I know you’re scared. Because of whatever you saw that night. I’m scared too. But if you have a video, you can just give it to me. I won’t say where I got it. I won’t ask how you got it. I’ll just take it and leave.”
He walked away, and I deflated. He said something to Greg, probably about getting rid of me. But a second later, he was back. “He said I can take five minutes. I’ll meet you in the bathroom. The code to the lock is 4322.”
I didn’t tell him I already knew it. Instead, I glanced at Erin, who gave me an encouraging nod, then I went down the hall. The bathroom was a single, probably forty square feet, but it began to shrink as soon as I shut the door. My heartbeat matched the tempo of a trance song. My wrist itched so bad I felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside out.
There was a knock, but I didn’t move. I felt trapped, as much in this horrible idea as in the room itself. On the other side of that door stood the answer I’d been seeking since Desiree had died. The one I’d been sure I wanted. But now, when it was so close—when it was Mel—I wasn’t sure at all. What was that video going to do except let him ruin my life even more?
Alex knocked again, and I cursed myself for not bringing my phone so I could text Erin to rescue me. I stood and waited and listened as Alex plugged in the code. I backed up until I ran out of space, and by the time he stepped inside, I was pressed against the sink. He closed the door, and we eyed each other, both realizing what a shitty idea this was.
After a minute, he spoke, holding his cell up like a barrier. “I don’t live around here, but I’ve worked here for three years. I’ve gotten to know people in the neighborhood. I’d been hanging with a friend after work. I was leaving his place when I saw her car coming down the street. Swerving. Of course, I took a video. Look at this fool. Didn’t think much of it until I saw an article a couple of weeks later about her arrest. I wanted to DM her right then. Tell her what I was reading wasn’t what I saw.”
I should have interrupted to ask it then: Who did you see? But I stayed silent. Let him take his own long, winding road to that final destination.
“I finally DMed her a couple of months ago. It had been on my mind with the two-year anniversary coming up. She didn’t see the message. I spent the first week checking religiously. Then I took that as a sign. That I’d done all I could do.”
As he spoke, he’d backed up too and was leaning on the closed door. “But then, like a month later, there she was in my DMs. I got scared so I didn’t write her back, then she stopped by here. I told her the video was on my old phone. First she said it was fine. Then she asked if I could get the phone from my mom’s in Delaware.”
And that’s when I finally got up enough nerve to ask. “What? What’d you see?”
“That it was a man driving.”
Hearing it confirmed still felt like a shock. I wanted to tell Alex to stop talking. That I wanted to leave. But I couldn’t get the words out, and he kept going.
“I had my mom send me the old cell. Desiree and I were supposed to meet in person so I could give it to her. But then the day came. And I got scared again and called in sick. Then she died. I deleted my Instagram completely.”