Page 41 of Skeletons in the Closet

The animosity wafting off Diem said no.

“Didn’t think so.” I finished my latte and popped the last bite of cookie into my mouth as I stared at the Rowell Housing office storefront. “All right, Guns. First off, not everyone can be bribed. Second, teenagers, even stupid ones, are far more astute than you give them credit for.”

“Not this one.”

“I’ll have to judge for myself. Here’s what we’ll do. Do you have a toolbox or something in the trunk?”

Diem glared with a look of utter confusion. I could imagine he wasn’t impressed at how I constantly stomped all over his cases and changed his plans, but he’d invited me. He’d even sweetened me up with lattes and cookies, so I knew he didn’t hate my presence.

“Toolbox?” I asked again when he didn’t answer. “Yes or no?”

His brows knitted in the middle. “Yes.”

“Good. Grab it, interrupt the signal, and follow my lead.”

Folding down the visor to use the vanity mirror, I straightened my tie and checked my hair.

I batted my lashes at Diem. “How do I look?”

When he turned a lovely shade of puce, I thought he might be choking on his spit, so I didn’t push for an answer. I got out of the Jeep and marched toward the store, hips swinging with the perfect amount of swagger—for Diem’s benefit, of course, since I felt his eyes on me.

I entered the store, phone pressed to my ear as though I was in mid-conversation with someone. “Yeah, on Ellesmere… That’s right,” I said when the kid looked up from behind the counter. “At Rowell Housing… The call came in this afternoon.”

Covering the receiver, I whispered, “Sean Rowell’s your boss, right, kid?”

The teen nodded, dark hair flopping over his acne-scarred forehead.

Diem entered behind me as I returned to my fake phone call. “Yeah, we’re here now… Shouldn’t take long, and we’ll head to the place on Leonard Avenue after… No later than seven…” I laughed. “Yeah, don’t I know it… Okay, later.”

I fake hung up and glanced at Diem who clung to a massive toolbox tote bag while giving me a look of death I was becoming intimately familiar with. I smiled and winked, sultry and mischievous as always, before turning to the baffled teenager behind the desk.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“We’re here about the internet.”

The kid’s confusion deepened. “Internet?”

“Yes. I spoke with,” I checked my phone as though reminding myself, “Beth Rowell earlier. Is that right? She said the Wi-Fi’s been acting up all day. It’s been a problem in the area. We need to reset the signal on your modem. Takes fifteen minutes. I cando it in ten if you give us a hand. Do you know anything about how Wi-Fi works?”

“Um…” The blank look in the teen’s glassy eyes said no.

I chuckled. “No big deal. It’s technical. Took me years in school to sort it out. Wanna show me where the modem is?”

“Um…” The teenager glanced from me to Diem, then back. “S-sure, but the internet’s been fine since I got here.” He glanced at the computer screen, but it was dark, and he had to shake the mouse to wake it up.

The kid frowned. “Oh. I guess it’s not working anymore. Hang on.” He picked up his phone and scratched the back of his neck. “Nope. Nothing here too. That’s weird.”

“Ten minutes, bud, and I’ll have it back up for you. Modem?”

The teenager guided me into what I assumed was Beth’s office and gestured to the modem on a shelf hidden behind a few potted plants. “Should I call Beth and tell her you’re here?”

“You can if you want, but she already knows. If you give me a hand, we can be out of your hair faster.” I indicated Beth’s computer. “Can I use this machine?”

“Um… sure.”

“Is there a password?”

He shook his head, eyeing Diem again, who stood in the doorway, looking every bit as intimidating as always. Poor kid wasn’t sure what to make of him.

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