Just One More

Valerie assumed a nasty expression.

“Shut up,” she spat. “You know nothing about me and besides, I never graduated. Maybe I’ll re-enroll and make your life hell,” she threatened.

“Oh god,” said another unnamed girl. “Spare us, please.”

But we wanted to hear what the girl had to say. So I stubbed out my cigarette and turned to Amy.

“Be back in five. Come on Bryan,” I said. “Let’s go to the bodega around the corner, I could use a coffee.” High school kids were always there, buying sandwiches and drinks and whatnot. We wouldn’t stand out.

And at the bodega, Val was shameless.

“Buy me a hot dog?” she said, a dog already in her hand.

Bryan snorted. “We’re not exactly millionaires,” he said darkly. “We live in a trailer.”

“Oh I know,” the blonde wheedled. “But I could use a hot dog to relax, you know loosen up a little.”

“Fine,” said my brother gracelessly, plunking another five on the counter. I knew he’d bill this to the SFPD.

The girl began gobbling up the hot dog as I tapped my foot impatiently.

“So what did you have to tell us?” I asked. There was work to be done, and I didn’t want to waste time.

“I was just wondering,” she said through gobbled mouthfuls of food. “Didn’t you guys do a make-up for biology recently?”

That caused us to stop short. Yeah, we’d made-up the missed class and that’s where we discovered the cat with balloons of cocaine inside. The techs at the station had since confirmed that it was pure 100% Colombian shit. Quality product, not your usual street-level powder cut with detergent and wood pulp.

“Yeah,” tossed off my brother nonchalantly. “What of it?”

“Well,” said Valerie, still chewing. “I’d talk to the Adams about it.”

What the fuck? Did she mean the John and Jane Adams, the parents of the dead boy? Upstanding citizens and all that?

As if reading my mind, the chubby girl nodded, still chewing. “Yep, those Adams,” she confirmed.

“Why?” I asked harshly. “And what does this have to do with us? We’re just transfers at Canterdale.”

That made the girl snort, almost spurting hot dog from her nose.

“Please,” she laughed, the first time we’d heard a genuine sound leave her mouth. “You’re not senior transfers at all. Who transfers during their senior year, months before graduation? And who looks like you when they transfer?” she asked, pointedly gazing at our masculine physiques. “You’re athletes, real athletes, not seventeen year-old boys pretending to play football.”

And she had a point there. I guess people are willing to suspend disbelief, but only when they want to. This mess of a girl, Valerie, had caught on immediately that something wasn’t right.

“Listen,” I said. There was no point beating around the bush. We only had a week left before the Cap had to report to City Hall, and desperately needed to break the case. “What do you know?”

But Valerie was done. “See for yourself,” she said ominously. “Go and face the Adams … and be prepared,” she warned, before turning to leave the bodega. “They’re no joke.”

I had no idea what she meant by that, but her comments had led us to this mansion, the setting a chintzy living room with an elderly, grieving mother and our best girl trying to make awkward conversation

“Mrs. Adams,” said Callie softly, a teacup balanced on her knee, “I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sorry that I didn’t come earlier to visit,” she said, hanging her head. “I should have, I know.”

The older woman stroked the brunette’s curls, her withered hand trembling slightly.

“Don’t worry honey,” she said softly. “We’ve all had a lot going on lately. John and I … we’ve fallen apart in the worst possible way.”

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Callie hopefully, her eyes wide. “You know I’d do anything.”

This made the older woman pause.

“Well, we need some help sorting through Brian’s things,” she said, her voice trailing off. “We put them in the basement after his passing but it can’t stay there forever.”

I could see Callie go green at the thought of touching the dead boy’s possessions. First the cat, now this. Our girl hadn’t had a lot of luck getting plum assignments recently.

But my brother and I were more than happy to step in.

“We’ve got it under control, Mrs. Adams, just tell us where to look and we’ll bring the boxes up,” said Blake, standing up.

“Oh thank you,” said Jane. “There are some plastic bins just to the left of the entrance. If you could haul them up the stairs, I’d be so grateful.”

And so my brother and I got up to make ourselves useful. The basement was accessible through a narrow, dark stairway, and I admit, we were intent on snooping around down there. After what Valerie had told us, we’d be idiots not to at least look.

It was damned dark downstairs, and Bryan felt around for a light switch, clicking on a single harsh, bare bulb. Nope, nothing looked out of place, just your usual storage space jam-packed full with an assortment of athletic equipment, a washer-dryer, that kind of thing.