Scratch the Surface

He was trying to help by offering his expertise, and no one was listening. And no, it was neither the time nor the place, but they didn’t need to shit on his excitement.

“Well, I know you’re a great detective, and the Sacramento Police Department can vouch for you as well, after you found that evidence for Detective Aguilar.”

Instant silence.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Courtney asked.

Cameron glanced at me, and I gave him a nod. Detective Aguilar had told us we were good to talk about it now that everyone had been arrested and charges were pending. And it was fast, yes, but that was what happened when you had the smoking gun of evidence. It had been headline-making news, with people in both the DEA and FBI coming under investigation, as well as several different police departments across California.

“You had something to do with that case?” Ray questioned his son, sounding excited. Cameron had told me he was quite the true-crime buff.

That fast, Cameron had everyone’s rapt attention as he explained first about Shawn Pelham, and then Daniel Nieman, and finally Cristobal Tremaine. It sounded pretty good when he told it, especially the part about how the stolen drive had ended up solving the murder of a family. When he was done, he leaned against me as more questions were fired at him. It was hard to read his mother’s expression as she looked at me, but I guessed she wasn’t having good thoughts. She probably assumed I’d put Cameron in danger, which, technically, I had. But as it turned out, I was never even on the radar of Tremaine’s men. They had no idea who I even was.

Once everyone was inside, Seth introduced me to his parents and his sister, and Makayla introduced me to her aunt—the rest of her family was in Santa Monica—and when she asked me where my family was, I told her there was no one.

“You’re all alone?” She was stunned.

“I know. Weird, right? You don’t meet many without anyone in real life.”

She looked horrified. “Oh no, I didn’t mean––”

“Don’t worry about it,” I soothed her, taking her hand. She clutched back like she was drowning. “I know normal getting-to-know-each-other questions can be tricky.”

“It’s very Dickensian,” Cameron chimed in as he came up beside me. “Come on, let’s eat.”

The meal was catered, as I’d been told to expect, but there was no waitstaff this year. His parents had opted, instead, for a casual Italian buffet, which was set out on the dining room table, along with a stack of dinner plates, napkins, and utensils. Three kinds of red wine from the Gallaghers’ wine cellar were being served with the meal, a Chianti, a Lambrusco, and a cabernet. Cameron poured himself a glass of Chianti, and I grabbed a cold bottle of water as Ray explained where in Italy he and his wife had been when they picked up the bottles.

“You can have a glass of wine, Jeremiah,” Ray offered, stopping his story for a moment. “I promise not to be upset at being the only one not imbibing.”

“Thanks, but he’s drinking”—I tipped my head at Cameron—“so I’m the designated driver. That’s our agreement, though lately we’ve been walking home from dinner.”

“Designated walker,” Cameron teased me, leaning into my back. I heard his deep contented sigh and smiled.

“Oh hey, I want to hear about the new apartment.” Courtney slipped around her father to stand behind her brother. “I’ll sit with you guys.”

Courtney, Seth, his sister, Grace, Cody, and Makayla all ended up sitting with us around the coffee table, and they listened to Cameron tell them about our place and our colorful neighbors, about sunrise Tai Chi in the parking lot, evening belly dancing lessons in the common room, the “care for the cat” community that we didn’t have to sign up to donate to but everyone appreciated our support of. There was food to buy, after all, and veterinary care. And of course, there was the occasional gift cleanup.

“Gift cleanup?” Courtney asked her brother, absolutely hanging on his every word.

“Yes, they’re all very nice cats, so they bring us an occasional offering of birds and insects, mice, chipmunks, and baby squirrels.”

“Dead?”

“The insects, almost always. The rest, no; sometimes they’re just traumatized. Jere has had to put more than a few small, fluffy animals back into their various habitats.”

All eyes on me.

“The cats are just trying to give back,” I explained. “Like he said, they’re all very nice.”

He had pictures of our apartment, and when he showed his siblings, they both commented that it looked small but really nice.

“And you like all the stuff in there?” Makayla ventured, holding Cameron’s phone and turning to him. “The deep turquoise area rug and the maroon sectional and the burnt-orange chair with the matching ottoman?”

“Yes”—he rolled his eyes at her—“and I know what you’re thinking, but Jere and I are going to do some redecorating at the house too.”