Page 50 of The Vacancy In Room 10

“Well, let’s chat with him. He lives here and knew Henry, maybe he’ll be helpful,” she says, and I know all she cares about is flirting with him, but before I can stop her, she’s calling him over. “Hey, Connor!” She waves to him, motions for him to come over.

“Callum,” I say. “But let’s not...”

Callum looks over, then behind himself, unsure if she’s speaking to him, and hesitantly walks over to us. “Hey, Anna,” he says, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Hi, I’m Monica. I’m just getting to know Anna’s new—” she looks around and searches for the word “—dwelling,” she lands on.

“Oh, okay, nice to meet you,” Callum says.

Monica pulls up one of the empty deck chairs next to us and pats it, then she thrusts a can of watermelon margarita into his hand.

“Oh, thanks, but I...”

“You have time. We saw you drinking a beer over there. You’re not that busy.” She laughs and flips her hair, and her directness, as usual, is overwhelming. She’ll find a way for this to be about her helping me get intel, but I know her well enough, and he’s presenting a challenge that she loves. All she needs is a smile or a kind word, and she’ll feel like she’s conquered him and will have satisfied this need—or whatever it is—I’ve seen her demonstrate again and again.

“Uh, yeah. Okay,” he says, and timidly sits, taking the drink from her. That’s fine, though, because I actually have questions for him.

“Have you seen Eddie around lately? Since...?” I gesture vaguely to the pool meaning since you saved his kid and he threatened you and all that, and for some reason he looks like he’ll pass out.

“What? I mean... No, why would you ask that?” he says and the truth is, I want to talk to Eddie because there has to be a connection there with Henry. The drugs, the threats, Rosa. I know Eddie won’t tell me anything, but he’d surely at least speak to the widow with innocent questions about her husband. And then I could at least gauge if he’s hiding anything or if something seems off. Or maybe he’ll surprise me and tell me something, after all. What does he have to lose if Henry is gone and can’t give another side to his story?

“I’m just trying to ask everyone who lives here basic questions—trying to paint a picture so I can better understand what happened. I talked to most folks, but I haven’t seen him in a few days. I know he’s trouble, obviously, but I still need to talk to him.”

“Oh,” Callum says again, looking nervous as hell. “No, sorry. I haven’t.”

“Well,” Monica says, putting her hands on his forearm when she speaks. “I feel like I’ve seen you before. Do you do CrossFit? You look like a CrossFitter. I go to Grit Fitness on Everwood. They have that cute smoothy cafe. Do you ever go there?” she asks, her knee grazing against his.

He looks at me briefly out of the corner of his eye, and I try to offer an apologetic expression. “Uh. No.”

“Oh, which gym do you go to then?” she asks, sipping her drink through a straw with pouty lips.

“I don’t,” he says, and he’s not only painfully uninterested in giving her the desired attention she’s used to getting, but he’s also distracted.

“Oh, come on, you must go somewhere,” she tries again.

I see Cass walk out of the office with a different hose, and she’s doing something with the water valve on the side of the building.

Callum hands Monica the can of margarita. “Thanks. It was good to meet you, but I actually do have some things to do,” he says and gets up and walks over in Cass’s general direction, although she’s off somewhere, pulling the misbehaving hose around the building.

When he’s gone, Monica curls her lip and rolls her eyes. “He’s such an Eeyore.”

“Yeah,” I say, agreeing with her in hopes to end the topic of discussion. And it does, because rejection is not something she handles well.

After a couple hours more, we mostly talk about how Steven’s mother will finally leave the guesthouse next week and how the mad woman has rearranged all the furniture just to upset Monica and how Katie is starting second grade in the fall, but she doesn’t like the teacher who Monica refers to as a cow and can’t believe she’s giving her kid summer homework. I argue that it’s actually an optional summer reading list, but she maintains that the teacher is a mean old cow.

She’s lost interest in scoping out the women after she saw my list and descriptions and was quickly bored with the discussion. In all fairness, what is there to say? I’m going on practically nothing but conjecture and wild guesses, and what could she really do to help besides keep me company and listen? By dusk, she’s packed up her beach bag and margaritas and heads home to see if her mother-in-law has started dinner for Katie and to see all the ways she pitted her daughter against her today.

When we say goodbye, I already know I’m going to go find Callum. Why is he blowing up Cass’s phone? That’s really none of my business, and I won’t ask, but maybe he’ll give something away. I do want to ask about Eddie and Rosa. I also want to tell him what I found in Henry’s journals, because, just maybe, Callum knows something—has seen something off he could recall once he knows the truth about Henry’s affair.

I’m not one to drink often. Certainly not in the afternoon. Even on brunch days with Monica and the girls, I was usually the one with iced tea, but I find the further I go down this rabbit hole, the more I’m saying yes when people hand me a drink, which is often around here. Now I’m four watermelon margaritas in and probably too tipsy to have a conversation with Callum, but ironically brave enough at the moment to do it, so I grab two beers from the fridge and again show up at his door with a small offering and a request for his time.

I feel like a bit of a jerk showing up uninvited after my friend practically tried to seduce him, and he doesn’t look particularly excited to see me when he opens the door. I don’t even know how to read the look he has. Almost like he’s scared of something. The apartment is hot, and he’s been trying to get the AC working.

“Ah, we have something in common then,” I say, as he invites me to sit in front of the oscillating fan next to the sofa.

“It can’t keep up with the heat,” he says. He takes the beer and sits next to me, plucking his T-shirt away from his skin and pressing the cold bottle against his forehead for a moment to cool down.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” I say, looking at the AC unit on the floor and a few tools next to it.

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