Page 28 of How May I Please You

He swallows hard as his eyes bounce between Summers and me. “Yes, it is. Are you the detective tasked to find out what happened here?”

“Yes, I am,” I reply. “And I’m going to do the best I can with no hard feelings about yesterday.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Mmhm. Now, considering what I saw with my own eyes, there’s a bit of information that I need from you, Mr. Clark.”

He sighs, almost like he knows exactly where this is going. “Right. What do you need to know?”

I pull out a small notepad and pen, making the show look as real as possible in front of Summers who listens intently.

“I meant what I said about there being no hard feelings,” I say with a grin. “But we both know how this looks after everything that went down yesterday, which means I need you to tell me where I can find Chad.”

eighteen

~ journey ~

The trip to Fairmount is short, which is good for two reasons: I don't like being in the car with Detective Summers for too long if I can help it, and because I always want to stay as close to you as I can. Work is as important to us as it is to everyone else, so I know that I have to do what I have to do, but god I miss your body’s scent. I crave the feel of your skin grazing across mine. Even as we pull into the parking lot of the two-story home of Chad Swanson and his family, I’m thinking of you, Sir. When this is all over, I’m going to run into your arms and throw my legs around you as we kiss. You are my daily fantasy, the dream that stays on my mind when I know I should be concentrating on the task at hand. Regardless of what I should be doing, I’m always thinking of you. My Sir.

“Journey … you okay?” Summers’ voice dissects my thoughts and snatches my attention over to him.

I smile with pinched lips. “Yeah, of course. You ready?”

His smile mirrors mine and I wonder if he’s faking it, too. “I am. Let’s do this.”

We get out on our respective sides, looking up at the massive house with pink and white details. Pink siding butts up against tan stone, while white pillars hold up the large porch and overhang in front of the door. I can see the white fencing in the back from here, and a dark brown gazebo standing tall over it. I wonder what’s back there. What does a family who clearly makes a ton of money have in its backyard? A pool? A giant shed with two riding lawn mowers inside? Maybe a basketball goal? My curiosity doesn't stop me from walking up to the door, but I wonder what people with too much money do with it. Even with our combined incomes, you and I don't have this kind of money, and it makes me hate this family before Summers can rap on the decorative white door and press the button on the Ring camera.

“Can we help you?” a woman’s thin voice asks from the Ring.

“Hello,” starts Summers. “My name is Detective Martin Summers and this is my partner, Detective Monroe. We’re here to speak with Chad Swanson and his guardians.”

A pause before a man takes over.

“What is this in regard to?” he inquires. It’s a good question, but since I’ve already decided that I don't like anyone behind this door, I’m annoyed before the words can hit my lips.

“We’re investigating a crime and have some questions for your son,” I snip. “It’d be a lot easier to do this face to face instead of through the camera. We’d appreciate your cooperation.”

I see Summers glance at me out of the corner of my eye, but I don't bother looking over. What the hell is he looking at anyway? I wanted to say so much worse.

Instead of getting a reply through the camera again, we hear the sound of footsteps followed by at least two deadbolts being turned on the other side of the door. Once the security measures have been removed, the door swings open and we’re greeted by a tall, pasty man with pale skin and blond hair, wearing a pink Polo and tight jeans. Without asking a single question I already know this is Chad’s father. He looks like his name is Bartholomew and he doesn't smile, but I don't blame him. I wouldn't smile either if I looked like that.

“Umm … is there a problem?” Bartholomew asks. “Why are you here to question our son?”

As I fix my lips to answer, a long-haired blond woman approaches from the back in a tight white shirt and a pastel pink skirt. Maybe a tennis court is in the backyard.

“Yes, what’s this about? It’s not every day detectives come knocking on our door,” she says.

Summers smiles like he wants to answer but I beat him to it.

“Well, it’s not every day that a diner in Center City that employs your son gets burned down. As I stated earlier, we need to ask Chad some questions. Now, we don't have to do it here if you're unwilling to cooperate. We can simply detain Chad and ask him our questions down at the precinct, or you can summon the lawyer I’m sure you have on standby. Either way, our questions will be asked and Chad will answer them. Just let us know how you’d like to proceed.”

Bartholomew, pastel lady, and Summers all gawk at me, so I force a toothless smile to try to ease their tension.

You should see the looks on their faces, Sir. You’d think they never encountered someone who is direct before. I imagine people like this are not used to speaking with anyone other than yes men. Regardless of what they’re accustomed to, they’ve never met someone like me before.

“Uh, okay,” Bartholomew says. “Come on in, I guess. We’ll grab Chad and have a quick chat in the study. The conversation will let us know whether or not we need to summon the standby lawyer.”

Sarcasm? Attitude? Is that what I’m sensing from Bartholomew? My eyes widen, but Summers taps me in the forearm as the homeowners step aside and let us in. I cut my eyes over to him and he shakes his head as if telling me to cut it out.

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