Page 21 of Skeletons in the Closet

He stilled while replacing the pick in the case. His shadowed eyes found mine. Okay, the joke didn’t land how I’d hoped, and I regretted opening my mouth. Our encounter back in December was a touchy subject, especially considering a major part of the issue was Diem’s complete inability to touch meat all. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to keep his hands to himself. I still didn’t get it. He was obviously attracted to me, but he downright refused to make physical contact. I was a tough guy who didn’t get his feelings hurt easily, but it stung my ego more than I expected.

Diem jammed the pick into its case with more force than was necessary and stood. I followed him inside, gently closing the door behind us. Since there was a gala in full swing and Olivia was the head representative of the company, I doubted she would wander to her office at any point, but it didn’t mean other employees wouldn’t come to the sixth floor—particularly a real janitor—and we didn’t want anyone to find us slinking around where we didn’t belong.

At this point, if we were caught, the police would be called, and I’d be out of a job.

Diem turned on a desk lamp and sat in Olivia’s plush leather chair, opening her laptop without compunction. It was a functional office with a scattering of prints lining the walls. Potted tropical plants decorated the windowsill overlooking Adelaide Street. A few pictures of Olivia’s family were displayed on half-empty bookshelves along with certificates and several award plaques.

“What should I do? How can I help?”

“Youweren’t supposed to be up here. Stand there and look pretty for five minutes while I figure this out.”

“Aww, you called me pretty.”

A rumble sounded from deep in Diem’s chest.

“Come on, Guns. I’m here. I can be useful.”

He mashed buttons on the computer without responding.

“Diem.”

“Fine. Go through the desk drawers. Maybe she has a planner. Maybe Noah wrote her love letters, and you’ll find them bundled with twine.”

“I know you’re being a sarcastic dick, but when I find those letters, you will be the one looking like a fool.”

Diem huffed.

I huffed back.

He made a noise in his throat. It was the mere suggestion of a laugh, but it felt like a win.

I stopped pestering and got to work, squatting beside the desk and opening a drawer. Before I could root around inside, I was distracted by whatever Diem was doing. The laptop screen showed a black background with tiny white numbers and letters across the top. It wasn’t a Windows home screen. It was the innards of a computer. The back door stuff I knew nothing about. I wasn’t sure what to call it.

“What are you doing?”

“The computer is password protected. I have to bypass it.”

“You know how to do that?”

“Yes.”

“That is so cool. Where did you learn?”

“YouTube.”

I deadpanned. “For real? Does your entire PI training come from YouTube?”

He ignored me. Fair enough. If the answer was yes, who was I to judge? My job description consisted of filing cases and posting information to a website. Boring. Maybe I needed to browse the big YT in my spare time. Expand my resume.

I got to work, snooping through the contents of Olivia’s desk, seeking something incriminating. It was ridiculous. Faye’srequest was inane. At the end of the day, proving her dead husband’s infidelity changed nothing. Didn’t she see that?

Were all Diem’s cases this odd? Was this a typical request? I made a mental note to ask him later. I didn’t know much about PI work, but it made me curious.

Olivia was a pack rat. The first drawer was stuffed with all kinds of useless crap, from makeup to magazines to empty granola bar wrappers. The woman seemed to have a fetish for those Crystal Light water flavor packs. Dozens had been tossed haphazardly into the drawer. She collected fancy erasers by the look of it. Ones shaped like fruit and cartoon characters, all of them wafting artificial sweet odors. I sniffed a few—strawberry, grape, orange—before Diem shot me a look.

“What? I remember these from grade school.”

He narrowed his eyes.

---