It rang a bell. Vaguely.
I grunted. “So who’s replacing her?”
“I already hired a new girl. She starts tonight.”
“Does she have experience or is this another Crystal?”
“Chrissie,” Fi corrected. “And unless you want to start doing your own hiring, I suggest you gracefully back down and tell me I’ve been doing a kick-ass job and you trust my instincts.”
I yanked the phone away from my ear when Fi let out an ear-splitting “Hi-ya!”
“You’ve been doing a kick-ass job, and I trust your instincts,” I muttered.
“That’s a good boy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to put my son on his ass in front of his crush.”
“Try not to splatter too much blood. It’s a bitch to clean up.”
Waylon let out a snore from the floor. I penciled in “New Girl” on the empty shifts and jumped into some vendor payments and other bullshit paperwork.
Both Whiskey Clipper and Honky Tonk were showing consistent growth. And two of the three apartments rented for additional income. I was pleased with the numbers. It meant that I’d managed to do the impossible and turn dumb luck into an actual solid future. Between the businesses and my investments, I’d taken a windfall and built upon it.
It was a good feeling even after a sleepless night. With nothing left to do, I reluctantly called up Facebook. Advertising was one kind of evil, but advertising that required you to have a social media presence that opened you up to millions of pain-in-the-ass strangers? That was straight-up bullshit.
I bet Naomi was on Facebook. She probably liked it too.
My fingers casually typed Naomi Witt into the search bar before the sane, rational part of me could hit the brakes.
“Huh.”
Waylon lifted his head quizzically.
“Just checking on our neighbor. Making sure she’s not into Amway sales or running a long con as a pretend twin,” I told him.
Satisfied that I would save him from whatever threats social media held, Waylon fell back to sleep with a rumbling snore.
The woman obviously had never heard of privacy settings. There was a lot of her to get to know on social media. Pictures from work, vacations, family holidays. All without Tina, I noted. She ran 5ks for good causes and raised funds for neighbor’s vet bills. And she lived in a nice-looking house at least twice the size of the cottage.
She went to high school and college reunions and looked damn good doing it.
Throwback pictures proved my theory that she’d been a cheerleader. And someone on the yearbook committee had been a fan since it seemed like her entire senior year had been dedicated to her. I blinked at the handful of pictures of Naomi and Tina. The twin thing was undeniable. So was the fact that, beneath the surface, they were very different women.
I was already invested. There was no pulling me out of the online stalking rabbit hole. Especially not when the only other things I had to do were boring.
So I dug further.
Tina Witt fell off the digital plane of existence after high school graduation. She didn’t smile in her cap and gown. Certainly not next to young, fresh Naomi with her honor cords.
She’d already had an arrest record by then. Yet there was Naomi, an arm around her sister’s waist beaming wide enough for the two of them. I was willing to bet money that she’d done what she could to be the good one. To be the low-maintenance kid. The one who didn’t cause their parents sleepless nights.
I wondered how much living she’d missed out on wasting all that time being good.
I followed the Tina line a little deeper, discovering a trail on Pennsylvania District Magistrate court cases and then again in New Jersey and Maryland. DUIs, possession, skipping out on rent. She’d done time about twelve years ago. Not much, but enough to have made a point. Enough to have her becoming a mother less than a year later and steering clear of the cops.
I went back to Naomi’s Facebook and stopped on a family picture from her teenage years. Tina scowling, with her arms crossed next to her sister as their parents beamed behind them. I didn’t know what went on behind closed doors. But I did know that sometimes a bad seed was just a bad seed. No matter what field it was planted in, no matter how it was tended, some just came up rotten.
A glance at the clock reminded me I only had a little time before my two o’clock. Which meant I should get back to the ad campaigns.
But unlike Naomi, I didn’t like worrying about what I “should” do. I typed her name into a search engine and had immediate regrets.
Warner Dennison III and Naomi Witt announce their engagement.