I looked at him.
He went on, “There was somebody hanging around on the corner when I got here. Hunting jacket, shady-looking. I figured he was there to score.”
A fair assumption. “Knit hat?” I said.
“Yeah.” He folded his arms. “There’s always a somebody hanging around on your corner looking shady. I didn’t think much of it. Do you want me to take a look out here?”
“No, I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said, although I didn’t know who I was telling since clearly neither of us believed me. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go back in.”
Inside the building, my neighbor Alejandro was on the landing with his dog—a tiny, spastic Chihuahua wearing a little cable-knit sweater—squirming in his arms. “What’s going on, darling?” He looked at Tom over my shoulder and added, “Detective Darling.”
I climbed the steps and held out my hand for the dog to sniff. “Did you happen to see who she was barking at?” I said.
Alejandro sighed fabulously. He was in his early twenties and flat broke. But he pulled off broke better than anyone I’d ever met. “I don’t mean to alarm you,” he said, “or disappoint you. But it’s probably Richard.”
“Richard,” I repeated.
“You remember Richard. Wealthy, pathetic Richard. He got a bit, you know.” Alejandro shrugged. “We parted ways during the summer and he’s having some trouble accepting it. I mean, I can hardly blame him, but still—annoying.”
“Oh, right,” I said. I remembered Richard. I’d encountered him once a few months ago, drunk and crying on the steps just inside the building, muttering about the remains of his shattered heart. I’d ordered an Uber ride for him and texted Alejandro to be on the lookout for ex-lovers lurking around. But shattered heart or no, a man like Richard would never be caught dead wearing a hunting jacket, so even though it would make me feel better, my neighbor’s love troubles were hardly a reasonable explanation for the person hanging around the building. “Well, let me know if you see him. Him, or anyone else.” I waggled my gun. “You know I’m carrying.”
We went back into our apartments. I switched the safety back on my gun and set it down on my desk. “Well, that was interesting,” I said.
Tom watched me from the doorway. “That’s one way to put it,” he said. “You’re worried.”
I shrugged. “I’m paying attention, although I don’t even have enough information to know what to worry about. But looking in someone’s window—you don’t do that if you’re just stopping by to chat, do you.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. So who is this guy? Assuming it’s not Richard.”
“No, it’s not,” I said. “And, I have no idea. I just have a weird feeling about this case. That probably sounds stupid.”
“Hey, no,” he said. “Actually, that sounds like Frank too. He was very intuitive that way. He’d say, When you feel it, you feel it. We could have the whole murder on videotape but if Frank didn’t feel it, we weren’t making an arrest. If you have a feeling about something, don’t ignore it.”
I might have preferred he just said it sounded stupid.
I didn’t mind listening to Tom talk about my father; many evenings over the last nine months had passed that way. But I started to mind when he talked about my father and me. I made sure all three dead bolts on the front door were locked and then I went over to him and hooked my fingers around the buckle of his belt, ready to be done with the entire conversation. “You’re looking pretty tough and unapproachable today,” I said, “what with all this hardware.”
He caught my hand and squeezed gently. “You’re trying to change the subject.”
“So what?” I tried to undo the belt, but he squeezed my hand tighter.
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“What, change the subject? Or put out?”
Tom’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s wrong with you today?”
“Today?” I said.
*
The sex was a high-speed pursuit, breathless, lights and sirens. Afterward we retreated to opposite sides of the bed, silent and panting. The stars on the ceiling seemed to pulse. My hair was damp on the back of my neck.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said finally. “About before. It got weird.”
I wiped perspiration off my upper lip and listened to the quiet outside, relieved. “I think we sorted it out.”
“It’s just that—” he said, and stopped. A few more beats of silence passed. “Sometimes I’m not sure how to talk to you,” he continued. He turned to me. I didn’t look over. “You’re so direct, but then there are just places you won’t go, you just don’t even want to hear it.”
I said nothing. He was right, of course, and also, this seemed like one of those places. “Honestly, I do better when no one is talking.”
He sighed. “If we weren’t doing this, what would happen if I said something you didn’t want to hear? Would you just throw me out?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. It wasn’t. “But we are. So it doesn’t matter.” I thought for a second. “Or does it?”
“So there’s this woman,” he said.
I sat up on my elbow, refusing to acknowledge to myself how much I didn’t like the sound of that. “You’re a slut,” I said. “A different lady every night! Tell me about her.”
I saw a flash of his teeth as he smiled in the dark. “I’ve been out with her a handful of times. A guy from the squad set me up with her. She works for the school district.”
“What’s her name?” I said.
He looked at me like he thought I would probably Google her, which I would. “Pamela. Pam.”
Tom and Pam. Nope. “What’s she like.”
He thought about that. “Upbeat,” he said.
There was nothing funny about it, but we both laughed a little.
“She’s very nice,” Tom added. “Normal.”
“Well, that has to be a blessed relief.”
“I don’t want to be unfair to you, Roxane.”
“No,” I said, “no, there’s no fair here, no one is keeping score. We’re just two people, helping each other out.”
“Helping,” he repeated.
“Are you saying I’m not helpful?”
“You’re very helpful.”
“Thank you.” I leaned toward him and kissed him. I suddenly needed a drink, and to not talk about this Pam any more. There was a whiskey bottle on the nightstand, but no glass. And the bottle might have been empty.
I couldn’t help myself.
“So, Pam,” I said. “Is she what they call the one?”
“Oh, shut up,” Tom said. “I just met her like a month ago.”
I really needed that drink now. I said, “Do you like her?”
“Yes, I do,” he said after a beat.
“When are you seeing her again?”
“Saturday. She said she has tickets to some chamber music thing.”
“Oh, she’s a lady of culture, then,” I said.
“She’s, I don’t know, she’s a grown-up. She has her life together. It’s nice to date someone like that for a change.” He looked down at me. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I’m not talking about you, obviously you have your life together.”